Standing still in the middle of the turmoil going on all around him, Harold Angleton stared blankly up at the smoke-filled sky. Despite the battle hub facilitating a direct connection with his mind, the voices of command and his sergeants felt far away. He knew he needed to deal with them, but he just wasn’t up to it at the moment.
He was a captain in the army of Dorchester, a respected and decorated soldier who’d served with both honor and distinction for over 4 decades. He followed the code and performed his duties without question. Yet, he felt like he’d crossed some threshold, and was now no longer the same man he was when he woke up this morning. Was he even still a captain after what happened? Was the emotional death he’d felt enough to absolve him of his oath?
Thoughts and concerns were assaulting his mind like hammers, and he felt unable to move past them. He knew there were things he needed to do, but he just couldn’t seem to get started.
He needed to find the mount he’d been issued. Or at the very least, confirm its death. He needed to reform what was left of the elites. Then, collect the bodies of those he’d lost. He needed to contact Command for new orders. The elites would need reassignment. He needed to find out if the captains and their units had truly been ordered to retreat… to leave him and his men to die. He needed… he didn’t know what he needed…
All around him, he heard the sound of laughing. The penal troops were celebrating still being alive. The ether was filled with a sense of kinship and camaraderie that was conflicting harshly with his center. As joyful as the atmosphere was, his center felt like it was in despair. The sense of euphoria from leveling had tapered off, and he was now left with an overwhelming sense of emptiness.
Opening his identity, he confirmed that he was now level 53. With a small exertion of will, he added his new star into the pillar he’d chosen at level 50… ‘healing’. He barely felt the change in his center. Although there was a sense that his healing would be faster, and his spells dealing with restoration would be more efficient, but that was all. It would take more than a few star infusions before he gained a new ability. Yet, that was just a matter of time…
Time… he probably had plenty of it. He was only 71. Being level 53 at his age meant he was progressing rapidly... almost too rapidly. It would be centuries before he’d start suffering from age creep.
Had someone asked him yesterday, he’d been able to tell him exactly how he planned to spend all that time. But now, he wasn’t so sure. Could he actually serve an army that didn’t live up to the code its officers had sworn to uphold? Was it all a lie?
Feeling overwhelmed by the reality of what had happened, he started to feel dizzy.
Finally tearing his eyes away from the sky, he looked around for a place to sit down. He did his best to ignore the penal soldiers. They were smiling, congratulating each other, reveling in their victory. It was a sight he’d never expected to see. These were the dregs of humanity, or at the very least, Dorchester’s most shameful citizens. They were supposed to be miserable.
His armor felt heavier than usual as his wearied steps dragged him to a half-broken mud wall. He didn’t even consider whether or not it would hold him when he collapsed down on it.
In the back of his mind, he still heard the voices demanding his attention. His elites and the commanders needed his attention. But, he couldn’t bring himself to care. There was just too much on his mind, and he simply wasn’t ready to deal with them.
To his left, he heard a loud emphatic voice declare, “He is nothing like those arrogant wastes of essence! I can tell you from personal experience that he is like no noble you’ve ever seen. He’s crafty like them, I’ll give you that. But, he is also the first to lay his life on the line for his companions. He’s true to his words and fearless in the face of danger. I’ll be the first to admit, he’s also more than a little crazy. But then again, he’d have to be to live through all that he has. He’s a hells be damned legend in the making! You saw it for yourself! Tell me honestly, didn’t you feel the world tremble when he led us out there?”
Seeing someone so filled with conviction stood out in stark relief against the backdrop of celebration going on all around him.
Wondering who the man was, Angleton reached out through his link to the battle hub and requested identification.
Michael Harring - Penal Convict #428441
Age 103
Lvl. 26
Pillars: Cutting (Voluntarily Reported)
Primary Occupation: Hunter (Dorchester)
Time left to serve: 967 years.
Crime: *Redacted* (use command override to view)
Assignment: Army Reserve Unit S&C2316 (use command override to view history)
At first glance, Angleton wasn’t impressed. The man seemed like a typical middle-class citizen who had run afoul of the laws of society. However, it was odd to see his crime being listed as *Redacted*. It barely took a thought to unseal the record.
Widening his eyes in shock, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This man had a history with Lord Walker. He was actually one of the hunters who’d tried to assassinate the young lord out in the wilds. The fact that the man was still alive was interesting enough to compel him to read the entire file.
