Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 62 - By other means - Part One

 

Determining suitable compensation for the families of the fallen proved incredibly difficult. Despite the objective value placed on the Evolution Elixirs and the special Classes unlocked from the Underlord promotion, they still felt inadequate compared to the price the soldiers had paid for my personal vendetta.

 

The argument could be made that the Liche was a common enemy that had to be destroyed. However, it didn’t change how I felt about the issue. It didn’t change the thoughts repeating in my mind...

 

If I had taken more time to prepare or had experimented a little more...

 

The Empowered Veil of Undeath alone could have allowed a small elite team to assassinate the Liche and Vampyr, negating the need for a mass battle...

 

With my thoughts only growing darker by the moment, I was surprised when my champions provided an alternate perspective while conversing amongst themselves.

 

I had suppressed most of my memories of the city and the events that had transpired within it. However, revisiting those memories reminded me of the sheer scale of destruction the Liche had wrought upon the Asrusians. While I was unsure of the exact figure, between five to ten per cent of the total kingdom’s population had been massacred within the city.

 

Destroying the Liche had avenged those who had been murdered within the city of Mournbrent and those lost in the raid of Sanctuary alike. Focusing on one at the exclusion of the other was shameful.

 

I also realised that I was not the best person to decide what compensation would be appropriate and meaningful for the fallen soldiers' families.

 

I wasn’t a soldier.

 

I wasn’t Asrusian.

 

I was a complete outsider with radically different views, experiences, and expectations.

 

I cleared my throat loudly and made a point of slowly rising to my feet to signal that I wanted the attention of my three Human champions. “Faine, Randle, Jayne,” I looked at each of them in turn with what I felt was a serious and weighty expression. “I am entrusting the three of you to decide upon the compensation for the families of the fallen soldiers, and rewards for those soldiers that survived.”

 

The last had only occurred to me after I had spoken the first aloud.

 

I had been so focused on honouring the memories and sacrifices of the dead that I had forgotten to recognise the contributions of the living.

 

“The Liche was an apocalyptic threat,” I stated darkly before reining in my anger and frustrations at my failings. “Make sure the compensation and rewards reflect this.”

 

The three champions bowed their heads respectfully. They probably would have said more if we were within Sanctuary. However, with the Liche destroyed and the undead hordes shattered, there was a real possibility that spies and scouts would begin moving about the remains of the broken empire in earnest.

 

As the old saying goes, loose lips sink ships.

 

Revealing my true identity and rank, even in passing, might endanger my life. It was far safer to keep things somewhat ambiguous.

 

“Are we to return?” Faine asked solemnly before pointing at the floor, “And what of the Anchor? Are we to leave it be or take it with us?”

 

There was no telling how long the mana supply of the Anchor would last if left alone. For all I knew, it might even last indefinitely.

 

“We will send it back to Sanctuary,” I decided after giving the matter some thought. “Better not to leave it where our enemies or unsavoury opportunists might discover it. As for returning to Sanctuary...” I paused.

 

Giving the order to return was profoundly tempting and on the tip of my tongue. However, it was the easy way out. A means of leaving the hard choices and unpopular decisions. A choice that would see hundreds of thousands of lives lost. Families destroyed. Men, women, and children pressed into bondage...

 

“We have further business before returning to Sanctuary...” I decided grimly.

 

“We are going to seek out the Werrian survivors,” Jayne guessed correctly, her complicated tone accurately representing the conflict I felt within my mind.

 

“The high command isn’t going to like that,” Randle commented dryly before giving an exaggerated shrug, “Good thing they are not the ones in charge of making that decision.”

 

“They will just have to live with it,” Faine agreed with a surprisingly supportive tone of voice, the wrinkles around his eyes suggesting a scowl beneath the cloth covering his lower face. “If our places had been reversed, and it was the Werrians' top officers deciding our fate, I am sure the high command would see things somewhat differently.”

 

Jayne nodded supportively, “Those are my thoughts as well...” She agreed with only a hint of reluctance and hesitation. “It will not be a popular decision, but it is the right one,” Jayne sighed.

 

“Yeah...” Randle agreed but sounded far more conflicted. “This is only going to make the debates over territory acquisition and distribution even more heated,” he observed distastefully, “And I am plenty irritated with the swamp of intrigue already...Erm, not that there's anything wrong with swamps!” Randle amended hastily, earning muffled chuckles from his two cousins.

 

“No offence taken,” I reassured him, smiling faintly at the humour I found in the meta of the situation rather than Randle’s distress.

 

Sanctuary was only located within a swamp because of luck and circumstance. I hadn’t truly chosen it. Over time, I had simply grown accustomed to it, and it seemed arbitrary to change it without good reason.

 

“Acquiring the necessary territory to transplant the potential Werrian refugees will be somewhat faster than expected...” I made a point of holding up the staff and the sapphire brooch. “Our potential means have just doubled...”

 

Technically, I had six Artefacts. However, only four of them could be loaned out to my subordinates. I considered the Asrusian’s bow to be their means of earning territory, and the crystal embedded in my brain couldn’t be loaned out for obvious reasons.

