It had been several months since the feast of Tsiāhu, and the harsh winter winds had melted beneath the warm breath of springtime zephyrs. Eligon was thankful for the warmth, at least.

Unfortunately, the warmer weather meant the enemy was once again on the move. With a sigh, he handed the spyglass back to his aide. “It is as the reports said. Just a small group of the stoneflesh, perhaps 2000 strong. It’s not a strong enough band to really do anything, though. Probably just meant to irritate us,” he grouched. “Damn Zalancthians.”

His aide, Lord Vayābī stuffed the spyglass into his satchel, glancing over at his childhood friend with a wry grin. “Well, I’d say they’re succeeding.”

Eligon glared back at him, his brows clearing as he broke into a bark of laughter. “Aye, I guess they are.”

His grin quickly faded as he turned his attention back to the foe. “But they really should know better by now. When something irritates me, I remove it.”

Vayābī nodded, needing no command from his friend to understand his intent. “I’ll summon the soldiers.”

Eligon nodded grimly, not bothering to respond as he fingered the mighty mace hanging from his saddle. Let’s crush some skulls.

It took no more than a few hours to assemble the necessary troops; the Zalancthian forces had ventured well behind the established lines of command, but Eligon waited long enough to insure a few mages could join. The Zalancthian’s brazen expedition near his castle was probably just meant to taunt him, but Eligon had not lived to brave a hundred battlefields by being a fool. The possibility that it was some sort of trap did not elude him, so he was content to wait until the mages arrived.

The moon was high in the heavens when his forces finally slipped around the stoneflesh army. They had set up camp in a strong position, on the crest of a hill whose back was nestled tight against the Dāyu river.

Reluctantly, he was forced to have his men dismount from their horses. With his class, he could spur his horse full throttle up the hill, but most of the troops would be unable to keep up. Sneaking up the hill under the cover was the better option, even if the inglorious nature of it rankled beneath his skin.

The hardest part was dealing with the guards. While the Zalancthian lords were prone to turn against each other in petty civil squabbles, their soldiers were the epitome of professionals. As always, a ring of guards encircled their game. Every 10 minutes they would call out to each other, each guard responsible for the next; if anyone didn’t respond the alarm would be raised immediately.

The Corsythian forces waited patiently, hidden in the thick grass, as the guards cried out to each other. As soon as cries left the guards’ throats, they sprung into action. It would be an easy enough task, if Eligon was able to use rogues, but they, like so many other classes, had ceased to be useful when the Zalancthians invaded.

To this day, no one knew where the stoneflesh had come from. One day, a few of their ships had arrived at the province of S̆amnī, on the great eastern isle. The Zalancthians had been welcomed warmly. In appearance, they looked much like the ancestral humans of the Corsythians, many of whom still dwelt in the lands far to the south where the Mwyrani had once ruled.

But the few ships had merely been a sign of the gathering storm.

A few months later, an armada appeared off the coast of the great eastern isle. They swept across the five provinces in a matter of days, conquering all of them except for one - the rocky crags of Urpāti whose hordes of Tsussi kept the invaders at bay.

The emperor at the time, Adīr IV of House Nūrilī, had rushed to assemble a fleet of his own. He was a good ruler, by all accounts, but he was not a warrior. Not waiting for reinforcements from the north and elves to arrive, he set sail for the island. On the way, his forces received news that another armada of Zalancthians had appeared off the coast of the southern capital, Sicya.

Abandoning the island, he set sail to the south, rushing to intercept the new threat. No one knew what exactly happened in that battle. By the time the northern reinforcements arose, Adīr’s ships slumbered on the ocean floor, their hulls the tombs of the flower of the empire’s troops.

Sicya had already fallen.

The empire was plunged into chaos after that. Adīr left behind a young child, not fit to lead the country in war, and Eligon’s grandfather, the commander of the Royal Guard had seized control, usurping the throne. The North and elves, in response, had abandoned them. It had been a long, losing battle since then, although after conquering the royal capital, Corsythia, the Zalancthian’s progress had stalled out. Perhaps, finally, they had overextended themselves.

But they were a tough enemy nonetheless. Despite looking like normal humans, the Zalancthians were unnaturally tough. Their skin was like stone, unable to be pierced without specialized weapons, while the strength of even their common soldiers outstripped all but the strongest of the Corsythian warriors.

Stolen story; please report.

If the Empire could still summon the magic of old, they could have swept the Zalancthians back into the sea, but the Fey Wars had left them utterly spent.It had taken many generations for the Empire to adapt, entire classes - like rogues - becoming all but useless for the battlefield, but eventually, the system had evolved.They were no longer so helpless, but every inch of ground they regained came at a steep cost.

“Eligon.” Shaking his arm, his aide whispered in his lord’s ear. “Eligon, the guards have been dealt with.”

Snapping out of it, Eligon sprang into action. They crept quietly up the hill, the few mages they had gathered up casting shrouds of darkness over the emperor’s forces as they approached the tents. It was a shame he hadn’t had a fire mage on hand, but sometimes one didn’t magic to get spectacular results.

