Chapter 22 - Preparing for war - Part One

 

Chang-min’s mind drifted along the web of consciousness composed of the barely sentient minds of his undead legion. To his mild annoyance, Chang-min found no connections located within either of the enemy camps. It wasn’t a big deal, but after receiving so few kill notifications through his system, Chang-min was somewhat nervous about the effectiveness of his grand strategy.

 

After confronting the brute-force oriented Awakened the System had identified as Tim, Chang-min had decided that direct confrontation favoured his enemy too much and himself too little. Therefore, Chang-min altered his original plan and decided to dabble in biological warfare.

 

Infecting his infiltrators with Blood Pox, Chang-min had slipped them in amidst the Goblins survivors. With so many of the Goblins already sick and wounded, the infiltrators had no problems embedding themselves amongst the refugees. Since their presence alone was sufficient to spread the disease, Chang-min was content to allow the altered plan to proceed without further interference.

 

Things had gone more or less according to plan. The idiot Ogre had recognised the trojan horse for what it was but was too late to prevent the trap itself. The disease would ravage their camps and leave them easy pickings, all without Chang-min having to raise a finger.

 

While he doubted his adversary would succumb to the worst of the disease, Chang-min was confident that enough of the Ogre’s allies would die or be so severely weakened that by the time Chang-min launched his final assault, the outcome would be a foregone conclusion.

 

Besides, this alternate strategy would give Chang-min the breathing room he needed in order to deal with his true rival.

 

Chang-min’s rival had first appeared roughly two weeks ago. They had encountered one another a number of times but been unable to determine a true victor. In their rare face to face confrontations, Chang-min’s rival, The Destroyer, as he was obsessed with calling himself, would slowly eke out an advantage and force Chang-min to make a tactical withdrawal to avoid lasting injury.

 

Of course, Chang-min’s Lieutenants were more than a match for The Destroyer's own minions, which were little more than burnt-out husks. The problem was that The Destroyer cared little for taking and holding an actual territory, seemingly content to adhere to his namesake and destroy anything and everything he came across.

 

Chang-min could not and would not allow it. The heavens had reincarnated him as a supreme existence as compensation for the horrors experienced in his past life, bestowing upon Chang-min the tools he needed to establish himself as supreme monarch above all.

 

Chang-min’s fortress was located deep underground, far from the flammable materials of his rival and built atop the chasm that spawned the raw living materials that would serve as the bulk of his forces.

 

Much like a video game, the Labyrinth had predictable spawn locations, and just like those same video games, spawn camping in those same locations was very lucrative. The mass-produced copies were far less intelligent than the ‘breeders’ of established Settlements, but fodder didn’t need to think, so Chang-min had no problems exploiting the spawn zone to the best of his ability.

 

Unlike the weak Classes of the Natives, Chang-min’s Necromancer Class was on an entirely different level. Not only was he capable of creating a completely loyal undead from any humanoid corpse, any Exp earned by his minions was given to Chang-min. It had taken him less than a week to reach the assumed level cap of thirty-five, unlocking all manner of powerful Abilities and buffs.

 

If it weren’t for the psychotic pyromaniac, Chang-min would have already established complete control over this floor of the Labyrinth and proceeded to the next.

 

It annoyed Chang-min to no end that a single rival could delay his plans so effectively in spite of being so damnably erratic and undisciplined.

 

Wandering the transformed halls of his inner sanctum, Chang-min paused before the large water basin that served as his stand-in for a mirror. He was glad that his reincarnation had preserved much of his core features, while abandoning those less desirable. The contrast of Chang-min’s fine delicate features and the savage dominance of his armour represented a rather fitting dichotomy of his nature. Having spent close to his entire life at the mercy of others during his life on earth, he would never allow himself to be at another’s mercy ever again.

 

*****

 

Organising the sleeping arrangements for more than five hundred Goblins and two hundred and fifty humans proved about as difficult as I feared. Even with competent leaders to streamline the process, it didn’t change the fact that Sanctuary itself needed to be sanitised before those free of disease could occupy a residence.

 

The highest priority had of course been given to the children and a cadre of dedicated carers. I knew enough about monster psychology and culture to avoid considering other options and accepted it as a required first step. Unfortunately, this meant that many of the adults were forced to sleep outside in a designated quarantine zone near the hospital. It also left the human soldiers as the last prospective recipients for screening and treatment, not that they complained.

 

In spite of their demonstrated intentions thus far, I still couldn’t bring myself to relax when in their presence. It really didn’t help that the female officer always seemed to be watching me wherever I went.

 

It was early morning by the time I was able to go to bed. I all but collapsed beside Lash and fell asleep within moments, the previous day's events having proved mentally and emotionally exhausting.

 

Waking up sometime around midday, I was somewhat disappointed to find Lash already gone from our bed. Her presence gave me a peace of mind that medications from my psychiatrist never could.