 

“So they are both-” Jayne made a point of lowering her voice to a muffled whisper, “-Artefacts?”

 

I nodded and waved the sapphire brooch slightly, “As we feared may have been the case. This one was the troublemaker that gave me issues while making our approach.”

 

The sapphire brooch, Hexsurge, had two effects that worked in tandem. Detection allowed the wearer to select a Spell that would then be marked as forbidden. Any time an enemy cast the Spell within a ‘large area’, the wearer would become aware of the caster’s exact position relative to themselves. The second effect, Feedback, would then use the mana spent on the Spell to damage the caster.

 

There wasn’t a description for how long it would take to change the Spell Hexsurge would target, but casual experimentation suggested it would take far longer than a few minutes.

 

The effects of the staff, Stormcaller, were similarly interconnected. Tempestus allowed the wielder to expend mana to alter the weather. Specifically, it allowed the wielder to gather storm clouds. The rate at which the clouds would gather and how long they would be maintained influenced the ongoing cost of mana. However, the second effect, Escalation, increased the damage of all Spells cast related to the storm being maintained. It also provided the wielder with an alternative version of the Spell.

 

Reviewing the potential Spells listed by my Grimoire of Flesh, I immediately identified Fulmination as the lightning Spell cast by the Liche. However, without a free slot to learn the Spell myself, I could only guess that the Palpatine-esque lightning hands had been the original effect of the Spell.

 

On our way out of the fortress, I excavated the Anchor and we dragged it back over to our fortified camp in the pass.

 

Ushu and Dhizi had both returned ahead of us and there was a small crowd waiting once we arrived.

 

Except for Fesk, the Thralls all stood off to one side while the squad of Asrusian soldiers bearing the Empowered Veil of Undeath Spell stood opposite them. There were no signs of hostility or animosity between them, so I could only assume that it was a coincidence.

 

“What’s the plan now?” Clarice asked anxiously.

 

“In a moment,” I replied, hoping that Clarice would understand my intentions as I turned toward the squad of soldiers. “Sergeant Dale, your intervention was unexpected but appreciated. Thank you,” I bowed my head slightly as a sign of respect.

 

The soldiers' intervention during the showdown with the Liche may not have been a pivotal contribution, but it had made a difference.

 

“Just doing our duty, sir!” Sergeant Dale replied with feigned humility as both he and his subordinates puffed out their chests with pride. “Ah, but there is something else, sir!”

 

One of Sergeant Dale’s subordinates passed forward a sack to his superior, who offered it to me in turn.

 

“There was another undead, a Vampyr, we think, watching the battle from near the peak of the mountain,” Sergeant Dale pointed toward the eastern mountain and then to the south, “We followed it when it began to flee towards the south. I decided to put it down when it looked like it would be headed towards Mournbrent.”

 

“Do you think it was one of the Liche’s subordinates?” Faine asked, addressing the group at large rather than just the Sergeant himself.

 

One of the soldiers shook her head slowly and bore a somewhat confused expression. “He seemed happy enough that the Liche was taking a beating. At least, that’s what it looked like to me...” Under the combined attention of everyone present, the soldier seemed to lose her nerve and defaulted to a parade rest stance.

 

The other soldiers appeared to agree with her though.

 

“It certainly didn’t seem put out...” The Sergeant agreed somewhat hesitantly, “But it certainly looked...annoyed?” He scratched at his neck uncertainly and shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again. “Like things hadn’t worked out just like it wanted...”

 

“It probably hadn’t accounted for us putting up such a fierce fight,” I reasoned aloud and began investigating the sack's contents.

 

“That is probably it,” the sergeant agreed readily. Whether it was because he genuinely agreed with me, was just glad to resolve the matter, or deferred to my position as his superior was unclear.

 

As best I could tell, the sack contained a strange collection of magic items and a small satchel. Leaving the magic items, for the time being, I removed the satchel from the sack and handed the sack over to Randle for safekeeping. I would have handed it over to Clarice or Nadine, but there was the possibility that the magic items might contain some sort of trap.

 

After carefully inspecting the satchel from the outside, I decided to play it safe and Summon an expert to inspect it for traps.

 

Just as old and cranky as the last time I employed his services, Mortimer’s projection scowled disapprovingly as he hugged his arms across his chest and tucked his hands into his armpits to stay warm. “What do you want?!” Mortimer snapped grouchily. He sniffed contemptuously at the soldiers as they became outraged by his blatant show of disrespect.

 

“I want to know if this is trapped or rigged with some sort of failsafe device,” I explained neutrally, opting to ignore his cantankerous attitude and chalk it up to his advanced age and the frigid temperature.

 

Mortimer glanced at the satchel briefly but began staring at me with a confused look in his eyes. “I know you...” He muttered determinedly.

 

“We have worked together before,” I replied in a tone of voice that made it abundantly clear that he should drop the matter. “I will see to it that you will be suitably rewarded for your time and expertise, provided this task receives your FULL attention.”

