And by all accounts, it did.

Over the course of the following days, Pallas and Qingxi continued to orchestrate several minor skirmishes with the Hashashiyyin, growing stronger and more coordinated as a pair with each engagement. So much so, in fact, that by the time they arrived at the doorsteps to Minlos, Soleiman could hardly tell apart the Protoataphoi standing before him from the one they had felled mere weeks before.

In all fairness, Pallas and Qingxi had taken their training extremely seriously. To the extent that both of them refused to take the artificial extensions on their legs off at all. Every moment, both waking and asleep, they spent in their stilts.

Pallas even added on a few blood-soaked strips of cloth to the machinery to act as external muscles to further strengthen herself.

The two of them had grown so adept at moving, in fact, that they eventually decided on expanding the functionality of the costume, draping on another layer to conceal the addition of several artificial arms to more closely mimic the Protoataphoi. These arms were built out of wooden skeletons and fabric skins and were stuffed with feathers, wool, hair and grass. Each component courtesy of Soleiman, Rumi and the villagers respectively.

These arms were soaked in blood much like the cloth muscles within the beast’s skull and were also controlled entirely by Pallas and her recently expanded ability to dexterously manipulate large amounts of blood all at once. Somehow, it seemed the injury she sustained during the first encounter with the Protoataphoi had left in her even more latent powers she could further hone alongside the immediate additions of automatic blood armour and the still erratic bloodbursts.

It felt odd, in a way, seeing the beast that had razed Mesimeos and countless other villages to the ground pacing around before him. But it wasn’t so bad. He couldn’t bring himself to feel the same dread and fear he did before the thing’s defeat after having seen it scamper around a village playground with ribbons tied to its skull and goofy eyes pasted atop its gaping sockets. And it seemed the villagers thought so too, given how they were approaching the thing with smiles on their faces.

Speaking of which, there were a lot of villagers.

The ‘little’ encampment that he had planned for, situated within the trees at the top of a densely forested hill overlooking the Minlos regional stronghold, had bloomed to accommodate just over half a hundred people- partly because the plan he had to assault Minlos demanded such manpower. Even still, though, seeing faces from every single village congregating all in one spot to talk and practice and break bread with one another was something that his mind could not wrap itself around. That they had done this, a reunion of this scale, an effort of this magnitude, was an immense point of pride for him.

Some of the villagers present there had also apparently reunited with estranged family members, sprinkling the gathering with pleasant surprises and family reunions throughout the late evening as the last few soldiers trickled in.

And, amongst those reunions, Pallas found she’d fulfilled a promise.

“Miss Pallas!” Alexandros called out to the Protoataphoi, a young man around about half his age in tow.

By that time, Pallas and Qingxi had begun taking the costume off, giving them a chance to breathe in the forest’s fresh air and to take one last break before the attack on Minlos.

“Mister Alexandros!”

“You did it! You’ve done it!” He said excitedly, falling to his knees as he clasped Pallas’ hands in his and shook them vigorously. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome Sir,” Pallas said, a little uncertain as she flashed looks at the young man. “But… what have I done again?”

The grin on Alexandros’ face somehow grew even larger, those tired wrinkles of his somehow lightening up despite everything.

“Miss, this is my son,” he said, pulling one hand away from Pallas’ to gesture at the young man.

He nodded his head, waving shyly at her and Qingxi.

“I must thank you, really, for I never thought that I would be able to see him again.”

“Oh, that’s your son?” Pallas responded, perking up at the surprise.

Alexandros nodded eagerly in turn.

“Well,” Pallas puffed. “I did make a promise, didn’t I?”

Alexandros laughed.

“That you did, Soteira. That you did.”

To think that so many families had been mended that very day.

He tried not to worry about the battle tomorrow. To worry about how many men and women they would lose in the confrontation. To worry about if they would even win at all.

…

No, they wouldn’t lose. He wouldn’t allow it.

“Alright, everyone!” Soleiman yelled, the entire camp falling silent as their eyes fell upon him.

Everything would go to plan.

“Try to wrap up for the night soon! We’re falling into formation just before noon tomorrow, so get as much rest as you can!”

There was a slight murmur in the crowd, a varied mix of disappointment and agreement. Some wanted a little bit more time to catch up with their children, while others felt they were done for the day.

“Give us a speech, Sir!” a man called from the camp.

“A speech?”