Their noise muffled by the spells, his troops quickly slid into position, communicating with silent hand gestures. Then, as one, they lit the tents on fire. The still night descended into chaos as the drowsy Zalancthians streamed out of their flaming tents.

They were met in the face with hard, Corsythian steel. One of the many changes that had emerged in the aftermath of the invasion was the rise of heavy, armored forces as the Corsythians learned to crush what they could not pierce.

Eligon waded into the fray with glee, his blood thrumming with excitement as he smashed through the disordered ranks of the foe. He dodged to the side as a massive boar spear thrust through the space he had just occupied, barely missing a beat as he smashed his mace into the skull of the unarmored Zalancthian. His monstrous strength tore through the resistance, leaving behind little more than bloody paste as the body dropped to the ground.

Eligon did not consider himself a bad man, but when it came to killing the enemies of his people, whose lords sat in luxury in his capital, he didn’t feel even an ounce of pity. With a roar, he triggered one of his skills, the mace slamming into the ground with such force that the three Zalancthians soldiers rushing him were thrown on their backs. His left foot lashed out, the heavy, spiked sabaton caving in the ribs of one, while his mace took care of the second. The third had time to stumble to his feet, but there was no escaping the enraged emperor, who swept the man’s legs out from under him. A second later the Zalancthian was no more.

The Corsythian forces swept through the scattered foe with chilling efficiency; any who escaped the fiery inferno and made it down the hill were cut down by the waiting troops. But Eligon’s fears had not been entirely in vain.

A bellow of rage rose above the fury of the battle, the sound so piercing that Eligon felt a shiver run down his spine. He turned in time to see the Zalancthian commander charging toward him.

The man had had no time to throw on armor, his skin glistening in the light of the burning camp as the sweat rolled down his chest. He wielded a massive axe in his hand, with a shaft so long that it rivaled a spear. With a roar, he swept his blade through the Corsythians in front of him, the axe slicing through the heavily armored infantry as if they were blades of grass.

That’s not normal. Eligon barely had time to think before the commander was on him. With a surge of strength, his mace smashed into the axe. It took all his might to shove it to the side, the sharp blades swishing a hair’s breadth from his face.

But he could see something was not right with the man. The bloodshot eyes that stared back at him were an all too familiar sight for any overburdened leader. The two sets of pupils staring back at him, one a strange, vertical slit, was another. thing altogether. What the hell is wrong with him?

Eligon had no chance to ponder the question, as the heavily armored man desperately summoned every ounce of strength and experience to deflect, dodge or direct the endless hail of blows the Zalancthian rained down on him, his endurance seemingly endless.

It was enough. Barely.

Just when Eligon thought his arms would drop off if he had to swing the increasingly heavy hammer one more time, his mages came to his rescue. Great stone claws clamped around the Zalancthian’s ankles, binding him to the earth. The commander shrugged them off, smashing through the stone, but as soon as they were broken new ones formed, time and time again. And then the real attack occurred.

The night was briefly driven away as a flash of light shot from a trio of mages. Selene’s grace fueled their magic as the lunar rays sliced through the Zalancthian’s hardened skin. The magic lasted but a second, but when the light faded, a large smoking crater filled the commander’s chest.

He dropped to the ground at Eligon’s feet, instantly dead. But the emperor shrank back when he saw the second set of pupils continue to move a fraction longer, filled with a baleful hatred.

“Are you alright, my lord?” The mages ran over to him, their leader stepping forward with obvious concern.

Eligon nodded, his strength suddenly exhausted. “Yes, thanks for the assist.” He hesitated a moment. “I’ll tell the quartermaster to let you pick something special from the warehouses.”

The unpleasant task of sorting through the ruined encampment lasted into the wee hours of the morn. Thankfully, Eligon was able to rest, his strength utterly expended in the battle. While the emperors of Corsythia might not possess the glory they once wielded, they had not fallen so far as to be reduced to menial tasks.

But when they searched the commander’s tents, he was forced to rouse himself again.

“What is it, Vayābī?” His old friend was clearly troubled, as he sorted through a pile of large wooden crates.

His Right Hand lifted up a vial in which a black, oily-looking liquid sloshed back and forth. “There’s a few hundred of these potions, my lord. We aren't sure yet what they do, but the mages fear that they might have been what the commander was using. They said he was unnaturally strong, even for a Zalancthian?”

A spasm of fear clutched Eligon’s heart as the four pupils flashed across his mind again. Hundreds of potions? If the mages were right… He could barely bring himself to complete the thought. A few hundred Zalancthians fighting like the commander could have slaughtered his army.

But he controlled his emotions, nodding tersely at his friend. The last thing they needed was to start a panic. “He was a little stronger than usual, I suppose.”

Vayābī, as always, read between the lines, his brows gathering like looming thunderclouds as he turned back to the potions. “Very well, my lord. I’ll have the mages investigate them carefully. Oh, and there’s one other thing. My page arrived this morning with an urgent message for you. A delegation of elves is waiting for you back at the castle. They claim they’re willing to help, for a price.”