Drud Road, Olnoth Hills

Erment County's troops march along the worn old cobble and brick road that leads from the fortress into the farmlands that make up the bulk of the region. Going by where this is geographically in the present, it's an excellent climate for growing high-grade grains since it's on the edge of the areas with the heaviest rainfalls, and most of the soil's nutrients flow down into lush valleys, instead of out. Couple that with a negligible monster presence and no dungeons to speak of, it's a golden land for farming.

Having this many troops is primarily to prevent bandits from the south from coming in, rather than any other concern. I had to suppress a chuckle when I heard that what is now Ghoath used to be a hotbed for banditry and other unsavory sorts, like Fierdro is a haven for people that want to get as far away from the two empires and the War of Faulted Ideals as possible without leaving the continent entirely.

As for what could be behind these bandits, it's hard to say, but from the speculation I heard thrown around, they're essentially analogous to privateers hired to steal valuable produce by neighbouring territories. Couldn't really tell you their motive in doing so rather than invading outright and occupying the lands if they want what's grown here so badly, but the truth is of no consequence to me.

On a related subject, we lack a cavalry unit. According to the last report from the Watchtower, the marked offenders are staying put in Early Dawn Village, which isn't all that far away, but the ticking of the clock is an ever-present source of anxiety that being forced to walk in formation is doing nothing to alleviate. Conventionally, some 300 combatants on the same road aren't going to advance very quickly no matter what you do.

Our spellcasters only number a solid four, none of whom are in possession of a spell that could expedite our advance on this scale - nor is anyone else with a Skill of some kind - and our agility-forward folks were sent ahead of the main host to get a handle on the situation in the village before we left. Most of the soldiers are Level 20 to 30 Warriors, Archers and Lancers, with a few odd ducks thrown in for spice. Their equipment is all serviceable and standardised at a minimum of Iron-Tier, with a heavy emphasis on halberds and one-handed swords for backup.

Standard practice for open-field engagements in this country is supposedly for the noble in charge to lead a literal charge at the forefront with the halberdiers while the archers harry the backlines and flanks, and any spellcasters present do what suits them best. It's a rather unfocused, primitive way of doing things more akin to smashing a couple of rocks together until one breaks through attrition. The idea is that the big noble gets the lion's share of the experience and carve a path to their counterpart for a head-to-head duel that decides the flow of battle.

Seems to me like the skeleton of modern-day Ghoathan culture was already present even before the Eclipse. Windy and Angelus might get a kick out of that, once I eventually log out. Seems like the sort of subject matter they're into.

"Ikonte, one of the forward scouts has returned with news, will you permit her leave to report?" A squad captain from one of the vanguard squads interrupts my idle thoughts, accompanied by the aforementioned scout.

"Speak," I order bluntly.

"Y-yes, ikonte! The village is about a mile away from the current position now, and is completely occupied by the Lovno Reivers. Estimated head count matches half of rumours of their numbers. Around a hundred strong, only one spellcaster, main force expected to be comprised primarily of Reavers, ikonte," she delivers her report as we move, then hurriedly - and clumsily - brings out a roll of paper to hand to me, "No archers visible or any sign of Striker, their leader. Nolan drew a sketch of their distribution and the state of the village, ikonte. Some of the surviving villagers have been bound to wagons on the village green - around two dozen."

"Hostages?" I click my tongue, irritated. If they were to all be killed, that'd still be within the allowable fifty casualties, but I'd prefer not to treat them as expendable as a first option. The absence of Niirk and half of his subordinates is worrisome, too.

It's not a question of whether or not we're walking into a trap - that's obvious - it's a question of what exactly they're planning on doing. As uncanny as their ability to get into the county unnoticed was, I sincerely doubt that they'll be able to sneak past us a second time to attack the largely empty Fort. I won't discount the possibility, but I doubt it.

Unrolling the sketch, I don't see anything particularly odd about their positions. They've set lookouts on each corner, and the majority of their forces are holding down in the direction they're expecting us to come from, with just enough around the back and flanks to dissuade easy infiltration, as well as a few people watching over their hostages in the middle.