Slowly, from all over the camp, the soldiers began calling for a speech. Their voices first cacophonous, but slowly synchronising to form a tremendous march that would not yield.

Soleiman looked over to Pallas.

“Do it,” she mouthed, flashing him a thumbs up.

Dang. What the hell was he going to talk about?

“Alright, alright!” he said, and the crowd fell silent again. So silent, in fact, that he could feel his knees beginning to shake. “Er, uhm…”

His eyes fell to the ground, too afraid to look any of the soldiers in the face.

Uh oh.

He looked back up at Pallas, panic in his eyes.

This was just a speech. Why was he suddenly so afraid?

She simply smiled in turn, nodding gently. The soft, patient kindness on her face reminding him of their mother.

And in that moment, he felt himself transported. Through the years, through the Minervan forest, all the way back to that orphanage in Amocolis he once called home.

On the day Rei came to adopt him as her own, they made sure to play one last great game within the walls of the orphanage. This time, she had set the battlefield up such that there would be no advantage for either side. The troops were of equal quality and quantity, and the terrain was more or less roughly constructed to ensure a fair fight- what little advantages that did somehow exist being on Soleiman’s side.

And most importantly, this time, Rei knew she could go all out against him.

He ended up on the losing end of the fight. Horrendously so.

Without a numerical advantage and an inability to comprehend the game of strategy at a level comparable to Rei’s, the last of his men had been cornered at the top of a hill, besieged on all sides by archers with lurking cavalry battalions circling the hill in preparation to strike.

“What’s wrong, Soleiman?” she asked, her fluffy tail swishing about behind her across the carpet map.

“I… I don’t know what to do,” he replied, voice wavering. He stared blankly at the battlefield, his mind at a complete impasse and his vision slowly blurring. His heart and mind terrified at the prospect of letting her down at the last hurdle. “Miss Rei, I…”

“What about those men?” she asked, gesturing to the small group of men he had stationed on a nearby hill, separated from the rest of his battalion by an open valley. “Why don’t you use them?”

“They’ll get killed,” he responded, a tear falling from his eye as he looked up at her. The futility of the situation ensnaring his psyche in broken, defeated sorrow. “When they get to the valley, they…”

She wrapped him in her arms, letting the warmth of her embrace flow into him.

“Miss Rei?” he said, his tears now staining the front of her gi.

“It’s okay, Soleiman. I’m not disappointed in you,” she said. “You don’t have to cry.”

He sniffled, wiping whatever residual tears were left in his eyes with his shoulder.

“Really?”

“Really. It just sounds to me that you’re scared,” she said. “But there’s no need to be. You won’t know whether it’ll work or not until you try, right?”

“Mm, I guess so.”

“Here,” she said, sitting back. “How about I tell you a poem my mother used to tell me whenever I was scared?”

He nodded, drawing in a deep breath as he basked in the crowd’s resolute silence.

“I may not have the right words to address you now, my brothers and sisters,” he said, his voice now steady. “But please, allow me to recite to you a poem that has blessed me with courage. A poem imparted to me, by my mother.”

Listen on here, closely my dear

As I hand you this crimson rose.

While we sit on this pier, shed not any tears

As I tell you how this story goes.

There once flew a bird over the skies of Phia

Whose feathers went untainted by sin.

It travelled the world, to look for food freer

On behalf of all of its kin.

It flew without pay and alone with its might

Through the hot Solean day and the cold Northern night.

It flew true and brave, its heart still untinged

Through dark Thalassist caves and harsh Caldarian winds.

But long through its flight

The world stopped being bright

And the bird was filled with fear.

It felt all forgotten

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Its spirits downtrodden

For its loneliness was all too clear.

But onwards it fought

Though its feelings distraught

Until its bounty was finally here.

And once returned to its kin

The birds celebrated its win

For they had always held it dear.

So fear not young one, as my words you heard here

The battle will be won and your victory is near.

So go out and fight, let your enemies know fear

For when all is said and done, I will be here.

That small detachment of men charged down the hill, slamming into the battalions of cavalry and miring their forces in a slog of a battle in the depths of the valley. Meanwhile, the besieged soldiers seized the opportunity to break from their position, overwhelming the unsupported archers and eventually forcing a draw- with what remained of Rei’s cavalry being too small in number to meaningfully challenge Soleiman’s soldiers uphill.

