"How are you going to cut it down?" Phae asked, circling around the large tree. "I've seen lumberjacks use axes and ropes to bring down those trees. Are you sure this is a great idea?"
Arthur smiled as he looked up at the towering tree's crown. The leaves formed a constellation-like pattern across the branches, and though he couldn't identify which constellation it was, the design was unmistakable.
"Oh, I don't plan on cutting it down right now," Arthur replied. "I just wanted to take some notes and level my skills."
For the past half-hour, Arthur had been wandering through the forest near the lumberyard, carefully inspecting each tree and visualizing the results with a hovering display above the objects. In addition, he kept an open tab where he stored counts of different types of objects and visualized them using a bar chart.
Creating the bar chart turned out to be more complex than he initially thought. Not only did he have to account for the objects he had encountered, but also their types. He had somewhat solved this issue by using a separate view to store the counts of each object. However, he still hadn't mastered adjusting the visualization's size or placement, and it was becoming frustrating.
"If this keeps up, I won't be able to see anything anymore," Arthur chuckled.
As his headache began to intensify, Arthur was increasingly certain that it was related to the use of mana. It was usually the first sign, followed by a worsening headache, then physical effects like reduced strength or endurance, and eventually, a complete blackout.
Of course, Arthur had attempted to create a visualization that displayed his current state of mana reservoir, still uncertain of its location inside him or if it was entirely a mental construct, along with the usage rate per skill. However, despite his efforts, he couldn't seem to control or understand this aspect fully.
"No point in wasting energy on something I cannot control," Arthur thought.
As the hour passed and his headache grew worse, Arthur decided to call it quits. After all, he needed to be on time in case of another run.
In the afternoon, he spent time listening to the soldiers at the mess hall, finally learning some essential things about the war camps. These were details he should have acquired weeks ago but hadn't been motivated to inquire about. Now, he knew about the meteorites on the plateau, the rock crystals they contained, and the competition among the kings. He began to understand why his King pushed his men so hard and why the King would turn around if their army arrived at a plateau later than another. It wasn't a common occurrence; more often, their army arrived first, and other armies trailing behind had to turn back.
The warcamps sprawled across the landscape, vast and impressive in scale. In total, they housed over a hundred thousand troops, a number that dwarfed the population of an average city. Most of these soldiers hailed from the larger, wealthier cities that were less susceptible to the harsh winds, thanks to their protective walls maintained by a dedicated cadre of enchanters.
While the military force numbered in the hundreds of thousands, this figure didn't even account for the civilians. A mobile warcamp already attracted a wide array of camp followers, but stationary warcamps like these drew even more. Each warcamp had its own eclectic mix of stone buildings, makeshift shanties, and tents. Some prosperous merchants had the means to establish permanent wooden shops, while those living in tents would often take them down during storms and seek shelter elsewhere. Every warcamp boasted constructed walls that encircled the main area, though these defenses were maintained by enchanters to little avail. The relentless winds would still manage to breach them at times, rendering the streets unsafe during storms. Certain locations, like the exposed lumberyard, had no protection against the elements whatsoever.
The bustling streets were filled with diverse crowds. Women clad in skirts and blouses, the wives, sisters, or daughters of soldiers, merchants, or craftsmen, moved about. Workers dressed in trousers or overalls went about their daily labor, and a substantial number of soldiers in leather armor, armed with spears and shields, patrolled the streets. Soldiers from one king's camp rarely mingled with those from another, and it was common practice to avoid entering another king's camp unless one had specific business there. The divisions and boundaries within the warcamps were clear, and residents were careful to respect them.
Arthur eventually arrived at the lumberyard, where a few members of Squad One were lounging in the shade beside their barracks. It was fascinating to observe the construction of the military buildings here. For every structure, a Mage Architect had been employed to conjure it from the ground itself, a testament to the magical expertise at work.
The first afternoon bell rang just as Arthur reached the barracks, and he caught a disapproving glare from Galvin for nearly being late for run duty. Most of their "duty" involved sitting around, waiting for the horns to blow, but Arthur had no intention of wasting time. He couldn't risk exhausting himself by using his schematics when a run could be imminent. However, perhaps he could engage in some light transmutations or...
A horn sounded in the air, sharp and clear, and a sense of dread settled over Arthur. He froze in his tracks, as he always did, waiting for the second blast, an irrational part of him needing confirmation. It came, sounding a specific pattern that indicated the location of the fallen meteorite.
Soldiers immediately began to scramble toward the staging area beside the lumberyard, while others rushed into the camp to retrieve their gear. Arthur shouted, "Line up!" as he dashed up to the runners. "Every man in a line!"
His words fell on deaf ears as some of the men weren't even wearing their vests, creating a bottleneck at the barrack doorway as they all tried to get inside. Those who did have their vests sprinted for the bridge, and Arthur followed, his frustration growing. Once they reached the bridge, the men gathered around the shields in a carefully arranged formation. Each man had a chance to take the best position, running in front towards the enemy before moving to the relative safety of the center of the arrow formation for the final approach.
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There was a strict rotation system, and errors were neither committed nor tolerated among the runners. They had developed a brutal self-management system. If a man tried to cheat the rotation, the others would force him to run in the front for the final approach. Such actions were theoretically forbidden, but Galvin turned a blind eye to cheaters. He also rejected any bribes to allow men to change their positions. Perhaps he understood that the only stability, the only hope, the runners had was in their rotation. Life wasn't fair, and being a runner wasn't fair, but at least if you survived the deathline and ran the assault, you had a chance to run at the back next time.