 

After getting out of bed, I was forced to take some time to stretch and work out the stiffness from some muscles in my lower back. My javelin throwing technique, or lack thereof, left much to be desired, and had done a number on my back.

 

I had made it halfway down the stairs when I noticed a peculiar smell coming from the direction of the cooking fires. With a sudden and persistent fear that the imminent food crisis may have caused experimental reclamation of the dead, or vulnerable...I rushed over to the cooking fires to investigate.

 

To my immense relief and lingering worry for other reasons, the only meat being cooked by the fires was very obviously harvested from fish. However, in addition to the fish, there were strange plants being roasted on large flat rocks. Resembling a very pale green coloured butternut squash, the flesh of the plant looked somewhat squishy and rubbery.

 

After standing by the cooking fires for a few minutes I confirmed that the strange plant was responsible for the smell, which I still couldn’t pin down. Besides smelling somewhat rotten, the uncooked flesh of the vegetable smelled of strong cheese and sourdough. The change from being cooked was even stranger. The flesh hardened to that of a raw pumpkin while the smell of cheese was replaced by something almost fruity instead.

 

The workers tending the fires seemed not to mind and freely ate the strange vegetable raw or cooked depending on supply.

 

In my short time observing the cooking fires, dozens of deliveries from the Druids growing fields had been made by work teams of Forest Goblins. Each work team was composed of four Forest Goblins who would carry a large woven basket between them that could hold as much as fifteen to twenty of the strange vegetables without causing them visible strain.

 

Impressed that the Druids had managed to generate such a substantial output to warrant so many workers, I took a small piece of the cooked vegetable to taste on my way over to investigate the field. Biting into the flesh, I nearly spat it out as the intense taste of poorly aged cheddar and an unplaceable yet altogether fruity sour juice splashed onto my thoroughly unprepared tongue. After reluctantly swallowing my first bite down, I was thoroughly divided on whether such a thing could or even should be called food.

 

As I continued walking towards the Druids fields, I realised why the fruity taste and smell had been so familiar. The food wasn’t rotten, it was fermenting. But that didn’t make sense. Nothing else the Druids had grown had overripened to the point of fomentation, so why was this vegetable so special?

 

“What the?...” I stared out over the fields in shock.

 

The native vegetable seemed to grow much like a pumpkin, through large sprawling vines that matted the ground and aggressively expanded to control as much territory as possible. Under the accelerated growth and guidance of the Druids, what looked like a single massive pumpkin plant had now dominated a space four times as large as the hospital. Furthermore, it appeared to still be growing.

 

Hundreds of the vegetables were growing off the vines and seemed to fall off on their own without the Druids intervention. Around fifty Forest Goblins and Serpent-kin were hurriedly gathering the vegetables that fell off the vines and deposited them in the baskets I had seen the Goblins using earlier.

 

The Druids had made an effort to plant the other seeds and invested enough mana and time to see them grow to maturity. However, it was obvious that the Daemons had settled on the cheese-squash to satisfy the looming food crisis, most notably because there was only a single bush or tree for each of the other plants, while the cheese-squash dominated the landscape.

 

On some level, I found the Daemons choice questionable. I could clearly see an apple tree with small unripe apples growing on it as well as what might be an olive tree and what looked like a blackberry bush that was similarly bearing fruit.

 

Hunting down Qreet wasn’t particularly hard. Besides wearing the same hooded robe all the Daemons were wearing to disguise themselves, she was just standing out in the field. However, negotiating the vine-covered ground to get to her was another story.

 

Unlike the Forest goblins and Serpent-kin, I was not nearly nimble or lithe enough to negotiate the vines without inadvertently trampling some of them. Ironically, destroying a small section of cheese-squash vines drew the attention of the Druids and Qreet hurriedly established telepathic communication.

 

<Lord! Please do not damage the food crop!> Qreet spun around on the spot and nimbly made her way across the field.

 

I waited for qreet to come closer, hoping she would explain herself without needing to have the answers dragged out of her.

 

“Lord! We were not expecting you...” Qreet said nervously, wringing her hands and briefly looking out over the field.

 

“Not expecting me?” I asked, somewhat confused, “Why is that?”

 

Qreet shifted uncomfortably, “Underlord Gric was satisfied that the choice in food crop would be sufficient to fulfil Sanctuary’s needs...” She seemed confident in Gric’s choice but was made uncomfortable by my scrutiny.

 

I decided to let that particular issue go. “Why did Gric think these cheese-squashes would be the best choice?” I asked insistently.

 

Qreet seemed relieved, “Ah, the cheese-squashes? Is that what they are called?” She asked curiously but brusquely shook her head, “The cheese-squashes...” Qreet spoke the words slowly as if getting a feel for them, “They are rich in essential minerals, proteins and carbohydrates. Underlord Gric is confident that a diet of monster flesh and...Cheese-squash...will prove sufficient to avoid worsening the food crisis.”