Terrain-wise, neither side has a great advantage, as the buildings are small and spread out with no substantial fortifications apart from some crappy furniture barricades. If the numbers were even, perhaps they'd take a greater stand against us, but against five times their number it's meaningless, I'd say. The numbers I'm fielding are rather overkill, but why leave it to chance, right? Doubt the Count would do any different.

They likely realise that which is why they've taken hostages and split their forces for something other than a head-on conflict. But a simple flank attempt won't make a difference either, which is why I'm suspicious. This is a Platinum Legacy Usurpation, after all - unless you decide to piss off an Archdemon or something, it doesn't get much harder than this.

Thinking back, Count Erment specifically mentioned that Niirk, the leader, was of particular talent. And if even a thousand years later, after the Astral Eclipse and all he accomplished, he's still saying that without a hint of irony I can pick up on...

I might be underestimating how dangerous he actually is, just on his own.

Striker

Secret Passage, Fort Erment B4

Striker raises his pickaxe one last time, and the earth spits back, revealing stonework. It had taken more than two years of hard work in absolute secrecy while roaming the countryside outside of the county's borders to get this far, and so far, everything was going according to plan. Digging under and dodging all the wards and such that Trappers long-dead placed into the foundations during the original construction was a time consuming and stressful endeavour akin to threading 8 needles in a row at disparate angles with one hand.

In full honesty, Striker didn't really care about the money his benefactors were paying to see the 2-Star Fortress toppled. A few thousand foreign coins to deliver the territory into their hands? Not a chance.

Rather, he wanted it for himself.

The sprout had cautioned him against greed, but who in their right and sober mind would accept table scraps after hunting an entire Sota Calf? A spineless moron, that was who. Besides, if they could manage the feat on their own, they wouldn't deign to speak with him. In light of that, should this end with a victory as anticipated, what would he have to fear from such cowards?

And so, ignorant of Striker's greater ambition, they happily funded this little coup, providing a bevvy of expendable low-lives as well, sourced from various gaols and other roaming bands of ne'er-do-wells. They would do well to whet the appetite of the bloodthirsty tyrant that calls this place home. They'll not give him a great deal of trouble, even with hostages in hand.

By his estimates, Striker has about two hours at most before Ikonnat eor Erment returns home, covered in their blood. Less if his ruse is seen through, but he's banking on the tyrant's reputed paranoia to see an ambush waiting in the wings where one does not exist - not at the village at any rate. The more time he wastes spent away from the fort, the better chance Striker has of taking control of it and reinforcing his defences in preparation for the Ikonnat's arrival.

Then, Striker would fight him on his own terms, with all the cards in hand and nothing left to chance.

"Sprout, get the Sapper," the large man whispers harshly, pointing down the large tunnel stretching out back to their camp beneath the forest, "It's time to crack the seal on this barrel o' fine golden ale."

"Aye, boss," Lonci snaps a mocking salute, "I'll tell the lads to get the 'mugs' ready."

"Make sure they don't touch nothin' or break it," he warns gravely, "I don't want to sleep in a house without a roof, y'hear?"

"Ah, we know," one of his lackies charged with hauling away the excavated dirt on a barrow grouses, "Looking forward to having four walls anna soft bed for the first time in years."

His partner in hauling chuckles quietly, leaning onto his spade, "Might be as that's enough for you, but I'm goin' straight to the kitchens for a sampling of the fabled Silver-Tier Whitestalk Wheat. Heard it'll put a pep in your step that lasts a week when you bake the flour into bread."

"Get on with it," Striker growls with a good-natured smile, sharing in the excitement and anticipation. Just a shame his wife wasn't here to partake, but if not for the despair he felt to this day from the loss of bride and home, would he have the courage and grit to come this far?

Striker doubted it. A new name, a new home and at the end of it, a new life greater than ever dreamed possible by that lowly merc in a backwater logging village. A sickening grin curls his lips, the madness and ambition drowning his features as the draktyris Sapper his employers provided scurries over to the wall and starts setting up the inordinately expensive explosives and array breakers necessary to breach through.

