Oliver frowned, glancing up at the darkening sky. Thunderclouds choked the sun and promised heavy rain. While the 1st and 2nd Revolutionary Army Corps were all made up of Journeymen by now, granting them enough strength to wade through mud for a whole day, it didn’t make it a pleasant experience.
Especially since the last communication they got from the 4th asked for their help clearing the area around Margì of the remaining royal forces.
Initially, he had thought it a waste of time. Surely, after being defeated so soundly, they would retreat toward Treon? But the scouts Sir Leonard had sent ahead reported that more than one group of renegade soldiers were hiding at the edges of the Darkwood.
That, unfortunately, meant they needed to be rooted out. One of the main strategic goals of their plan was to leave behind no pockets of resistance so that they could concentrate on fighting at the front lines. If they had to split their attention on multiple fronts, they’d waste all the accumulated momentum.
Thus, squads of twenty men each were created and ordered to scour the forest ahead of the main army to deal with the renegades.
Oliver frowned again. He was doing that more often these days since his mentor had started putting him in command. “Stop lollygagging and start scouting ahead. I want to return to the rendezvous point before the sun goes down and the predators emerge.” He instructed his men, who didn’t protest.
Watching the lone ranger flit through the trees and the regular soldiers try to keep up was amusing enough to break him from his foul mood.
It’s not so much that I don’t like this mission. I appreciate that Sir Leonard trusts me more, but the thought of hunting down people not looking for a fight… Well, I suppose I have the leeway to decide what to do with them. If they turn out to be simple levies forced to fight, I could even recruit them.
That felt more righteous. Yes, he’d hold judgment until he found these soldiers. It might even be that he wouldn’t need to spill blood at all.
Moving through the Darkwood was a skill in and of itself. It was taught to all children who demonstrated enough adventure lust to wander out of their village’s confines and was one of the few things Oliver had that reminded him of his father.
These days, he didn’t often think about the man. After the flight from the Void, he had been too busy working himself to the bone to bring some food to his family’s table, and once Sir Leonard took him in, training was all he thought about. Then came Belinda’s death and the revolution…
And yet, now that Oliver was given command of a squad of his own, he couldn’t help but think about his father. The man had been little more than a guardsman. Certainly capable of holding a sword, but only a Journeyman. Nothing special.
The sight of him fighting against the voidlings, bleeding profusely from cuts all over his body, panting and obviously outmatched, still never left Oliver’s mind.
His back was so large.
Comparing himself to the man wouldn’t help with his insecurities, but he still thought there was something to learn about that single-minded dedication to protecting his family.
“We found a group,” Esmeria, his squad’s ranger, whispered from his side. As always, she seemed to have made it a priority to startle him, though Oliver didn’t give her that satisfaction. After having been around Lady Amelia, he couldn’t be taken by surprise so easily.
He gave a curt nod and started circulating mana, not yet casting anything but preparing in case things went badly.
Around him, his men went through their own preparations. Lucy, the young wind mage he had fought at the lighthouse, gulped in fear, and Oliver gave Esmeria a look. The ranger sighed but nodded in agreement, positioning herself next to the girl in case she needed saving.
It wasn’t that Oliver didn’t think Lucy would do her job. After her initial freak-out, she had been more than ready to sign up with the revolution if it meant her slate would be clean and she’d be allowed to learn from some of the finest mages around.
But the girl still tended to lose her cool if things didn’t go according to plan. And he couldn’t afford to have her freeze in the middle of a battlefield, especially because she was a genuine talent. It would be a terrible waste for her to die before they conquered Treon.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
Light, how have I become this callous? Is this the burden of leadership? I wouldn’t have valued a life against the utility it brought so quickly before.
Unfortunately, there was no time to contemplate that because they had reached the edges of a clearing, where Oliver could see several ragged men sitting around a spent campfire, seemingly doing nothing.
His squadmates looked to him for what to do, and he gestured for them to take position around the clearing. While he hoped for a peaceful resolution, it wouldn’t do to get careless. If it came to a fight, he’d finish it quickly.
“[Barrier of light] protect my form; let no missile breach; shield me from harm.” The spell took shape just in time, as an arrow bounced off his shield. It would have lodged in his brain had he been a second slower.
With a grim cast on his face, Oliver entered the clearing, revealing himself to the men huddled there.
“It’s a fucking kid!” One yelled, getting up to see what had caused his companion to stand up and release a shot.
Having already been attacked, Oliver was now much less inclined to think it could end without bloodshed, but he still tried to channel all his temple-given calm and poise.
“Good evening, gentlemen; I’m from the Revolutionary Army. You are surrounded. Please lay down your weapons and come quietly. If you make this easy, you won’t have anything to fear.”
All ten men had now stood up, though there still was some confusion. When they finally registered his words, they couldn’t help but laugh. “What, the Hero has gone through all the slaves, and he’s now sending kids? Is this a joke?”