‘Lord Walker himself requested the man’s rehabilitation. Interesting indeed,’ he thought.
While Angleton was reviewing the man’s testimony against Sergeant Blackwood’s estranged father, he tried to listen in on what the penal convicts were discussing. At first, he thought they were talking about the battle, but quickly found that he was mistaken. What he heard was enough to cause him to close the file and pay closer attention.
Somehow, this Michael Harring was being convinced to represent them in joining House Walker as Lord Walker’s personal servants. From what he could tell, it sounded like they were discussing life oaths… actual LIFE OATHS. Why were they willing to give up their chance to rejoin society to serve a noble who’d become a unique, one who’d probably already left Dorchester?
Suddenly, the memory of the small man leading the charge to save him and his elites became much clearer. Now that he thought about it, he could tell that it had been Lord Walker himself who’d led the penal soldiers. The young lord must have disobeyed orders and convinced these men and women to as well. He had to admit that it truly did sound like something out of a legend.
It also meant that somewhere nearby, Lord Walker was here… fighting for a city he didn’t need to… refusing to let even penal soldiers die undefended… embodying the ideals that his superiors had abandoned.
Surging to his feet, he brought the connections he had with his sergeants forward in his mind. With his voice full of confidence and purpose, he ordered, “Sergeants! Round up whoever is still on their feet. We’ll collect our dead and then discuss our next steps. I for one am incensed at what happened. Together, we’ll get our answers. Rest assured, this outrage will not be forgotten, nor will it be forgiven! We will have our vengeance, either in the halls of our order, the Tower of Law, or the sands of the Coliseum. I swear it!”
—--
Nero stood off to the side and watched as events began spiraling out of control. Considering how often it had happened since he’d arrived in Dorchester, he wasn’t all that surprised. At least he’d learned how to expertly apply the ‘pretend it’s on purpose and roll with it’ plan, so he was kind of looking forward to seeing how it would all turn out.
Cathleen had told him that she used his authority as a unique to break off from Command and act as an independent unit in the field. She had then warned him they were sending a squad to arrest them for interfering in a military action. Before he had been able to formulate a response, Academian Quincy went off on an impressive rant and contacted Command himself. Not two minutes later, the man reported that it was handled and Cathleen could proceed however she wanted.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Nero hadn’t said a single word.
The number of criminals… or penal soldiers… around them had grown until Nero couldn’t tell how many there actually were. Between the wackos, the evaluators, and the cri… penal soldiers… Nero was surrounded.
When the “penal soldiers” commanding sergeants arrived to break up the growing formation and retrieve their “soldiers”, Cathleen, Quincy, and Mike the assassin all threw hissy fits. Mike claimed that his service had been accepted under the auspices of House Walker, along with everyone else who wanted to come along. Cathleen declared that her forces were acting under the orders of a unique, and Command had no authority to interfere. Meanwhile, Academian Quincy stood tall with his glowing battle robes and glared at the sergeants while explaining in detail the penalties and repercussions for interfering with an authorized quest from the council of leadership.
Once again, Nero did nothing but stand there and grin.
It wasn’t until he got fed up with not being able to see anything that he finally found out what was actually going on. Using his trusty pillar spell, he rose up into the air and took a look around. He saw small clumps of people in rag-tag armor, every one of them looking extremely happy about something. He watched in confusion as the penal soldiers laughed and patted each other on the back. His wackos were moving among them, herding them into groups and organizing Cathleen’s forces.
Further away, he saw the rest of the army rushing around like ants after their hill had been destroyed. The battle line they’d been fighting over was no more, and the entirety of the human forces were pushing up the hill in a united front. He could see the kobalds falling back, any semblance of their formations having been abandoned in place of their new policy of screaming and running away.
Cathleen didn’t seem to want to miss the party, and he watched in awe as the surrounding “soldiers” began forming up under the surprisingly competent command of his wackos.
He knew the woman was probably using the battle hub, abusing his authority to create new unit designations or something, but it was still impressive enough to leave him feeling forgotten about.
Things looked like they were coming together quite well until he saw a group of 30 or 40 riders approaching at a run… or maybe a canter… either way, it was faster than a man could move on his own.