 

Mortimer licked his withered lips nervously and nodded, “So long as I’m compensated,” he chuckled nervously, “After all, I’m here already. Might as well earn a few benefits...”

 

Mortimer moved closer and inspected the satchel. Rather than accepting the satchel and handling it himself, he seemed content with just performing a visual inspection.

 

“Anything?” I asked curiously.

 

Mortimer slowly nodded. “Can’t be sure, but it looks like the latch and maybe even the contents are laced with poison,” he commented suspiciously while giving the satchel a faint experimental sniff. “Definitely poisoned,” Mortimer confirmed, recoiling and exhaling hard.

 

“Best to leave it be, for now,” I decided, “Your service is appreciated.” I dismissed Mortimer's projection with a casual wave of my free hand.

 

Returning the satchel to the inside of the sack, I made a point of looking at Clarice and slightly shaking my head. We would need more privacy before I was willing to discuss matters further. The others would find out about my intentions soon enough, but for now, I wanted to keep things simple.

 

To her credit, Clarice demonstrated a surprising degree of patience. She didn’t seem particularly happy about being forced to wait, but she was doing it.

 

“Sergeant, I will be entrusting you and your subordinates to carry word of our victory to the Asrusian high command,” I explained while getting my mana. I had not had the opportunity to test the Spatial Breach Spell and now seemed as good a time as any.

 

More than that, it was important that the earlier retreat and heavy losses be contextualised by an overall victory.

 

The last thing I needed was a widespread panic amongst the Asrusians preceding news of a humanitarian mission to take in Werrian refugees.

 

That was, of course, assuming any refugees would be willing to migrate in the first place.

 

In my mind, I had been assuming that people would want to leave and take shelter within my Demi-Plane if given the opportunity. However, people were not nearly so simple and predictable.

 

Even amongst the Asrusians, there had been holdouts.

 

Imminent defeat and mass enslavement had not been sufficient motivation to convince everyone that leaving their homes was in their best interests.

 

I had only learned much later that the military had been required to ensure that very nearly everyone was evacuated. Liberal use of deception, in the form of white lies, alongside outright use of force had been applied to guarantee the safety of as many citizens as possible.

 

The Asrusian government had done all it could to save as many of their people as possible. But they had been unified in their goal. I was not so certain that the Werrians would be the same.

 

Drawing on a memory of the high command’s meeting hall as a reference point, I focused on Sergeant Dale and his subordinates then activated the Spell.

 

A ragged black gash appeared in front of the soldiers and slowly grew wider. To my immense surprise, maintaining the breach and enlarging it further was not nearly as draining as I had expected it to be.

 

Once the breach had enveloped the squad, I waited a few moments before using my Authority to confirm their arrival on the other side and ending the Spell.

 

Despite the comparatively long preparation time involved in casting the Spell, I was confident that Spatial Breach would serve as an invaluable tool. Of course, the ten-minute casting time and required concentration meant that there would be few combat situations where I would be free to cast it. Unless, of course, I was protected or otherwise holed up in a defensible location.

 

“We will return to the Werrian village to the north,” I announced bluntly, “We will then determine the best course of action from there.”

 

“Northern village?” Clarice scrunched up her face in confusion, “What about...” She winced and visibly lost momentum. “What about searching for...Searching for survivors?...”

 

“A search would be better handled with local assistance,” I hedged, not wanting to point out the obvious and crush Clarice’s already waning hope of rescuing her family. “If we fail to secure the assistance required, we will conduct a search by our own means,” I added, keenly aware that Clarice’s feelings for her family were complicated and likely to change moment by moment.

 

Clarice gnawed at her lip and nodded before grunting something unintelligible.

 

We are going to negotiate with Werrian survivors,” Nadine commented, astutely summing up the core of my expressed intentions. “Are you sure you will be able to gain an audience with anyone of sufficient influence?” She made a point of glancing at the ruined fortress behind me.

 

I wasn’t exactly certain of what she intended, but I had a general idea.

 

With only the limited knowledge at her disposal, it made sense that Nadine would assume the worst. Fesk hadn’t known who we were meeting with but might have made several guesses before passing along that information to Nadine. Assuming he had done so at all. However, I sincerely doubted those guesses would have included the child of a high-ranking noble, let alone the son of a Duke.

 

“We have an established connection to a noble house in open rebellion,” I admitted candidly.

 

Even if there were spies who were in range to hear this particular detail, it wouldn’t make much difference. The dukedom’s alleged rebellion would presumably be a matter of relatively common knowledge. Perhaps even assumed to be the case given the circumstances of the Empire.

 

“Wh-What?!” Nadine spluttered, confirming my earlier assumptions.

 

“Our meeting was cut short by the imminent arrival of the Liche, but their unofficial representative gave a favourable impression,” I explained confidently while trying not to sound overly smug.

 

“An unofficial representative?” Nadine didn’t sound overly impressed. “I suppose that sort of thing would be considered normal in circumstances like this...” Her tone had changed somewhat as she took on a more pensive expression and considered the matter.

