Dawn broke on a day that blood was destined to be shed. The crisp morning air of fall gave subtle implications that it would soon turn to the chill of winter. However, none of the men or women who were organized in full battle dress paid it any heed, their minds set on the dark task before them.
The past two weeks had been tense, to say the least. After that night Zeph stood up to Gen, it seemed as though we had a target on our backs. Many members of our group had been the targets of harassment and some tents and one of the wagons had been vandalized when nobody was looking.
Above all that, Gen had made it very clear that he no longer cared for the specialized nature of Zeph's troops. Even after we had suffered the least amount of casualties and had been the most effective units in the army during that first battle, Gen found some way to pin the defeat on our heads. He had stated in no uncertain terms that the entirety of Zeph's company would be on the front lines in the upcoming second battle.
That second battle had taken much longer to arrange than I would have thought. After the defeat on the plains, Gen had ordered a falling back deeper into his territory to receive reinforcements from the nearby town of Oyr.
Irving had in response pressed his offensive even harder, doggedly pursuing our weakened army. I heard rumors from some of the local veterans that it was unusual for Irving to be so aggressive, and Zeph seemed similarly concerned over the unusual movements.
So here we waited, a freshly resupplied army stationed along a forest clearing. From the way I understood it, we would begin in the open field before us before slowly retreating into the cover of the woods. There, several smaller units more specialized in guerilla warfare would begin picking off the pursuing army. Unlike last time, Gen was aiming for a war of attrition rather than overwhelming victory.
The army waited on Irving's force to arrive, a solemn air hanging over the troops. Well, most of them at least.
Zeph's forces had been split up into three units, clustered on the right side of the army. With me in unit 3 was Orelio, twirling the new spear that had been fashioned for him. Arim was here too, chuckling at the beastkin and offering words of encouragement when he dropped the deadly weapon. Sam had climbed a tree and was looking out from one of the lower branches.
"See anything?" I call up to her.
"Yeah, I see 'em. They're maybe half an hour out." She grabs onto the branch she stands on and swings down before dropping to the ground.
"What are you, a monkey?"
She shrugs, "Would I be cooler if I was?"
"I dunno, you already look half gorilla."
"Heh, don't worry little one, one day you too could have muscles like these." She flexes her bicep, the burly arm looking like it was stolen off a bodybuilder.
"No thanks, I'll pass."
She frowns, a little disappointed her theatrics didn't impress. "What's a little guy like you doing here anyway?"
"Bad manners to ask someone their story without buying them a drink first, don't you think?" In truth, I've just grown bored of the looks of memory loss pity.
"Hah!" She wraps her arm around my neck and ruffles my hair, "You've got a nice pair on you, little one. If you ever want some action, just come find me. I'll help make you a man." She stops ruffling my hair so she can blow a kiss.
"Oh, quit teasing the boy, would you Samantha?" Arim calls over from where he and Orelio are still messing around.
Sam fixes him with a steely gaze, "Hey old man, who said you could call me that?"
"Oh come now, it's a waste to not use such an elegant name. Don't you think, my fuzzy friend?" Arim pats Orelio on the shoulder even as the uncomfortable beastkin tries to shimmy away, clearly anticipating a fight.
Sam takes her arm off my shoulder as she replies, "Do. Not. Call. Me. That."
Arim raises his hands in surrender, "As you wish, my lady."
"Hmph." Luckily, Sam seemed ready to let the matter drop.
"So what brought the warrior queen over to this side, if I may ask?" Orelio said, looking at Sam.
"Eh. Too many politics going on over there. People kept trying to rope me into their shady business, even after I kept declining. What about you? Didn't think the battle hungry spearman everyone talked about would suddenly ditch."
"I guess Irving doesn't favor people who lose very much. I had thought him more understanding and uh… noble, I guess. It certainly felt like he wasn't the same as a few weeks ago."
"Mmm."
"So, Sam. Mind if I ask something?" I jump into the conversation.
"What's up, little one?"