It was all so close now, so how could he not smile?

Drud Road, Olnoth Hills

It ought to go without saying, but I'm not Count Erment.

So, when I take in all the information presented to me, I can't shake the conclusion that I'm making a mistake. Even if this is rather more delayed, isn't this exactly the same actions he himself would have taken? And given his personality, would he be all that inclined to question what was placed in front of him after the insult he was dealt by these supposedly random bandits?

No. Bandits don't get willing informants in an outfit like his. Bandits don't breach his borders undetected and unimpeded.

That is, not ordinary bandits. I've been around for long enough to understand that criminals exist in all shapes and places. I may consider thugs and thieves little more than walking loot dispensers, but that doesn't mean they can't be dangerous. I...admit that I wasn't really thinking it through as far as I should have been.

Normally, I'm better at ignoring preconceptions like that to see the trees that make the forest, so to speak. Instead, I inadvertently got caught up in the role while I was playing along with the setting. Not to the fullest extent, but enough that it dampened my capacity for critical thinking.

So, recognising that and remembering what brought us into conflict in the first place, I recommence thinking as myself.

"Call for a full halt," I order the nearest officer, "All troops."

"Ikonte?" he asks, half-rhetorically in his confusion before recalling the power dynamics and acting on his command.

"I'm playing into their hands," I mutter quietly to myself, ignoring them, "This is a Platinum-Tier endeavour. It was never going to be simple from the start. But the scenario is predicated on the existence and participation of 'Count Geronil Erment'. They're not expecting a stand-in with meta-knowledge about what's going down here."

Lifting the faceplate on my helmet, I rub the bridge of my nose with my free hand and lean into my halberd like a walking stick with the other, feeling an indelible clarity returning to my thoughts. It's now just the regular amount of jumbled and hazy. Was something influencing my mental state?

Hard to say. There's no notifications from the system about it either. Could be it was something self-inflicted and I'm just being an idiot. No, no point dwelling on it. Here and now, Alex, here and now. Let's take a step back here.

Traitor. Foreign powers eyeing the territory. Unusually skilled bandits. Niirk and a large portion of his crew's absence from the village. Count Erment's enduring respect. His personality. The difficulty tier.

My heart sinks as I come to a dreadful epiphany.

"Yolis," I call for the old soldier.

"Ikonte? Do you have new orders?" he jogs over with uncertainty creasing his brow.

"Yes," I nod, "Leave the forward-most 150 soldiers to encircle Early Dawn Village with orders to probe and delay any harm to the hostages for as long as possible. They are not to advance unless they can guarantee no losses. The rest are to return to the Fort immediately with me."

"...You expect an attack, ikonte?" he questions, perplexed, "But it's a 2-Star Fortress with a hundred of our finest defending it's walls."

"Correct, and therein lies my conceit," I frown, "We're going back. No objections."

"Ikonte!" he bows his head swiftly and sets about relaying the new marching orders.

Hopefully, I'm just being paranoid. If not, then I pray we aren't too late to salvage my mistakes.

Fort Erment Outer Wall

Passing through the settlement below, we advance along the zig-zagging path up the hilltop back to the main entrance of the fortress. It was never a noisy place even before, except now there's a silence hanging over the place like someone is deliberately smothering all sound. It doesn't bode well for us.

"Where are the Gateswatch?" Yolis questions half-rhetorically, the leather from his glove creaks as his fist tightens around his own halberd, "Ikonte, something's wrong."

"I noticed," I nod slowly, "As have the men, no doubt. The gates are still open, I want a small detachment to break off into the gatehouse itself, then onto the walls to secure them."

"Allow me, ikonte!" Captain Arv offers enthusiastically, paying no heed to the seriousness of the situation. His attitude reminds me a lot of Jupiter, if a lot more eager to please.

"...Fine," I sigh, "Split your squad and circle around from opposite sides until you meet back up again."