 

Fesk had followed the conversation but didn't seem particularly interested beyond a mild element of curiosity.

 

This was understandable since he and the other Thralls had very little knowledge of the outside world. I didn’t either, but I had comparable experiences and a rather robust base of general knowledge to draw from to compensate for it.

 

While I could use Spatial Breach to transport us all directly to the village, I decided against it. I was not overly concerned by the prospect of our sudden arrival being witnessed by the Werrian rebels. However, as impressive as teleportation was to an Earthling like myself, the locals were not overly fazed by it.

 

If I wanted to reinforce my status and prestige, travelling by Dragon would be considered far more impressive.

 

Despite the urgency of the overall situation, I figured status and prestige would go further than practicality and pragmatism when dealing with scions of ancient nobility.

 

Travelling at a comparatively sedate pace, it only took Ushua little over a half an hour to reach the village. Dhizi had followed closely behind, casually gliding in Ushu’s wake. Both smaller and faster, Clarice could have pushed Dhizi to arrive before the rest of us. However, there was little point in doing so and given Clarice’s talent for aggravating people, it was certainly for the best.

 

As we grew closer to the village, I briefly considered Summoning projections of Gric and Sebet but ultimately decided against it. The Duke’s son was not in a position to make any meaningful decisions, so Summoning the Devil and Daemon duo would be mostly pointless.

 

Mirroring our previous visit, Ushu landed a short distance from the village walls.

 

This time, a larger contingent of soldiers sailed out of the village with the Duke’s son at their head.

 

“We have destroyed the Liche,” I stated loudly if somewhat arrogantly before any of the Werrians had the opportunity to speak. I wanted to set the tone of our meeting right from the beginning and avoid wasting time on a pointless dick-measuring contest.

 

There was also another reason.

 

I wanted them to know that the only buffer they had between them and the approaching confederates was now gone. Wasting time would cost them dearly but me and mine not at all.

 

The rank-and-file soldiers muttered quietly amongst themselves and a few made a point of looking up at the clear night sky.

 

“I...I believe you...” The Duke’s son admitted nervously. “We saw parts of the battle, even from here.”

 

“The storm,” one of his seconds corrected somewhat distrustfully to the agreement of his compatriot, “We saw the storm.”

 

With the aptly named Stormcaller in hand, I gathered my will and expended a large chunk of mana.

 

The clear night sky became heavily overcast within moments, blotting out the stars as thunder boomed ominously from the heavens.

 

“If you had fought the Liche, you would know that this was responsible for the storms,” I growled angrily. “And you would know not to doubt my words.”

 

“Stormcaller!...” The other older soldier whispered hoarsely. ”Then it is true...We are truly doomed...”

 

“The divine weapon of the first emperor...” Groaned the other.

 

The morale of the lower-ranked soldiers plummeted almost instantly.

 

“I had thought as much.” the Duke’s son admitted bitterly. “To be truthful, my glorious father had already suspected the imperial family had fallen. Feared that Stormcaller had fallen into the clutches of the undead...” He shrugged tiredly and let out a long weary sigh. He then surprised me by smiling broadly. “Now, at least, those simpering confederate dogs will not get their hands on it. Eh?”

 

“On that count, we are in agreement,” I confirmed with a smirk.

 

The Duke’s son, who I still didn't know by name, nodded a few times before growing deadly serious. “You have returned,” he stated bluntly.

 

“I have,” I agreed but was unsure of the significance of his stating the obvious.

 

“You have an interest in an alliance then?” The Duke’s son asked with an unmistakable and almost pathetically transparent desperation in his ice-blue eyes.

 

“Perhaps,” I agreed, electing to exercise a deliberate vagary in my response to make it clear who needed the proposed alliance.

 

The Duke’s son winced bitterly but nodded, seemingly understanding my intentions. “You will need to meet with the Duke then,” he decided. “The Duke has already been told of the events of our last meeting...” There was an unmistakable hesitance in his voice that made it clear that his father no doubt had different opinions on who needed who.

 

Assuming the Duke was at least somewhat informed, it wasn’t all that surprising he would hold such an opinion. The Asrusians had been losing the war. Outnumbered and outflanked, their defeat had been inevitable.

 

At least, it had been until I intervened.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” I shrugged indifferently. “No doubt there will be questions that he will want to be answered before considering an alliance. That is to be expected. However-” I lowered the tone of my voice and drew myself up to the full height of my Human form. “-I will make one thing perfectly clear, right now. I will not tolerate threats of any kind against my subordinates,” I growled, accentuating the point with deafening crashes of thunder.

 

The Duke’s son paled and stiffly nodded to show he understood.

 

Ushu alone probably would have served as a sufficient deterrent against any funny business. However, there were no guarantees and it didn’t hurt to add an utterly blatant show of intimidation to lend a distinct and dramatic flair to make the statement more memorable.

 

We exchanged a few words afterwards, discussing travel arrangements. The Duke’s son offered teleportation for the sake of expediency and ‘convenience’, but I refused.