"I was wondering if you could tell me about Reverie. You said you're a follower of his, right?"
"Yeah, sure. He's the patron father of war and battle. His faith is founded upon the belief that a person's soul shines the brightest in combat. Most of his followers are people like me who don't really know any other way to live."
"Huh. Do they ever come into conflict with the church?"
"Oh, all the time. Reverie's famous for loathing Bymos, so some followers sometimes like to defile statues and stuff. Most don't get in the way of the church's work though. Most."
"Where do you lean on that scale?"
"I couldn't really care one way or another. Bymos has never done anything good for me, but I can't hate the church's cause. I started following the way of Reverie because it was the only way I knew how to live, really."
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"Why?"
She raises an eyebrow at me, "Now who needs to buy who a drink?"
"Fair enough," I say with a smile.
"Alright you two, we do have a job to do soon, so let's dial back the socializing. And you, would you put the spear down already? Goofing off around allies is one thing, but you'll only look like a fool if it gets you a bolt in the chest even before the battle begins."
"Sorry."
***
It didn't take very long for Irving's force to arrive after that. As they approach we march out of the woods, composed and orderly. It seems like lining up for slaughter is the norm around here.
Except Irving's force makes no attempt to form orderly ranks. They shuffle anxiously, and I can feel an air of open excitement and bloodlust coming from their army.
Gen rides out in front of us, halting in the open space between armies. The rider that comes out to meet him is not Irving.
Astride a stallion of black, draped in dark ragged clothing, a scarred man slowly canters to meet Gen. The men have a brief conversation, with Gen seeming to rage against the dark man's calm and stoic demeanor.
With barely a glance at Gen, the man rides to the side, shouting in a voice loud enough for both armies to hear. "We the faithful subjects of Maulia have tired of the unrelenting bloodshed of our countrymen! Tell me, people of Wald. DO YOU FEEL THE SAME? We will not stand idly by while these petty nobles waste the lives of our friends and family on a cause that serves none but themselves!"
Gen can't stand to listen anymore and shouts out, "Where is Irving, you cur?!"
"You wish to know where our treacherous leader has gone? Well, let's bring him out!"
The man raises an arm and a ball soars over the army behind him. The head bounces with a dull splat before coming to a rest at the hooves of Gen's mount.
"You swine!" Gen yells at the man cloaked in black, "I'll have your head!" Turning his mount back, he gallops towards us.
"Today we put an end to this pointless crusade of death! The men and women who lost their homes and lives in the flames of other's ambitions will be avenged! Today we fight not for coin or honor, but a cause worth fighting for!"
"Well, now everything's really gone to shit," Arim said from beside me.
"See this is why I never liked internal politics. Things always have a habit of getting way too messy." Sam chimes in.
"Hold fast men!" Gen calls out over the army from his horse, "Today we will show the dignity and pride of men of honor to those who have none!"
Even as Gen tries to rally his forces, the army that had previously followed Count Irving rushes forth in a jumbled and chaotic frenzy. Gen hurriedly dives into the safety of his forces, trampling those who do not make way for him in time.
"So, we still sticking to the plan?" Orelio asks with an air of calm certainty around him.
"Not sure. We'll have to see how this pans out. Keep an eye out for signals from Zeph or Albatos, then we'll know" Arim also didn't seem overly concerned, despite the raging horde coming right at us.
"Oh, this'll be fun," Sam said, and then the horde was upon us.
We weren't within any anti-magic area yet, so I took the opportunity to utilize some magic. Placing my hands on the ground I intone, "Earth, bend yourself to my desire," and lift my hands up and forward. I mold the earth before us into stone spikes that the first wave run themselves upon. Arim and Orelio take defensive positions in front to allow me to continue a magical assault while Sam catapults herself off my hastily constructed fortifications into the enemy ranks.
Even as I lost sight of her I heard Arim say to me, "Don't worry about her, I'm sure she knows what she's doing. Her fire won't be put out so easily."
