“Should markets be regulated? One might argue that stifling the impact of Skills related to commerce is wrong. Conversely, others might argue that the Skills themselves are immoral. This topic has garnered more research than I care to admit. People are quite passionate when it comes to their wealth.”

~Unknown

One of Lionel’s teachers once claimed that it was advanced forms of communication, the facilitation of shared knowledge and intelligence, that allowed humanity to keep the Beasts at bay. On some level, Lionel agreed. There was something bordering on romantic about the notion, to declare so brazenly that it was something so seemingly simple that gave them the edge. The bards sing of mighty Skills and the unyielding determination of the individual heroes, though, because an epic about language itself would be rather dull indeed.

Those thoughts did little to make the Slayer Lieutenant feel any less disgusted at the tower of reports that had been neatly stacked on his desk.

It would be oh so easy to… Fantasies of a sharp whistle and a sudden inferno danced at the fringes of Lionel’s mind in time with the flickering of imaginary flames. A tempting thought, but a grossly irresponsible one he knew he would never allow himself to indulge in.

Instead, he pushed mana into his lungs and let it carry his will into the world on a far less destructive note of Spellsong. His mana ignited as it hit the air, forming a tiny ball of flame no larger than a fingernail. It followed his music, darting around the room to caress the wicks of myriad candles. Such gentle kisses spawned flame and light and the calming scent of meditative flowers infused into the candle wax.

It would be another late night.

When was the last time I slept… Even for those whose Tier could push back fatigue, doing so in excess was ill advised. Lionel reached up to touch the skin under his eyes, wincing as he felt the forming bags. Tomorrow, for sure…. It was the same promise he’d made to himself the night before.

It took a conscious effort to suppress the effects of Perception [Auditory]. Even without actively engaging the Skill, his mana was so innately attuned to sound that the symphony of insects copulating in between the walls of the keep would make themselves known to him without deliberate intervention. Even the beating of his own heart would be maddening if Lionel lacked the ability to properly modulate his mana.

The first few months after an Advancement were always the worst.

Not that I am anywhere close to my next one. Lionel considered opening his System to analyze the situation, or perhaps fondly review the Skill Augmentations that allowed him to more accurately parse and process sound without melting his brain. One did not become a Slayer Lieutenant without discipline, though. Such idle thoughts were squashed beneath the weight of duty and obligation.

“I hate when I have to be responsible,” Lionel muttered under his breath as he pulled the first report from the pile to review. He took a deep breath, letting the rejuvenating scent of the candles work their magic; literally. Whatever cocktail of Skills went into their creation helped amplify the restorative effects of the infused medicines. Exhaustion was further held at bay by aroma, and Lionel felt his concentration sharpen like a worn blade thrust upon the whetstone.

It was a good thing, too. The reports were not welcome ones. Most of it was standard fare, the myriad small things that the supporting staff at the keep needed his seal of approval for. There were people who could assume that responsibility when Lionel was out on assignment, but the Captain had insisted he not give up the role entirely - something about the burden of leadership being a crucible for growth.

Lionel’s eyes darted across the pages, looking for enough key words to get the gist before giving them the stamp. Seldom were the requests unreasonable, and given the recent uptick in Beast incidents, the Slayers were flush with funding.

Small victories, I suppose.

The main reports requiring Lionel’s attention were notably thicker and decisively more grim. Fueha attacks, Ostard nests, even a swarm of Mitents. That last one provoked a shudder from Lionel as he scanned the paperwork; it was an incident he’d personally had to attend to several weeks prior. The report needed one final review before being submitted to the archive.

***

“What of the holdouts?” It was Kortez who asked the question as he and Lionel were making their final approach. They did so on foot, for the horses would attract the wrong kind of attention; they were large enough to tempt fringe Mitents to forgo their preferred diet.

“You know as well as I do that their demise is all but a certainty.” There was no joy in Lionel’s tone as the grim statement left his lips. There were some things even he had trouble poking fun at.

Why are some people so stubborn when… The thought was left unfinished; he knew the answer. Whenever there was a crisis, there were always those who refused to follow sense and evacuate, to sacrifice their connection to a place in order to preserve their lives. They were tethered by memory and emotion so strong that neither sense nor self-preservation could pull them away.

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“So we look out for them anyway?” Kortez was double checking the straps on his shield, giving them a final tug to ensure they were secure.

“Yeah, we look out for them anyway.” Lionel forced a small smile; Kortez had been under his command long enough to figure out how he operated.

“Do you ever plan to grow out of that heroic shit?” Kortez returned a grin framed by a dark goatee. Instead of shaving his face, the older Slayer maintained a smooth, olive-toned scalp. There was apparently a story behind that, though not even Lionel had been able to wrestle it out of him yet.

