"Mono/Dialogue"
'Inner thoughts'
Narration
[Message/communication apparatus]
Date: Winter 1919 NWC or 646 AU.
Location: Southern Arganea
POV: Narrator
Guards inside one of the many warehouses are hard at work… or at least that’s what they cimed. Some could be seen dozing and zily leaning against their guard posts; another is too busy polishing and maintaining his boots, while some are in the middle of unwinding with a fresh selection of local wenches.
It is no surprise that an army will always march along with an assortment of entertainers and non-combatants, whether they are nobles’ retinues or common peddlers; everyone can profit from an army marauding through the countryside. People from the future would have a higher chance of balking at being colborators, but this is a different world.
Cities were sacked, caravans marauded and robbed, and local decency and religious tolerance had sunk deep into the gutter... yet people, ordinary and numerous people, barely managed to care. This is the southern part of Arganea, a region much divided and often cold toward those who sought to understand them. The people here had been tempered into a constant state of disorganized peasant republics, which gained popurity from a single piece of transted correspondence that came from outside the continents.
Zorphal’s grandfather had tried his best to curb this surge. He deeply condemned them as madies that mistook anarchy and wlessness for freedom and justice. Of course, such an attempt ended with him being dragged down from his horse and stabbed repeatedly, and his head was politely returned to the royal family in retively pristine condition, except for everything neck down going missing.
This was their height of power, where a sense of brotherhood was at its feverish peak… which is now long gone. Beheading everyone complicit with the old government and nobles made ruling difficult, and at times, they devolved into warring cns and petty chiefdoms. The Central Government took one look at them and decided then and there that signing a charter to allow the South to pursue their motives, but under the rule of the Royal Family, was much better.
They suffered a serious blow to their image and reputation, but this move proves to be the right one. After learning lessons from the south, Arganea’s next King, Zorphal and Ionie’s father, had a basic grasp of how to stymie the upcoming social revolution. Instead of trying to censor everything, he enacted sweeping reforms piece by piece.
As, those reforms were for nothing when the Empire came knocking.
Southerners soon began to csh with their hardheaded Western neighbors, the Northern states known for their wealth and vast trading connections, the Central regions where everything was wrong with the bloated aristocracy, and the Eastern areas often derisively called the Trespassers Dukedom.
But that’s it for historical trivia because now the South is in veritable ruins, with Halciadonish invaders dividing into several armies. One army is skirting the border between here and central, another has decided to retreat home as Gadram did, and a few other minor armies are cutting a swath of destruction across this abominable region.
One such army had recently subdued a small settlement belonging to an Arganean lord. He had submitted, but because the Baron had allowed his people to flee, the army’s wrath soon descended upon him and his men. They fought valiantly, but no one will remember their names. A history book, if he is lucky, will prepare a small footnote for him.
With him out of the picture, this settlement was quickly transformed by the Halciadonish army, which also serves as engineers and builders. New moats and walls, rows of tents and amenities, and soon the forgotten vilge in the hicks had been turned into a military settlement worthy of its size.
As the cascading snows of the upcoming winter battered the outside world, the vanquished huddled together in a poorly constructed pen with rickety thin walls and insufficient insution. They shivered and huddled as their eyelids grew heavy, but many feared that the moment their eyes closed would be their st. Why bother with such a lengthy endeavor? Simple, sves.
Some had longed for death’s sweet embrace. Souls long torn and shredded by the immense cruelty inflicted by mortals wielding power. Bodies bruised and broken from the prolonged process of being stripped of their humanity and decency. Minds… long gone or on the brink of nothingness.
To be released from their mortal coil and head either towards the long journey foretold by men and women of the cloth or into the oblivion chanted along by the unbelievers had been their sole dream; wish; deliverance; and salvation. These people had long discarded hope and traded sanity for apathy to seek refuge from the lingering pain and humiliation.
One such unfortunate person is a girl who has just crossed into early adulthood, now being dragged through the dirt by a pair of bipedal beasts pretending to be soldiers. She has been stripped of her dignity, made a mockery of her maidenhood, and is currently being pulled across the icy ground beneath her and under the zy or depraved gaze of starving wolves disguised as soldiers.