“There,” Rei said, patting his head. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”

Slowly, applause spread across the camp. At first it was just a few periodic claps, but soon it surged in intensity as the crowd was stirred into action, roaring in support, cheering the sentiment.

“We will return!” one the men said.

“We will return! We will return!”

“Yeah,” Soleiman said under his breath, his eyes falling to look upon his sister as she cheered him on. “We will all return.”

Soon, it was noon the next day, and the entire company was ready and armed- pitched for battle.

Directly beside him atop the hill were the five pairs of archers, armed with a singular regular arrow alongside several heavy-duty fire arrows made to ignite explosively and spread lingering fire to where they landed. They would provide the long-range assistance Pallas, Qingxi and the melee groups would require to effectively engage the Hashashiyyin.

Rumi was there with him too, meant to provide a desperate last defence if somehow the Hashashiyyin were able to slip through the scattering of scouts he had placed around the hill to keep an eye out on his behalf.

He sat atop a branch that poked just barely out of the treetops, squinting through the brilliance of the day. As far as he could tell, the last of the Hashashiyyin that hadn’t been positioned atop the stout watchtowers had already filtered into the main tent within the encampment’s singular layered wooden palisade wall, and the preparations for the day’s noon prayers had begun.

He had read about these prayers before, how it was a common cultural practice specifically amongst the men from the Ahd to attend large-scale communal prayers every week in honour of Lady Calisura on the day that she first granted the flame God supposedly bestowed upon her to their tribe. A power that would allow them to go on to oust the Merkezi invaders and survive the secession of the Sahlbarid and Janub tribes in the eastern half of the confederation and continue on as a resilient and independent city-state. At least up until their recent expansion between Burkannar’s bounds.

He also read about how these prayers had been exploited in warfare. More precisely, how Merkezi and Minervan forces occasionally took advantage of this cultural quirk to catch them off guard and to inflict crushing victories they otherwise would not have been able to achieve. How even the Sahlbarid and Janub tribes, with five regular prayers of their own spread out throughout the day, were able to use such a consistent phenomenon to give themselves the upper hand.

This advantage applied even more so to them, as the Hashashiyyin would most likely expect the Protoataphoi to both be unaware of such a tradition and choose to instead attack at night- consistent with most other attacks it and its kind had previously conducted throughout Minerva.

That being said, Soleiman admitted that it wasn’t a pretty prospect. But there was also nothing pretty about the Order’s excesses in Minerva. And so they prepared to take advantage of the prayers themselves, as the call to commence prayer rang out from within the tent.

Which, unbeknownst to the Hashashiyyin, was also the call to battle.

At once, ten regular arrows sung through the air, burying themselves in the chests of the three watchmen. The sounds of them splitting bone and piercing flesh masked by the melodious droning of the call to prayer.

Below them, the melee groups, twelve in number and three strong each, swiftly rushed into position alongside the Protoataphoi. Each group had two archers and one fire lancer, and their main purpose was to encircle and besiege the encampment’s thin two metre tall wooden walls and gates. Four of them positioned themselves around the perimeter of the camp, and four more in total took up positions at either of the two open gates.

The final four, following the Protoataphoi as it slunk into the camp, would be there to assist Pallas and Qingxi in orchestrating the ambush.

And when everyone was in position, they simply waited, listening as the call droned on.

And on.

And on.

…

And then it stopped, and the Hashashiyyin entered their prayers.

All ten archers then let loose the first fire arrows of the bunch, letting the screaming lilac balls of flame screech through the air above the hill as they descended upon the pitiful recreation of the once cosy city. The tent that housed the Hashashiyyin erupted into flame, the spluttering blazing droplets of tar and sap infused with charcoal and saltpetre shooting out in all directions and soaking its volatile fabric in a raging inferno.

The Protoataphoi and the four groups that accompanied it watched on as screams of unbridled pain and terror rang out in unison from within the blazing tent.

“Ready, Pallas?” Qingxi asked, peering through the nasal cavity of the beast.

“You know it!”

They had to kill fast. Before the disrupting effects of the non-magical fires on the Hashashiyyin’s ability to cast flame wore off.

Just as the first few frightened and magic-less Hashashiyyin stumbled out of the tent, the Protoataphoi leapt forth from its hind feet, splitting its maw wide open as it descended upon the first target.

Its jaws slammed shut as Pallas tightened the blood-soaked fabrics within it, cleanly decapitating the man.