 

Theoretically, they could be right. With the fish providing the essential fats and oils, and the cheese-squash providing a buffer of carbs and protein, it was probably the best call to keep the majority of Sanctuary’s citizens fed and staving off starvation. However, there was a potential problem that I wasn’t sure Gric was aware of, or if he was, had given an appropriate level of attention to.

 

“What about vitamins?” I asked, “Will the fish and cheese-squash be enough to prevent people from getting sick?”

 

Qreet hesitated, telling me all I needed to know. “Each species has different requirements, Lord...” She replied evasively.

 

I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled to remain calm. The Daemons were both doing what they thought was best. It was just unfortunate that their stance was taken for what was best for most or some, rather than all. “I have a new order for you and the other Druids, Qreet. For every ten mana you spend on growing cheese-squash, I want you to spend at least one mana on the other fruit trees and berry bushes. Am I clear?” In spite of trying to keep calm, I had begun raising my voice without meaning to.

 

Qreet nodded and bowed, “I understand, Lord, and will obey.”

 

“Why did Gric not suggest diversifying your growing efforts?” I asked, both trying to better understand his choice as well as giving Qreet a chance to regain my confidence.

 

Qreet cocked her head slightly to one side inquisitively, “Lord? With the undead laying siege to our borders, we do not have sufficient forces to patrol the briar wall AND harvest such labour intensive food crops.”

 

I furrowed my brow in confusion, “What do you mean? What about the Forest Goblin refugees? I know some of them are in pretty rough shape, but berry picking isn’t exactly what I would call straining work.”

 

“Lord...” Qreet shifted uncomfortably, “Many Forest Goblin adults were in critical condition, some were already half-starved...Wraithe has insisted that only those fit for work be allowed to do so...” She sounded confused by her fellow Daemon’s decision and a little angry. There were few things that made the Daemons angry, and the top of that list was defying hierarchy. So Qreet’s anger suggested that perhaps Gric had issued an order and Wraithe had defied it.

 

That raised a worrying issue, amongst all my Underlords, none of them were tasked or specialized with prioritising the health of our people. If Wraithe had in fact defied Gric, then it wasn’t going to sit well with the other Daemons either. As predictable as most of the Daemons were, it was strange how they found ways to surprise me and defy my expectations.

 

“What about the children?” I asked, “Picking fruits and berries isn’t hard, and they can eat while they work under supervision.”

 

Qreet shrugged apologetically, “Underlord Gric has attempted negotiations with Underlords Skrit and whisp...there have been...complications...”

 

I sighed and rubbed at my temple, “Alright, where are they? I’ll take care of it.”

 

Qreet pointed towards the human encampment near the collapsed mine shaft, “They are holding negotiations with the human soldiers’ officers, Lord.”

 

I frowned briefly as I tried to think of a reason why they would need to negotiate with the soldiers. Unfortunately, it just left me feeling paranoid, so I stopped and decided to check things out for myself.

 

As I headed over to the soldiers camp, I tried to think of why the Forest Goblins would be adverse to their children performing such simple manual labour, and why Gric hadn’t made the request of the Serpent-kin and Deep Orcs children as well. Granted, the younger ones would probably eat far more than they harvest, but that would be a good thing as well, so long as they didn’t eat so many they got stomach aches.

 

As best I could figure, it had to be because the monsters themselves had a very biased view towards hunter-gathering. Hunting was what brought in food, while the gathering component was the work to secure additional crafting resources from the carcasses or nearby environment. This was in direct opposition to humanity's own hunter-gatherer cultures and history, where gathering was another means of securing food, not just crafting resources and raw materials.

 

Having now entered the soldiers camp perimeter and headed towards the ramshackle looking command tent, I could only hope that the pair of recently appointed Underlords refusal was due to a very basic misunderstanding. Because in all likelihood, it would be the Goblins who would get sick from a vitamin-deficient diet first and be the most susceptible to preventable diseases.

 

Worst case scenario, I would see the human officers put their soldiers to work instead. So, with that exact thought in mind, I invited myself into the officers’ command tent.

 

There were seven human officers in attendance, or perhaps five officers and two soldiers as guards. It was hard to tell without their full suits of armour on, and I had other things on my mind.

 

The five officers, including the two most senior officers I had previously negotiated with, were sitting on the ground across from Underlords Skrit and Whisp. Out of everyone, only the junior officers seemed surprised by my presence, which did little to ease my mounting paranoia.

 

“This isn’t what it looks like,” The female officer raised her palms placatingly, “Your Underlords just had questions about the adventurer Guild’s actions during their combined retreat from the foothold,” She gave an insistent look at Whisp and Skrit.

 

Whisp nodded in confirmation, though she bore a deep scowl on her face all the same. “Human words are true.”

 

Skrit nodded with a bitter grimace, his face a mask of barely contained rage.

