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chapter 4

After leaving the governor's manor, I suggested to Korgan that we take some downtime before joining the war efforts. The roads had taken their toll on us, and we agreed to report to the captain of the guard tomorrow.

As I made my way to the inn, I noticed Korgan engaging with a local woman. She smiled as if she had won some sort of prize, and they disappeared into his room for private conversation.

I, however, had business elsewhere. I headed to the other side of town, towards the edge of the cliff. The night was chilly, and the streets were lit by fluorescent solar-powered lights.

Usually, the Crossroads' streets were safe and welcoming, with a bustling night market. But tonight, the looming siege kept most citizens at home, leaving the streets nearly deserted.

Instead of marveling at the well-maintained roads and planned districts - a source of my pride - I found myself drawn to a less illuminated part of town where shadows concealed the dealings of residents. I approached a building as tall as the city walls, with a towering watchtower offering a panoramic view of the city and the valley below the cliff.

As I approached the entrance, the men on guard duty ordered me to state my business. I lit the light on my visor and presented the tattoo on my arm. "Do you recognize who I am?" I asked in a commanding tone. "Yes, sir!" they responded, their demeanor suddenly more submissive. "Please come in. Are you hungry or thirsty? Is there anything we can do for you?"

Minutes later, an armored man with a goatee and trimmed mustache emerged, accompanied by a slimmer individual in a black robe adorned with chains. "Founder, you have returned to us!" the armored man exclaimed, his face lighting up with joy. The robed figure bowed deeply.

"I have, Guild Master," I replied. "It seems you've held this place well. I would like to inspect your work." The Guild Master beamed, eager to showcase and boast about everything he had accomplished since my last visit. "Of course, Founder! Please, allow me to give you a tour of our operations," he said, gesturing for me to follow him deeper into the building.

I named this organization Special Operations and Intel Gathering, but the locals know them as the Thief Guild. I suppose that serves as an excellent cover. It was my first attempt at creating something like this, and based on what the Guild Master showed me, they seem to be doing quite well. They have a new training room for lockpicking and a crossbow

shooting range, and in general, it appears they've improved on most of what I taught them through trial and error. Why do the local authorities tolerate them? Because they have their uses, whether it's for intelligence gathering or, surprisingly enough, tax collection—though with a slight premium. Still, it's cheaper than losing the entire tax revenue to bandits.

As I inspected one of the crossbows, the Guild Master asked me what I plan to do about the impending conflict. His mouth was dry, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

He knows of my capabilities and was rightfully afraid. Wouldn't you be afraid of a being that can perform terrifying miracles?

"Ah, yes, I was enjoying myself too much," I replied. "Great job, Guild Master. Keep it up." I paused, then continued, "Now, to the reason I'm here. Do you have my key?"

The Guild Master gestured to the chain-wearing robed man beside him. "Keeper of the Key, the time has come," he said solemnly. The robed man presented a silver keycard, holding it as if it were a holy relic.

"Thank you," I said as I took the key. To be honest, I found all the ceremonious drama quite amusing, but it seemed fitting.

"Now, take me to the vault," I instructed, and they complied. At the base of the tower, there was a room with walls made of a different cement than the rest of the building's stone walls. Behind a secret compartment in one of the walls lay a high-tech vault that only my keycard and password could open. I believe no one else possesses such technology, as it came with my people when we crash-landed on this world.

As I said before, no one can open this safe but me. I signaled the humans to leave me.

I knew exactly what I wanted to retrieve. The device was inside its own metal chest, which could only be opened with my fingerprint. The object was there, just as I had left it during my last visit. I closed the chest and took it with me.

I can confidently say that the battle is won, and I pity the poor, ignorant holylands' grunts who cannot imagine the fate that awaits them.

Morning came, and as promised, we arrived at the guard captain's office. I inspected the area's map, pointing at a specific location. "What is this place?" I asked.

The captain explained, "Those are some old ruins at the crossroad between the northern road and the western road to the city."