Creating a current of wind about a particular arm as she signalled Pallas to leap back, Qingxi managed to guide an arm from under their cloak and use it to snatch up another Hashashin in the midst of slipping out of the inferno just as she was lifted from the ground by Pallas. Then, Pallas dropped her back down, slamming the arm down at the same time and snapping the man’s neck as his skull met the earth.

Looking back up, the Protoataphoi met the gaze of an armless Hashashin, his eyes filled with terror and familiarity as he and Qingxi locked gazes.

“It’s here! The Protoataphoi is here!”

The beast surged forward and clamped its jaw down on nothing as Amir managed to throw himself out of the way just in time, collapsing to the floor as he beheld the beast now standing directly above him.

Qingxi’s ears twitched as she heard a slight rustle from the tent to her right.

The Protoataphoi suddenly stood back up on its hind legs again as two more Hashashin emerged from the tent, their lay clothing still smouldering with purple fire. Without warning, it suddenly leaped backwards, several of its limbs dashing out from under its cloak and throwing forth a flurry of darts and daggers- stabbing Amir in the abdomen, incapacitating another and cutting open the neck of the third.

Simultaneously, the four groups that had accompanied Pallas and Qingxi converged on the tent, squaring up as its blazing fabrics fluttered under the winds of the flames and the desperation of the Hashashiyyin within trying to escape. Suddenly, cuts began to emerge across the tent, the Hashashiyyin within resorting to tearing open the prison of fire with nothing but their soon-to-be-burnt nails.

The groups responded by charging into the gaps in the wall of fire, spears meeting bodies and holding them in the burning fabric as more fire arrows were shot into the inferno to add fuel to the fire.

If Soleiman’s estimations were correct, there should be anywhere from ten to twenty people present in the camp. And given that at least seven had already been killed, the remaining forces likely numbered close to half a dozen or so.

And they would present themselves to the Minervans in due time, as the tent erupted into giant amber flames.

Despite the magic dampening of the tent fire, the Hashashiyyin were somehow able to muster up flames of their own large enough to not only blast off the tent but also scorch an entire group of Minervans on the right side of the tent. A feat really only achievable through the means of-

“An Instrument!” Qingxi gasped, beholding the sight before her. “One of the Hashashiyyin have access to an Instrument-”

A singing bolt of flame emerged from the inferno of the tent, blasting the Protoataphoi’s flank and setting it ablaze. At once, Pallas flooded the cloaks with her blood, sending the crimson fluid trickling through the fabrics and suffocating the flames themselves, crusting over wherever they made contact and hardening to form a makeshift cloak to fill in for any holes.

The Protoataphoi shuffled on the spot, retreating slightly to reevaluate the situation as the tent’s fires died down and revealed the still living Hashashiyyin within.

There were four of them, and sure enough, one of them held a thin short sword in his hand- what was more likely than not the very Instrument that had been used to cast off the burning tent. Another was handless, his head bandaged and wounded from a previous encounter with Pallas and Qingxi.

And as they broke into combat with the groups encircling the camp, that scarred man fell to the ground, an arrow having found home in his chest. Regret in his eyes.

The Instrument user immediately cast a second rolling gale of fire, engulfing yet another group in flame as he emerged from the left side of the tent, scaring the second group present there into retreating back towards the Protoataphoi as their friends and brothers’ skin and flesh melted and sloughed off of their very bones before them.

On the opposite end, two Hashashiyyin had advanced on the singular group remaining there. The archers let their arrows fly through the air as the men leapt towards them, impaling and incapacitating one. The other surged forward, slipping past a wild desperate thrust from the fire lancer and grabbing his spear- yanking it forward to grab and subsequently scorch his face. Unwilling to give the archers even a moment of reprieve, he set upon them wild swoops of flame, the amber glow of their burning bodies illuminating the several scorch marks splattered across his body.

The gap was closing. And the danger was suddenly very real.

Qingxi hoisted the beast’s skull high as she summoned forth a powerful current of wind- directing it through the beast’s throat and bellowing forth an animalistic roar for support.

At once, the groups reinforcing the gates spilled into the encampment, bows knocked and lances at the ready.

As the Protoataphoi roared, the Instrument user threw himself high up into the sky to avoid two arrows hastily shot towards him, slashing his sword through the air and calling forth a wave of blistering flame to engulf the last group that had initially accompanied the Protoataphoi into battle.