 

“Was there something we could help you with?” The female officer asked, ignoring the mild discomfort on her superior's face.

 

“Maybe,” I agreed, deciding that it would be best to leave Whisp and Skrit alone for the time being. “I want to know more about making magical items that run on mana stones,” It was something else I had wondered about and it could help alleviate our food problem.

 

The two superior officers shared a telling look with one another and the Captain nodded.

 

“Alright,” the female officer agreed, “I’ll try to arrange a meeting with an instructor after, well, all of this blows over. But in the meantime, I think I know enough to show you how it can be done,” she got to her feet and headed out of the command tent.

 

I followed her out and over to another large tent. Since the tent was filled with supplies and equipment, I assumed it must be their collective supply depot. The Lieutenant rifled amongst some of the larger packs before withdrawing a large leather satchel. Just judging by the sound the satchel made as she freed it from the pile, it was probably half-full of manastones.

 

True enough, the female officer, Rooke I think her name was, removed a few manastones from the satchel before replacing it back with the others.

 

“What determines which Abilities can be stored into a manastone and which can’t?” I asked curiously.

 

Rooke shrugged somewhat apologetically, “I am not sure, sorry. It mostly seems to be reserved for active-use Abilities.”

 

“Like the lights on your communication devices?” I asked.

 

Rooke was taken aback for a moment and then smiled a little, “Yeah, just like that.” Rooke shook her head a little and seemed to be thinking something over, “The trick is actually rather simple. You just need to concentrate on the manastone and think about the Ability you want to store inside. Most of the time, the Ability just requires a small amount of mana to interact with it to become active. Whether it’s your own or the target, it seems to depend on the Ability.”

 

“Wait...So, the slave collars?” My subconscious had put it together before I did, but it made sense.

 

The Lieutenant shifted uncomfortably and avoided looking me in the eye, “Y-Yeah, the Enslavement collars are made, not bought from the Labyrinths...”

 

I frowned and tried to suss it all out. The owner transfer section of the collars I had seen were large enough to fit a manastone, but it didn’t explain how they were able to be used repeatedly without depleting the manastone inside. “What about the manastones?” I asked, unable to keep the odd mix of curiosity and irritation from my voice.

 

“Well...Again I can’t be sure,” Rooke hedged nervously, “But I think they are parasitic...”

 

That made sense, leeching mana from the host in order to sustain the Enslavement that binds them. So why don’t Slavers have legions of...

 

“Your country's army...How many slaves are in it?” The question slipped out on its own.

 

As I expected, Rooke flinched and grew tense. She looked like she was trying to decide if I would buy the lie she was planning to tell, or perhaps how much of the truth to tell. “Around a thousand...” Rooke admitted quietly, “But no variants...” She seemed incredibly nervous, like a cornered animal.

 

“Variants?” I asked dryly.

 

Rooke gulped and shifted uncomfortably, “Monsters like you and your people. Adventurers call you Named or Specials?” She offered helpfully.

 

I nodded to show I understood. “If your army doesn’t keep my kind as slaves, then what is making you so nervous?”

 

“Mercs...” Rooke practically spat the word, her lips curled in flagrant disgust, “We have no concrete numbers...But our best intel suggests that the Red Lions have as many as one to two hundred Variants on their own...” She held no reservations about looking me in the eyes now, staring intently and looking for some sort of reaction.

 

“The Variants, they aren’t just soldiers, are they?” My stomach turned as my mind drifted to the worst places I could think of.

 

Rooke shook her head, “No, they aren’t...”

 

I wanted to throw up, expel the vile thoughts from my guts and my head.

 

Roke continued speaking, “The Emerald Vipers company is worse. They actively hunt down Settlements of Variants like yours and sell everyone off to the highest bidder. It doesn’t matter to them, pure mercs to the core. Men, women, chil-”

 

“ENOUGH!” I snapped angrily. The intensity of my outburst drove her back a few steps before she regained her nerve. Even though I wanted nothing more than to hit something, I forced myself to take a deep breath instead. “Why are you telling me this?” I demanded.

 

Rooke faltered for a moment but quickly rallied, “My superiors want to establish a working relationship with you, and keep it. I know this might be hard to accept after everything I just said, but the Asrus kingdom does not condone the enslavement of Variants.”

 

“But the adventurers Guild-” I was interrupted before I could say any more.

 

“-Is not an organisation, a clan...they don’t belong in Asrus...They hold loyalty to no one but themselves and their backers.” The sheer contempt in Rooke’s voice made her position clear. However, in spite of her anger, Rooke calmed herself and locked eyes with me again, “Not all of us humans are the same. My clan, the Asrus, we are amongst the few resisting widespread slavery of monsters AND humans...The other clans don’t like that.” She gave me a weighted look and made her way back to the command tent.

 

Slowly making my way back to the Grove, I wondered if I tried to keep my mind from returning to dark places, but it was difficult with only my own thoughts for company.