Her life had been turned upside down when the war suddenly took a turn for the worse. Her home, bordering the western fortresses, was shattered and broken. The vile witch had betrayed them; she had betrayed her and everyone who pced their trust in the many promises she had made. As, they are the fools—morons and simpletons turned into pawns, now treated as loot for Arganea’s ‘Protector and Guarantor’ until God knows when.
“How fortunate, the Whore of Argonume can be reasoned with, unlike her foolish father.” Her ears picked up such a string of words, filled with bile and disdain, from someone hauling her left arm.
“I must give my thanks to Prince Darelio and his daring strike! All honor and wealth to him, and I hope he lives a long, fulfilling life.”
“Hear, hear! We are blessed! Truly blessed! He had paved the way forth toward our ultimate victory, and we gained the victor’s bounty with ease!” They shared a ugh of satisfaction. Not even the slightest heartbeat of hesitation as they treated her like a used rag.
Her lifeless eyes reflected the scenes of the victors and their celebrated bounties. She observed faintly as soldiers drank and sang more than her family could ever hope for, a lifetime of merriment built upon their suffering. She watches as a girl younger than her is dragged inside a tent, kicking and screaming for her brothers, her sisters, her mother, her fathers— all of them.
She absorbs the full sickening detail as the beast has had enough of the poor girl’s wailing and kicks her in the gut. She sobs and chokes on her vomit, but they ugh… they ugh… They ugh because this Kingdom is finished. They ugh because there is nothing to worry about, and they ugh because they are going to be… heroes.
History books and murals will sing of glorious victory. Those inanimate yet fragile but enduring proofs of humanity’s hubris will procim the Empire’s war as just and blessed. Her agony, along with many others like hers, will forever be buried as lessons learned by bored and apathetic future generations.
She desired to experience what these men felt.
She wanted to ugh as well, to grasp the joy that war brings.
She found herself wanting.
It was curious that they could simply be themselves and live in the moment.
As, her delirium came crashing down the moment her body hit the cold ground. Her breathing turned into a choking rasp. She no longer has enough power and strength to remain upright. Perhaps they won’t even care; it’s just one broken object, and there are more.
The girl was given nothing and is now once again with her people. Some turned to look at this newest addition to this hell, but most had long since lost hope. They huddle and shiver on the ground, keeping warm by wrapping around each other. None have the energy to spare; the fear of their ensver and the promised pain of the frost outside their ragged confine make them obedient.
However, one boy emerged from the huddled mass: a child no older than she, with a body covered in cerations and a back still marked by fresh signs of abject cruelty. Yet he pressed on, crawling on the ground and groaning.
“…” He groaned at her, listless yet hopeful. The girl craned her neck (a generous admission) and watched him crawl at her. She didn’t answer, and some of the onlooking prisoners didn’t either. He wished that he could stand up and compel himself to drag her closer, inch by literal inch.
“Ohho! What do we have here? Oy, ds!” A sneering voice came from outside the cage, a man grinning widely with a whip in hand. His smirk was lost on the boy, who was focused on trying to pull her closer. Soon, several cackles and footsteps closed in.
“Good god! Look at him go, this is one tough soldier!” One of them squatted by the cage, holding a prodding stick.
“Haha, we got a real fighter here!” another mocked before throwing a pebble that struck the boy’s hand. He grunted from the sudden pain while the girl instinctively closed her eyes. Their reactions drew more amusement from several others in the nearby tent.
One of the soldiers entered the cage, reeking of alcohol, with a wooden club in hand. Soon, his shadow loomed over the boy, and he stomped on his hand. A sickening crunch echoed as the brittle bones were forced to endure the pressure. The boy shrieked in pain, tears welling in his eyes, but they never left the girl, shivering mad on the ground.
“Who permitted you to touch this wench? Piss-stinking brats these days don’t know that they shouldn’t touch someone else’s property.” He punctuated his words with zy slurring and kicked the boy in the stomach. The boy was forced to cradle his freshly abused abdomen, and more ughter rang out.
She closed her eyes, shut her mind, and whimpered softly as the man began to abuse the boy. His cries of pain had long been stifled and dulled from days of captivity and terrible living conditions.
They ugh. They always ugh.
“Haha! The wretch is quite the tough one, eh?”
“Bet 10 Halmarc he won’t st long.” They cheered as if beating up a defenseless young man were nothing more than a spectacle. She forced herself to look and watch as the boy still... still... expending every effort to reach her, even when bloodied and abused. Gravel and pebbles pricked his skin, but he paid them no mind.