"Can the enemy forces fit there?" I inquired. "Surely they will pass through there?"

"Indeed they will," the captain confirmed. "They don't have any other direct way. However, I would suggest we take the trade outpost as it's more defensible."

"No," I replied. "I need an open field to lure them into my trap, and the ruins surround the place—a perfect spot for an ambush. Also, they must pass through there." I added that

I needed to be close to the front lines. If I were behind the outpost walls or gate, they also wouldn't charge the walls in large numbers or form a shield wall, as the holy land forces do use shield walls.

"Alright, captain," I said. "Gather your men, bring some servants and working men with shovels, and we will also need a couple of heavy crossbow emplacements. We head to those ruins' pathway. I will brief you on what I want you to do when we get there, it will be easier to explain."

I went to meet Korgan outside. "Korgan," I asked, "what do you think about the men? Do you believe they are decent warriors?"

Korgan replied, "Those in plate armor seem decent. The rest are not warriors, their crossbows are decent. I hope you have something good because outside of a siege, this is not a fighting force."

I don't need them to be great fighters, they just need to do as they're told for my plans to work.

The rocky mountain road stretched before us, devoid of trees or any cover. This place was more desolate than the savanna. For half a day, we marched until we reached the crossroad ruins. The roads were separated by an arch, with huge ancient buildings lying on their sides on both sides of the recently built—or perhaps I should say excavated—arch.

The arch itself was reinforced with junk metal and cement. The building curved and served as some sort of wall between the northern and southern roads, with the rest of the ruins creating a courtyard effect, especially as it seemed cleared and had a well in the middle. I assumed it was once a resting place for travelers and merchants coming from the holy lands. However, I had no plans for it to remain a resting place, nor did I intend to keep it clear.

"Fill it with heaps of trash, rocks, and anything else you can find," I ordered. "Dig ditches between the gaps and cover them. I don't want any chance of forming battle lines or any formation. They will have to fight us one by one!".

I marked the edge of the building ruins' curves. On top of the ruined neutral wall, I ordered them to place the mounted crossbows and cover them with trash and blankets. That way, the crossbows and skirmishers would have the element of surprise and cover.

I stood at the edge of the neutral wall, which was once a tall building. I measured the distances in my mind, and it seemed right.

"They are not fools, our enemies," the captain told me.

"I know," I replied. "Worry not. With what I have planned, it wouldn't matter. There may even be no battle."

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Despite my reassurance, he still seemed skeptical.

I cranked the lever wheel of one of the crossbow emplacements. Like most of them, it was ancient world tech, what they called before the ruin a tactical crossbow. Most armors wouldn't withstand a bolt from one of these.

The men seemed happy, treating it like a field trip or vacation. The The sound of music and song came from the camp, the smell of roasted meat and beer barrels rolling to replace their empty companions. I was told that it was better to be happy before a battle, as you never know if it might be your last days. It was like a festival, some of the vendors even brought their cooks ,drinks and other entertainment. These people don't know of war.

It went on like that for almost a week, everything in place, and then a scout came running. "They are less than a day away!" he reported. Everyone went into their stations, hiding behind the clutter and in the dug trenches.

We showed a very small force, less than 50 men, most of them skirmishers. Their goal was to lure the enemy into the trap. My heart beat with anticipation, and fear gripped my heart with its skeletal touch.

The holy land army marched their numbers almost 200 spearmen and close to a hundred skirmishers. Their boots shook the ground as they marched. A horn sounded, and they stopped.

A couple of moments passed, and the horn played a marching tune as their new orders.

They sent their skirmishers with crossbows and javelins, and behind them, a line of spearmen. At their sight, as planned, some of the crossroad men pretended to flee in fear like cowards.

This gave the holy landers pause. They pelted those who stayed with bolts. Some hid behind their shields or cowered behind rocks and heaps of scrap we placed. Some even pretended to fall.