He grins widely, "Hahhaha! Worry not, I, Klent Arv, shall not disappoint you, ikonte! E-"

"I don't care," I shut him down before he channels more of Jupiter and spends the next minute bragging about himself and his direct subordinates, "Get on with it."

"As you command!"

"Everyone else is to advance forward and be wary of our surroundings," I continue, taking the clay flask of soup I got from the kitchens earlier from my inventory and downing it in one go, "From the looks of things I sincerely doubt they'll have gained access to the Fortress Core Jewel yet, and I'd prefer it stayed that way."

Outer Bailey, Fort Erment

After passing into the fortress proper, the militia troops change formations quickly into a broken-up doughnut-esque pattern. Apparently it's a formation meant for moving into hostile territory while watching all flanks and allowing mobility between each segment to reinforce other areas as needed. I can't speak as to the overall effectiveness of it, but I don't know enough about military strategy to say for certain.

I seldom had to worry about such things given my job, and even then it wasn't down to me to come up with that stuff, just to do as I was directed. Tracking down a suitable tutor for military strategy is on the mid-term To-Do List, since the common sense of Earth and Merrow are differentiated by the existence of Magic, Skills, Race and Classes. A lot of the same concepts can be considered interchangeable, but there's always a degree of uncertainty to be found when moving Earth's conventions and knowledge over.

From the inner barbican, a large crowd of unfamiliar people dressed haphazardly in a mix of equipment from the Armory and their own, comparatively filthier gear emerges. There's no sense of cohesion in their formation, just wandering one after the other into the open. Not soldiers, then, but I don't rate them any less highly than my own forces on an individual basis.

They're all experts from Level 25 to 39 at the very least, If I were to guess. I don't see any obvious spellcasters mixed in, for a mercy, but as the seconds go by, more and more pour out until their numbers come close to our own. That in and of itself is highly alarming, but what makes me freeze up is the monstrously large amalgamation of musculature in the shape of a man that lopes out behind them, towering a good two feet over every one of his comrades.

"Is that a Starsforsaken Mountainbreaker?!" Yolis curses under his breath, "I'd heard that Striker was a large man, but this is...Ikonte, we're in trouble."

"Agreed," I respond gravely, looking at the man's warhammer, "That man is the living embodiment of a battering ram."

Amongst the Panoplasts (as they are known nowadays) exist more than just animal-like demihumans. Mountainbreakers were, essentially, giants from classical folklore. They are enormous humanoids with prodigious strength and a cunning wit - however their physiology lends them to shorter lives and great appetites, which in turn feeds into a reckless, self-destructive greed as they try to make the most of what time they have in this world. For better or worse in the modern day the species is functionally extinct, and half-bloods are an artificially created rarity, typically as part of the Level 40 Racial Evolution process using exceptionally rare and finite genetic material plundered from old collections and ruins or rewarded by dungeons.

I suppose this far into the past, finding a live, pureblooded Mountainbreaker isn't out of the question. It does present a problem, however. Just one swing of that massive, hooked hammer will flatten whole swathes of my infantry in one go like a child would sweep away toy soldiers. Dealing with him on top of the rest is a seriously dangerous prospect if he's not controlled. Even with my greatly inflated attributes, I wouldn't be any different.

The Mountainbreaker man starts laughing with a wide grin, loud enough that it carries several dozen feet to where I am, the bassy vibration prickling my skin through my armour like I'm standing in the reverberation of a concert hall's performance. His voice shares the same quality as he calls out to me, "You're back sooner than anticipated, Ikonnat eor Erment! I hope you don't mind, but when we 'knocked' you were absent, so we let ourselves in and made ourselves at home! Don't worry though, your servants have only been mildly inconvenienced, it wouldn't do to make a mess of our new accommodations!"

That would certainly explain why I didn't get any notifications of further casualties. Their restraint is surprising, even after things progressed to this point. It doesn't feel good to have had my speculative paranoia vindicated, but at least it's not the worst-case scenario of having to lay siege to the fortifications as well.

