“And you, Neonate Company! Position yourselves in the center, protected on all sides by the others!” shouted Artyom, directing the soldiers of Ironheart Fortress’ army with both his words and aura. After taking control of the troops and getting to better know what each individual company and their sergeants were specialized in, it only took an additional 15 minutes to organize them into a much more effective formation than they were used to, let alone the one the imposter general put them in to get them all killed. It was a miracle Artyom was able to do so in that time alone. With well over a thousand soldiers, Artyom’s feat was testament to his combat leadership skills.

 

  “So what did you do with them that’s so much better?” asked Neitra. “I can see that the archers are in the back and the heavy troops at the front, with the spellcasters all in a ring surrounded by them. It sort of makes sense why the archers would be where they are, but why everyone else? Won’t the heavies slow everyone down and spellcasters have a harder time to throw fireballs around?”

 

  “I’m glad you asked,” replied Artyom. He raised his volume to be heard by the other soldiers as well, so that his explanation would boost their morale. “Alright, you’re probably all wondering why I chose this formation rather than your usual one. Well, let me tell you. Heavy infantry in the front, you’re in charge of protecting your comrades behind you. You are the first line of defense and their lives depend on you holding the line!” The plate-mail clad warriors uttered a basso shout in reply as they smashed their swords and maces onto their tower shields.

 

  “Archers in the back! Without having to fear enemy approach, you can all just focus on raining down death! With the heavies taking point, you’ll never have to worry about anyone getting near!” The rangers in the rear let out a wild holler in response.

 

  “Spellcasters! You might be asking yourself why you don’t have a clear line of sight of the battlefield. The answer to that is because your job isn’t to become a prime target for enemy fire! I’ve been told that you’re all capable of doing much more than just casting fireballs. You all know a wide variety of spells that can strengthen and weaken friends and foes alike, and I want you all to focus on doing that instead of just blasting away the enemy. That means enchanting arrows, strengthening armor and shields, and making any assailants slip and fall when they bother our front-liners!” The circle of mages cheered, one of them even throwing up a fistful of magical sparks into the air. “Of course, don’t be afraid to throw around a bit of fire if they get too close once you’ve already done everything you can for your allies!”

 

  “And finally, cavalry units will be positioned on the flanks along with pikemen behind them to be able to split off for our own flanking maneuvers while defending against ones from the enemy.” One last round of cheers from both companies. “Everyone, be ready to fight for your lives today. The Sworn Enemy intends to do the same as us and raze Ironheart Fortress to the ground, the women and children with it! Will you let them?!”

 

  The army responded with a resounding “NO!” that shook Artyom’s eardrums.

 

  “Sergeants, you’ve done well in training your troops! Keep your Skills active and direct them to best do what I say. Today is the day we save everyone we love from the greatest scourge of this land!”

 

  One last round of cheers from everyone present, and Artyom turned around to face the horizon. He took a deep breath, appreciating the bright blue northern sky above the light-brown wasteland of no man’s land, and resolved himself for what he would have to do. Lead an army, save a kid from Earth, and teach this goddamn goddess a lesson.

 

  “Over there, I see them! The Sworn Enemy’s forces!” shouted Neitra, pointing towards where Artyom was staring. “They’ll be here in a few minutes!”

 

  “Alright troops, let’s move!” shouted Artyom in reply. “At half the normal pace! Keep it slow and stop at the top of that plateau, just above the valley!”

 

  His army complied, and made their way at a measured march to the light brown plateau overlooking a steep yet scalable decline in the geography. The Dark Lord’s forces were still another two minutes away. The soldiers were itching to run into them, and would’ve done so if it weren’t for Artyom shifting his aura into one of patience and determination. It covered the front-liners, who would act as role models for the rest of the army, letting them steel their resolve.

 

  “Hey Neitra,” said Artyom softly.

 

  “What is it?” she replied with a similar yet inquisitive tone.

 

  “The first time I fought one of the goddess’ monsters, I got my ass kicked. Really hard. The only reason I was able to take out the kill team and the winged serpent was because I spent a lot of time preparing for something like that to happen, I had your help, and I got lucky.”

 

  Neitra looked on without saying a word, waiting for her friend to continue.

 

  “But that’s because fighting a boss monster isn’t something I’m made to do, at least by myself. Honestly, I work best leading others, a lot of others. Auras, tactics, support spells, that’s what I’m all about. Most other aura users have the fine control to pretty much make someone their puppet, but I’m more like a sledgehammer. I can’t make someone dance for me, but I can easily put a lot of them off or make feelings that are already there much stronger. I can do it to an army’s worth of people, in fact. So now it’s time I showed the goddess and everyone else here what I can really do!”

