"He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight"

-Sun Tzu

Marcus looked down upon the swathe of hunched, humanoid rats that surrounded him, staring at his naked body like it was the body of a God.

And once more he shouted the only words his mind could conjure:

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"

Around him was a dark basalt cave that looked like it was on the verge of collapse – pieces of the conal stalactites above were shaking as projectiles hammered off them – arrows and makeshift bullets that Marcus had to duck to avoid.

His voice shook the creatures before him to their core, and only one of them – the filthy looking one with a staff topped by the horned skull of one of its own – dared to step towards him.

"We are being sorry, Shai-Alud, for calling upon you without warning. But our lives are being in danger, and we must be returning to Fleapit tonight to deliver vital information to King Shrykul."

"We – we were being desperate, Sire," another filthy rat chimed in as it saw Marcus' disgusted face. This one was clad in grime-soaked steel and held himself above the others. He was at least twice the size of the tiny rodent with the staff who called him 'Shai-Alud.'

"We know you must be confused," he continued. "But we cannot afford to wait here. Answers will be given after the battle is won!"

"Confused!?" Marcus railed. "That's an understatement! You're a talking rat!"

The ratlings all shared a confused look at eachother.

"We thought the human kingdoms of the surface are all having heard of us."

"You! You…" Marcus trailed off. He suddenly remembered the last sight he saw before he was transported here – that of Mari's blood-soaked face trembling in the dark.

"Let me out of here," he demanded. "Now."

The robed rat moved forward. "Shai-Alud, we cannot be-"

Marcus pushed past him, ignoring his excuses, and eventually collided with the ratling sheild wall.

"Let me pass!"

One of the rats – a skittish-looking fellow with red-tipped whiskers - turned his head and squeaked, "We cannot be doing this, Sire! The Kobolds will swarm us!"

Kobolds…

"Get out of my way!"

Marcus shoved himself into the shield wall – four rats deep, each man holding against what he now saw was a hail of arrows and bolts that hammered the shields of those at the front. He observed the ratlings shift and move back, the row behind then replacing the front row, giving the latter line time to recover.

They were like living shock absorbers, Marcus mused. But as he pushed passed another ratguard and saw who their enemy was, he realized that they had no chance of holding out.

They were positioned at the mouth of a cave that overlooked a streaming gulch, filled to the brim with oozing green water (or at least, Marcus assumed it was water). On the other side of the gulch lay a horde of yipping red demons firing arrow after arrow at the ratling's position, harrying them with impunity and crying out a flurry of taunts Marcus didn't understand.

He stepped back, slowly, and the ranks closed up behind him, before he finally bumped into the big rat-man again.

"You see, Shai-Alud," the creature said. "We are needing your help. We cannot survive like this."

Marcus's eyes were starting to adjust to the grim situation he saw around him. Slowly he came to see the dying and dead rats that lay littered across the cave floor, their bodies riddled with arrow shafts, their eyes filled with festering maggots.

"This…this is a dream," Marcus said, rubbing his eyes forcefully. "This – yeah – I'm dreaming, right? I have to be."

His train of thought was abruptly interrupted by the big rat lunging towards him.

"Shai-Alud!"

He felt something graze the top of his head before he hit the ground, the huge rat bearing down on top of him.

The arrow that had just missed the back of his skull embedded itself in the far wall of the cave.

And Marcus was forced to concede that the sting of the projectile as it flew by the tips of his split end hairs was all too real.

"The barking demons dare to attack Shai-Alud!" The robed rat howled. "They shall taste of his vengeance! Sire, be giving us your direction. Be telling us your plan!"

Marcus blinked as the massive rat hauled him to his feet. "Plan?"

"Indeed, great Shail-Alud! It is said that He-Who-Festers will summon to us a champion who's power shall be knowledge. A champion that shall be plucked from the realm of Gods and take the shape of a human man. A champion who shall be guiding us out of the long night of our suffering and usher in a new era for the Under-Kingdom! A champion with the same scent as our kind!"

Marcus bristled at that last bit. But, well, he had to admit that he did stink.

If not showering this morning was what contributed to him being summoned to another world, he was beginning to understand why most protagonists of those Isekai works he'd heard about were often children whose IQ approached that of a refrigerator's.

"You…selfish, arrogant little creatures!" Marcus yelled. "You have no idea what you've done to me! My – I had a life back there! I had a girl…I had my…my work!"

He collapsed into himself like a bundle of falling cards, covering his face in his hands.

"My book.." he murmured. "My manuscript – all my notes – gone…"

The Rat-men looked to each other, unsure of how to proceed.

"Deekius," the big one mumbled. "Are you being sure that this one is…"

The robed rat looked at his companion long and hard before returning his dark gaze to Marcus. His eyes were small, with slitted pupils that more resembled those of a snake than those of a rat's.

