Chapter 102: Book 2: Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Another benefit of levelling up was that it sorted out the lingering effects of having my arm crushed by the mutated crawdad. My Health was now back at full.

Things moved quickly once we came back.

Well, they moved quickly after Quixbix finished his screaming fit when he saw what spell I’d taken. An apoplectic rant expounding on how he couldn’t make up his mind if I was a madman or an idiot dominated those first few minutes.

I let him blow off a little steam and then calmly informed him of why I’d made the decision and that I had no intention of using Summon Rift Beast in its current incarnation.

The imp angrily pointed out that as long as I had access to the spell, I’d be tempted to use it in tight spots rather than searching for alternative solutions. Also, there was always the chance I would run into someone or something that could cause me to cast it against my better judgement.

These were both good points that I had no real answer for and hadn’t taken into account when Dean was giving me the hard sell.

What was done was done, though. He may have been a bit angry, but the imp got over it quickly. I think he was still a bit worried that he could be gobbled up along with me if we failed in my pledge to utterly ruin Luca.

At first, Quinntexxis was resistant to accept the deal I’d thrashed out with Dean. As she saw it, there remained the possibility that I could leave her swinging in the wind. Then the asshat in charge of imps and fairies did me an unintended solid.

He spoke directly to Quinntexxis and made threats about what would happen to her if she accepted the offer. His words had the opposite effect of their intention and Quinn readily agreed once she realised how badly he wanted her to turn down the arrangement on offer.

With Quinn on board, my first ten signees had the Framework shackles removed and merged into their new reality, physical changed and all. Under Jackson’s supervision, they started escorting inmates who didn’t make the grade the half a mile back to the ship’s brig where most of them were instantly transported back to the pen’s in Stormblade Harbour.

Word soon spread through the prison community and most of the subsequent candidates already had an inkling of what was going on, which made the discussions quicker. There were a couple more holdouts, but no more ire inducing incidents as we had with Marcus.

In a few more hours my current roster was filled.

Of the 3,568 prisoners, a little over four hundred had made the shortlist of being both useful and trustworthy enough to be considered for the Canon. That left around three hundred whom I couldn’t add due to the constraints on numbers.

I let these individuals know they were all being considered for early release and would make arrangements once we got back to Stormblade Harbour.

With any luck, they would form the core of the settlement’s first militia with the option of becoming full Canon signatories when the time came.

There were a further three hundred and fifty whose profiles suggested they could be trusted but whose aptitude was poor and another thousand who were the opposite way around. Decent aptitude but not the kind of person I trusted to be walking around without some kind of supervision. They’d have to stay locked up until Stormblade Harbour had established itself more. Getting my hands on those sentinels would go a long way to expediting their integration.

This combined group weren’t irredeemable, and we’d give them a chance, but they would likely end up as fodder on the battlefield to shield the more useful individuals I’d picked up.

There were another three hundred in what I referred to as the danger zone.

They were for various reasons currently in the ‘for the chop’ pile but would be the last we would send in.

As it would likely take a couple of weeks to process those ahead of them in the dungeon queue, they would have a short window to convince me to spare their lives. This group was primarily men who had committed heinous crimes when they were young and had already been in prison for multiple years. Enough time to reflect on their poor life choices and maybe choose another direction.

Which left roughly fifteen hundred who were definitely destined for the dungeon. The inmates I would never contemplate allowing to go free under any circumstances. The paedophiles and thrill-killers would be the first to be sent in, along with Marcus Sawyer III.

Executing Marcus by my own hand would have been more satisfying, which was the exact reason why I elected to use the dungeon for the deed. Killing because it made me feel better was a path I didn’t want to walk.

Amongst the prison population there had been five people who had taken the Corsair class. Two of them had a low aptitude but I signed them up anyway to bulk up the numbers. Two of the others were dungeon bound and they wouldn’t get a pass just because they would be convenient additions.

The last of the five had given me an interesting predicament to ponder. Charlie Gibbons had not only taken Corsair but was the only inmate who had taken Acheronian as a species. His aptitude was high, and his crimes were non-violent, what would otherwise be thought of as the sweet spot.

The problem was that Charlie was a habitual liar and scammer. Worse, the Framework generated psychological profile showed a very high likelihood of recidivism.