 

To my surprise, I bumped into Clarice by the cooking fires on my way back.

 

“Hey! Oh...Hey Tim,” Just about ready to take a swing, Clarice backed down when she noticed it was me who had bumped into her.

 

“Are you doing better? Have the Surgeons had a chance to look you over?” Clarice seemed a bit out of it and that had me a little worried.

 

Clarice shook her head and glanced away, “I’m fine Tim, really. I just need to unwind for a bit is all.” She smiled vaguely for a moment before slipping back into her neutral expression again.

 

Something was bothering her, but it seemed like Clarice just wanted to be left alone.

 

Before I had a chance to excuse myself, Clarice smiled again, only this time with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I was talking to Lash earlier and she is really happy about your performance in the bedroom,” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and snickered.

 

I blushed a little but still managed to shrug it off. Unfortunately, that only seemed to egg Clarice on further.

 

Clarice opened her mouth to speak, but paused and her expression turned dour again, “I’m sorry Tim, I...I just need to be alone for a while...”

 

“It’s okay, I get it,” I patted Clarice’s shoulder and turned to leave, “If you want to talk about it, just come find me, okay?”

 

“Okay Tim,” Clarice gave me a small sad smile and then turned back to the cooking fire.

 

I wanted to do more, say more, but I wasn’t good at this sort of thing. I just hoped that Clarice would get better, or come see me if she needed someone to talk to about it.

 

My brief talk with Clarice reminded me of something else, I needed to go see Hana. If she wasn’t awake already, she would be soon. As much as I doubted I was the right person to comfort Hana and stop her from going out of control again, it didn’t seem like there was anyone else.

 

Isolated on the recently built third floor, Hana and her sister were not hard to find. Getting to see them though, that apparently was the challenge. Wraithe had noticed my intentions first, so by the time I reached the second floor, there were a dozen porters and a handful of Surgeons reluctantly yet determinedly blocking my path.

 

“Lord, it is unwise to visit the Overseer at this time!” Wraithe insisted, “She is conscious but very fragile right now!”

 

The floors and walls trembled as if to accentuate the Daemon Surgeon’s point.

 

Wraithe stiffened for a moment, a telltale sign that she was engaging in telepathic communication. After a few moments, Wraithe waved the porters and other Surgeons aside, “The Overseer needs to speak with the Lord, let him pass...” She sounded truly reluctant, as if forced into the decision and left with no other choice.

 

“I won’t hurt her,” I muttered dejectedly, “Not as long as I don’t have to...” Recalling how I had been forced into making a snap decision, and how I had struck Hana hard enough to break her jaw made me feel sick and ashamed of myself all over again.

 

I headed up the stairs and was surprised that Wraithe or one of the other Surgeons didn’t insist on accompanying me. It was obvious that in spite of their relative seniority, the Serpent-kin looked to Wraithe for leadership, but Wraithe’s reluctance to accompany me upstairs made me feel even more nervous about Hana's mental state.

 

Reaching the top landing, I could see Hana standing alongside her sister on the bed. She made no signs of moving as I approached, but the thought never occurred to me that Hana was not completely aware of everything I was doing.

 

Making sure to appear as non-threatening as possible, I approached the bed to check on the condition of both the patient and Hana herself. What I found was not particularly comforting.

 

The patient, Hana’s sister, had come a long way in a short amount of time and looked stable, albeit heavily scarred. Her eyes were still gone, but her tongue had recovered more than I expected it to. However, The damage was still so severe that I doubted she would be able to speak normally, if at all. The only silver lining I could find, in spite of obvious withering to the cartilage in her ears, was that her eardrums looked intact and untouched, suggesting that her sense of hearing was likely intact.

 

However, I doubted that would be of little consolation to Hana. About the same size as Hana had been when she first appeared as a quest reward, her sister’s heavy scarring and the damage resulting from the original burns left her, for lack of a better word, disfigured.

 

“Can you heal her?” Hana croaked quietly, moving her hand to stroke her sister's face, yet flinching back at the last moment with a pained expression. “The Daemon...Wraithe, she said there wasn’t anything else they could do...” Hana sounded defeated and looked like she might burst into tears at any moment, and perhaps would have if she also wasn’t visibly dehydrated.

 

“I don’t know,” I admitted reluctantly, “My medical knowledge is limited, and I don’t know what medicines can be made from the plants of this world. The scars from the burns will continue to fade and heal over time, but the most severe injuries...There is nothing I can do for her eyes...” It felt cruel to just yank away all of her hope like that, so I determinedly pushed on, ”But her hearing should-”

 

“-Her name is Kohana,” Hana whispered despondently.

 

I grimaced a little and nodded, “Right...” It took a few moments to regain my nerve and relative composure, “Kohana’s hearing should be intact, so even if the nerve damage to her tongue proves more extensive than it seems, I should be able to teach Kohana at least rudimentary sign language to help her communicate...”