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As more cries of torment were heard from the shield wall, Deekius eventually produced a cup from beneath his robes and filled it with water from the surrounding cave floor. He then placed his claw over it and intoned a word that was lost to Marcus' ears.

What wasn't lost, however, was the hot cloud of steam that started to rise from the cup, and he suddenly became aware that he was indeed in a world where magic could course through the veins of even a creature as lowly as this.

Deekius handed the cup to Marcus and then placed a putrid hand on his shoulder.

"Shai-Alud," he said. "If it is my life you are wishing to take for my impertinent summons, I will be giving you it once this battle is won."

Marcus looked up at the ratman's dim eyes and saw the blind belief in him that shimmered behind them.

"I was not wishing to destroy your place in your realm," he went on. "I am being but a groveling priest of He-Who-Festers. I cannot be imagining how worshipped you are among your fellow spirits."

Marcus scoffed in spite of everything, taking a timid sip of the drink that had been offered to him. If only this dung-eating rat knew what his life back home was really like…

"But we are needing you, Shai-Alud. We are not needing books. Scrawls on pages are meaning nothing to us. What we need is the knowledge of one versed in war. Shai-Alud, that person is you."

Marcus sat back, seeing the same desperate desire reflected in the large armored rat that stood at attention behind the priestly one. Meanwhile, his stomach cried out at him to never accept a drink from ratmen again.

He might have said something, but Marcus was too preoccupied with something else. Something Mari had said just before all this madness:

Look – it's you that's the most important thing here.

He sighed deeply, looking down at his shaking hands.

"Mari…"

His hand then flew to touch the lice-ridden paw of the rat.

"If I help you," he said. "Could you send me back?"

The priestly Deekius hesitated. But it was the armored brute that spoke for him.

"Deekius will do as the Shai-Alud commands," he barked. "If there is being a way to send you home – he shall work until his back is broken to find it!"

The ratman stared angrily at his companion, but Marcus wasn't satisfied.

"I want your word, rat," he said. "If promises mean anything to your kind."

"SIRE!" the commander of the shield wall screeched. "We cannot be holding much longer!"

"HOLD, REDWHISKERS!" The brute shouted with an intensity and bassoon that surprised Marcus. "Retreat, and I will be killing you myself!"

He and the priest then looked back at him.

"Your word, Deekius," Marcus stated.

"I – yes," he murmured. Then, with more feeling: "I give my word I shall give my life to find a way for you to return home if you shall be helping us keep ours!"

Marcus smirked. "I can probably help you win this battle," he said. "But your soldiers will have to listen to me."

The armored brute beat his fist against his chest, taking up his spear and shield with renewed tenacity. "We await your command, Shai-Alud! Tell us where we must strike the enemy!"

"We won't be striking anyone," Marcus replied, matter-of-fact. "Not in this position. Not when you're hemmed in with no ballistics capacity whatsoever."

The rats blinked their confusion at their prophesized savior as more arrows began to sing over their heads.

"Do you have a map?" Marcus asked. In the face of their confused faces, he elaborated, "A drawing of the area. Major paths, any roads, narrow passes, or maybe a larger body of water than what's out there?"

The ratmen looked embarrassingly at one another.

"We are not being artists, Sire."

Marcus tutted. "Well, you must at least have a camp nearby, right? You said something about getting a message to your king. Where's your destination?"

The armored one understood this time. "Fleapit is being a week's journey away," he explained. "I was leading our Clawpack to Knifegrot fortress when we were attacked by these idiot Kobolds. The fort has many supplies, much food, and many more rats, and is a day's journey away on claw."

Marcus pondered that. A day's journey? With this beleaguered force? It was unlikely they'd make it, even if they made a successful breakout.

But they were dead if they sat here. At least if they kept moving, they'd have a chance.

Staring at the slowly dissolving shield wall, a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Is there any way to cross the gulch?" Marcus asked. "On either our right or left flank?"

Skeever replied without hesitation, "I know these tunnels like the back of my claw, Sire. There are being two bridges at either end of Black Gulch. They're being rickety and old, but they can hold troops."

Marcus considered this. But he scrounged for more info:

"Do these Kobolds have any units specialized in CQC?"*

Again, the rats merely blinked up at him.

"Do…do they have swords for stabbing," he said slowly. "Or big spears like you?"

"Hah!" the big guy scoffed. "Kobolds are cowards, Sire. They strike from afar, always picking away at us as we move. They are not strong like us!" he beat a fist against his chest again.

Marcus nodded. A homogenous force composition was their weakness, then. They relied on a single tactic, probably betraying the simplistic nature of warfare in this underground waste.

Slowly, a plan began to form in Marcus' head.

"Shai-Alud?" Deekius asked. "If we are not to attack now, then what are we to do?"

"The only smart thing we can do," Marcus told the rat-priest. "We're going to run away."