I waited for the spearmen to get close before I signaled the rest of the men to flee to cover. Once they did and the holy lander's spear lines were in my range, I opened the iron chest I took from the thief guild vault. From it, I pulled a blue object the size of a small melon and tossed it into the enemy ranks.

It was a plasma grenade, a relic of my people's lost technology. Fabricated from the damaged reactor coils of our ship, this ball of artificial plasma containment failure was a weapon of terrible power. Its blue glow pulsed ominously as it arced through the air, landing amidst the densely packed spearmen.

Three seconds later, it detonated with the ferocity of a miniature sun. Blue flames erupted outward in a sphere of destruction, vaporizing those caught directly in its blast radius. The heat and shockwave seared flesh and hurled bodies like rag dolls. Even those on the fringes of the explosion suffered severe burns and were pelted by shrapnel.

I knew this world held no materials to replicate such a weapon, nor did it need them. The devastation wrought by this single grenade was a grim reminder of the advanced technologies we had once possessed.

As the smoke cleared, I could see the carnage left in its wake. The holy landers recoiled in horror and disbelief, their formation shattered. Their leaders tried to rally them, promising paradise to the fallen, but the damage was done. The power and precision of our trap had been demonstrated in the most brutal fashion possible.

It would take them nearly an hour to regroup, their resolve shaken by the fearsome display of our capabilities. But when they did advance again, they charged headlong into the very trap we had laid for them.

I also gave the signals for those hidden and in reserve to take their place in the uneven and cluttered kill zone we created. And as planned, some of the enemies even fell into the ditches, giving us precious time to deal with their friends.

Even though the Holy Landers had the numerical advantage, they were no match for the Crossroads Guards in one-on-one combat outside of their formations. Their spears proved nearly useless in close quarters, and only a few possessed swords and chainmail. In contrast, the Crossroads men wore full plate armor, making the enemy's armor laughably ineffective against the spiked clubs wielded by my guards.

From my vantage point atop the crumbling ruins, I watched as the Holy Landers were steadily pushed back. But they were far from broken. They managed to form a spear line outside my trap, where the ground was clear of debris and obstacles. As I saw this, a sense of unease crept over me. This could pose a significant problem.

Just as I began to ponder our next move, a sight emerged from our own spear line that sent a chill down my spine. It was an automaton robot, a "metal skeleton" clad in the city's finest plate armor, wielding a massive two-handed sword that no human could hope to lift, let alone swing with such devastating force. The Holy Landers' spears were rendered useless against this mechanical juggernaut, which had no vital areas to target. Even if their points pierced its armor, the damage would amount to little more than a dent.

Following close behind the robot were some of our Dragonkin guards, similarly armored in plate and brandishing huge axes. With their thick scales and reinforced armor, the Holy Landers' spears could inflict only minor injuries on them.

At the head of this charge was Korgan, a warrior of unparalleled skill and strength. He charged directly into the heart of the enemy line, his massive horse cleaver sword gaining momentum with each brutal swing, carving through shields and flesh alike as if he were a master sculptor shaping his medium. From this close range, the spearmen stood no chance.

Korgan broke through their ranks, leaving a trail of severed limbs and shattered shields in his wake.

As the Holy Land army began to crumble, their leader, a knight clad in superior Holy Land crusader plate armor, attempted to reach the robot in a desperate bid for glory.

But Korgan blocked his path, eager to face a worthy adversary.

The knight charged at Korgan with reckless abandon, his huge two-handed sword in hand. Designed to deal with the robots they deemed unholy demons, the blade was more of a blunt instrument than a sharp weapon. Nevertheless, it served its purpose well against armor.

Korgan met the knight's charge with the blunt edge of his horse cleaver, deflecting the blow. In the same fluid motion, he riposted with a strike to the knight's helmet. Despite the

knight's attempt to evade, it was too late. Had he not been wearing a helm, his skull would have been split in two. The knight crumpled to the ground.