 

A solitary tear ran down Hana’s cheek and splashed onto the scarred skin of her sister’s hand, “Why is it that I can remember every little act of malice and unkindness she inflicted upon me?... Why can I remember all of that and still feel my heart aching at the sight of her?...” She whispered, “Why can I still hate her so much and feel such intense grief over her disfigurement?...I asked for this...In my heart...Every time she spitefully lashed out at me...I dreamed of retribution...And now I have it...” Hana’s shoulders began to shake as she succumbed to her grief and began sobbing.

 

Wrapping my arms around her, I drew Hana into a hug.

 

I lost track of the time while I held her. My sense of time was degraded by sharing in Hana’s grief. I had no siblings that I knew of, so again, I could only imagine what it would feel like to lose everyone, and then after beginning to process that loss, have your rival or antithetical sibling return in dire need of your support and care. To make it worse, from what I recalled of Hana’s retelling of events, her sisters and mother had all died trying to buy Hana time to escape. So if Kohana had suffered these injuries for Hana’s sake, it was understandable that Hana would struggle to process her feelings considering their originally antagonistic or perhaps even hostile relationship with one another.

 

After holding Hana a while longer, I found that she had exhausted herself into falling into a fitful slumber. Unwilling to leave her alone, I awkwardly maneuvered us both onto one of the beds closest to her sister and laid down with Hana resting in the crook of my arm.

 

An idea had occurred to me while gently rocking Hana to sleep. However, it involved a choice that I truly felt was not mine to make, and I did not trust Hana to consider in her agreed and emotionally unstable state.

 

While I was not completely certain, there was a distinct possibility that Orphiel could restore Kohana through the use of his Fallen Grace Racial Ability. Of course, the downside would be that half of any such injury would be taken on by the Fallen Angel instead. So Orphiel might be able to cure Kohana’s blindness by restoring her eyes, but in doing so, it may cost him his own eyesight. That is of course also assuming that it didn’t just leave them both with a state of near-complete blindness since Kohana’s eyes were completely burned away.

 

The scarring might be a reasonable request, as it would theoretically lessen the severity and divide it between them, allowing the sum total of scarring to heal at an accelerated rate. But even that might be too much to ask for. Scars as extensive as Kohana’s would severely restrict movement, and quite probably be accompanied by no small measure of pain and nerve damage.

 

I really didn’t want to put the fallen Angel in the position where he felt like he had to choose, and I sure as hell didn’t want to make the decision myself. What would otherwise be considered voluntary organ donation would quickly become organ harvesting the moment any shred of my authority got involved, and the thought of that made me sick.

 

There was, of course, another possibility. If Orphiel could store his Fallen Grace Ability in a manastone, then it unlocked the possibility of not only widening the list of potential voluntary donors, but also perhaps collectively sharing the load. That was assuming it was an ability that could be stored...

 

Adding the uncomfortable conversation and request to the list of my self assigned tasks for the day, alongside teaching any available Daemons the beginning steps for Auslan, the variation of sign language used and taught in Australia. While it would perhaps be a dead giveaway that I was an Awakener, assuming anyone recognised it and knew the significance of it, I didn’t think it really mattered all that much at this point.

 

After all, with what was now shaping up to be two other hostile Awakened set to fight me, it didn’t seem all that big a deal if they managed to learn my original nationality.

 

As the hours ticked by, I guiltily added another task to the mounting list, although this one was more of a long term goal. I needed more weapon practice. While I was reasonably confident in holding my own in a melee, my contributions at range left much to be desired. If it weren’t for the fact that the undead were literally approaching as a horde, I sincerely doubted my collateral damage from missing my original target would have been nearly so effective.

 

When the fighting breaks out again, I need to be ready. There were only a handful of people inside Sanctuary that I felt could fight this Necromancer Awakened for any real amount of time before needing to retreat. Not being able to engage him in ranged combat would severely limit my options when fighting him directly or as support, so it was a critical priority.

 

After I felt like Hana had slipped into a deep enough sleep, I carefully and gently extricated myself from the bed and made my way back downstairs. Unsurprisingly, Wraithe was already waiting for me.

 

“He can’t do it,” Wraithe stated brusquely.

 

“What?” I hadn't expected Wraithe’s sudden outburst so I hadn’t really caught what she said.

 

“The fallen one. He can’t do it, not through proxy,” Wraithe seemed heavily conflicted, “Racial Abilities cannot be stored, Lord, only those gained from Classes.”

 

“You already considered it,” I felt like kicking myself for being so arrogant as to think I would be the only one to think of it. “Does she know?” I asked worriedly.

 

Wraithe shook her head, “No, the Overseer is compromised by...grief?” The uncertainty Wraithe’s tone gave me pause.