“Alas, heroism finds itself bound to me by fate and-”

“Bullshit?”

“Despite my passion for candor, I still outrank you.” Lionel’s tone was flat as he gave the rebuke. Kortez busied himself double and triple checking the various pockets and pouches on his attire.

“Apologies. Bullshit, sir?” Kortez maintained a straight face. Lionel almost cracked.

“In essence,” Lionel eventually managed to respond without risking a chuckle. Most of the Slayers in his unit had picked up some of his eccentricities through shared contact and experiences. No doubt he’d collected a few of theirs as well; such was the way of things.

Companionable silence carried the Slayers through the rest of their short journey, a chance to mentally steel themselves in case horrors awaited them. The gentle crunch of dirt sliding under boot tickled Lionel’s ears with every step, and before long the small village they’d been called to came into view.

Rather, what was left of it did.

The homes and businesses were gone, and all but a few remained on the fringes, though even those were riddled with holes and barely standing.

If anyone survived, they aren’t going to be in the village proper. Where once a village stood, an off-gray mound had taken its place, rising higher into the air than most buildings at its tallest points. Large holes dotted the irregular structure, seemingly positioned at random.

“At least they will have plenty of material to use for the reconstruction,” Lionel remarked. Kortez didn’t respond for a long moment, his eyes were busy scanning the village.

“There,” he eventually said. “Near the perimeter closest to us, slightly to the West.” Lionel was already looking in the same direction, having listened for the Beast closest to the surface. It wasn’t the only one he’d heard, either, merely the closest. With six skittering legs on each Mitent, the sound was hard to miss.

“I see it.” Mitents were the size of a small dog and resembled an unholy union between rat and insect. Carapace-like armor covered their bodies, while tufts of fur creeped out between each plate like weeds between slabs of concrete. They sported two sets of compound eyes and a rodent-like snout, complete with their signature incisors. Their lower jaws were split and concealed sharp mandibles that could fold out and allow them to more easily grip their food.

“The colony grew fast,” Kortez said flatly.

“That it did…”

“Do I want to know?”

“No, but I will indulge you with the details anyway. There’s probably at least a hundred based on what I heard.” There was a beat of silence.

“Heard? So you are not-”

“Actively keeping tabs? No. I need to conserve mana for this, but we are both aware what will happen once we disturb the colony. I take it you want to go with a controlled position instead of a wide scale effort?”

“Definitely.” The two Slayers stood shoulder-to-shoulder as they discussed their plans in shorthand built from familiarity. A faint breeze rolled through the area as they watched the Mitent scurry over the hardened gray structure before disappearing down another of the holes.

“Any guess as to how they ended up this far from The Forest? This is not exactly a fringe village,” Kortez asked. It was also why the job had been made such a high priority. Lionel thought for a moment before shrugging.

“A guess? Definitely, though I would rather not flavor your own judgment with my speculation. We can share our wrong ideas once we uncover the truth.” Kortez just laughed, it was the forced laugh of a man about to throw himself into danger.

“In that case, I have run out of stalling tactics.”

“You and I both know that is not true, but I agree with the sentiment. Shall we?” In response to Lionel’s question, Kortez rolled his neck from side to side, producing a pair of satisfying cracks for the effort.

“Yeah, may as well.”

***

A knock at the door pulled Lionel from his thoughts. The report emphasized certain aspects of the mission more than others, but reading them was enough to send Lionel back into the moment.

“Come in,” he called after taking a moment to stifle a yawn and rub his eyes. The candles helped, but they weren’t a replacement for sleep.

Kortez strode into the office wearing the marks of recent travel. He came to a stop a respectable distance away from the Lieutenant's desk and waited to be addressed. Within the walls of the keep, certain formalities were best adhered to, lest someone decide to make a political issue of the whole thing.

“Slayer Kortez, I take it you have come to grace my desk with another thoroughly constructed report. It is good to see you made it back safely.”

“Another gem for the pile, sir,” Kortez fired back without missing a beat. Certain formalities were adhered to, not all of them.

Lionel stood up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes before making his way to the door.

“Come on, you can give me the footnotes while we go rouse the chef. I suspect you will want to regale me over a hot meal, and I could use a quick reprieve. I was reading the Mitent report.”

Kortez chuckled before following behind his Lieutenant.

“Yeah, that would do it.” The door closed behind them with a dull thunk. Moments later, it quickly opened back up enough for Lionel to stick his head back in. With a quick whistle, the candles around the room rapidly extinguished, leaving the office in darkness.