He was in the clink for defrauding veterans of their pensions. He had ruined lives and exhibited zero remorse for his actions. The Framework analysis revealed that even though half of what he stole was recoverable he had actively thwarted the authority’s attempts to return the money to its rightful owners.

He was the very definition of untrustworthy.

Ultimately, I decided to take him on, though I’d have to keep him close to be sure we had control over him. If he proved problematic, then an example could be made, and nobody would miss him.

We equipped my new crew with a collection of gear that we had looted from our various kills along with a few items we’d purchased from the Stormblade Harbour podium before we left. While my new crew continued with the transfer work, we retrieved Sam Jenson from the boot of the blue Buick out front.

He had pissed himself during his incarceration, as well he should. His fate was not looking too rosy.

My intention had been to take him back to the ship and use the interrogation features of the cells to break him down and gather intelligence on his clan. The plan proved to be unnecessary as he started gushing everything he could before we’d even got him out of the car park. The daft idiot was so panicked he never thought to extract a promise to spare his life before he spilt his guts. We still used the cell to confirm his blubbering, but he’d held nothing back.

The information had been enlightening and ultimately changed what I planned to do. I had intended to simply load up with my new crew and sail back to my archipelago and start levelling them up as part of the exploration of my domain. Instead, there was a golden opportunity to take advantage of before we left.

The Jenson Clan had been expanding their reach, or at least trying to. Their early success in seizing control of Pewamo had emboldened the clan matron, Gertie Jenson. She wanted more and apparently hadn’t been very happy that most of the available females had fled rather than become ‘wives’ for her boys.

But Gertie had a plan.

After drawing in a few more malcontents from the surrounding area and bullying some of the weaker-willed men of Pewamo into formally aligning themselves with her faction they went on the move. Muir, the small-town west of Pewamo, was her first target. This is where most of the young women had fled to when they left Pewamo in the first few days.

The initial raid was semi-successful. They took the town easily enough, but somebody had informed the Muir residents of what was coming, and most had moved further west to Ionia or south to Lyons. Essentially thwarting the aims of Gerties raid

Enraged she split her forces, half went west to attack Ionia and the other half south to do the same to Lyons. This was a massive mistake. Had she sent all her people to either town first, things may have been different, but she didn’t.

The group that attacked Ionia, being at half strength, were repulsed by the larger town that had been reinforced with fighters from Muir and Pewamo and had they been forced to retreat back to Muir, licking their wounds.

Lyons fell, much the same as Muir had and for the same reason. Because Lyons was largely empty.

I recalled that the town had evidence of creature incursions when Shana and I had stayed the night. Apparently, these had intensified, and the people of Lyons had already been preparing to abandon the town and make for Lansing as many other residents of the surrounding small towns had. News of the Jenson’s imminent aggression by way of refugees from Muir seemed to have been the perfect impetus to convince them to accelerate their plans and depart.

Gertie Jenson now had three towns under her control.

With multiple dangers in the area, a clever strategist would have consolidated in a single location, probably Muir as it was central and larger than Pewamo.

Not Gertie, the towns were hers and she would hold them all. Even though those repelled from Ionia had to convalesce overnight to be ready for a combined assault on Ionia the next day, further reducing their available strength.

Thus, she made her second blunder.

Spread thin and in unfamiliar territory for the most part, they lost more people during the night when the inevitable happened and spawned creatures attacked. Plus, many of those who survived were wounded during the night-time raids. Which meant the Jenson’s had too many injured to risk another assault on Ionia.

Following this early debacle, the Jenson Clan changed up their strategy.

Gertie still convinced her boy’s future wives were holed up in Ionia, had been sending groups like Sam’s to strategic positions around the town in an attempt to keep the Ionians hemmed in. Only bringing them back during the night when it was too risky for the town’s residents to attempt escape.

They’d been doing this for a week and all she had achieved was to further erode her clan’s strength. Sam believed they were down to just over one hundred fighters, not counting the seven we had already killed. It was about thirty more than what I had, and they were all between level five and eight while my troops remained at level one.

However, the Jenson’s people were spread thin trying to defend the three towns that made up their territory and convince Ionia they were encircled. They had twenty or so people holed up in both Pewamo and Lyons. The remaining sixty, which included Gertie herself, had set up shop in Muir, but half of them would be out patrolling around Ionia.

In short, we’d never have a better chance to take this group out in nice, easy to handle chunks.