 

Do Daemons not have basic elements of empathy? Or are they just incredibly unfamiliar with certain emotions? Either way seemed dangerous.

 

“You aren’t familiar with the emotion, or you don’t understand what it is?” I asked cautiously.

 

Wraithe fidgeted nervously, “Both?” She ventured reluctantly, “Daemons live to serve, not to mourn...”

 

As emotionally exhausted as I felt after supporting Hana, this felt important, like it would have far-reaching ramifications.

 

“The other Daemons, they are...upset with my choices...” Wraithe flinched and I recalled that Qreet had mentioned how Wraithe had earlier stood up to Gric, the Daemons highest internal authority figure. “It is difficult following your orders when they require so much...interpretation.”

 

“You mean the Hippocratic Oath? The ethical guidelines I gave to all the Surgeons?” I asked curiously, somewhat surprised that it was the cause of the internal conflict.

 

Wraithe nodded, “Causing a lesser harm to save a life, to heal a wound. This makes sense.” She chittered anxiously for a moment, “But sacrificing or causing pain to the one or a few to save another or the many is not? But it is acceptable if the few or the one agree and the many or another are willing?” Wraithe twitched in what passed somewhat for a flinch, “Daemons...We obey and give orders in turn. Orders are absolute, interpretation is...wrong. But your orders are confusing, disrupting the hierarchy...” She seemed genuinely distressed, like she was in the midst of an existential crisis.

 

Daemons dealt in absolutes. Their slavish adherence to hierarchy and commands very likely offered a sort of insulated comfort, shielding the majority from making independent decisions beyond immediate survival, or perhaps even that too.

 

“I don’t want slaves Wraithe, and as distressing as this burden of choice and conscience you are experiencing right now, I am proud of your progress,” I rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Making tough decisions is necessary for growth as a person. The emotions you said you don’t understand, I think you do, in your own way.”

 

Wraithe looked at me with surprise.

 

“You are grieving for your lost innocence, the time before making tough decisions became a daily occurrence. The distress it is causing you, it is similar to what Hana is feeling, though perhaps not nearly as intense.” I didn’t doubt that being so assertive without actual authority to back it up was distressing for Wraithe, and while it seemed to be paying off in terms of prompting emotional growth, it was liable to cause problems if left unchecked.

 

“Thank you, Lord. Your words of guidance are...comforting,” Wraithe seemed truly appreciative, she even smiled a little.

 

Her reaction helped me make up my mind regarding something I had been considering since laying out the first plans for the hospital, “Wraithe, I want you to be Surgeon General of Sanctuary.”

 

The Daemon’s eyes grew wide with shock, “L-Lord?” Wraithe stammered uncertainly.

 

“It’s just a title in words only at the moment,” I explained, “Simply put, you will be the highest medical authority of Sanctuary. Your job...responsibility, is to advocate best medical practices, foster potential talented individuals, sponsor and oversee ethical research, and make sure the people of Sanctuary stay healthy. It is a very important job and your official authority in those matters would be second only to my own,” I paused for a moment to let Wraithe think over what I had said. “When an Underlord title becomes available, I intend to give you the promotion to help with your duties, but even without it, you will have my full support.”

 

Wraithe seemed to be on the brink of tears, “Lord I accept!” She knelt down and bowed her head expectantly.

 

I wasn’t actually prepared for this, and needed a moment to collect myself. With no official Underlord position to offer, only one thing really came to mind. I placed my right hand on Wraithe’s head and accessed the Settlement Registry. I quickly located Wraithe’s entry and added another line after her name.

 

[ Wraithe ]

[ Surgeon General of Sanctuary ]

 

The text wouldn’t be visible while Wraithe was in a group, but anyone with access to Sanctuary’s Registry, and the ability to read, would be able to see it. Moving forward, this was actually going to prove a useful method for quickly identifying and differentiating anyone with the same or similar sounding names. Just by simply adding their primary occupation it would cut down on the number of potential conflicted search results. There were few of such instances now, but that could quickly change when more eggs were hatched.

 

I lifted my hand, “It’s done. Congratulations Wraithe.”

 

Perhaps not what she had expected, Wraithe was still very excited all the same, “Thank you Lord!” She leapt forward and embraced me in a rib strainingly tight hug, before embarrassedly letting go and backing away, “S-Sorry Lord! I was just excited...”

 

I smiled, glad for the lightening of the mood, if not the faint ache from my ribcage, “It’s fine! You should be excited! This is a very big deal!”

 

Wraithe grinned and skittered about on her hind legs with her tail waving excitedly for a few moments before growing still with a wide toothy smile plastered on her face. Almost certainly informing the other Daemons of her promotion, I decided it would be best to take my leave.

 

I headed downstairs to the ground floor and decided it would be a good idea to emotionally recharge, so I began walking over to the Grove. I hadn’t made up my mind whether I was going to just take a bath or to retire for the night, but finding Lash bathing in the fountain pretty much made the decision for me.