“Insolent nitwit!” The drunk soldier bellowed in fury, smming his club to the side of his face. The young man cried out; he did. His tears, his fears, his anger, and boiling hatred etched clearly through his dimming vision. Greater still, he kept on trying to reach her.
His drunken tormentor kicked him in the gut, then shoved him onto his stomach with his foot. As if noticing her presence, the beast turned his gaze toward her. She felt that same slimy and lusty gaze once more, yet her body refused to do anything. She stares at him with a broken and bnk look as he pinned her to dirt.
His tongue glides along her ears, and she can do nothing. As… her torment is about to continue. Beneath that same ughter and merriment, she’s not even a footnote, just a natural cause and effect when one has power over others. As she numbs herself to at least defy them with a small form of resistance.
That is until her lungs caught something that choked her throat. She wondered if the man had forced himself on her already. If she was, then why didn’t she feel his arms anymore? Resolute, she braced herself to listen and reorient. She noticed that coughing and confused murmurs echoed around her.
Initially, it was coughing fits that caused difficulty in breathing and increasingly frantic choking. As she freefalls into her unknown affliction, the soldiers and other sves around her begin to feel it themselves.
“I… *cough*… I-I can’t…” One soldier who has been sneering all the while begins to choke on his saliva. His hand drops the stick he was supposed to use for the follow-up entertainment. Soon, he falls to his knees, coughing violently and experiencing shortness of breath at frantic intervals.
“H-healer!” another cried out as his lungs were overpowered by a foreign substance or air or some bck magic that could not be detected. He cwed and cwed at his throat, trying to banish the lump of saliva pooling and clogging his respiration.
“… *cough*… ngh…” An ensved old man groaned in pain as he coughed. His aging body was not as robust as others, and thus he was the first to succumb. His body heat receded faster than a tidal wave, and that’s when it truly began. Yet, his expression was one of listless contentment; he could be reunited with those he lost…
“H-Help! I can’t- *cough!* *cough!* *cough!* b-breathe!” cried a beast that tormented the boy. He writhed pathetically on the ground. He is losing autonomy over his body, now reduced to nothing more than a trembling frame and rigid nerves. Drool mixed with thick saliva drenched with bile and blood.
Thudding soon echoed, as more succumbed to the sweet and fair embrace of death through an agonizing process. Sves who were aware of this fact began to cry as their very being disobeyed its owner. Some cried for freedom finally granted by fate, some cried for having been spared from prolonged torture but ultimately faced death, some cursed this fate because they didn’t want to die, but most… they coughed silently with tears streaming down their cheeks.
“What in the gods name is happening here!?” an officer who had been enjoying the show from the sidelines, retively far away from the cages, excimed in horrified confusion.
“H-healer! Someone call the healer!” It seems that despite (or perhaps because of) their depravity, some approached their suffering comrades—men who had fought side by side as they cleaved and carved bloody swathes through the southern region. That twisted savant’s heart burned hot with rage as he cradled his brother-in-arms’ pale and coughing visage.
“H-hang in there!” he cried out as he performed first aid by untangling his comrade’s armor.
‘This is unfair! We are meant to return home as heroes!’ One of the coughing dead men shrieked inside his mind. His body was long lost to the agonizing grips of death. His hands trembled and his fingers twitched erratically as he reached for the bde at his hip.
“God, why?! Why have you abandoned your faithful servant!? We are on your holy war, we are purging these beasts! So, why God?!” He wailed and railed against heaven. His devoted heart bzed with indignation. His hands kept trying to help his dying brothers, but his movements were messy and chaotic… and ultimately sluggish.
He began coughing as well; that indignation grew into terror. He dropped his former brother’s now lifeless corpse on the snowy ground. He coughs and runs past them, but he stumbles not long after. His eyes are wet with tears, the same tears that accompanied his ughter as the sves were tormented and toyed with.
The soldier has no time to curse; he's too weak and indeed, weaker than the sves, as this deadly phenomenon spread. He wasn’t alone; others who approached the cages succumbed as well.
“Stop! Don’t approach them! Call the healers and mages!” an officer said as he noticed this anomaly, his voice cutting through the battering snow. The frantic shouting that ensued prompted a group of cuirassiers to approach him.
“What’s the cause of this commotion?!” His voice was high enough to catch the officer’s attention.
