Chapter 61: Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 40 – Freedom is earned – Part Two

Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 40 - Freedom is earned - Part Two

 

The Vampyr commander had survived and fled the fortress when their ruse for sneaking out the stone coffin was discovered. Interrogating the Thralls revealed that the most powerful Vampyrs all had special coffins that would allow a limited form of resurrection so long as their coffin remained intact. With their coffin destroyed, the Vampyr commander would not only be denied resurrection, they would also be weakened until they could claim a new coffin in a few months' time.

 

It wasn’t exactly the victory I had wanted, but it was far better than the alternative.

 

With the guaranteed arrival point secured, the Colonel had initiated an aggressive reinforcement strategy to prepare for the inevitable counterattack.

 

Once again able to call in reinforcements of their own, the enemy made a point of testing the slowly expanding network of trenches around Gallipoli.

 

Similar to the Hurst Labyrinth, the Colonel wanted to eventually build the area around the exit portal to the outside world into a sprawling fortress city. Rather than just keeping rival states out of the Labyrinth, the fortress city would serve as a bulwark to prevent or at least delay any attempts by enemies within the Labyrinth from getting out. The premise, of course, would rely on eventually defeating the Liche to prevent others from teleporting in and out of the Labyrinth at will.

 

How the Liche had been able to circumvent a lockdown and teleport to Sanctuary was still unknown. I hoped it was just another overpowered artefact that could be taken and locked away, but I had no way of being certain until confronting the Liche.

 

Auxiliary forces had begun arriving alongside the Asrusian army, providing a medley of Synergies that lessened the requirement for my presence and bolstered the efforts to conquer the surrounding towers.

 

Now free to move more freely, and with ample access to Surgeons, I raised the priority of Cooper and Ushu’s recovery as well as Nila’s riding training. While I attended the former, a volunteer from the recently arrived cavalry forces provided assistance with the latter.

 

Ushu’s anger was always lurking just beneath the surface, requiring frequent jaunts into the surrounding bog in order to vent that anger by hunting the undead. Keenly intelligent and terrifyingly powerful, the shielding I provided against Enslavement by others shored up what could be considered one of Ushu’s few weaknesses.

 

It was a little disconcerting that the alleged Hypnosis the Vampyr commander had used on the Abbot and his priests was not categorised as Enslavement. Theoretically, it would mean anyone could be a spy for the enemy. I could only hope that the MP required was prohibitive enough to limit its use.

 

Testing the straps and buckles of my recently repaired armour, I watched a mixed squad of Thrall, auxiliaries and Human soldiers pass down the road.

 

The Colonel was spreading the Thralls out amongst the existing rank and file as much as possible, matching them with auxiliaries in order to spread combat Synergies as wide as possible.

 

Satisfied that the new straps and buckles were up to the task, I kept a wary eye on Ushu while passing him by on the way towards the new shooting range erected for testing Class Abilities. The Colonel had diplomatically offered the services of an instructor so I could learn how to use my choice of ranged weaponry. Aware that if I was to have any hope of obtaining decent proficiency I would need to practice, I agreed.

 

The practice range was not a particularly impressive sight. Predominantly consisting of a section of open ground outside of the original outer walls of the fortress, the practice range was intended to allow a few dozen men and women at any given time. The instructor was already waiting and appeared to have reserved half of the range for our personal use. However, contrary to my expectations there was no sign of any enlarged weaponry laid out on the nearby makeshift table.

 

“Majesty,” the instructor bowed and was joined in the gesture by an ivory haired young man wearing a slave collar. The Instructor was roughly middle-aged and had a tanned weathered complexion and a bristly red goatee.

 

In direct comparison, the young man at his side was nearly as pale as a corpse. Combined with his crimson eyes and off-white hair, it gave the impression that he was an albino rather than his true nature as a Thrall.

 

“If it pleases you Majesty, you may call me Edmund. I shall be serving as your instructor for as long as you will have me,” the instructor bowed again and then motioned to the Thrall, “And this is Fesk. Fesk is one of the Thralls participating in the alternative work program to earn his freedom.”

