“Attempting to regain control of the two regions has been difficult work, even with the open cooperation of Rigport’s occupation government. To add onto our troubles, Eberheim has…”
Another click. Back to Eberheim, but a real photo of the city from an elevated position, likely a nearby hill. A huge cathedral stood proud in the middle of everything, spires reaching for the heavens. Another click. The same location and angle, but there was no city; the sky and everything around the city was shrouded by crimson fog.
“...Vanished. It’s not officially occupied or under siege, at least not by Grekurian or Pateirian forces as far as we’re aware. The whole city has somehow been made inaccessible to the outside world, completely cut off. The land immediately surrounding it is shrouded in thick, red fog, as you can see; a few of our people went in, but never came out. The Woodsman believes it to be the doing of a heretofore unknown, possibly Three Kings Era sect, an advanced isolation formation of some sort.”
“Of course. If individual cultivators are coming out of the woodwork after hiding for centuries, there is no reason an entire sect couldn’t have hidden itself for that long…” Zel said.
“Exactly. I decided that it would be best to give you, the elder of our city’s sole sect, the opportunity to deal with the situation as you see fit… And I would frankly prefer it personally as well. Not only out of a desire to avoid having our military deal with factors they are, for now, unprepared to deal with, but because I believe this to be a prime opportunity for a show of force. A city so close to Grekurian borders is… Extraordinarily “visible” across the border, in a manner of speaking. Of course, due to its great strategic and trade value, I would be willing to calculate compensation based on prevented financial damage after the situation has been resolved and the severity of the incident has been evaluated. Should it surpass what we can pay through liquid funds, the Newman Sect may stake claim to a portion of imported goods and export profits for a set period of time… Ah, there I go again. We can discuss it later, rest assured that you will be compensated appropriately. Just try to minimize collateral damage, you know how these things go.”
Zel nodded calmly, suppressing the impatient excitement already growing inside. There were still preparations to be had. Fortunately, she could fit a great deal of preparation into a very short time.
“I want the Hellhound Outriders, a couple squads of Third-models… And Strake.”
“They won’t be able to keep up with you. Certainly not the Third-models.”
“It doesn’t matter. Even if I can wreck a building in one swing, I can’t take and hold a city by myself, and I’m not going to muster the entirety of the sect for this. Even if I did, our numbers wouldn’t suffice. We’ll go on ahead with a small force, just me and whoever I need to bring down the isolation array, and the Hellhounds go in afterwards to back us up. They can hold their own, and Strake is a cultivator in all but name. That machine of his was the most lethal thing in Willowdale for a short time after Ubul’s Tomb.”
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The governor went silent, looking through his papers, toking from his cigar in consideration. Zelsys instantly knew that she would get what she wanted. She leaned over the table to drive her point home: “Crovacus, I need dogs of war to root out the rats while I butcher the dragon that has perched itself atop that cathedral's spires.”
The Grekurian-style cathedral stood proudly in the middle of the old city's central square. It was in a strong tactical location, and likely sturdy enough to work as a fortress. He looked up at her. A smoke-filled sigh.
“Fine. A platoon of Hellhounds and five squads of Third-models - three Steelwings and one Gundream commander unit each… And you can try to drag Strake out of his cafe on your own. I’m sure you’re well aware that he’ll cut into your payment.”
“I couldn’t care less,” she smugged. “How long?”
“One… No, two days. Some of the Gundreams just had new armaments fitted and they still need to be zeroed. Is that acceptable?”
“Two days it is. Six in the morning, at the northern gate.”
The governor gave a nod, and that was that. Zel left his office intent on obtaining the Rook to go with her Knights and Pawns.
Of all things, opening a cafe was among the last that Zelsys would’ve expected from someone like Strake. The place had, however, become quite well known in its few months of operation, in no small part due to the striking sculpture out front - a burned-out first-model tank suit locked in a melee with an Inquisitor’s armor, filled by a skeleton made of scrap metal and with two holes through the chest that perfectly matched the diameter of a tank-suit’s pilebunkers. It was in a street-corner building, on the turn of a street in the same north-eastern quarter of the city as the sect. The sign above the door was made from a salvaged piece of armor plating, with “COFFEE AND BAKED GOODS” painted in military font. Next to the door hung a string of several smaller signs of the same make, advertising several kinds of hand-rolled cigarettes and a dedicated smokers’ area, as well as teas, pastries, and even frozen desserts.
The interior was gorgeous, and a grizzled man with the same crosshatched facial scars as Strolvath manned the counter, wearing a dark apron and his hands covered in flour. She hadn’t been here in a while - not since before her journey to the north - and it showed.
“Good day, Ulrich! Is the boss in?” she asked cheerfully, striding through the store, even as Ulrich and a handful of patrons tracked her every movement with wide-open stares. One of the sweets in the display case caught her eye - a so-called windmill, a round choux pastry with two circular halves, a filling of caramel cream in the middle and a thick layer of sugar glaze on top. “And give me… Let’s say twenty of these. You have twenty, right?”
“Oh, you’re- I’d heard that you were back, but I didn’t expect you to come. Sure, I can do that,” Ulrich stammered. He’d always been nervous, ever since the war, and none held it against him. Every single employee of this cafe was like that, forever scarred by warfare and without any desire to return to war… Well, the second half didn’t apply to Strake himself. Ulrich skillfully stacked twenty windmill pastries into a wax paper lined box, conspicuously not answering Zel’s question about his boss.
“Ulrich. Is the boss here? C’mon. I won’t bite him. That was one time, and we were just sparring. I’ve got something serious to talk about with him.”
“...Alright, he’s in the back. As far as I’m concerned you forced your way past me.”