 

I had refused for obvious security reasons as well as the distinct probability that my Evolutionary Tier would have made it fail outright. The former provided the excuse to maintain the secrecy of the latter.

 

After confirming the Duchy Capital’s location and heading, we ended our meeting.

 

The Duke’s son wasted no time at all in teleporting away with one of the older soldiers while leaving the other in command.

 

With no reason to linger, we remounted the platform on Ushu’s saddle and began making our own way to the Duchy capital.

 

At Ushu’s somewhat sedate pace, it would take us approximately half a day to reach our intended destination. This was not an entirely bad thing. Time was certainly a precious commodity, with the confederates drawing closer to the territory of the empire with each passing hour. However, in giving the Duke’s son a head start, and the Duke himself advanced warning, I was hoping that a large degree of unnecessary and unproductive politicking could be avoided.

 

If the Duke’s court could hash out their stance ahead of time, it would make things much simpler. I greatly preferred the idea of addressing a set list of concerns. The alternative of being forced onto the backfoot by tackling issues piecemeal and rehashing already settled issues over and over again would likely take far more time than our relatively minor procrastination.

 

We passed an utterly devastated town and several villages on our way to the capital. Each of them had been completely abandoned.

 

We also spotted several cavalry formations roving across the open plains and patrolling the roads. As we drew closer to the capital, we spotted a ragged line of refugees doggedly trudging along the road under the watch of several much smaller groups of cavalry.

 

Ushu had initially gone unnoticed. However, once he was spotted, the news spread like wildfire and the refugees scattered like ants.

 

A part of me felt bad for causing the panic. It was a variable I should have accounted for when making my initial preparations.

 

As we made our final approach toward the city, the panic only spread further.

 

To avoid further risk to Ushu and Dhizi, and potentially stave off inciting a deeper and more dangerous panic in the populace, I signed for Fesk to take us down a relatively moderate distance from the main road on the opposite side of the city.

 

Once we had all dismounted, I Summoned projections of Gric and Sebet and conjured armour for Gric that would generally match what was worn by myself and my champions.

 

While Gric methodically donned the armour I had provided, Sebet adopted the appearance of her European model persona.

 

I had invested very nearly all of my mana between the two of them and felt incredibly tired. However, the insights and balanced perspectives Gric and Sebet could offer far outweighed my momentary discomfort.

 

As we prepared to set out for the road, Nadine and Fesk drew everyone’s attention as they erupted into a nearly completely silent argument using sign language.

 

Poorly positioned to see half of the signs being made, it took a few moments for me to realise the source of the altercation.

 

Fesk didn’t want Nadine to go into the city.

 

Nadine was insisting she was perfectly capable of handling herself. Which convinced neither Fesk nor myself, but only served to make her angrier and markedly more stubborn.

 

I abruptly ended the argument by ordering Fesk to accompany Nadine as her bodyguard.

 

The solution and perhaps the prospect of the long walk ahead of us left Nadine somewhat embarrassed.

 

Fesk assigned one of his team to be left in charge in his absence. However, his replacement was not going to take Fesk’s place in the saddle, just assume the position of command. Fesk’s Bond with Ushu had long since eliminated the need for reins, and Ushu wouldn’t tolerate just anyone sitting in the saddle. Which was hardly surprising since he barely tolerated the saddle in the first place.

 

As we set out toward the road, Ushu and Dhizi settled themselves down to rest and await our return. They wasted no time at all in conjuring butchered Beasts as quest rewards to sate their seemingly endless appetites.

 

It didn’t take long at all for a sizable detachment of cavalry to begin racing toward us from the nearest gate of the city.

 

As they drew closer, I could see that they had no weapons drawn. However, a couple of the riders carried banners that could probably serve as improvised spears and deal considerable damage as part of a mounted charge.

 

We carried no banners of our own, but the ash-smeared surcoats of Jayne and her two cousins prominently bore the crest of their noble house.

 

Each of the Asrusian noble houses bore a different symbol or variation of symbols in their heraldry, but they collectively shared certain aesthetics that set them apart from other nations I had observed thus far.

 

No doubt intending to try and intimidate us, the lead elements of the cavalry didn’t slow their mounts until nearly the last possible moment.

 

Having already been thoroughly unimpressed when the soldiers serving the Duke’s son had attempted the same trick, I made a point of stepping forward and using Thundering Strikes to shatter a large stone underfoot.

 

The roar of thunder and the stinging bite of the tiny stone shards caused the giant wolves to baulk and shy away before their riders had the chance to carry out their bluff.

 

I released a low guttural growl and glared into the eyes of the largest of the wolves.

 

To the immense shock of its rider, the giant wolf released a keening whine and backed away with its tail between its legs.

 

I transferred my glare to the giant wolf’s rider. “You will take us to Duke Semenov,” I commanded, leaving no doubt as to who was in charge and who precisely was at the mercy of whom.

 

With the wolf-borne Semenovian cavalry as our escorts, our entry to the city went unopposed and without issue.

