CHAPTER 49: NOBLESSE OBLIGE

The Mutant Demonic Alpha Wolf continued to stare at his bleeding figure; its eyes entrenched in calculative thoughts. Every sensor within its augmented body was processing information simultaneously with a singular goal encompassed its mind: ending the hunt with as minimal casualties as possible.

If one were to ask it the meaning of leadership, its programming would reply with that unifying purpose as its right to exist. Without its pack, it would simply be a husk of flesh and metal. But was leadership truly its only goal?

Mason stood vigilantly atop the corpse, planning his next move. With the three mutants circling above his head and the other three positioned around him, he had nowhere to go. Bombardments could occur simultaneously from all angles. Even with his ability to conjure close range defenses, a stalemate would only cause him to fight a battle of attrition which he would surely lose. Their combined cosmic force would last much longer than his, after all.

He decided to stall for time, anyway. ["Beast, I know you can understand me. Tell me, why have you decided to circle me here instead of heading off toward the caravan to take the food you want? Surely this is a waste of time, no?"]

Surprisingly, the Demonic Alpha Wolf answered. ["SaCrIfiCE..."]

Mason furrowed his brows. 'Sacrifice? What the hell?'

Ritualistic magic was something usually reserved for Celestial Mystics and Artificers. A mutant that belonged to the technology domain should not have such abilities. Even if the mutant in question were of the knowledge domain, they would need substantial amounts of intellect to understand such a concept.

Assuming the creature was being truthful, the true culprits responsible for this disaster were yet to be exposed, lurking in the shadows... This caused Mason's worries to spike even higher than before.

A nervous smile plastered his face. 'It seems I may need to activate my trump card sooner. I should try my best to regroup with the others as soon as possible before a catastrophe occurs...'

Lightning crackled to life once more. Exotic particles coalesced, but this time, they were nowhere near his vicinity. Approximately 30 meters away from Mason and the beasts encircling him, vast magnitudes of sand from the surrounding dunes began to coil into profound strokes of dust. The monsters observed with a mix of shock and perplexity.

Mason laughed. "Hahaha, you bastards really thought I only fight with melee weapons? Don't underestimate this old man!"

The levitating strands of sand shifted colors into that of black as they molded into large steel beams that stretched upward toward the sky. The beams interconnected, forming a large cage, trapping all the beings on the field inside, except for two flying Devil Wolves that managed to escape in time.

Mason looked up at their figures and clicked his tongue. 'I really thought I would get every single one...'

Moments prior to the pack's arrival, Mason had set up a trap that was highly undetectable. He used [Conjure-Gadget] to create large quantities of tiny metallic sand that had the color properties of yellowish red, making them hard to distinguish from normal Martian soil.

After scattering it across the battlefield, he can then use [Gadget-Morph] to turn those particles of metallic shards into the large cage. This was one of his best trump cards when dealing with large amounts of enemies. A move he called "Iron Maiden."

Mason gritted his teeth and focused the rest of his cosmic force on [Gadget-Morph]. Across every steel beam encompassing the cage, attachments began to spring forth, molding into exact shapes. Large steel crossbows appeared. Every one of them was aimed at the scientific horrors trapped within.

Seeing this, The Demonic Alpha Wolf howled loudly in anger. Outside, the two escaped mutants were about to start bombarding the trap with explosive shells when they suddenly decided to fly away into the distance.

Mason saw this and smiled. "I see... So you plan to send them away to hunt for the remaining survivors. Interesting. I am guessing the ritual needs more people dead..."

The wolf growled. It's irritation at how the battlefield was developing was growing by the second. Without giving it a chance to think of a way out, Mason focused his [Magnetism-Control] on the conjured crossbows and began to fire large steel rods on the enemies trapped within.

-Boom, Boom, Boom!

The air erupted in swarms of dust and sand, swirling chaotically as the beasts attempted to evade. However, Mason's mastery shone through his ability to simultaneously unleash torrents of steel rods from all 15 conjured crossbows overwhelmed their agility. Every Mutant Devil Wolf trapped inside fell to the ground as they bled from numerous puncture wounds. Their only choice was to exhaust themselves of cosmic force and fire off as many mortar shells from their mounted weapons as possible before they perished.