 

  The rogue shined a sincere smile. She’d seen Artyom in action and even if he was out of his element, she was still impressed. To see what he was really capable of? The thought excited her, and she turned to look towards the army to see it for herself.

 

  “Ironheart, hold!” shouted Artyom. They were at a natural advantage defending from the high ground, and he was going to take full advantage of that. The Dark Lord’s army was now descending into the valley themselves from a gentle decline on the opposite side, yet still out of range. Time to fix that.

 

  Artyom diverted his aura into two separate waves, one of patience still being pointed at his own front-liners, but a new one aimed at the enemy. Excitement hit their own front-liners, causing them to rush forward ahead of the rest of the army, mostly caused by the cascading chain effect of one enemy following the lead of another, who was in turn running alongside a weaker-willed victim of the aura.

 

  “Archers, ready! Mages begin fortifying! Heavies, form the line!” Artyom shouted the commands in quick succession, watching as the soldiers followed their orders, each section of soldiers repeated the same set of movements. Shields crashed onto the ground with dull thuds, arrows were nocked and bow strings were strained, and sparks flew in a ring around the army.

 

  The first wave of enemy soldiers ran up the hill and were quickly struck down with a flurry of swords and maces from the front, and arrows from the back. The injured were thrown off the hill and into the valley, some of them even onto the next wave of enemy soldiers. Artyom noticed that the first wave was very lightly armored, most likely scouts or advanced troops who were expecting a mob of cannon fodder instead of a well-disciplined wall of muscle and steel. Looks like they were lacking a line of communication with the imposter then. All the better for him.

 

  As the rest of the enemy army finally approached, Artyom was able to comprehend what he was up against. The force was equivalent in size to his own, and would’ve torn through them if the false general had his way. Without any interference, the two armies would’ve most likely stalemated as they normally did, but with Artyom’s help? He sniggered.

 

  “Archers, fire!” screamed Artyom, calling forth a storm of hundreds of missiles that cast a shadow on the entire second wave as they ascended the hill. Raising their shields to deflect the ranged attack, they weren’t prepared for Artyom’s next play. “Front-line mages, water and mud spells!”

 

  Gushes of clear liquid flew from the hands and staves of half of the spellcasters right behind the heavy infantry and into the ground below the enemy forces. The other half simply commanded the ground beneath their assailants’ feet to take in that fluid and turn into mud. The second wave began to lose their footing as they lost traction on the ground and struggled to stay standing. Most of them used their shields as a stand or dropped it entirely as they fell to their knees. By the time they realized what was going on, it was too late. Hundreds of magically charged arrows rained down on them, covering their side of the valley in wooden shafts, screams, and corpses.

 

  The next wave of enemies hesitated, but their own commanders goaded them on with their whips. So they were led by fear, was it? Artyom would have to make the troops fear him even more to make them flee, in that case. But two dead waves wouldn't be enough to scare the survivors. How about a few more? Artyom focused his aura on the enemies into one of recklessness, encouraging the next wave of enemies to repeat the same performance, hopefully without trying anything new.

 

  And to his amusement, it worked! The next wave charged in with mostly the same result, minus the few that knelt on the ground with their shields raised above their heads. They survived the storm of arrows for the most part, but were quickly struck down when they approached the front-line. Before the enemy leaders could issue more orders, Artyom began to spread a thin aura of fear across their troops in the back. It probably wouldn’t have made them immediately flee, but it would begin to fester like an open wound covered in garbage.

 

  For their next maneuver, the enemies sent over their own heavy infantry to meet Artyom’s, fortified with their own mix of spellcasters. The enemy archers were finally in range to start trading arrows with Ironheart Fortress’, and their spellcasters were gathering on the army’s flanks to begin throwing fireballs and various other siege spells. His next set of instructions would clinch this battle, and he knew exactly what to do.

 

  First, auras. Tiny motes of panic-tinged magic breezed through the enemy archers, forcing them to begin missing their shots, sending them wide enough to pass over Ironheart Fortress’ army altogether. About half of them were missing their shots, with an additional third missing squishier targets for their heavily armored compatriots, and the rest hitting patches of dirt far away from any living being. Lethargy and sleepiness were sent into the enemy’s heavy infantry, forcing them to slow their own assault. The defending heroes were able to easily match blows, and then some. While the line was being held, he prepared a quick wave of courage to send to his own flanks.