“The soldiers started coughing as they approached the cages. Then they started coughing and dropping dead along with the sves!” His words terrified the cuirassiers' captain.
“D-Did a pgue spread from those filthy heathens?!”
“I fear it is something far worse, else we would-” His words were cut off by a loud…
Boom!
Several moments ago.
Looking back at one of the warehouses of this camp, which used to be an Arganean farming community, we see a pair of men: one younger with blonde hair and a youthful appearance, and the other a grizzled veteran with a head polished to a shine. These two are pying the local variation of a card game.
“It’s time for a change of guard, don’t you think?” The younger man-at-arms commented zily, with his knees on the table and comfortably leaning against his chair, which conveniently touched the wooden walls. His colleague sighed before drawing another card, a thin piece of wood in actuality, and stacking it atop the previous ones.
“I fear that’s not the case ddie, with how those damn aristocrats are running things… we might be needed for longer than usual.” His bitter words provoke a sardonic grin from the younger men-at-arms; his sense of adventurism had been tempered by the muddy fields and ruined farmnd leftover from harvest, looting, or sacking.
“I miss home, old man… I really miss it a lot. We fought like hell against those godless and honorless heathens… but I wonder if this is all worth it…”
“Get used to it, this campaign has been the shortest in our history. Once the entire Western holdouts were eradicated, this war would be as good as over. I am quite satisfied that the Queen is a reasonable one, unlike her predecessor.”
“Heh… Women will sing and dance if we swing and dash forth with a sword in hand… A bit of a shame that she’s now the Regent’s property.” He stacked another card on the table, smiling as he saw his pn progressing. The old man noticed it and sighed softly.
“Betrothed, Gale, betrothed.” He calmly corrected the young man who snorted at the pcation. He looked across the table to see which set of in-hand cards he needed to put down next.
“I barely notice the difference. Sure, she is a mage and all that witchcraft nonsense… but we are moving forward. No longer must we obey some wicked crones, madmen, or soothsayers.” He pulled an arquebus closer to him and admired it.
He sufficiently and deliberately ignored one of Emperor Haumelchor’s most trusted advisors.
“This is how war shall be fought. Not with haughty mages but with honorable men; future generations will sing our names as heroes of a new age.” Despite witnessing the brutality of war, battle, and general human suffering, he still clings to an idealized notion, simply because he watches in awe as cavalry breezes through the pins and breaks their enemies.
Gunpowder is terrifying to behold, but a well-timed cavalry charge can shatter it all the same. As with all things, gunpowder doesn’t win wars. It has gring weaknesses in wet environments, and crafting new arquebuses has drained the coffers. Additionally, another fundamental weakness is that the range, protection, and inflexibility of arquebusiers make them prime targets to be eliminated.
Unless every man is armed with these new wonder weapons and stays close to the pikemen, they are as good as dead when ncers gallop and run them down. It became even more tantalizing to behold once the Crown Regent himself took to the field atop his steed, cd in the finest armor. He was privy to a rumor that both magic and technology were used to craft the Regent’s armaments.
“There’s no more shame to be gained once we conquer this continent and share the bounty of progress with His Imperial Majesty.” His gaze briefly flicked outside, probably catching the officer’s ughter with his wench. He wondered if he could find a wench currently free of customers, bedding sves who know nothing but screaming, which started grating on his ears.
“Yet… What I will do to have to don those capes and feathered helms…” The old soldier's gaze lingered on him for a moment, and he responded with a grunt and words shaped by years of service.
“Sooner or ter, you will get there. Just make sure you keep your wits about you; the Lords always hunger for capable personnel. However, let me remind you…” His gaze sharpened as the young man suddenly straightened in his seat.
“There is no going back once you enter that sort of battlefield. I stay where I am because this pce is like home to me… No man can find comfort in making his bed in a den of snakes. Understood?” He concluded his statement by pcing the winning card on the table.
“… I’ll give it a thought.” The younger man settled his bet and stood up. As he did, he recalled something—or someone, to be precise.
“Where’s Kaskul? I swore he should have returned by now. That zy bum better not waste his time.” The grizzled veteran crossed his arms and stood up as well. He left the bet on the table untouched while the younger guy pocketed his loss and followed after him. They searched the warehouse and conducted a preliminary check to ensure that the missing guy wasn’t trying to take some of the supplies for himself.