 

Entering the city proper I couldn’t help but notice the oppressive and pervasive aura of despair and dread on the faces of the homeless refugees huddled in the dark alleyways. I could sense the same dread from the soldiers patrolling the streets. However, the soldiers masked their fears with expressions of stoic determination or grim acceptance.

 

Many of the infantrymen we passed by looked entirely too young and couldn’t have been older than fourteen at the most. The rest looked far too old, perhaps in their late fifties or sixties.

 

The absence of adult fighting-age men became more prevalent as we continued through the city. However, what disturbed me the most was the complete absence of Slaves.

 

It was not difficult to put two and two together and determine what had happened.

 

At some point in fighting against the undead, someone had pushed for the mobilisation of the Slaves to defend the Duchy. No doubt, the idea had been accepted with very little thought beyond how many human lives might be spared by sacrificing the Slaves in their stead.

 

There was a cold logic to it that was undeniable in its brutal efficiency. After all, they probably didn’t consider Slaves to be real people. Even the humans amongst the ranks of the Slaves would have been considered ‘less than’. Slaves were nothing but a resource to be expended.

 

The anger building in my mind stalled as I watched a mother desperately pleading with a small group of soldiers who were taking away her son. The boy looked twelve at the most and was utterly terrified. The soldiers would not be dissuaded, and the mother was left wailing in the street.

 

For the Asrusians, it was a glimpse at what could and undoubtedly would have been.

 

For all the impact the incident had upon me, Nadine was visibly shaking.

 

I had never asked Nadine about her parents or how she came to be an orphan, and she had never raised the subject directly. However, the state of perpetual conflict that I experienced in this world thus far led me to suspect that Nadine was most likely a war orphan.

 

Nadine was clutching Fesk’s hand so tightly that I could hear the leather creaking and the armoured plates on his arm rattling.

 

We witnessed several more instances of conscription before reaching the central district of the city.

 

Contrary to my expectations, even in the heart of the city where the protection was greatest, I could only see despair and fear on the faces of the civilians.

 

The fortified estates of the nobility were almost completely defenceless. Most gates were firmly shut, and quite probably locked and barred. Those that weren’t had a single guard at most. One of the estates even appeared to be abandoned outright.

 

Passing the Adventurers Guild offices, I was not entirely surprised to find that the military had seized control over the building and the Labyrinth within. The complete absence of adventurers I witnessed thus far had led me to suspect that most had either been drafted into military service and died, or had fled.

 

Wagons outside of the building were loaded high with raw foodstuffs and materials before being sent out into the city proper.

 

The gate and grounds of the Duke’s keep were a stark contrast to the rest of the district. Dozens of experienced soldiers stood guard at the outer and inner gates, and many more were stationed nearby in reserve.

 

Or so I had thought.

 

As we passed the reserve soldiers, I realised that the myriad of similar but different coloured and patterned uniforms signified their status as personal retainers or bodyguards.

 

I could only assume that some noble custom, or perhaps the Duke’s paranoia, had necessitated that the nobles leave their men outside. Given the desperate state of affairs, I was more inclined to believe it was a security-based measure rather than a matter of noble custom.

 

“Sers, you will need to leave your weapons here,” the lead officer insisted, motioning to a servant standing before several large reinforced chests.

 

“No,” I refused flatly. “That request is unacceptable.”

 

The lead officer’s eyebrow twitched as he struggled to maintain his composure. “Ser, it was not-”

 

“It WAS a request,” I interrupted coldly. “And I have refused it. If your master wishes to see me and mine disarmed before attending a meeting, then you can inform him that we are done here.”

 

The officer’s face paled and a number of the soldiers and guards reached for their weapons.

 

“That would be the last mistake you make!” Clarice sneered contemptuously at the officer. Utterly unafraid of the fact that we were outnumbered three to one and surrounded.

 

I couldn’t blame her. I doubted we would even break a sweat if it came to an actual fight.

 

The officer’s nerves gave out faster than I expected. “H-Hold!” He barked, waving down the soldiers and guards before someone initiated a ‘diplomatic incident’. “Inform his Excellency of these developments!” The officer ordered, sending away the servant and keeping the soldiers and guards in place.

 

The servant returned a short while later, face sweating from the exertion of running through the halls. “His Excellency commands that they be allowed through and remain unmolested!” The servant announced nervously. “His Excellency also wishes for the guard to remain at their posts!”

 

The officer seemed slightly disappointed, but not particularly surprised. Which I found quite interesting.

 

Following the officer through the entry hall of the keep and a large but otherwise empty antechamber, we were then brought into the throne room.

 

The throne room was surprisingly crowded. The far sides of the room and the viewing floor above held what looked to be roughly a hundred or so nobles and a small number of children.

 

Most of the men were wearing at least a few pieces of ceremonial-looking armour and had swords bound with braided cords on their hips. The braided cords appeared to be tied in such a way that would prevent someone from drawing their sword without first being noticed and providing advance warning. I couldn’t be sure if that was its primary purpose, but I had more important matters on my mind to consider, so I paid them no further mind.