I got off a few more spells, sticking to the traditionally simple method of hurling chunks of stone into the biggest group of enemies I could see, before somebody put up an anti-magic area. From there on it was a full on melee.
The once well trained soldiers of Irving's army seemed to have devolved into ravenous beasts, ferociously assaulting us any way they could find. Arim, Orelio, and I carved our way through that rabid wall of flesh methodically as it bore down upon us. As we protected each other's blind spots I got to see for the first time how truly effective they both were in this situation.
Arim used a rapier like myself, and utilized the Flowing Crane style of swordsmanship at a level far higher than I had even been able to attain. He moved effortlessly through the crowd, slashing necks and tendons as easily as he breathed.
Orelio's strength was even more impressive. Here within a crowd of people, I witnessed how deadly his projection truly was. Within almost no time at all his combo builds up a terrifying amount of speed, piercing through targets as though they were but paper.
I hadn't managed to master any of the styles Arim had been teaching me over our three month journey, but I had reached intermediate rank in Steel Rage, Heart of Oak, and Art of the Mundane.
Steel Rage was something you would see a barbarian using, and didn't really fit with my rapier that much, so I wasn't that inclined to use it too often. Heart of Oak was a defensive technique with a focus on being immovable. The defensive capabilities inherent to the style were a major reason Orelio hadn't killed me with all his spear bashing.
Art of the Mundane was the only style I had a mastery of beyond what even Arim was capable of. It was a style with a focus on combining traits and techniques from other styles. It was what allowed me to utilize the strengths of all the styles I had under my belt.
As the horde rushes into us I weave through several styles in a rapid mix of offense and defense. Arim and Orelio are much more inclined towards being forces of destruction, so I put my focus on support. Orelio misses a straggler? I cut them down. Too many opponents for Arim's Flowing Crane to deal with at once? I step in to take some heat off.
Maybe half an hour passes by, and we've slowly moved back into the line of trees as per the original plan. The enemy doesn't relent in their fierce attack, continuing to assault us like wild animals even as we gain a positional advantage.
While our right side of the line has held pretty well it seems as though the left has all but collapsed under the pressure. Once again I have to give credit to Zeph's leadership. He and Albatos have been continually passing orders between the units, providing a measure of discipline and organization.
Even though we've held, there have been screams from the backline, either the enemies circled around us through the forest or Gen's forces have started to turn on each other. To be honest, after that speech by the man in black, it wouldn't surprise me if the local conscripts had started turning on the mercs who only cared for Gen's coin.
Just as I'm wondering how many more feral troops there can be, I feel an alien presence bordering my mind.
Well well well. What have we here? A battle? No, a passionate struggle of life, death, and all the beautiful emotions in between?! MY MY MY WHY DIDN'T ANYBODY INVITE ME?!
The voice forces itself into my head without warning. I feel it's safe to assume every other person on the field hears it too as every other person has stopped moving to listen. All around I hear scattered cries of glee.
"What is that?" I ask.
"Reverie," Arim says with a sneer.
"Bastard actually showed up," Orelio chips in.
Oh don't mind me, it would be a shame to ruin the positively stimulating atmosphere. Wait, what's that I sense? There's something here that doesn't belong.
Before me, a presence materializes. Like static from a television he phases into existence, a vaguely human form, with the vibrant crimson-orange hair of a tink and the horn of a demon, it seems like a random mashup of the races.
You. You have his mark upon your soul. A blessed one, eh? Well, that's just not fair, NOT FAIR AT ALL.
The figure dematerializes, but I still hear the voice.
There is one among you who cheats, one who threatens to ruin the fairness of this wonderful festival of carnage. One who bears the blessing of that accursed do-gooder. I won't have it. I WON'T HAVE IT, I SAY.
This can't be good.
WHOEVER KILLS THE WHITE HAIRED BOY WITH THE BLESSING WILL RECEIVE A BLESSING OF THEIR OWN, FROM ME.
I feel every eye around me turn at once, staring directly at me.
Well fuck.