Eventually, they discovered him in the bathroom, dozing off with his helmet left behind.
“By the heavens… I know this would have happened…” The older man-at-arms cursed under his breath as he strode toward the zy guard.
“Get up, or do you want another shing?” He nudged him, but there was no response. His scowl deepens as he shakes him, but still there is no response.
“Kaskul, wake up!” His blonde junior steps forward and gives him a rough shove onto the sleeping guard, only for the guard to tumble carelessly to the ground. This startled both of them.
“Hey! Wake up! Wake up, you dimwit!” Gale tried again with a bewildered gaze. His senior knelt to check Kaskul’s pulse. His frown was marred by confusion and myriad unspoken questions.
“He is alive, but something is not right.” He pced a hand under his chin while his younger colleague knelt beside him. Gale began checking for any wounds and found nothing, at least for now. It would be a hassle to check beneath Kaskul's heavy brigandine and extra armor pting.
“This is not a sleeping spell. If it is, a simple shake should have been enough and that’s worrisome either way.” He can’t help a sliver of panic seeping into his voice. Not only does this provide credence to an intruder in their midst, but everyone tasked with guarding this warehouse will be bmed regardless.
If you aren’t a noble, then you’re expendable.
Such is the norm when one is given power over others. Civil rights movements have often been suppressed because those in power have long understood the advantage that comes with knowledge. Otherwise, it will only be a matter of time before those they have oppressed fight back in a way that swords and intimidation will soon become ineffective.
“We should inform the messengers post and raise an alert for the sentries-”
BOOM!
Gale’s voice was interrupted by simultaneous, loud explosions shaking the camp. It doesn’t take long for screams and the tolling of bells to fill the night. Men and women are yelling outside as the chaos spreads like a pgue.
“What in heavens?!”
“Gale! Get him to safety and wait here! I’ll head to our bannered tent!” The younger guard nodded while hauling his unconscious friend to safety. When he reached for the door, he heard a click. His st memory was of an odorless and nearly imperceptible haze. It numbed his body, and a paralyzing shock ran through his nerves as he moved toward the eternal journey beckoning him from the next world.
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“Get up! Get up! Get up! Ring the bells! Head to your colors and standards!” an officer barked as he roused his men from their x attitude. The festive mood was broken, and angry shouts were exchanged among them. Bugles and drums sounded in a rhythmic cacophony as night faded away under the quickened activity to prepare for battle.
Cuirassiers, mostly from lower nobility, mounted their horses and galloped toward the point of commotion. Soldiers filling the streets made way for these knights armed with swords and pistols. The one at the forefront raised the banner high to inspire order and confidence amidst the chaos unfolding.
Soldiers scramble for their arms and armor, with riders and messengers cutting through the organized chaos of men heading out to war. Pikemen don their breastptes and helmets, weathered and seasoned by battle, while the officers in charge begin rallying the men into a perfectly drilled formation and await orders.
The most important part of repelling a surprise attack is to control the men immediately. This is also how the Empire can easily trounce its many foes; discipline and coordination will lead them. Panic and fear will always affect the soldiers, but while their minds are pgued by those emotions, their bodies will remember their training and become something worth leaning on.
Yet, they cannot help but grow tense and talk among themselves.
“Did those bastards perform a night attack?” One of the standard bearers theorized as he stood in his position alongside the pikemen and halberdiers. He was busy accounting for the men’s saries, but the explosion and subsequent commotion put that on hold. The standard bearer was soon joined by four handpicked men to provide support in exchange for career advancement and to keep a closer eye on the gold.
“I don’t know, but I swore we had pacified these wretches.” A backline swordsman, armed with a steel buckler and a thin but sharp bde, whispered to his colleague. His breastpte had noticeable smudges and dents, telling tales of combats or battles where lives were on the line.
“They spurned His Imperial Majesty’s clemency, and perhaps those dishonorable Northern Cutthroats were in cahoots with whoever caused this mess.” A colleague of his muttered with obvious disdain.
“Aye, I wager my entire sary this season that sooner or ter the North will have its comeuppance. At least the West fought with honor, and the South subdued like the filth they are.” He never trusts the Northern Arganean; he sees them as a potential keg of bck powder ready to explode.
“Hmph, indeed. Even those Eastern exiles had more honor and chivalry, and most of them carried those detestable beasts’ blood. If they fought on and survived, I am confident that His Imperial Majesty shall grant them amnesty as workers and battle thralls.”