When Sam was done betraying his family, I sequestered myself with Shana, Anastasia, Jackson, and a few of my new officers like LT in the cabin and we formulated a plan of action.

I didn’t wait for us to finish the full transfer of the human cargo. We’d finish it off on the way back. We all agreed that we needed to complete this assault before dark when monster activity could interfere with our plans.

I also didn’t want to split the attacks over two days. The Jenson’s communications were poor, but chances were that someone would manage to escape and raise the alarm if we weighed anchor for the night with only half the job done.

It wasn’t a concern that they would be too entrenched to take out the following day that required haste, more that they might turn tail and run off with resources I wanted to secure for the Shattered Storm.

Soon we had a plan. Jackson and Shana would make their way into Ionia on foot. Two people should not seem threatening to any sentries. Ionia was a small enough town that somebody in the guard shifts ought to recognise Jackson as a local and let them in without too many issues.

I sent Shana with him for backup because she shouldn’t arouse suspicion. She might arouse other things, but she could handle any unwanted attention and her looks would likely be enough to get them in the front door on the off chance nobody knew who Jackson was.

Given the Jenson’s reputation, nobody would suspect she worked for them. Once in town, they would try and rouse some of the locals to go on the offensive and hit the small groups the Jenson clan had positioned around the perimeter of the settlement.

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew and I would sail further upriver and strike at the Jenson clan’s positions. We’d raid Lyons first, followed by Muir, and then mop up the remainder in Pewamo.

 

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According to my watch, it was about four o’clock in the afternoon as Marena’s Mercy lodged into the embankment a couple of hundred metres before the bridge over the river that ran through Lyons. Our point of debarkation was a small park surrounded by trees and therefore relatively secluded, so we shouldn’t be spotted straight away.

Me, Anastasia, and forty of the crew quickly ran down the gangplank and secured the immediate area. There was no sign of anybody in the park which was just as well.

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This had been our second stop. We had let LT and thirty of the others get off north of Lyons. There was a single road that led into town from that direction, and they would slowly sweep the area for any threats and move southward.

 According to the intel gleaned from Sam Jenson, most, if not all, of the clan would be in the centre of town near the podium. Lyons was split by the river, but the Jenson’s had used their slaves to strip everything of value from the other side of the river and burned down most of the buildings on that side of the town.

They would have some men watching the bridge from that direction but that would be the only sentries they had in place. To the north of them was Muir, which was theirs and therefore safe as far as they were concerned. The road to the east led to Pewamo, also theirs and wasn’t watched for the same reason. And directly south of Lyons was the river, so they didn’t bother to have anyone watching for threats from that direction either. They assumed the river would be enough to deter potential attackers.

I signalled for my people to move forward rapidly. Surprise would be an extra weapon in our arsenal. I led the way, to absorb any early attacks with my vastly superior Hit Points. Following orders given earlier, the crew sprinted silently after me towards the main street that ran through Lyons.

We only had a couple of hundred metres to run and covered the distance in thirty seconds. Once we were out on the streets the area was no longer deserted. A dozen or more townsfolk were puttering around at one task or another, all of them sporting collars as well as cuts and contusions. All signs that the Jenson’s had been physically abusing them.

Most of them gawped or cringed away from our sudden appearance but they remained silent, out of shock at our unexpected presence or hatred for their current owners.

All of them that is, apart from a short, shifty-looking fellow. He had a collar on but appeared unharmed and better fed than his contemporaries.

Everything about him screamed ass-kissing, collaborating snitch.

He took one look at us and dropped the box he had been carrying, which clattered noisily when it hit the floor. It was the sound of looted silverware if I wasn’t mistaken, though the contents of the box did not spill onto the tarmac of the road.

Ratboy turned and fled away from us towards a bar a little further down the street. He managed to let out a single high-pitched squeal before Anastasia’s whip wrapped around his throat and blocked his windpipe as she yanked him back hard.

I nodded in appreciation to her.

After ratboy’s unconscious body was pulled over to the side and his mouth filled with some grotty fabric to keep him quiet should he awaken we were ready to continue.

“Looks like they are in the bar. Danny, take your squad to the bridge and handle the scouts there. The rest of you with me,” I ordered.

The ogre nodded and lumbered off in the direction of the bridge with his men in tow. The rest of us rushed forward and as we reached the bar two figures stepped out. They were both orcs, one of whom had the fly of his jeans wide open. They blinked blearily, blinded as they came out from the dark of the bar into the bright late afternoon sunshine.