Feeling his frayed temper worsen, Oliver channeled some mana into the air to press down onto the men in a trick learned from his mentor. “This is not a joke. You have been identified as royal army soldiers, and I’m giving you a chance to get out of this alive. Surrender, now.”
This time, there was no mistaking the threat in his words. While he might have looked quite young to their eyes, they could feel that he was serious in their bones. Such was the power of intent, even at its most basic level.
The man who had shot him looked around the clearing, assessing the situation. By the way his eyes stopped several times, Oliver believed he had identified at least some of the revolutionaries hidden around them.
Another man, whose face was red enough to hint at severe alcohol abuse, growled in annoyance, “What the fuck do you think you are, kid? Just because you bastards beat up some hick nobles from the ass end of nowhere, you think you can take all of Haylich?”
“I will not repeat myself. Surrender now. Lay down your weapons, and you’ll be spared. Do not, and you’ll be eliminated.” After delivering his ultimatum, Oliver subtly motioned for his squamates to prepare. They would need to act quickly if they wanted to overwhelm them.
Ten soldiers weren’t much in the grand scheme of things, mainly because he doubted a great powerhouse was hiding among the defeated remains of a broken advance force. However, the archer had been quick enough to draw that he still felt justified in his wariness.
Showing he was the smartest among the group, the man who shot him dropped the bow he was holding and smoothly unfastened his belt, where a dagger and several vials were attached.
The one who had first spoken turned to him in confusion, but the others had different ideas and immediately grabbed their weapons, making as if to charge at Oliver.
The subsequent fight was very short. A bullet of wind exploded the drunken man’s torso, while several rifle shots took down the others before they could get within striking distance.
Oliver then proceeded to unsheathe his sword, smoothly moving through the corpses to stand before the two remaining men. He lifted the edge of his blade until it rested against the neck of the last remaining soldier who had yet to surrender and smiled what he was sure was a terrible attempt at a reassuring grin. “Yield?”
----------------------------------------
As the trees thinned, the vast Revolutionary Camp opened before him. Tents and makeshift structures filled Oliver’s sight, a hive of activity as soldiers rushed about, reporting in from scouting missions or preparing for the next engagement. Fires crackled, sending up thin plumes of smoke, and the scent of cooking meat mingled with the earthy smell of the forest.
Oliver’s heart swelled with pride and apprehension as he approached Sir Leonard’s tent, evidenced by the golden banner fluttering in the breeze. The Grand Marshal was the epicenter of this organized chaos, directing everything with the calm authority of a seasoned commander.
“Sir Leonard,” Oliver called out as he entered the tent, saluting smartly. His mentor looked up from his maps and reports, stern face breaking into a proud smile.
“Ah, Oliver. Back already?”
Sir Leonard’s eyes gleamed with approval as he listened to the report. “You’ve done well. You’ve grown a lot in these past few weeks.”
Oliver felt a warm glow at the praise. “Thank you, sir. I couldn’t have done it without your training.”
Sir Leonard clasped his shoulder. “You’ve made me proud, Oliver. You’ve shown skill and wisdom in your decisions. You did the right thing in offering them a chance to surrender peacefully, just as you did in eliminating those that didn’t.”
Oliver felt his worries dissipating, replaced by a sense of clarity and purpose. Sir Leonard’s confidence in him was a balm to his anxious thoughts.
“Your group was the last to come back, and Amelia’s shadows have reassured me there is no one else hiding from us. Now that we’ve secured the area around Margì,” Sir Leonard said, his tone turning serious, “we must focus on the next objective. The first of the Great Slitherer’s children lies ahead.” With that, he gestured to a Sergeant who was pouring over a map of the area, and the man moved the parchment so Oliver could look at it.
“Our choices are going through the deep waters or Fort Genus. Some think we should look for a different point to wade the river, but we can’t leave enemies behind our supply lines. It would go against the doctrine.” The man said.
“I’m inclined to agree. Although taking the Fort won’t be easy, given its defensive position and the fact that we cannot risk destroying it if we want to use it to pass the river.”
Scratching his head, Oliver asked the question buzzing in his mind. His mentor had told him never to fear looking stupid, as plans could fall apart more than once because simple elements had been overlooked. “Couldn’t we just make a new bridge? I know we have the earth and stone mages to do it. Every time we set up camp, they move enough ground to make ten bridges of the size we need.”
Sir Leonard smiled, and the Sergeant coughed in amusement, “That would certainly solve our problems, but the Great Slitherer and its children are not simple rivers. Their waters are home to many elementals - among whom a King - who take great umbrage to anyone building atop them. Fort Genus resulted from a Spirit Summoner of ages past making a deal with them, and to go against it would give us too much trouble.”
“Ah, that would do it,” Oliver muttered.