Vile green liquid splashed across Fennel’s shield, only a small drip falling to his barely bloodied armor. The acid burned the nearly dried blood on his foot away, leaving a bright shine on the top of his left sabaton. Well, that’s neat. New armor polish.
A useless thought. Something that Fennel would never usually take note of in the heat of battle, but it didn’t feel like he had any reason not to. He raised his head over his shield just in time to see his archers pepper the Gextoran with a host of arrows. Toxic green sludge poured through the sides of the four legged reptilian monster’s mouth. The large and imposing frills that sprung up around its neck were anything but when eight arrows bored through them. Fennel looked at the beast's maw. An arrow had pierced right through the top of the creature’s mouth, forcing it shut and pinning the whole thing to the ground.
Seeing the liquid burn eating away at the grass led Fennel to another untimely thought. He looked back down at his foot, then rubbed it slightly. It would take hours of greasing and scrubbing to come even close to this luster. Maybe I should let Aunt Donnella know about it. She and Uncle could probably make a killing off a new armor polish.
Fennel tapped his helmet. Not the time idiot, you're in a raid. Though “raid” felt too strong a word for what was going on here. The battle felt almost as easy as the break-in earlier in the month. Maybe even easier. Which left a bad taste in Fennel’s mouth.
He looked around the battlefield. Zaner and Tedi were walking over to him, leaving a small group of broken and battered Karibu in their wake. Neither splicer with so much as a small scratch or burn on them. Tedi had some blood and viscera hanging from his claws and Zaner’s axe was freshly bathed in monster guts, but now wasn’t the time to worry about cleaning. Though you could throw some of that Gextoran spit on them and they’d be good as new.
The rest of A5 piled together soon after the last monster in their pocket of the field was killed, slain by Roscoe, the last of the Frontliners, and Rumi, the new Support. Fennel looked around once more, making doubly sure their sector was clear, even if they were pretty far from the frontlines.
The battlefield was separated into a grid, each squad was given a grouping on the grid to defend. They were positioned near the back, close to where the medical tents were being constructed. A few of the Third Legion’s squads fought in pockets near Fennel’s squad. He thought to aid them, but none of the squads around seemed to have much difficulty in their battles either. That and unwarranted aid was frowned upon. Most squads only asked for assistance if they lost members.
Experience was difficult to obtain. Nobody knew the exact rate. You got some from training but exponentially more from actually killing monsters. It took eighteen years of training to hit level five, but maybe a year of battling in raids to get up to ten. So the act of helping was actually seen as stealing if it wasn’t expressly asked for.
A stupid thought process in Fennel’s opinion. He felt saving those lives before they perished was a better boon for the people, not a small experience bump. But that's the way of the Kniyans. Who was he to argue?
“What are you looking around so hard for, Cap? We got’em already. In record time I bet. Ooo, I hope our invoices show that as well.” Lukkans said, a small bead of sweat on his brow.
Other members of the squad agreed with the Tarsiryian archer. Roscoe rubbed his hands together.
Fennel’s ears twitched under his helmet. He knew he should agree with his team, but he couldn't help but feel as if something was off. “I don’t know. Doesn’t it seem…”
“Too easy.” Zaner finished his sentence, looking off in the distance.
“Yeah. It's been a few moons since the last time we fought in the First Wave. But has it ever been this quiet.” Fennel said as he turned back and looked at the Medical tents being put up behind them. They were nearly finished from the looks of it. Then he swung back over to the frontline.
A notification popped up before he could say anything else. The Watcher’s system could relay simple messages from the Command Tents to Squad Captains. Fennel always thought it was strange that the system was only active during a raid. It’d be such an advantage if everyone could communicate this easily all the time. And Jaren could stop using him as a messenger all the time. And Daila. And Len. And Uncle Herman.
When did I become everyone’s servant? The notification blinked again.
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FOURTH LEGION SQUAD A5 NEW DIRECTIVE:
Assist Squad D19 on securing Frontline
A small map showing the Raid grid pulled up. It looks like the Third managed to push the monsters back to the initial area designated for the frontline, even after the early start. A dot hovered just above the sector they were to assist. Fennel blinked the screen away, turning towards their next battleground.