There was one exception to this rotation. As the frontrunner, Arthur got to lead for most of the way and then move back to the rear for the final assault. It was considered the safest position in the group, although no runner was ever truly safe in the heat of battle.
The runners were driven by determination. It wasn't just the fear of brutal beatings that pushed them; they raced against time to reach the meteorite before the Red Knights did. Success meant avoiding a rain of arrows, deadly spells, and certain death. Even though many of them despised their lives, they clung to them with cosmic determination.
They sprinted across the vast plains, where patches of moss seemed to follow some unseen constellation. Arthur couldn't help but glance skyward, when the flying mages passed over and wonder what the landscape looked like from above.
The landscape, unlike previous runs, was part of Arthur’s new focus. He inspected every unique plant or rock along the way. In addition, he pushed the boundaries of his visualization skills. He imagined the crossed fields of mud and stones from a top-down perspective, akin to a basic map. The practical purpose of this exercise was absent, but he was driven by his desire to level his skills. Of course, the physical strain, combined with the mental effort of using his magical skills, began to wear him down. Each brief moment of respite was a welcome opportunity to massage his throbbing temples.
As always, their course was slightly adjusted, and Galvin shouted out directions, guiding them through the familiar routine. It was physically draining, but the familiarity was comforting, and being at the front allowed Arthur to see where he was heading. After a while, he stopped using his skills and he fell into his usual rhythm, counting his steps, a technique recommended by a nameless runner whose sandals he now wore. Eventually, the mages returned for the last time, signaling the beginning of the final push.
The runners formed into arrow formations, shields pointed forward. Most shields held only one or two rubies and showed signs of wear. Choosing a shield was always a trade-off. A newer shield had sturdy wood and all three rubies embedded in it, enhancing the effectiveness of the rune that pulled in other arrows but also draining energy from the Knights more effectively. Older shields were less robust but usually contained fewer rubies, reducing the effect of the pull.
As the formations took shape, a somber silence hung over the runners. They knew what awaited them. The soldiers, too, organized themselves into ranks. It was eerily silent, reminiscent of men preparing to carry a body to the funeral pyre.
The runners left a space for Arthur at the back, providing him shelter and protection. Phae noticed the spot and Arthur slowly made his way to it, mentally and physically drained. He had pushed himself too hard that morning, further straining himself by trying to level up his other skills. He could barely walk.
Arthur surveyed his men, seeing their resignation, despair, and fear. Refusing to run meant execution, but running meant facing the deadly onslaught of arrows. They didn't look forward to the distant line of Knight archers; instead, their gazes were cast downward.
"How can I even help these men? My skills won't be of any use to them. What can I do?" Arthur questioned himself. "The only thing I can do is lead them."
"But how can you lead from the rear?" a voice inside him questioned.
He stepped out of the line, causing the front runners and the two beside him to look up in shock. The deathpoint – the center of the front line – was occupied by Roan, a stocky, short-haired man. Arthur tapped him on the shoulder. "You're in my spot, Roan."
Roan frowned, his surprise evident as he glanced at Arthur. Nobody had ever attempted to jump ahead in the order before. "You're crazy, man," he retorted. "You wish to die? Why not sell your spheres to the Observatory? That would be easier."
Arthur stood firm, unwavering in his decision. "I'm the frontrunner. It's my privilege to run at the front. Go to the back."
Resigned, Roan shrugged and obeyed the order, taking Arthur's position at the rear. No one uttered a word. If Arthur wanted to get himself killed, who were they to complain?
Suddenly, Galvin issued the command: "Charge!"
They ran, sprinting alongside the other runners of the army. Some soldiers from the rear watched with curiosity, perhaps amused by the sight of the lowly runners racing so urgently toward their deaths. Others turned away, perhaps burdened by the knowledge of the lives that would be sacrificed to breach the enemy line.
Arthur fixed his gaze forward, suppressing the incredulous voice in the back of his mind that screamed he was doing something incredibly foolish.
The bows came up.
The archers drew their strings. Squad One was clearly in their sights.
The bows loosed.
Arthur screamed, his fatigue and frustration pushing him nearly to the brink of madness. He bellowed something as a barrage of arrows hurtled toward him. A sudden drain of energy surged through him, but the momentum of his squad carried him forward.
The arrows struck their mark. Monas fell without a sound, a single arrow piercing his eye. Salex followed, and with him, Skon and Drav. Shafts of arrows landed at Arthur's feet, shattering on impact.
Remarkably, Arthur's shield held, despite being filled with arrows. Some of the Knights had lowered their shields and appeared confused. Whatever the reason, it bought Squad One a precious few moments. By the time the Knights raised their bows again, Arthur's team was already within syphoning distance.
His men struck the enemy at roughly the same moment as the other 16 formations. Four formations had fallen.
The runes embedded in the shields started pulling in energy, creating a sea of red streaks that flowed from the enemy's bodies. Some Knights fell to their knees, while others managed to remain upright, facing the runners. The man directly in front of Arthur was one of those still standing. Normally, Arthur would brace himself to overpower the man and break their formation. However, since that fateful shout, he was utterly drained, unable to do anything but tense his muscles before the impending impact. He knew the runners behind him would provide the necessary mass to push through, regardless of what or who stood in their path, even if it meant Arthur himself.
The collision came, the enemy braced, and Arthur was bounced back. His squad pushed through. Someone grabbed him by the arm to prevent him from being trampled as had happened to the drained-off soldiers.
At that precise moment, the rubies embedded in their shields released their accumulated energy. A mage flew overhead, catapulting Squad One to the rear lines and wreaking havoc upon the enemy troops.