Within the large steel cage, chaos was present everywhere, as swarms of explosions and projectiles flew in all directions. With his abilities, Mason had already expected such an outcome and controlled the steel sand below his feet to bury himself alive before the bombardments began.

After exhausting the majority of his cosmic force, he dug himself out of the soil he had burred himself in. Examining the situation through the veils of dust and sand plumes, the corpses of all the abominations became apparent to him.

However, the fight was not over. Across from him, a silhouette of a steel dome appeared. Suddenly, it de-materialized, giving way for Mason to see what was inside. The Demonic Alpha Wolf had shielded itself in the last second from taking any major fatal damage.

Mason smiled as sweat trickled down his face. "Shit..."

He had exhausted the majority of his cosmic force in that move. Slowly, his own "Iron Maiden" began to fade away slowly. With no energy to supply its existence, the Atomnium could not maintain its form and collapsed, returning to the Cyber Depths.

Mason began to gasp for air as he used his knees for support. The colossal wolf began to approach him slowly, walking past the corpses of its brethren. Dust entered his nose without permission, erupting in a sneeze, followed by a series of coughs. Looking at his hand, which he had used to cover his mouth, a small splatter of blood was visible on his palm.

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He began to curse under his breath. "Why now, of all times..."

...

Across the vast dunes of Mars, a platoon of hover tanks were swimming in the air as they closely approached the front of the caravan. After finishing his conversation with Lance, Hermes stepped out onto the deck. The light of the sun, refracting endlessly across the large plumes of sand, reached his eyes once more.

But with the warmth of light, chills of shadow follow. His keen sense of smell, honed by his use of [Sensory-Boost] began to pick up on a familiar but unpleasant scent. As if iron shifted across the air, the aura of blood swam within his nostrils, filling him with dread.

With the hover tanks closing in on the origin, an increasing number of soldiers on the deck started to take notice. Its putrid scent sifted through the air, giving the dunes of Mars another reason to be red. It's as if they had encountered a land ridden in death.

Hermes leaned against the tank railings, watching intently as he tried to pinpoint the source of the scent coming from below. The visions he captured through his retinas were immediately etched into his memories. He clenched his mouth, holding in whatever liquids trying to escape his stomach.

The tanks were driving over piles upon piles of corpses, both human and mutant. It was as if the land had been tainted by flesh and blood. A corruption that was spreading the gospel of the reaper. A scene that was encapsulating the pure effects of a mutant rampage; one that had no clear deterrent.

Hermes looked back; Eleanor's pale face reflected in his deep brown irises. Her eyes, wider than they had ever been before, were capturing every scene in shock. Not once did she turn away, trying her best to burn the horrific images inside her memories forever. She clenched her fists and bit her lips tightly as blood began to seep out slowly.

'Would this have happened If I hired more Celestials? Am I not a monster for driving these people who trusted me to their deaths? How many families will mourn after this ordeal is finished?' Thoughts of imminence grief and regret rung clearly within her mind with no end in sight.

They had all fought to the death for her escape, and she had not even memorized all of their names. She, who caused everything, would live, and they would pay the price for her incompetence. She clenched her fists hard. 'Disgusting...' She thought.

Hermes spectated everything. He approached her slowly. Fitted with a stern face, he looked at her with a frown.

"How are you feeling?"

She did not answer him. A frown plastered in anger and distraught became apparent through her dust ridden hair. She looked down, tears dripping onto the warm steel surface of the deck.

"What honor... What glory?... I spoke such grand words to Trevor, but am I really any different from him? I have caused numerous lives to be extinguished because of my greed..."

"You are right. Your incompetence did cause this. But as a leader, you must learn from these mistakes, and account for the future, no?"

"You are wrong! I deserve death! I am a mon-"

-Smack!

Hermes took off his arm guard and slapped her across the face. All around him, the soldiers noticed his actions as anger and fury rushed through their blood. They all began to point their SV weapons in his direction, ready to fire at any moment.

"YOU BASTARD! HOW DARE YOU!"

"Shut the fuck up."

Hermes unleashed his cosmic force suppression, a power that rippled through the air, paralyzing all the soldiers with its overwhelming intensity. One by one, they succumbed, their knees buckling under the weight of his dimensionality. The hold on their SV weapons weakened, fingers trembled as they gazed, spellbound, at the unfolding scene.