Unfortunately, even as the nominal owner, my options for dealing with these interlopers are non-existent due to the way this fortress has been outfitted to serve as both a noble family's domicile and a garrison for militia to reside, train and outfit themselves. Enemies aren't supposed to be able to get in in the first place, so the possibility was likely discounted.

As for how they got in, I have no idea. Not important right now.

"I want all Foulets to focus on keeping the Mountainbreaker locked down," I command Erket, remembering to use the contemporary vernacular, "Yolis, 'Reverse Spear' formation, focus on cleaning out the chaff with minimal risktaking, I want him outnumbered by the time we deal with him. Attack on my mark."

""Ikonte, we hear and obey.""

"Ikonnat eor Erment~?" the booming voice of Niirk Blaston resounds once more in a sing-song fashion, "Are you not going to respond to your guests?"

I ignore him as the men and women surrounding me fluidly change their formations into a hollow triangle with the tip leading away from the battle and the two lines stretching out to block off advances on the flanks, creating a kill zone in the centre. Discipline on the other side is low, though, so even if Niirk is likely ill-inclined to just let it happen, a goodly portion of his more eager flunkies break away from their group to engage those extremities before the movement is finalised, using Skills to close the gap and attempt to disrupt us, their fellows following suit out of necessity and entering the central opening as a staggered, chaotic mass.

"ALL FORCES ENGAGE!" I roar loud enough I can feel the air scraping my throat raw as it passes my lips. At once, hundreds of Lancers activate Lance Charge, Warriors activate Onrush and so on, halberds and spears stretched forward. Been a while since I was part of a battle like this, but the crash of first contact is a rush that I can't easily forget as I join the fray.

In the clash, we take the advantage, mowing down many of the first waves with superior mettle. This is a battle of professionally trained soldiers and an assortment of wandering vagrants that banded together, no matter how close to each other both sides may be in martial skill, the difference in temperament isn't so easily ignored. My troops are unflinching and confident, where for these thugs self-preservation is a much stronger instinct.

Ironically, that same instinct can end up hobbling a person and running counter-productive to that very desire. Fear of injury is a natural and understandable trait, as is the drive towards survival, but sometimes you have to be willing to take a smaller hit to prevent a bigger one, and not everyone can commit themselves to that while ignoring their body's urges to avoid any and all danger. That's not to say one shouldn't avoid being cornered into such a choice in the first place, but being able to discern the best course of action for the big and small picture victories on the fly during a struggle for survival is a skill that doesn't come easily.

Learning to suppress your fight-or-flight reflex is something that every serious combatant needs to do, and it only comes with experience, such that you come to understand your limits and capability while inuring yourself to the fear and pain.

While I have long-since internalised that attitude, I can't say my skill with a polearm matches up to it. With the initial shock of contact over and done with, I find myself hard-pressed to end the lives of the enemies in my path. The weapon is not much longer than what I'm accustomed to, but the operation of the weapon - especially in the thick of a melee with allied soldiers flanking me - is awkward and clunky. I find myself restrained in my movements and as a consequence, the attack patterns I'm utilising are far more monotonous than I'd like.

I can't say I'm fond of it, but at the very least I'm holding fast and so far, only two people on my side have fallen dead. I consider switching weaponry, but I don't have much space to do so, and from the looks of things (as well as the shaking of the ground) my spellcasters aren't having a great time holding back Niirk as he powers through all the crowd control they throw at him.

"IKONNNNAAAATT!" Niirk shouts, making a beeline straight for me. I count my blessings that he doesn't appear to be willing to trample over his own allies to do so, which means that he can't use a Charge-like gapclosing Skill like I would assume he has. With such large strides though, and the limited effectiveness of the debuffs stacking on him - in defiance of what I'd consider common sense, so I won't discount him owning an item that reduces their effectiveness or something of that nature - he's still going to reach the frontlines in less than thirty seconds.

We definitely can't kill over two hundred of them in that time. Where the hell did he get all of these assholes from?