 

The Duke sat on a throne set before a large banner bearing the Semenov house crest. He was joined on either side by a small collection of men and women who appeared to be his relatives, advisors, or both.

 

I recognised the Duke’s son standing on his father's right side.

 

The Duke had short dark hair with streaks of grey feathering out from around his temples, and his eyes were hard and calculating. A firm authoritative gaze made it absolutely clear that he was a man who was accustomed to making difficult decisions on a large scale. The deep lines and dark rings under his eyes suggested he had been making far too many in recent days and was expecting to make many more.

 

Without being asked, Gric advanced past our escorts and waved his hand expansively back in our direction. “Presenting his Majesty’s most trusted envoy, Fharad of Sanctuary!” Gric’s deep resonating voice carried effortlessly through the hall and drew every eye in our direction.

 

“Fharad of Sanctuary, we are honoured to receive you in our humble hall,” the Duke replied somewhat dryly. However, despite the tone of his voice, I could see a measure of uncertainty in his eyes that suggested things were not quite as he had expected. “You will excuse me, but your name, it does not sound Asrusian.” His cold eyes narrowed warily.

 

I removed my helmet and drew back my coif and hood as I stepped past our escort. “Your Excellency has a keen ear,” I commented with feigned humour. “As you can no doubt see, I do not look Asrusian either.” I allowed the Duke and the assorted crowd to take in my dark skin. “And yet, I have the authority to speak for the Asrusian Kingdom and its interests. So let us waste no more time with games...”

 

The Duke’s mouth twitched and I saw a vein near his right temple begin to throb. “That is quite strange to hear,” he said loudly in a rousing tone. “We have intelligence that states the Asrusian Kingdom is no more, and that the remnants are nothing more than confederate lap dogs!”

 

Jeers and cries of outrage rose from the gathered nobles.

 

I paid them no mind.

 

“You think this is all an elaborate trick?” I snickered disparagingly, deliberately dropping my attempts at formal speech. “Do you really think such a deception would be necessary?” I scoffed incredulously, shaking my head and chuckling softly to myself at the objective absurdity of it all. “I destroyed the undead hordes!” I snarled, dropping any semblance of civility. “I destroyed the Liche!”

 

I let those words sink in for a few moments.

 

“If I wished you and your people harm, there would be no need for tricks,” I stated coldly. “I am here for one reason, and one reason only. To give your people the chance to escape death, depredation and Enslavement!”

 

“Stop this insolence at once!” Sneered a nasal voice from amidst the mass of nobles. “Your tricks will not work here you confederate spy!” A gaunt man in raised-heeled shoes and wearing a ceremonial breastplate slipped forward through the crowd. “You have trampled upon his Excellency’s honour and I will see you bleed for it! I demand satisfaction!” He snapped the chord of a pendant from around his neck and then cast the pendant onto the carpet near my feet.

 

A tall broad-shouldered man at arms pushed through the crowd and stood beside the nobleman, making it clear that the nobleman didn’t plan on facing me himself.

 

<This is ironic...> Gric’s thoughts gave off an air of amusement as they settled into my mind. <My Tyrant, it is they who are the Confederate spies, and several more besides!>

 

***** Savva Semenov ~ Semenov Duchy ~ Semenovian Duchy Capital *****

 

Duke Savva eyed Ser Petrov warily. The minor noble had been causing nothing but trouble of late, so it was incredibly strange that he would take the Duke’s side now.

 

“You want a duel?” The envoy snickered contemptuously in reply to Petrov's demands. “But you are too cowardly to fight me yourself? Don’t bark about honour and then cower behind your manservant's skirt!”

 

Duke Savva had to fight against the urge to smile as Petrov's face flushed a bright crimson with anger and embarrassment.

 

“If your honour is so valuable-” the envoy continued, raising his voice above the clamour of the mob with no visible effort, “-you will fight me yourself, or at least one of my attendants!”

 

“I volunteer!” All eyes, including Savva’s own, were drawn toward a tall statuesque beauty standing amidst the envoy's gathered attendants. “I will fight the man who doubts my master’s honour and divine right to cast judgement!”

 

“As will I!” The deep voice of the envoy’s lead attendant echoed through the hall and left only silence in its wake.

 

“OUTRAGEOUS!” Baron Pushkev’s roar drew all eyes as he and his supporters shoved their way through the crowd and made their way toward the envoy. “WHAT WOULD A LOWLY ASRUSIAN WORM KNOW OF HONOUR?!” He snarled, spraying spittle with each syllable. “DRAW YOUR BLADE CRETIN! OR I WILL RUN YOU THROUGH WHERE YOU STAND! JUST SEE IF I DON’T!” The Baron had already removed the peace-tie from his sword and was aiming the tip of his blade at the envoy’s unprotected face.

 

Expecting the envoy to demand he return the hall to a sense of decorum, Duke Savva was surprised when the dark-skinned envoy calmly turned to face Baron Pushkev and his supporters instead.