 

Slipping into the fountain, I helped Lash wash her back and she did the same for me. Afterwards, we just sat there on the submerged seat. Resting my head on her shoulder, I tried to organise my thoughts, arrange some sort of schedule. The grim reality of Sanctuary’s precarious position and the established presence of the undead demanded I pushed my limits and become stronger in order to protect those I cared about and those I had accepted responsibility for.

 

With both manastones and wild monsters largely removed from the table, what made the most sense was improving my martial skills. Just as I had reminisced earlier in the day, my ranged capabilities were woeful. Furthermore, while I was adequately skilled at fighting in a melee, thus far it had largely been a result of my enemies ineptitude rather than my superior skill.

 

With the goal of getting better at combat, it made sense that I should try and negotiate some sort of deal with the human soldiers. While they would no doubt demand or suggest an exchange for their expertise, there wasn’t really anything preventing me from making the most of it.

 

If the humans wanted the key to unlocking a class or two in exchange for helping with my training, then I could make the counteroffer to then extend that same training to a number of my warriors. Ideally, that would be the best outcome for both of us.

 

While the volunteer warriors fought fiercely, there was little cohesion between them. Even practice bouts would devolve into individuals skirmishing with one another rather than fighting together as a coordinated unit. With the prospect of fighting a potentially near endless horde of undead, reckless individualism on the battlefield was a liability we would not be able to afford. Ironically, adopting the formations and defensive tactics of the native humans would be our best bet for making it through any engagement with the fewest possible casualties.

 

Besides, having been nearly pelted to death by Goblin slingers, I was genuinely curious about what the Forest Goblins would be capable of in a supporting ranged combat role.

 

There was also the matter of unlocking Classes. Depending on what the Forest Goblins chose, there may actually be good reason to risk other monsters temporarily spawning within Sanctuary’s limits.

 

The mental image of a horde of ravenous beasts descending on the undead was a tempting motivator. Or it was until I remembered how the piranhas had just seemed to keel over dead after briefly occupying the same vicinity as the weakest undead in the horde.

 

That did give me another subject to discuss with the human soldiers. They had seemed at least somewhat familiar with the undead. Enough to understand and identify different types and what they could do. So finding out what caused the deaths of the piranhas became one of my highest priorities.

 

After all, what was the point in learning the humans defensive military doctrines if the mere presence of the undead would kill all of Sanctuary’s warriors? Far better that they had become slingers instead and whittled the enemies numbers from a distance.

 

With a list of questions, the prospect of a deal to work out and intent to conscript a reasonable number of soldiers for the food gathering workload, I reluctantly left lash and the bath behind. She seemed to understand and gave me an encouraging slap on the behind as I left. Or at least I assumed that is what it was intended for.

 

Making my way over to the human camp for the second time today, I had the distinct impression that the soldiers on watch had been expecting me. Neither of the pair I passed seemed surprised to see me, and they were markedly less afraid than other times I had been so close to them. Combined with the lack of an attempt to request or insist on an armed escort, I had to wonder if perhaps the soldiers had been busy preparing a list of requests and questions of their own.

 

It didn’t take me long to reach the command tent, but this time there was a pair of guards on watch outside. And one of them ducked inside the tent when they saw me coming. This only reinforced my theory that I was expected.

 

The soldier that had ducked inside of the command tent exited and held the tent flap open for me.

 

Pausing only long enough to give the soldier a quick once over, I ducked into the tent and found both superior officers waiting for me. While the female Lieutenant, Rooke, seemed positively champing at the bit, her superior seemed far more reserved.

 

“Chieftain Tim, our superiors have a request,” Rooke skipped all formalities and got straight to it.

 

“A request?” I asked neutrally, wondering if perhaps I could leverage it against my own without needing to forfeit the Class unlocks just yet.

 

“Yes,” The Captain interjected and gave Rooke a stern look, “They want to know if you are willing to negotiate an exchange for your knowledge of Class unlocks.”

 

I frowned on reflex, suddenly paranoid that perhaps someone was reading my mind. With so many other fantastical things going on in this world, something as simple as mind-reading wasn’t all that difficult to imagine.

 

“Please-” The Captain held up one hand placatingly, “-just hear us out. We have been authorized to bargain on our superiors behalf. If there is anything you need, there is a good chance that we can get it.”

 

The Captain’s offer didn’t surprise me. With the stranglehold the various Guilds seemed to have on unlocking Classes, it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume they were offering a blank cheque. But that is what gave me pause. Just because the Asrus army had proved to be better than the adventurers Guild, it did not automatically mean I should trust them without further proof. Besides, this was a good chance to find out more about the Asrus kingdom and its army.

 

“I might consider it,” I hedged, “But I want to know more about your people first.”

 

The Captain nodded as if he had expected as much, “Alright,” he agreed, “What do you want to know?”