Towering above her, Hermes stood, an imposing figure of control and might. Eleanor was sprawled on the ground, crumpled by the sheer impact of his slap. Her eyes, wide with confusion and drowned in tears, lifted to meet his stern gaze.

"How dare you say you wish to die. The soldiers here have all sacrificed their lives to ensure your safety, and you wish to throw it away?! How can you be so selfish!"

The syllables entered her ears as she realized the gravity of her own words.

"Your incompetent actions have caused many deaths today. But what will truly encapsulate that incompetence is if you decide to give up out of your fear of the consequences. Your decision to kill yourself is not one of atonement, but one of cowardice!"

Anguish filled her face as snot trickled down to her lips. Her eyes, flooded with despair, unleashed an even larger stream of tears. She could not refute anything he had stated. How could she be so stupid? What would her sister and father think of such a decision? Would it not dishonor them even more? Did she not swear upon the Monarch of Wisdom to once more bring glory to the Valencourt name?

Looking down at her distraught expression, Hermes sighed. Although he was angry at how she handled the situation, he could not blame her completely. He had gleaned from August and his squadron that this was Eleanor's first business venture. She had approached the entire thing pragmatically. Realistically, the chances of a mutant rampage ever reaching their route was less than 6%. Even the most veteran merchant would make a mistake like hers.

'In her mind, she probably assumed that the soldiers and hover tanks would be enough to deter any sand pirates...' He thought. These were bandit groups which scoured the vast dunes to pillage large merchant caravans. He had learned of the term from the history book he read about the Marcia Empire.

Remembering the words he had just said to her, disgust began to grow within himself. He knew for a fact that if he was in the same situation as her, he would have made the same mistakes and reacted similarly. And yet here he was, preaching to her about her own mistakes. 'How hypocritical of you...' He thought.

As hypercritical as it was of him, he still decided to continue lecturing her. He knew that his role as a commander of this makeshift platoon was temporary; that the soldiers present around him were not loyal to him, but to her. He had seen the worst when it came to leadership back on Earth, and even when he traversed the stars themselves, class differences were still a prevalent societal issue.

Though Eleanor holds some naivety towards the world, her love for her people moved Hermes' heart. It brought to his mind the reassuring thought that the world still harbored reliable individuals capable of aiding in the flourishing of humanity. Even if this entire trial was an illusion, he still wanted to do his best to motivate her onto the right path.

"Eleanor," Hermes' voice carried a somber depth, "I, too, hail from a lower class. My disdain runs deep for those nobles who view the less fortunate as mere fodder, devoid of any significance. Perhaps it was this contempt that fueled my merciless end of Trevor. Yet, in you, I see a stark difference to him. Your visible anguish, and your regret over what your actions have caused, these are marks of your divergence from him. Understand that I am not telling you to forget this. Far from it. I implore you to etch this moment into your memory. Let it be an unyielding reminder that your actions have severe consequences. Learn from it, grow from it. Because that is the true essence of your noblesse oblige."

This was the heartfelt wisdom Elizabeth had taught him. It allowed him to understand and capture the true soul for what it means to be noble. He had hoped that Eleanor would personify such a belief herself.

Absorbing his words in heavy silence, Eleanor's pent-up emotions erupted, her wails resonating throughout the tank, becoming increasingly audible to all the soldiers present. Witnessing her raw display of grief, their own tears began to brim. They had all faced the loss of comrades that day, a shared burden of sorrow and defeat.

Yet, in this moment, they questioned the fairness of placing the entirety of the blame on Eleanor, a mere youth of 18 years. It seemed unjust, for weren't they all, in some way responsible for being too weak? Hadn't they all failed to protect what mattered most?

Throughout this entire ordeal, Eleanor, no older than their own daughters waiting at home, was bearing an immense burden, one that was unimaginably heavy for someone so young. If they were in her position, they would not have been able to bottle their emotions for this long.

The weight of command, immense and solitary, rested solely on her shoulders, regardless of whom to blame. They had finally realized the meaning of the saying, "A leader walks alone." For what the common man seeks from a good leader is guidance, not someone who seeks to be guided.

A symphony of tears and anguish was carried through the air, masking the faint smell of blood, as the roaring engines of the tanks drowned out their grief.

End of Chapter