 

“You wish to fight me?” The envoy asked coldly. “Even knowing that it could cost you your life?”

 

“I HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR FROM AN ASRUSIAN CUR!” Baron Pushkev roared as he lunged forward. “NOW D-” The Baron’s cry was interrupted as the bare fist of the envoy’s lead attendant crashed into the Baron’s breastplate.

 

A deafening roar of thunder tore through the chamber and the Baron was cast backwards with such speed that it was almost impossible to follow. Baron Pushkev’s flight ended abruptly as he crashed into the wall beside the main doors to the throne room.

 

A deathly silence fell upon the assembled nobles.

 

“I told you, father, he is more than he appears!” Vadim whispered in warning, earning worried glances from his two younger sisters and his uncle.

 

Against expectations, Baron Pushkev staggered shakily to his feet. Then, without warning, a torrent of blood heaved out of his mouth and he collapsed to the floor where he proceeded to bloodily void his bowels.

 

“With one blow...” Katia, Savva’s youngest, whispered incredulously. “With just his fist against magical armour!”

 

Duke Savva was about to call for the Surgeons but was interrupted as the envoy stared him down.

 

“You have traitors in your midst,” the envoy commented disapprovingly, earning a low groan from Vadim.

 

Savva knew his son well enough to know that he believed the envoy to be telling the truth.

 

Thinking on the matter for a few moments, Duke Savva was forced to admit that there was a high possibility of there being a traitor in their midst. There would always be those who placed their own survival above all else. It was basic human nature and would never change.

 

“MURDERER!!!” Ser Petrov cried in outrage and looked to his peers for support.

 

A handful of other nobles pumped their fists and shouted cries of support. However, the majority remained silent.

 

“Vladd Romanova, Kuzma Sergeev, Akim Gusev, Foma Sokolov-” The envoy’s lead attendant began calling out names and pointing out their owners from amidst the crowd with unerring accuracy.

 

As they were named, the accused quickly found themselves isolated from their peers as they were hurriedly shunned to avoid a similar fate to the late Baron.

 

Duke Savva felt an intense wave of disgust and outrage as he recognised the expressions of guilt and panic on the faces of the accused.

 

If the likes of Ser Petrov and his ilk had been the only ones accused, Savva would not have been nearly so surprised. However, several of the accused numbered amongst the closest allies of his house...

 

“Father...” Vadim gave him an earnest pleading look and silently motioned toward the main door to the throne room with his eyes. His intentions were clear. None of them should be allowed to escape.

 

Duke Savva rose to his feet. “SILENCE!” He bellowed, bringing nearly all of the assembled nobles to heel almost immediately. “GUARDS! SEIZE THE ACCUSED!” Savva roared, giving voice to his outrage and fury.

 

Duke Savva’s elite guards swarmed out of their hidden alcoves and into the ranks of the nobles.

 

Some of the accused tried to run and were violently restrained. Others whined, pleaded with, or even threatened the Duke to release them, proving their guilt through their actions.

 

Ten men and women screamed and fell to the ground and thrashed violently in the grips of extreme seizures, frothing at the mouth and biting their tongues as they convulsed upon the floor.

 

“TELEPORTATION!!!” One of the elite guards called out in warning just as four more of the accused fell thrashing to the floor, each of them holding a decorative cane or walking aid in their ever-tightening fists.

 

Two more of the accused fell to seizures before Duke Savva realised the connection.

 

Those who attempted to flee through means of teleportation were the ones being struck down with convulsions and seizures.

 

Throughout it all, the envoy watched with a grim and disappointed expression on his blunt-featured face.

 

Duke Savva’s outrage was momentarily extinguished as he realised that the envoy, or perhaps one of his attendants, was responsible.

 

They had known the traitors' identities and seemed to have the means of denying them escape. At the least, the lead attendant was capable of killing a high-level Knight with a single blow from his fist.

 

Despite the sigil of his house crest, Duke Savva felt a cold chill sweep down his spine. He had always considered himself to be a wolf amongst sheep. A hard man who made hard choices for the greater good. However, looking into the eyes of the envoy, he was surprised to find that someone so ruthless would be filled with regret.

 

Then he remembered what his son Vadim had told him of their first meeting in the devastated village of Yakutsk. The envoy had asked his son a question.

 

What does the survival of your people mean to you?

 

Duke Savva had originally interpreted the question as an attempt to gauge his son’s receptivity to defection. That the question was intended to determine how open he would be to the enslavement of his people.

 

Vadim had insisted and strongly argued otherwise.

 

Duke Savva had initially determined Vadim’s assessment to be made out of naive optimism fuelled by desperation. However, he now realised that wasn’t true.

 

Despite the envoy’s earlier behaviour, Savva could see much of his younger self in the man’s eyes. They were the eyes of a man struggling to reconcile hard decisions and their consequences against the pursuit of a greater good.

 

The eyes of a man who would try to tend the injuries of a wounded wolf despite knowing that it was almost certain to try and tear out his throat for the effort...