Dropping down from his pillar, Nero quickly tried pushing through the crowd to find Cathleen. Suddenly stopping, he face-palmed at his stupidity and just contacted her through the link.
“We’ve got riders incoming. I’m assuming they’re from command,” he said, not bothering with small talk.
Cathleen replied quickly, “Noted. I’ll handle it, my lord.”
Nero frowned at the curt reply before making his way over to where she was preparing to meet them. On the way, he had to dodge the criminals and wackos who wanted to congratulate him on his “victory” and pledge their undying loyalty to him. It was enough to make him feel like a politician trying to move through a fundraiser while having to take a piss. While it was nice to be appreciated, and having more followers… even ones with a record… was nice, he really didn’t have time to deal with them at the moment.
By the time he got to Cathleen, he was surprised to see her staring up at Captain Freaking Angleton. ‘What in hell is HE doing here?’ he wondered in absolute confusion.
Around the captain was Sergeant Blackwood, along with other sergeants and elites, most of whom he recognized. Even Specialist Howard was there. However, the man’s battle robes were so pristine Nero assumed he hadn’t been fighting with the rest of them.
Almost in unison, everyone turned to look at him with faces full of respect and adoration. Well, not everyone. Cathleen and Angleton looked like typically emotionally stunted selves.
“Lord Walker, it’s good to see you’re well. I personally thank you for my life and the lives of the men and women under my command. If it weren’t for your heroic actions, we’d have died in shame under the machinations of the politicians running this war. Their dishonorable actions have earned them a formal complaint which I personally sent to the grandmaster of our order. Until such time as my complaint is heard before the tribunals of the Knights of Dorchester, my forces and I are yours to command,” said Captain Angleton, his presence looming over everyone around him.
Nero, not knowing what to say after all that confusing nonsense, just replied, “Battle Leader Averett will be leading my forces. She’ll coordinate with you on how to best use the elites.”
The captain offered a quick bow before returning to his conversation with Cathleen. Meanwhile, Nero could feel the rest of the elites, and several of their horses, continually sneaking peeks at him.
Behind him, a voice asked, “I’m assuming you have questions?”
Nero was barely able to stop himself from jumping out of his boots. Turning around, he glared up at a grinning Academian Quincy and decided he wasn’t going to give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing him lose his shit again. He’d noticed that it was much easier to keep his cool when he was doing it out of spite
Maintaining his placid demeanor, he locked eyes with the man and replied, “Yes. I do have a few topics that I would like explained to me if you don’t mind.”
Academian Quincy’s grin transitioned into an easy smile, seamlessly copying Nero’s pretense of unflappability. “Ask away, my lord. I’ll do my utmost to cover them to your satisfaction.”
Annoyed at the man’s ability to change his entire persona at the drop of a hat, Nero had trouble keeping his tone light. But, he still tried to appear as ‘in control of the situation’ as he could.
“First, Can you explain to me how all these people with criminal records are here? You mentioned that slavery wasn’t practiced in Oglivarch, but I’m struggling to understand how you can say that when these poor bastards are being forced to fight against their will. Or better yet, can you explain what a penal conscript IS?” he asked, trying and failing to keep his outrage hidden.
Academian Quincy pretended not to notice Nero’s anger. “As I said before, they aren’t being forced to fight. They are simply given the option of earning increased time off their sentence by serving in combat zones. All citizens who’ve been convicted of a crime are required to earn back their freedom by completing tasks for the betterment of the community,” he said calmly.
Putting his arm around Nero’s shoulder, he gestured off at a group of criminals and continued, “We’re lucky enough to be able to take advantage of current circumstances to help you understand. Connect with the battle hub through your link and request identification on one of those penal conscripts over there.”
Nero maintained his frown but still did as he was told. The moment he did, he was surprised to get a mental image of an identification card appearing next to the woman he was staring at.
Brandice Milkurny - Penal Convict #376251
Age 34
Lvl. 16
Pillars: (Not Reported)
Primary Occupation: Caravan Guard Trainee(Dorchester)
Time left to serve: 12 years.
Crime: Assault, Failure to Comply
Assignment: Army Reserve Unit S&C1286 (use command override to view history)
Nero read through the card quickly, jumping to several conclusions as usual.
“What the hell does failure to comply mean?” he demanded.