 

  “Cavalry, break off and scatter!” shouted Artyom, watching his mounted soldiers ride almost perpendicular from the path of the two armies. They began to spread out while turning towards the enemy. “Hit and run on the enemy mages!” The cavalry followed his orders, rushing at the various clusters of spellcasters scattered about the gradual decline on the other side of the valley. The cavalry sergeants activated their own Skills to expedite their charges while the enemy sorcerers tried what they could to repel the attack with little success. Fire and lightning struck at few of the riders, but they were too spread out for their massive fireballs to take out more than one or two, and the sergeants’ [Ride  Like the Wind] and [Sharpturn Dodge] Skills made any sort of contact near impossible. The cavalry came upon their targets and began to tear at their ranks, taking out one spellcaster after the other while riding past them, leaving little opportunity for retaliation. Soon, their numbers dwindled until they were all but dead.

 

  “Cavalry, converge on the enemy’s flank! Start shredding your way through the center of their forces!” Artyom shouted the command, sending the riders right into the enemy’s unguarded sides. Their spellcasters served to dissuade any organized approach, but the scattered guerilla-like tactics left the enemy vulnerable. The cavalry charged in and began to tear at regular foot soldiers and even the enemy’s cavalry caught between them in the middle. The enemy commanders, for all their whips and Skills were able to accomplish, could do nothing against the attack they’d never expected. They had no answer to the devastation tearing through their lines.

 

  Artyom observed their utter panic from his vantage point. The enemy commanders themselves seemed to be the most scared at the chaos erupting around them, so perhaps it was time to end this somewhat differently? Artyom fixed his aura into a combination of blind fear and panic, and forced them around the enemy commanders. Having their already existing trepidations supercharged by Artyom’s magic, the commanders immediately turned around, found the nearest member of their cavalry, and quickly took their place on their horses. A kick and scream later and they were making their way out of the formation, back North towards the Dark Lord’s fortress.

 

  “So that’s why their riders were in the middle,” commented Neitra with a giggle. “So they can take their horses and run away faster!”

 

  “That explains a lot, actually,” replied Artyom. “Even looks like they have Skills just for this so they can abandon their troops. Not even going to signal a retreat first. Cowards.”

 

  He let them run as he spread out his aura over the rest of the enemy army and let waves of fear and despair run through them all, pushing them over the edge to the point they decided they’d rather follow their fleeing commanders than face the rest of Ironheart Fortress’ army. It didn’t take much effort, luckily. They would’ve fled themselves given another minute or two, but this just expedited the process.

 

  As the Dark Lord’s army haphazardly fled across the wastes, the soldiers of Ironheart Fortress cheered. For the first time in a long time, with the stakes raised to their utter limit, they’d won against their sworn enemies instead of simply stalemating. The sheer joy they felt didn’t interrupt Artyom’s victory speech, and they listened with bated hollers and shining smiles.

 

  “Ironheart Fortress! We have won our first decisive battle against the Sworn Enemy today! But it’s not over yet! The army is fleeing, broken! We will take a few minutes to catch our breath, and then we shall continue. For today, we’ll not just win this one battle, but we’ll win the war!”

 

  Screams of joy erupted from the soldiers, quickly dying down into softer laughs as they each settled down and followed Artyom’s command, resting their weary forms in preparation for what would hopefully be their final march on the Dark Lord.

 

---

 

  After about 10 minutes alongside the prodigious use of recuperative Skills by the sergeants, the army was now ready to make their final assault. With a wave of Artyom’s arm, they began to move across no man’s land, kicking up a cloud of dirt behind them as they made their way towards the Dark Lord’s fortress. It didn’t take much longer before they reached their destination, the looming front gates now within view. The soldiers smiled at first, never having made it so far before, but their grins quickly dropped when they saw who… or rather what, was guarding the entrance.

 

  The remnants of the enemy army were gathered before them, fortified to its previous strength and beyond with members of the Dark Lord’s elite forces added to the mix. While Artyom was thrilled that his attack had drawn away what he hoped was the Spymaster’s extra security, the fear he felt from their trump card made him pale. A massive winged serpent, the same leviathan Artyom had faced back in the cathedral, was coiled at the front of the army. Glowing blue blinders were tied to its long face, focusing its hatred on the soldiers in front of him.

 

  Some of Ironheart Fortress’ more devout warriors recognized it as the avatar of the goddess’ wrath, and hesitated at fighting against their deity. Artyom didn’t let that fear fester.