“New orders. We are helping a squad on the frontline. D19.”
“Finally. Maybe we can actually see some real action, Tedi needs a new pair of boots.” Tedi said, rotating his shoulder.
Fennel didn’t share the sentiment, but he understood it. After the last brutal raid, he’d be more than happy to get out with his whole squad intact. He could live with a light wallet.
“A5 Move Out!”
The fighting was more fierce near the frontlines, but only marginally. D19 battled against a mixed group of Tusxics, Red Wulfen, and some Salamandras. A squad seventeen strong. They actually seemed like they had everything under control from what Fennel could tell. Only an archer was injured from the squad. A broken finger. Nothing that would have warranted a distress call.
Fennel caught up with D19’s captain, a Tusxic gened elf named Tonel that stood at the top of a small hill with a large bow in hand. The man stomped down a cloven hoof as Fennel’s squad arrived.
“Blast it all. I told’em we was fine. Don’t need nothin’ from you Fourthies.”
Fennel wasn’t sure what to make of that nickname, Fourthies was new to him. Letting it slide, he focussed on surveying the field. He first noted how few monsters were actually on the frontline, maybe a hundred left. It was empty behind the line of monsters, marking the end of the first wave of the raid. Fennel’s stomach twisted. It's too easy.
“Doesn’t matter, we’re here now. We’ll take the eastern side, it seems like your squad is light over there.” He said as he pointed to a region where a group of about seven Wulfen a few hundred feet away raced toward the line.
“Aye, just get out of me and mine’s hair.”
Fennel directed his squad over.
The skirmish lasted maybe five minutes. It was a textbook encounter. Fennel and his frontliners distracted the oncoming Wulfen, Fennel and Roscoe banged on their shields, Tedi and Zaner shouted at them. Lukkans and the archers fired when they saw the opportunity. The Gloria and the supports healed the surface cuts and bruises anyone received. Nobody even used any abilities, aside from his own Leader of the Pack, the massive team buff he gave to his team.
Another easy battle. The pit grew in Fennel’s stomach. Raids aren’t supposed to be easy. Everything about this raid wasn’t adding up: the early start, the low monster count, how easy the battles were. His ears twitched again.
Fennel pulled his helmet off and watched as D19 killed off what looked like the last monster in the wave. An acid Salamandra that spat out one last glob of the putrid stuff as it fell to the ground, two axes cleaving its head from the rest of the body.
The Watcher system sent another notification.
FRONTLINE SECURED:
ALL PERSONNEL RETURN TO DESIGNATED AREAS
NEXT WAVE APPROXIMATELY: 10 MINUTES
I guess that’s it. A round of hurrays and other celebrations resounded around him. He raised his fist with them, albeit halfheartedly, his eyes blankly staring at the notification most other squad Captains turned off by now. The teams turned their backs and started to walk toward the The notification blinked.
NEXT WAVE APPROXIMATELY: 7 MINUTES
What? Fennel’s head tilted. The number on the timer glitched dropping down to seven minutes. Just as he was about to tell his squad to doubletime it. It blinked again.
NEXT WAVE APPROXIMATELY: 4 MINUTES
…
NEXT WAVE APPROXIMATELY: 2 MINUTES
…
“TURN BACK!” Fennel yelled out.
NEXT WAVE APPROXIMATELY: 30 SECONDS
…
The ground rumbled underneath them. It shifted and cracked, breaking underneath their feet, causing Fennel, his team, and most of D19, to stumble. Once he found his balance he looked up. The ground seemed to fall a few feet, leaving him and the squads in a giant but shallow hole filled with upturned dirt and rocks, maybe four feet deep.
THUNK!
Fennel looked to his side. An arrow landed right next to his shiny foot. He looked back to the rim of the newly made canyon, where the arrow flew from. On the side closest to the frontline, at the rim, stood a lone man, aiming a pulled back bow at him. Then another, and another, and another. After just a few moments, thirty men lined up above them.
“SHIELDS UP!”