“We should lodge a compint, His Imperial Majesty has always encouraged us to rey and report our needs. For that, he earns my loyalty, which is why he needs to know.” A more idealistic approach to this problem, which has been brewing ever since the capitution of Arganea, was expressed by a recruit who experienced his first battle in this very (barely a) fort.
“Depends on the nobles, while we can compin they might twist our words.” His enthusiastic foolishness was shattered by a cold spsh of reality. Emperor Haumelchor the First was indeed a generous and forward-thinking liege, but even he had to navigate through vultures worming their way into his favor.
“Forget about all of that, let’s march north and punish those cowards. Five beheaded wretches for each one of us!” It was truly shocking that these men cimed to be soldiers, yet their voices were nothing more than a constant stream of venom and hatred with a boiling desire for blood. It makes one wonder if these individuals possess any empathy at all.
“I agree. We should fy the witch while we are at it; even the Crown Prince cannot do a thing if we can convince the Emperor of our righteousness and honor.” Regardless, despite everything, their training showed, and their confidence soared as they had conquered and battled for the most part.
“Tsk, we should have killed them all. They had spurned His Imperial Majesty’s mercy, like the beast blood they are.” uttered an arquebusier, his tone and choice of words showed how displeased he was with this whole ordeal.
“Agree. We should have destroyed this southern realm brimming with filth. These dirty peasants are getting too full of themselves.” An older halberdier muttered angrily. He was in the middle of enjoying time alone with his beau, but now he stood at attention with a rather askew uniform.
Such mutterings are exchanged, but the officers gathered inside their respective command tents for each company with pronounced anxiety. As the primary contingent of this army was thrown into confusion and an undertone of uncertainty, the nobles stop their bickering to take charge of their respective bannermen and factions against what might be a surprise attack.
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The Visigoth team cut through the encampment with steady, slow, yet unstoppable movements. They flitted through tents where their occupants had left the warmth of their makeshift hearths amidst this winter. Visigoth One-One led the way, ensuring his comrades could traverse the terrain quickly.
It is fortunate that the soldiers struggle to light their braziers; the darkness of the night has become their greatest ally in this daring raid. He breezes past at the forefront, navigating this beehive in search of intruders. His body is surging with adrenaline, further amplified by combat drugs specifically designed for his kind.
He scanned the abandoned tents and moved through the noisy junctures. He briefly slowed his approach upon seeing a soldier watching over others from the shadows. Not wasting his time, he snapped forth with a knife in hand and tore the soldier’s throat open. He can see his victim’s eyes wide with dread, but after observing their behavior towards the prisoner and being instructed by the pair responsible to ‘extricate’ them from suffering, he can no longer muster a smidge of care.
Not like that will mean anything; he follows orders to the letter, even if Medusa’s reputation is not the best.
Slowly pulling the dead man away from prying eyes, he neatly tucked the corpse inside one of the tents. He noticed trinkets and beverages, mostly primitively distilled alcohol or ale, neatly stacked for the former and messily scattered on the floor where several soldiers had been huddling beforehand for the tter. He doesn’t linger for long and returns to lead his men.
One thing he regrets is that none of his men can understand their words. He has been working in counterintelligence for a long time, and his old habits crept up as he watched these people talk on and on. He briefly makes contact through the shadows with a group of well-dressed men, akin to peacocks. It doesn’t take long for him to connect the dots, and despite his urge to snap their faces for intelligence, he cannot do so.
He and his men had been cutting it too close as it was. He continues to lead through rows of abandoned tents, perhaps telling his men to take down one or two imperial stragglers and move on. His eyes scan over the watchtower that has become useless in this dark, cold environment.
He raised one hand to signal them to stop. A group of armed soldiers with an eclectic mix of equipment was shouting against the uniformed Halciadonish. Unlike the tter group, the former was wearing armor of an older design, such as mails and scales. Their equipment also included axes and broadswords, while the Empire used estocs and rapiers.
He made hand signs that conveyed a message.
[Ten OpFors, dead ahead. Three on the left and seven on the right. Visigoth-Two and Three keep an eye on them while I look for an alternative path. Maintain radio silence, ditch and eliminate our haul if necessary.] He takes One-Seven with him, and they move silently through the empty tents as soldiers head to their mustering ground. They had taken measures to prepare an alternative exfil, and this moment proves it.
