Kathren marched at the end of the line of legionaries as she kept watch for anything coming from the rear, but she couldn't stop her eyes from squinting in annoyance toward the front every so often. Even with the shuttered lanterns held by every seventh legionary, the tunnel still looked dark as large portions of the walls were swathed with the outlines of dancing limbs and torsos. And yet, even with that darkness and the long line of staggered legionaries walking down the tunnel before her, she could swear she still saw the front of their line and the Bastard leading them.
She was not in the back of the group because she was avoiding him. No, that would be ridiculous. Kathren was doing her job, the one she was probably the most suitable for, and that was all there was to it. It was entirely reasonable for her to be back here… all alone.
Though his knight should be at least as good as me… Not the point! Why did he have to be a reaver! Kathren screamed into her mind. Everyone knows they are killers and liars! Noticing her mind was drifting into dangerous territory, she refocused it and performed another sweep of the tunnel.
AKA, looking over her shoulder. She was in a tunnel. Only two directions of any consequence here. And as simple as her job was, it's not like she would be doing anything more than she was doing now in any other position in the line… such as the front. No reason to be up there. None at all. At least back here, she could focus all of her training into the action of looking over her shoulder.
Besides, who would need a scout leading them who was more likely to get lost than arrive where they intended. It wasn't like she was the one with a mental map ripped from someone's mind. The thing was, being back here did leave an awful lot of time for one's mind to wander onto dangerous ground… It isn't like I'm anyone who should be throwing stones when it comes to killing and lying… But that still leaves the bastard taking control of my mind and stealing my free will! I don't care if it's for my own good; nobody controls my thoughts!
Suppressing the fury of being nothing but a puppet for the sly, manipulative bastard, Kathren forced her thoughts onto walking for perhaps the dozenth time in a vain attempt to prevent it from returning to the circular thought process again.
Getting angry and trying to kill someone she needed to interact with for at least a little while more would do no one any good, so long as she intended to come out of this alive. Not that death would be the worst sentence for those who stole another's freedom— no! Ugh, I don't know. Just… not yet.
Really, nothing much had happened since they left the mansion. Regrettably, or luckily — for the legion as a whole or if you were a pragmatic bastard with lots of secrets — there were no more wounded for the slightly over one century of remaining legionaries to deal with. Well, no more wounded that were unable to move and fight, if at a less than optimal standard.
If you counted minor cuts, scrapes, bruises, and broken blisters as being wounded, everyone still alive from the manor battle fell into the category. However, no one in the procession counted those as anything close to wounds. They were just proof of their perseverance.
As a battle progresses, earning the descriptor of wounded becomes more challenging to attain. And if you claimed it without the most crippling wounds or collapsing from blood loss, those of your century, your battle brothers, who you practically shared a mind with for days on end, would look upon you with scorn. Or that was how most of the legion felt about the topic, even if they never said it aloud, leaving it to one of the many unwritten rules people live by.
Personally, Kathren saw it as a classic example of psychological bleeding that happens between a specific group of individuals when they are linked within a Union. Simply put, it was the male ego making them unwilling to admit they needed to take half an hour to get their wounds stitched up or, heaven forbid, admitting they could no longer function adequately enough to remain on the line. Because admitting you were wounded would make you weak. Unlike bleeding from an untreated wound and spilling a gallon of your blood onto the ground, which makes you strong… somehow. Ugh, just… men.
Makes no fucking sense to Kathren, and yet more than one man had to have their not wounds treated before they could leave the cellar, as leaving a trail of blood would cause multiple problems no one wanted to deal with. Centurion Borment berated them for being so stupid, but Kathren swore she saw a glimmer of respect in the man's eyes that they were able to continue fighting as they were… Which kind of undermined the entire ranting, making it a badge of honor rather than a dressing down.
Then again, that stubborn determination of men to keep fighting, regardless of the wounds inflicted on them, was the keystone of the legion. How else was a legion that was probably less than seven thousand supposed to stand against hoards of beastkin ten times their number and come out victorious on the other side? You needed that kind of irrational resolve. That didn't make it any less irritating.
After the men were done being men, they headed into the tunnel leading them below the mansion. After a few dozen quick turns along branching corridors, which the bastard led them through, and a short fight at the front of the formation as they encountered a small band of goblins, all that was left was a fast march for hours. Or so it would seem to Kathren.
They made some turns, went up and down sloped tunnels, and had to do it all without the aid of psy or a mental network for support. Having such a crutch was something you never appreciated until it was taken away. The men were, well, let's just say the amount of air they were sucking in would make people think a monster and clambered into the tunnels and was charging at them.
The only thing she could say that was good about the trip was they avoided goblins after the encounter in the first few minutes. At first, she chalked it up to the bastard's skills and stolen memories.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
After the trip dragged on and she had far too much time for her thoughts to wander, she realized it might not be as big of an accomplishment as Kathren first assumed, given the apparent size of the tunnel network under the city. He's not much of a reaper if he can't even detect such a massive project literally going on under his nose. If he's so bad at the job, he should resign. Kathren mentally muttered to herself. Maybe then I—
Snorting in annoyance, Kathren focused back on the march, finding that they had stopped, and everyone was sliding down the walls for a rest. Moving away from the rest and into the shadows at the back of the group, Kathren slumped against the wall, following the rest of the men as she took out some rations and drank from her water skin while keeping watch down the tunnel.