They had melee weapons on their belts but didn’t have any armour equipped. Presumably, they found it uncomfortable and had put it in their inventories, or they were simply epically stupid. Either eventuality was as likely as the other.

My analysis ability flicked over both. Jack and Harry Jenson. Harry was the one with his fly open and I noticed he had liberally sprayed urine all over his whitewashed blue jeans. It was a blessing that he had at least tucked his pecker away after pissing on himself.

The pair of them were completely shitfaced.

If these two were the most compos mentis of those inside the bar as to be the ones to come and investigate the disturbance made by ratboy then this might be even easier than I’d expected.

“Wass goin’ on out here,” Jack slurred. “You better…better not be…be breaking any of Ma’s shit.”

It was the last thing he said as my scimitar sliced across his unarmoured chest. Jack squealed in pain and fell backwards. Harry stumbled away from the bar door, fumbling at his belt, trying to pull out his sword and getting the cross guard caught on his jacket.

They were both level seven and even without armour boosting their Hit Points my single slice to the chest wasn’t enough to kill Jack. But I had plenty of men at my back who swarmed the pair to finish the job as I pushed my way into the bar without any delay.

My eyes swept the scene quickly, analysing as they went. The bar was in a terrible state. There were broken bottles and discarded food all over the hardwood floor and half the tables and chairs had been smashed. The air was hazy with cigarette smoke. So much that I actually coughed a little. There were three collared men behind the bar, who stared at the carnage despondently. All three showed visible signs of being beaten heavily recently.

A fat man with the Fighter class who had remained human snored loudly on a bench off to the left. I strode over and rammed the point of one of my scimitars into his heart before he could wake up. The rest of the Jenson’s rabble had established themselves further into the bar.

Six of them sat around a large circular table where they were drunkenly playing poker. Three more were at the very back around a pool table but they weren’t playing pool. They had a middle-aged woman tied up and bent over the blue baize whom they were taking turns to rape.

My people started filing in behind me, Ana leading the way.

“Kill them all,” I growled.

The crew rushed forward on my order. The pounding of their feet on the hardwood floor finally penetrated the drunken haze and raucous crowing of the Jenson Clan. Our opponents were overwhelmed swiftly. They were drunk, ill-disciplined, and caught by surprise. A few of my guys took a wound or two but nothing life-threatening.

Especially as before we launched this enterprise Ana had been able to use her new T2 ability and had put permanent Aid Recovery enchantments on the armour they wore.

Aid Recovery doubled Hit Point recovery when out of combat and even allowed you to regain a Hit Point every ten minutes while in combat. It wasn’t much but every little bit helped.

Aid Recovery was the simple enchantment she gained because she had an affinity for the Life school. Normally, placing permanent enchantments on gear would be beyond a level six enchantress. They wouldn’t have the mana pool and would be limited to imbuing temporary versions of the enchantment instead.

But Anastasia had access to her drain pool in addition to her mana pool, and while on the ship the pool was increased to ten thousand. She’d filled it to the brim draining many of the prisoners of their Hit Points before we sent the first few groups through the plexus to the market in Stormblade Harbour. She had plenty to work with.

“There is another one in the toilet,” one of the battered barmen helpfully pointed out after we had finished killing all those in the main bar.

“Allow me,” Anastasia said, and skipped up to a grotty grey door with a male symbol on a plate etched upon it. She pushed the door open and cackled wildly.

I vaguely heard someone cry “Please…” from inside and then silence. A few seconds later the door swung open, and Ana emerged hauling the body of another orc by the handle of her whip. She dragged the unconscious orc to a spot in front of the bar, uncaring of the broken glass and filth she was pulling him through.

Ana stopped and viewed the room imperiously. “Charlie, make yourself useful and carry this sack of shit back to the cells on the ship. We have another volunteer for the dungeon.”

The Acheronian scammer looked at me askance.

“You heard her,” I said, with some amusement in my voice.

Charlie huffed but obeyed and I asked two of the others to go watch his back. It had been made very clear to him when he was signed that he was not trusted in the slightest and should expect plenty of donkey work until he had proved himself to his new captain.

Then I turned to the two closest bartenders. “The pair of you, go help the poor woman in the back.”