Academian Quincy had no trouble figuring out who Nero had identified. “Ah, Ms. Milkurney I presume. As you can tell by her identification, she was convicted of assault. While I can’t speak to specifics, I can make a few guesses as to what happened. Most likely, she was out in public, got in an argument with someone, decided that she wasn’t willing to wait for a duel, or was denied one, and then proceeded to fight them in the streets. When the guard arrived, she probably decided that she wasn’t willing to stand down, and they had to pull her off whoever she was fighting. That would explain the charge for failing to comply. She’s probably a hot-headed young woman who enjoys fighting more than thinking. I’m guessing she was probably given a sentence of 20 years, but considering her skillset, who knows how long ago she began serving it,” he said.
Nero listened closely, and he could admit that the woman in question did in fact look like the story might fit. But that didn’t explain what she was doing out here.
Academian Quincy didn’t wait for Nero to speak, he just continued on with his lecture. “Every city in Oglivarch has a variation of the Penal Service System. When a citizen breaks the law, whether it’s in the form of unauthorized physical violence like Ms. Milkurney over there, or more cerebral crimes like blackmail, abuse of power, or trade violations, everyone who’s convicted is given a chance to earn back their freedom. The Though-hub is used to track them, and their identification keeps them monitored for the safety of those around them. As penal conscripts, they serve in whatever fashion they choose… but serve they must in order to pay back what they owe to the social systems of whatever city they live in. Some choose to act as laborers and servants, others as city hunters and guards. Their actions are reviewed based on their behavior, usually weekly or monthly. If they continue to act in a manner that defies social convention and law, then they are punished accordingly,” he explained.
Nero, feeling both impressed and a little wigged out by the systematic social slavery system, hesitantly asked, “And what happens if they don’t learn to go along with the system? What if they don’t feel like being a good little Dorchesterian?”
Having expected the question, Academian Quincy replied immediately, “After being given a few chances, they're reviewed by a tribunal for further punishment and social reconditioning. If that doesn’t set them straight, then they are sent off to fight in the war, or simply executed for the safety of those around them.”
Nero gulped uncomfortably, before asking, “What does ‘social reconditioning’ entail?”
“Usually classes at the Center. Also, immersion programs that help foster a sense of loyalty to the city. You can think of it as targeted propaganda, to be honest. It’s usually effective, and if it isn’t, there are mind healers there to find out why,” he replied.
Looking up at the academian in fear, Nero asked quietly, “Mind healers?”
Nodding, Academian Quincy replied, “Sometimes people have mental issues that need to be resolved. Unreasonable tendencies toward aggression. Improper sexual urges. Emotional problems. All of these are screened for during a citizen's early schooling, but sometimes things are missed.”
Nero REALLY didn’t like where this was going. “And what happens if someone has one of these ‘mental issues’ that needs fixing?” he asked, his tone making it clear that he was more than a little worried about what he might find out.
“Nothing nefarious. The mind healers are usually able to help with the issue. However, there are cases where more drastic action needs to be taken,” replied Academian Quincy.
He then pointed out someone with a link large enough to be considered a metal plate on their head. “Like that man over there. Take a look at his identification and you’ll understand.”
Nero used the battle hub to pull up the man’s identification card.
Carl Yaksman - Penal Convict #326491
Age 76
Lvl. 22
Pillars: Fury (Forced Compliance)
Primary Occupation: Dueler Trainee(Dorchester)
Time left to serve: 2112 years.
Crime: Multiple Murders, Aggravated Assaults, Failure to Comply
Cognitive Impairment Harness: Aggression monitor and stabilizer
Assignment: Army Reserve Unit S&C1286 (use command override to view history)
Nero paled at what he was seeing. The man standing over there, grinning from ear to ear and looking excited to be returning to battle, was a MURDERER. Even worse, Nero recognized him as one of the people who’d been standing next to Mike the assassin when he’d asked to join House Walker. How many people did the man have to kill to get a 2112-year sentence and a monitoring device implanted in his brain box?
‘Well, at least the powers that be don’t go straight to capital punishment. That ought to make a few people in the religious district happy… probably. Wait, do religious people here even care about that? I don’t even know what the hot-button issues are in this place. And I don’t even know on whose behalf I’m feeling offended,’ he joked with himself, trying and failing to put a positive spin on it.