Kathren hadn't been seated for more than a few minutes before she heard the footsteps of someone walking up to her. Half turning, she saw a figure that was nothing more than a shadow outlined by the lanterns but with shoulders so broad she instantly knew who it was. Turning her back to the fatherless man, Kathren faced down the tunnel into the darkness.
The sound of footfalls stopped a few feet behind her, and the only sound filling the tunnel was the soft murmuring of the legionaries and the rustling of their clothes. "You know," The Bastard said, his voice soft, "You are going to have to look at me eventually."
“Per… ha… Ps. But… Not… Willingly…" Kathren stuttered, her tone far more acrid and biting than she intended, but she couldn't stop herself. "Do you have any idea how annoying that was? I pitied you for it, and then I find out it's all part of an act. Good job, you fooled me. Woohoo! What do you want?"
"Hmm, yes, actually, I do know how annoying it is. It's not much better from my side." Redgenald said, wry amusement filling his voice. "If you feel lied to, I do apologize. I had no intention of making you feel that way, but I need you to grow the fuck up and perform the job you were trained for."
"What did you say?" Kathren hissed as she spun about, hopped to her feet, and leaned into the man's space with her hands flexing at her sides, "I have been doing my job! I don't know shit about caves, how to navigate them, or where we are going, so excuse me, oh mighty Reaver, who can pull maps out of people's minds. The least I can do is what "I was trained to do" by watching the rear of the formation in case anything is trying to sneak up on us." Kathren stepped back with her hands raised, patting the air like she was suddenly afraid to get too close to him, "Oh, but I wouldn't want to pop that ego you're sporting by getting too close to you or questioning your apology. It might affect our chances down here if you suddenly start second-guessing your actions now."
“…Look," The Bastard sighed, "that came out wrong… I was just trying to say we need a scout at the front."
"Ahh~!" Kathren drawled, leaning back in with narrowed eyes and staring into the dark spot where his face should be. "You need 'A' scout. Any will do? I just happen to be the only one around? I see. I guess that would fit your utilitarian mindset. "
"No! I didn’t—
"No. I think you have said it all already." Brushing past the Bastard, Kathren stalked down the tunnel, ignoring his half-heated call out behind her. I'm the child? Me? I'm doing my fucking job as best I can, and he calls me a child? Well, he is a narcissist with a stick up his ass who can't see past his own wants and objectives.
Most of the legionaries eating and resting looked up from their meals as Kathren passed. Glancing at her, they gave small nods of greeting, but their eyes widened in fear as they flicked past her before quickly dropping their heads back to what they were doing. It seemed that everyone was well aware of who — but more specifically what — the Bastard was, and no one wanted to catch his attention.
It was not a surprising reaction. Pretty reasonable, really. They were all down here on the Bastard's order, so they knew who and what he claimed to be. And a claim was all that was needed.
Everyone knew that if someone claimed to be part of the Reapers and wasn't, the consequences to the individual and anyone close to the person would be severe. And this wasn't a severe fine, stint in prison, or anything like that. This was a severe, long, and bloody torture session for the individual and anyone around them — unless they were the ones who turned the false reaper in — before new corpses were presented for public display.
Someone in the Reapers had the authority to do practically anything they wanted. It was a lot of power and such an enticing opportunity that there was always someone who claimed to be one every couple of decades, making the perfect example to horrify the latest generation. With the consequences so harsh, assuming anyone claiming the position was telling the truth was general practice.
And right now, the reaper was thundering down the passage, radiating so much disapproval and annoyance that it could be felt. If the Bastard wanted to scream into her ear that he was taking a front at her actions and attitude, he couldn't be more apparent, as if what he said was all her fault.
The oppressive silence traveled along the corridor with them, and it only slightly lessened when they reached the front of the line as Kathren walked up, giving a quick salute to Centurion Borment before saying overly loud, "I hear you need 'A scout!' I have to say I'm not sure how much my skill set can be within this tunnel."
The centurion's eyes flicked to Kathren in surprise, then past her before returning a few times as no one said anything. As seconds scraped by, the silence only thickened, and he hesitantly grunted, "Yep, gal, we can use you. The…" His eyes flicked past Kathren for a moment, but the Bastard never spoke up — the coward — leaving the centurion to do the explanation. "Reaper told us this tunnel ends a few hundred feet up. Says it exits into a hollowed-out cavern that is still under construction. Placed along the room are supposed to be load-bearing pillars they are building to collapse the ceiling easily. We need you to scout it out and see what situation we find ourselves in."
"I understand," Kathren said, "I'll be right back."
"We," The Bastard stated.
Ignoring him, Kathren moved forward, passing by his men, who were gathered to the side, watching everything play out. "I told you he shouldn't be the one to go get her." One of them snickered to the others, causing the rest of them, even the indifferent knight, to cough into their fist and smile in an attempt to hide their laughter. It did not work that great, but she supposed it wasn't meant to.
"Gregory," The Asshat rumbled as he passed, "I better see you leading the charge."
The man who spoke first shut up, but the coughing of the others only picked up, though Kathren ignored them as she checked her gear before moving down the passage. She never looked back to check, and she heard nothing, but Kathren was sure that the Bastard was moving like a shadow behind her. She didn't care; it was time to do her job, and everything else was meaningless.
Minutes passed as she silently moved down the passage. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she noticed a green glow at the end of the passage. Getting low and slowing down, Kathren noticed Redgenald appear next to her, and they both crept up to the tunnel's mouth, looking into the dimly lit chamber.
"Well…" Kathren said, her tone dry enough to form a desert within what must be an eighth-of-a-mile-long and hundreds of feet wide chamber, "I don't think your information is the most accurate."