Freezing the reinforcements in fear.

Just then, the battlefield erupted into lilac fire again as the archers heeded the call of the Protoataphoi’s roar- engulfing the last two Hashashiyyin in smoke.

Pressing the advantage the moment it presented itself, the Protoataphoi rushed forward towards where the Instrument user landed. Qingxi split the smoke with her winds and lunged forward with the maw of the Protoataphoi split wide open.

The man rocketed out of the way, leaping well up into the air as he looked down on the beast below. He pulled his short sword back, suddenly swinging it forward and sending down yet another surge of fire, just narrowly missing the Protoataphoi as Pallas hoisted Qingxi up and leapt backwards to avoid the attack.

As the beast jumped back, it revealed its arms once more, throwing forth a second volley of knives that saturated the air like a swarm of locusts, their blades digging into and piercing the flesh of the Instrument user as he hovered in the air.

Without wasting a moment Qingxi signalled to Pallas to let loose the lilac flames, dropping the jaw of the beast as they landed and calling forth her winds to blow forward a column of billowing fire towards the man. Though completely blinded by the brightness of the flame, the Protoataphoi spun about, swerving its head to the right to try and catch the other Hashashin too before he could react.

But he had already bolted from his position, circling around to the beast’s flank and leaping up into the air.

The lilac flames died out, and Qingxi caught a glimpse of the man as he thundered down from the sky, boots coated in flame as he aimed for the centre of the beast’s spine.

“Pallas, detach!”

The Protoataphoi suddenly split into two as the Hashashin slammed into the earth, stunned.

“What the!”

Wasting not another moment, Pallas booted the Hashashin with her artificial legs, sending him rolling and scrambling to get up as Qingxi threw aside the beast’s skull and leapt to the right and out of the way just in time to stop the other Hashashin dead in his tracks out of fear of injuring his last remaining comrade.

Pulling her fist back, Pallas threw a jab directly into the liver of the Hashashin before her, forcing him to collapse back onto his knees in excruciating pain.

But there was no bloodburst.

Arrows suddenly sung in from the gate closest to them, flying over the kneeling Hashashin but burying themselves into the Instrumenter’s back as he turned to pursue Qingxi.

“Gargh!” the Instrumenter spat, his mind still reeling from the shock of the entire situation. “Go kill the ones at the gate, I have them!”

At the other end, the two groups began to spill into the encampment, egged on by Alexandros as he levelled his lance and led the charge towards the engagement to try and rally the others.

Qingxi bolted from her position towards the injured Instrument user, dodging to the right to avoid a blast of fire and barreling through the air to try and outmanoeuvre him as he struggled against the wooden shaft now buried within his body. But again he sent forth another wave of flame, forcing Qingxi to leap backwards to avoid it altogether and forcefully distancing her from him, his comrade and Pallas.

Heeding his comrade’s commands, the Hashashin that knelt before Pallas sprayed flames before her, forcing her back as he rose to his feet and sprinted towards the gate- fire spewing from his back and from his feet as he rocketed away from her.

Immediately recovering from the attack, Pallas drew one of the few rolls of fabric attached to her hip, infusing it with blood and throwing its end forward towards the man. The tendril thus grasped the man’s arm, ensnaring him and yanking him back, dislocating his shoulder in the process.

“Damn you Minervan!”

Pallas slipped to the side to avoid a retaliatory bolt of flame, immediately yanking again on the string of cloth to yank the man through the air towards her as she slipped back into position and readied her fist- feeling as the blood beneath her skin began to boil with excitement.

But in the corner of her eye, she caught a sparkle of amber.

At once, she coated her fist in viscous, sticky blood, throwing her palm into the Hashashin as he fell upon her, before turning and throwing him towards that sparkle of amber- blocking the rolling gale of flame using his body and roasting him in the process.

“No!”

From the clouds of smoke behind the last Hashashin emerged Qingxi, spiralling through the air as she brought her foot down upon the man’s head.

Just in time, he dodged out of the way, only having the Instrument disarmed from him as Qingxi’s boot smashed into the assortment of tiny bones that made up his hand and wrist.

“You… you Minervans!” he yelled, backing away. “How could you-”

The man’s words were cut short, stopped by an arrow that had pierced the back of his neck and tore through his pharynx.

And the last Hashashin collapsed to his knees, finally ending the battle.