As he makes his way forward, he finds his ticket out: a small opening between the hills of the encampment. It is part of the motte and bailey, specifically the dried-out moat between them. It seems this was the settlement’s outskirt. He quickly returned to his hidden team, who were scanning the surroundings warily, waiting for the go-ahead.
With that, they slowly made their way out undetected, only slightly behind schedule. As he reoriented with his men, he checked his watch and saw that the appointed time was approaching. He makes another hand signal.
[Last phase in thirty seconds. Brace.] He ordered the Visigoth team to head inside a vacant tent. Once there, he and his men waited with bated breath. The clock was ticking… until another set of explosions rocked the camp. The rge fireball was visible from where they were, illuminating the night.
The camp is now fully on alert. This isn’t just a cascade of explosions; it’s a btant hole in their defenses. Exploitable gaping weaknesses, sufficient for armies to surge forth, have left the camp wide open. It’s close to their sector but on their opposite vector, and soon the sound of thumping footsteps accompanies frantic, alien shouting. He watches quietly as shadows flit in front of the tent. They wait patiently until the st shadow vacates the area.
He signaled to One-Six and One-Twelve to check if the coast was clear. Once it was confirmed, the team made their expedited withdrawal. One-Three grinned, watching the primitives form walls of pikes against an enemy that would never come. That said, the mission was a success, along with an added bonus.
POV: Enna Dona
“Expedite the process and make sure our drones are ready, and get me QRF Severus on the line.” Observing quietly as the Butcher of Elesia moved every piece she was given meticulously, I must concede that she earned her freedom and forgiveness, not the mere whims of Her Grace. Her words are precise and purposeful; her eyes never stop scanning every bit of movement showcased by the drone loitering above.
While she concentrates on the broader management of the battlefield, I turned my attention to one of the drone feeds, partly to avoid distracting the command chain and mainly to forget about the two Grasdivis towering behind me.
I witness organized chaos unfolding below; those beasts aren’t thrown into panic right away, and as much as I hate to admit, they’re well-trained. Soldiers aren’t running around like headless chickens; they form dense pike forests, while the few gunpowder-armed soldiers huddle in a neat line with cuirassiers and what appears to be auxiliary ncers providing the initial response.
Pikes began forming into battle lines, rows upon rows of pointed sticks that would make anyone think twice about charging head-on. I had learned snippets about how pike-and-shots were considered bad wars, casualty rates often becoming too ginormous for the victor to fare hardly any better.
Of course, this formidable formation is not without its weaknesses, especially when technological differences are taken into account. Their arrangement is ideal for artillery bombardment, but we don’t have that here. Our detach- uh, this Private Venture, fielded a majority of lighter vehicles and indirect fire weapons.
Looking at another feed, I watch as the wyverns' stable burns. I can imagine the sheer chaos and the death cries of those animals. They are desperately trying to put out the fmes, even using a metaphysical phenomenon, but with limited success. It’s not surprising, because if their magically enhanced water can douse napalm, then we are facing a bigger problem at hand.
For that, I guess, she has enough reasoning and substance in her words to carry out this audacious operation. I was puzzled as to why she approved such a reckless mission; I have some ideas. Looking at the stables, sve cages, and the tents, we are beginning side projects early.
“Anything you wish to add, Special Liaison Officer? You had been staring an awful lot, with frowns staining your comely face. Please, you have nothing to fear, and if anything, I should be the one to mind my manners.” Her manners are quite clear as she speaks without looking up from the documents in her hands. I harbor suspicion as to why her right hand has been balled ever since I came to spectate. Regardless of her strange quirk, I need to respond.
“Nothing much other than to affirm my stance. This is a reckless endeavor that can jeopardize your mission. I need to make it clear that everything shall be recorded and reported directly to Her Grace’s desk. You should not squander your freedom.” One word, one behavior, or even a toe out of line and I will not hesitate to have her head on the chopping block…
“Noted and thank you. In your eyes, what am I doing?” Her directness made me question my hearing. Is she stupid? Does she not understand every single word that I said? If she wants to dig her own grave, so be it.
“The most obvious idea is that this is a probing attack. You intended to grasp what and how the enemy responded, and it had been shown…”
“Naturally, we won’t have bothered to conduct such a complicated raid, yes. It will be even better if we py the long game right away by cozying up to the poor primitives. We can even feed them those cakes and be worshipped as god’s given emissary.”