Before Korgan could deliver the final blow, a spear struck him from the side. Were it not for his chainmail, the spear would have gutted him. As it was, the tip managed to slice through one of the rings, drawing blood. Enraged, Korgan seized the spear, yanking the man off balance and impaling him with his sword.

The knight's men quickly gathered around their fallen leader, lifting him while the others covered their retreat. The Crossroads guards came to Korgan's aid, but a horn sounded, signaling the Holy Landers' withdrawal. Their rear guard stepped in, buying time for the others to escape.

Korgan, consumed by battle lust, charged after the fleeing enemy, his rage unabated.

The battle was over, and we had successfully repelled the enemy vanguard. Though this was merely a skirmish compared to the conflicts to come, I had done my part in this engagement.

My attention now turned to Korgan, who had sustained wounds during the fray. I descended from the crumbling ruins, navigating the battle-scarred landscape strewn with the fallen and injured. Korgan was easy to spot amidst the chaos.

"I saw you take a spear to the side," I called out as I approached. Korgan obligingly lifted his mail armor, revealing the wound. Upon closer inspection, I discovered two separate punctures, likely inflicted by the sharp tips of spears. The first, I assumed, occurred when Korgan recklessly charged the enemy's spear line. Both wounds were shallow, barely bleeding, with the spear tips barely piercing through the gaps in his mail.

I retrieved a device from my standard Federation medical kit, designed to treat wounds in creatures not of my species. It worked remarkably well on humans and was likely one of the most advanced medical technologies on this primitive planet. The device scanned the wound and closed it with a specialized bio-gel, capable of healing much more severe injuries than these.

"Drink this, Korgan," I instructed, offering him a small glass filled with a red liquid. "It's Fairy blood. It will accelerate your natural healing by tenfold."Korgan eyed the glass with distaste. "How lovely that you have such good friends among the Fairies. They gift you their blood so freely."

"Well," I replied, "they didn't give it out of goodwill. I'll leave you to imagine the extraction process."

Korgan's eyes widened. Hesitantly, he took a small sip, then downed the entire glass in one gulp.

Another soldier overheard our conversation and pleaded for me to heal his wounded comrade. Before long, the city guard captain beseeched me to tend to all the injured. I had only two flasks of

Fairy blood, a rare and precious substance, but I felt obligated to assist, as it was by my orders that these people had been wounded and some had even laid down their lives in combat. I managed to treat all the wounded, even stabilizing those with mortal injuries.

Fairy blood proved to be a powerful cure, and my first-aid device effortlessly closed their wounds.

The captured enemy soldiers were escorted to the city, where their fate would be decided, likely that of slavery.

With the wounded tended to and the battlefield cleared, the soldiers of Crossroads turned their attention to celebrating their hard-fought victory. They hoisted me and Korgan onto their shoulders, hailing us as heroes. I was praised for the devastating effectiveness of my spells, while Korgan was lauded for his bravery in leading the charge that shattered the enemy lines.

Alcohol flowed like a river as the revelry commenced. Every conceivable libation was on offer, from frothy ale to aged wines, sweet sake to hearty mead. The festivities took on the air of a grand festival, with food from every corner of the continent laid out in a mouthwatering array. I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at the sight of the abundance and prosperity that the city I had helped establish had achieved.

As the night wore on and the revelry quieted before dawn, I gazed into the distance beyond the camp, everyone else having succumbed to sleep save for a few diehard drinkers and singers, along with the ever-vigilant camp guards. But they failed to notice the presence lurking in the shadows just outside the camp's perimeter.

"Show yourself!" I commanded, my voice cutting through the stillness. A figure emerged from the shadows, clad head-to-toe in black, his face obscured by a hood.

"Elder, I bring news to report," the man whispered.

"Then report," I responded curtly.

"They persist, but they do not seem to move yet," he informed me.

"Tell the Master of Shadows that I shall arrive within a moon's cycle," I instructed. "And tell him to send our favorite apple."

The messenger nodded and melted back into the shadows as silently as he had appeared.

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