No, don't get distracted, Alex.

Knocking away the blade of the Silva woman in front of me with the pommel of my halberd, I jab her in the throat to follow up, staggering and winding her badly enough that I can bring the axe blade down into her face. The shock travels mostly to my wrists, my arms stiffening in response as the weapon is wrenched from my grip. Hurriedly, I snatch back at the haft before she collapses backwards out of reach, and roughly kick her torso while I pull it backwards.

Amazingly, she isn't quite dead, even with her face destroyed and a deep gash revealing bone and brain tissue. With a gurgle through ruined teeth and a split tongue, she tries to raise her weapon to continue fighting before collapsing, the last few dregs of Health petering out, succumbing to the haemorrhaging wound. Perhaps I should retract my earlier dig at their mettle. No, desperation is something altogether different.

As the flowstate of battle emerges, the bandits fight with increased fervour. Bloodlust, desperation and panic override their initial hesitation, allowing them to push back a little. Another soldier on my side dies, but at least two dozen enemies join him in the same span. It really is a pleasure to watch the militia work in unity with one another, even if my own efforts leave much to be desired.

Yolis, stood close by, has taken the heads of eight on his own by my count, while I barely managed three. I feel a little disappointed in myself, but not ashamed. That I'm contributing at all is good enough on its own when taken in a vacuum. From the bigger picture, however, it's too slow, and in moments I'm going to be batted for the fences like a world record baseball batter's best homerun.

There's nothing for it. Even starting out with the blanechblett wouldn't change much. I don't have a great many Skills with which to work around. Just the one, really.

Surprising me, however, Niirk squats down, taking his warhammer up in a pose that fills me with instantaneous existential dread. Oh. Oh no. He's going to fucking jump the rest of the way to get to me and nail me into the dirt like a stubborn tent peg.

"RETREAT AND SCATTER!" I make the call in a panic, bumping into the spear-user behind me as I hurriedly jump backwards; Niirk blasting into the air with an almighty leap, weapon raised overhead. Even laden down with gods know how many movement hindrances, he closes the distance in less than half a second.

"<QUAKE HAMMER>!" his hammer smashes into the brickwork floor a moment before his feet touch the ground, barely scraping by where I was just standing. The shockwave spreads outwards and sends huge chunks of stone flying, a crater forming at the impact site. Everyone stood nearby is immediately knocked flat, friend or foe and my being serendipitously airborne at that instance is only mild defence.

I'm flung away at great speed, bowling over several dozen people behind me. With one Skill, Niirk has broken our line and now stands amongst us, ready to attack again. Groaning, I roll off the unfortunate sod that broke my fall and pull myself to my feet. Only to be knocked flat on my ass again.

"<Upheaval>!" Niirk smashes his hammer into a soldier, a burst of rocky spikes erupting in the area, one beneath each person affected. Is this bastard stunlocking us?

The Mountainbreaker advances, and when it seems like we're about to recover again, he heavily stomps his boot into the face of another of my men, pulverising their skull, "<Steps of Lak'lka>!"

This is beyond obnoxious. Not to mention, every time he knocks us flat, he takes another big chunk of our Health with it. I don't believe he has many more Skills off cooldown, but this far into our lines his own allies have begun to recover. Another 4 soldiers fall victim to coup de grace manoeuvres.

Niirk is almost close enough to reach me. Picking myself up one more time, I come to the conclusion that now is as good a time as any to make use of my trump cards for this battle. Desperately chugging down the contents of a couple of stat-boosting potion vials, adding another 300 Strength and Resilience to my total, I suck a deep breath in mere seconds before the warhammer descends upon me and activate my armour's Set Bonus Skill: Valorous Roar.

"RALLY! RALLY AND TAKE THIS GIANT DOWN!"

Motivated, the militia jumps to their feet and recommenced the attack, """Ikonte!"""

IdleFancy

Long one. Been in an odd state of mind this past couple weeks, should be better now. The trial should conclude next chapter.

Thanks for reading.