“Then why? Why risk your men? Do they mean so little to you after everything?”
“Ah, cssic question. You know, this stunt? Nothing special.” She leaned against the desk, her arms crossed over her body armor.
“I had been down there in SIEZ, and insanity is the name of the game.” She erased her smile, leaving only a cold, empty void swirling in her eyes that had witnessed things about which I couldn’t be certain what the answer was.
“When you’re facing a monster that can tear reality at will, static formation holds little meaning. When you faced monsters capable of melting and tearing your men from miles away, you suddenly realized your enemy doesn’t py by your rules. Then, when we become compcent, an entire sentry post or even a FOB is lost without us knowing anything.” My body subconsciously shakes. Why? I had seen the worst in mankind gone mad; what more is there to say? As if sensing my reluctance and… fear… her eyes narrowed.
“Those are all bad. Yet there’s always worse: men without direction. Strip humans of reasoning, and we become the weakest beast in the animal kingdom. Force us into confusion, and you will see things you wouldn’t believe a human could do. You think the war was bad? Precisely because we are united. You ain’t seeing shit compared to what happened down there…”
“… Disregarding that you had pointedly evaded answering… can I at least get a record on what is your aim? I hope you have the guts to lie to these lovely people besides me.”
“I have some ideas in mind.” She raised her first finger (her thumb, puzzlingly).
“Encouraging this type of raid will allow us to assert post-war influence more effectively. We have observed and analyzed how the Arganean and POWs are responding to our technology; we can take advantage of their misunderstanding.” She raised her index finger, and I could make out a device hidden in her palm.
“It will also set the stage for our ‘employer’ to come forth as a liberator in the face of uncertainties. Zoro-something kid will need his moment in the spotlight; we are just setting up the stage.” Then I see another one, and she has a chemlight in her hand.
“Next is to inspire… change. Of course, it will be limited because sooner or ter Eureka will expand its corporate influence here. And by extension…” Her fourth finger raised as she shook her hand and activated the chemlight.
“We shall begin the step in administering hard influence that will benefit our long-term strategy with practiced deniability.” She raised all her fingers and let the chem light fall from her palm. My eyes follow it as the chemlight slides further down and stops near piles of looted equipment scavenged from both Halciadonish and Arganean.
“Lady Supreme Field Marshal and I rarely see eye to eye after the war, but we know the way forward will be very different, especially since Regalia needs time. We learned from our enemies’ mistakes of waging lengthy, costly wars overseas. So…” The Butcher of Elesia smiled with a full toothy grin.
“Welcome to the New Frontier, let’s get them acquainted with an up-to-date Modern, Industrial, Warfare, shall we?” My Grand Autarch, are you certain this woman is the right person for the task at hand?
Also, one more thing.
“Do you need to be so dramatic about it? I was not impressed by the presentation.” It’s an easy shot, I admit, but I need to understand if this woman is really messed up somewhere.
What do I get? She ughed it off. I cannot fathom how her brain works, and seeing this? I don’t think I want to know. I can technically put in the words that she harbors dangerous thoughts, but Her Grace specifically asked me; ‘persuaded’ me, to be doubly sure. Her contradictory directive left me reeling, but this is my lot.
She finally stops ughing, her scarred face lighting up with a bright smile.
“Don’t be such a spoilsport, we will have a lot of downtime. Then when you only have Regalian Mushroom and little to no recreation, you will be stuck with us in this damp cavern until spring. So, live a little.” She steps back and refocuses her attention on the Visigoth Team, which successfully scaled the walls on the opposite side of the diversionary breaches.
[END OF CHAPTER]
Author’s Note:
Yo there, this is me, myself, and I, the author who had suffered from severe depression.
I’ll be honest here; sorry for the dey, but I really am not feeling it this month. Real life has been a bit more complicated than usual, but that’s enough ranting. Now, back to the story.
Alright, we're finally back to the continuation. I intended to separate Eureka and Regalia's modus operandi. Expect A LOT of proxy wars; Regalia isn’t exactly in great shape, and with most of their popuce becoming increasingly xenophobic, it’s a perfect recipe for disaster. But hey, maybe some do want to see disaster. Who knows?
Anyway, that’s all. An update will come whenever...
Ciao