 

  “Here we are at the final battle, at the gates to the Sworn Enemy’s fortress and our destiny! Desperate is he who mocks the goddess with this facsimile of her symbol, a perversion of her kindness towards our mission, an evil replica! Fear it not, and let our righteousness shine through its skull!”

 

  Nudged along by an aura of bravery and faith, the army steeled itself against the looming threat and cheered. On his orders, the front-liners slammed their tower shields down, digging into the rough earth below. They’d be able to repel even the elite troops with their potential level advantage, but that damned snake? Artyom might have to get his hands dirty to take care of it again. And with it surrounded by all of those troops, he’d have to play keep away from them as well. He sighed in frustration, accepting what he would have to do…

 

  A plume of smoke erupted from the serpent’s body and it leaned away from it in annoyance. A second later, Artyom and everyone surrounding him could feel a shockwave pass through their bodies along with a loud bang. It looked towards its right only to be met with another blast in the face. Its hiss was audible from the other side of the battlefield, but only served to bemuse Ironheart Fortress’ army rather than intimidate.

 

  Artyom’s phone began to ring and he picked it up.

 

  “Hey Artie!” came the voice of Captain Michaels from the other end. “We’ve finally got ourselves set up! Squads Foxtrot and Charlie are assembled and ready to kick ass!”

 

  Artyom pumped his fist in triumph. “Seriously, how are all of you so good at making an entrance?! You’re just what we needed! So you see that snake over there?”

 

  “Sure do! Want us to blast it with more artillery?”

 

  “Nah, that’s not going to be enough. This is the same little bastard that caused me so much trouble right after I got disconnected from you, so I think you should teach it a lesson. Fire up the eye.” Artyom let loose a wicked grin.

 

  “Roger that, let’s show this snake what happens when you mess with our baby boy,” replied Michaels with a hearty laugh before hanging up.

 

  The plumes of smoke and accompanying shockwaves shifted targets, and instead began to pelt the rest of the army. Bodies went flying wherever the explosions spawned, not all intact. Their chained beast on the other hand received an upgraded treatment. It looked on to the source of the explosions as its pupils dilated, reflecting an iridescent glow from the newly oncoming attack. A beam of multicolored light struck the creature, causing it to scream out in agony as its nigh-invulnerable scales began to peel off, some charred, others frostbitten, and others no longer qualifying as solid matter.

 

  Hissing death throes filled the ears of the Dark Lord’s army amid the nonstop explosions of artillery fire, gutting their strongest forces, their trump card, and finally their morale. By the time the combined assault ended, the winged serpent lay on the ground dead, its head and upper body replaced with a glowing, cauterized stump. The rest of the army luckily had its head intact via its commanders once again running away on the cavalry’s horses, but its body of troops was gone, with only a chaotic scramble of survivors left.

 

  “And that’s the power of artillery,” said Artyom to himself in self-satisfaction.

 

  “I’ve never seen anything like it before,” said Neitra in shock, a solemn expression on her face. “And it looks like they haven’t either, with how they’re reacting.”

 

  “Which is why I’m glad to have my friends at our backs.” Artyom turned towards the army and shouted his next set of orders. “We’ve taken the Sworn Enemy’s army! And now we take his fortress! Charge!”

 

  His troops did just that, picking up their shields and weapons and making a charge towards the now unfortified gates with screams and ululations of victory. Now was the time they’d claim peace and victory for the kingdom, once and for all.

 

  Artyom opened his phone again and called up the war room. “Thanks to that artillery support, the Dark Lord’s army has been taken care of. Michaels, can you make sure they don’t do anything stupid while Neitra and I sneak in to bag our target?”

 

  “Will do,” replied the captain. “I’ll move my squads over to provide closer support as well. Maybe we’ll blow open the front gate too?”

 

  Before Artyom could answer back, Prithvi interrupted their banter. “Snipers are in position, and they’ve got eyes on the chapel’s entrance. The elite forces left a while ago it seems, and our scopes are aimed at the remaining guards.”

 

  “Perfect, we’ll head there right now,” replied Artyom. “I’ll call you when we get into position ourselves. If you don’t hear from us in half an hour, send Squad Charlie to the sewer entrance I showed you earlier.”

 

  “Roger that, and good luck.” Prithvi hung up the phone from her end, and Artyom did the same.

 

  “It looks like our army should be able to take care of the Dark Lord now,” said Neitra. “Especially with help from your friends. So let’s get that Spymaster!”

 

  She ran off towards the secret entrance with Artyom just on her tail. It was time to end this.