“Of course,” they squeaked and scurried to the back of the bar, procuring and lifting a tablecloth up to give the woman some privacy as she collected and redressed herself.

The crew members who had killed her rapists had cut her bonds and helped her off the table, but she was understandably wary of them regardless. It’s not like they weren’t convicted felons who were still wearing their prison scrubs under their armour.

This was a definite downside to sending Shana on a side mission. Ana was very much a ‘beat, torture, kill, the rapist’ kind of girl but not so empathetic when it came to consoling their victims.

“How many other slaves are in the town,” I asked the remaining bartender.

He was a bit perturbed at my use of language and wrung his hands worriedly but answered. “Maybe a hundred. Most of the others are locked up in the church and were ordered not to run. The Jenson’s have more people in Muir. They left these guys enough of us for protection.”

“Protection?”

“Yeah, protection from the monsters. At night they tie some people up around town. Apparently, the monsters prefer to toy with helpless victims rather than attack armed camps.”

<A cowardly tactic, but it can be effective for a while against some low-grade threats. It’s short-sighted, though. All you end up doing is helping the beasts get stronger and then they are more difficult to deal with later> Quixbix supplied.

Part of me appreciated the ruthlessness but as Quixbix words illustrated everything about the Jenson clan was ill-thought out and displayed a short-term mentality. With or without our attack today they would have crumbled within another week, maybe two.

“Are they guarded?” I asked the bartender.

“Not anymore. This lot preferred to drink themselves senseless rather than do anything else. There are usually four or five guys over by the bridge to the other side of town, though. Not that there is much left of it these days, not after these assholes burned it to the ground. They are the low men on the totem pole, so they don’t get to indulge like the others.”

“Does that mean it’s safe during the day? Are the spawned monsters exclusively nocturnal?” One of my people asked curiously.

“Nope,” I answered. “These guys were just that stupid. The local beasties have been eating their fill on softer targets and using the cover of darkness while their numbers have been relatively low. Soon, once the easy prey had run out and their ranks had been swelled with fresh spawns, they would have been emboldened and torn through these muppets, day or night, much like we did.”

There wasn’t anything else to learn here, so I left and went back out on the street. One of Danny’s squad members had run back to let us know they had despatched the scout group. Despite the fewer numbers, the scouts had put up a bit more of a fight than what we encountered. No casualties on our side, but a few of them were banged up enough they’d be at risk until their Hit Points recovered.

Five minutes later we were joined by LT and two of the three squads under his command. They had finished their southerly sweep through the town. He had even better news for me.

They had encountered a party of five from the Jenson clan who had been guarding a group of slaves who were being used as mules to transport some of the goods looted from Lyons to Muir. They had killed all the guards and one of LT’s squads had escorted the slaves back into town and taken them to the ship as per my standing orders.

It had surprised quite a few of the crew when they learned that we wouldn’t be uncollaring people immediately, but for now, most of them were so happy to be out nobody questioned me on it. They had, of course, been placed under strict orders not to abuse or take advantage of any of the slaves we secured.

Those we picked up today would be taken back to Stormblade Harbour and get the same offer to have the collars removed, two years of service to the faction.

I relayed to LT the information I’d learned from the bartender and in short order he’d taken his people to the church and moved the captives held there to the ship as well.

The fight here in Lyons had been short, and the experience haul a bit disappointing. My crew got a little over three hundred each, which was six hundred for me with my notoriety doubling the take. Sadly, that’s what happens when the XP was split seventy-odd ways.

It had been less than an hour since we had arrived in Lyons and the first phase of the raid was complete. The Jenson’s had done most of the hard work of looting the town before we got here and a lot of it had already been taken up to Muir. We didn’t come across any free people here in Lyons, apart from the Jenson’s fighters, so we were ready to move on.

I did delay our departure by five minutes, though. Out of morbid curiosity, I visited the Lyons Pride B&B that Shana and I had stayed in last week.

On approaching the building, I could tell straight away that the irascible Mrs Pritchard had come to a bad end at some point. The building was free for the taking, like a lot of the properties in Lyons. I nosed around for a bit but didn’t find a body. There was dried blood behind the counter and a handful of spent shotgun shells. No sign of the shotgun itself. If the Jenson’s had looted it, we’d find it when we took everything from them later.

With my curiosity about Mrs Pritchard’s fate sated, it was time to move on to Muir.

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