 

The Thrall, Fesk, bowed again but said nothing.

 

“Erm, Fesk is a mute, your Majesty,” Edmund explained apologetically, “But he should have no issues serving as a retriever during your lessons.”

 

“A retriever?” I asked curiously and followed Edmund’s vague gesture out across the field towards the roughly humanoid targets made of straw and scavenged armour, “Ah...” It seemed pretty self-evident after considering the number of errant projectiles I was bound to send down the range.

 

Fesk bowed again, his long hair casting his narrow and fine features with sinister shadows despite the young man’s impassive expression.

 

“I have been informed that your Majesty already has some degree of proficiency in slinging stones and throwing javelins, so I would like to take the opportunity to determine your Majesty’s aptitude with the bow.” Edmund turned to the makeshift table and motioned to two bows that had escaped my notice until now. The first was smaller, and oddly curved, reminding me of the bows often used by the Mongols in documentaries. The second bow was much larger and looked pretty much like I had come to expect of movies and T.V. Unfortunately, both of them were much too small. “Ah, sorry Majesty, I wanted to see if you had an existing preference before having the delivery made from the royal treasure hall.”

 

Somewhat surprised, I took a few moments to consider the two bows. I had no true idea what advantages either had over its competition. “Which do you think would suit me best?” I asked curiously while gingerly handling the Mongol bow.

 

“With consideration to your prodigious height and build Majesty? I believe a longbow would serve best in most circumstances,” Edmund answered in a measured tone, “If you are to make a habit of riding your giant lizard, then I would be inclined to suggest the recurve bow in its stead.”

 

It made sense, the recurve bow looked like it was about half the length of the longbow. However, I was now quite curious as to how they had come upon a bow that would fit my size.

 

Edmund held up the recurve bow and signalled to a soldier standing guard at the entrance to the shooting range. “While the bow is being delivered, I will provide some basic instruction through demonstration,” he insisted amiably and began stringing the bow.

 

Not overly familiar with archery, to begin with, it was still something of a shock to see a number of things done differently from what I had taken for granted from assorted media. In particular, Edmund demonstrated he could rather effortlessly send five arrows accurately into a dummy roughly fifty feet down the range in under as many seconds. I had the impression that he could have gone faster but was deliberately holding himself back for the demonstration. Drawing and firing another arrow in a single fluid motion, Edmund landed a sixth arrow into a target close to a hundred feet away at the far end of the range.

 

The explanations themselves were quite minimal, mostly referencing practice and the importance of maintaining good form. In fact, Edmund was most insistent about never practising alone, a sentiment shared by my nursing professor and for similar reasons. Practising alone was a very easy way to learn and reinforce bad habits. Apparently, that was to be one of Fesk’s duties going forward.

 

To reinforce the point, and prove Fesk’s credentials, he was given the recurve bow and a handful of arrows to send downrange. Sure enough, he matched Edmund's arrow for arrow before returning the bow and jogging down range to retrieve all of the arrows.

 

“He was something of a special find,” Edmund explained conversationally, “One of their elites, trained since birth. We wouldn’t have known if one of the other Thralls hadn’t mentioned it.”

 

“You have that much confidence in the collars?” I asked warily, somewhat unsettled by the revelation that I was expected to keep a former elite of the enemy as a personal retainer.

 

“Hrm? Oh! By no means your Majesty!” Edmund apologised, “Fesk is such a special find because he has no loyalty to the Vampyrs whatsoever. He apparently killed two dozen loyal Thralls before being beaten down and collared. What's more, he was rumoured to have gone on a killing spree the moment his former master died,” he explained conspiratorially, “It was supposedly at just about the same time your Highness acquired a pair of powerful Drakes.”

 

“Why would he turn on his masters like that?” I asked sceptically, finding it difficult to believe that a soldier raised from birth could so easily betray everything they were raised to believe in.

 

Edmund shrugged apologetically, “Sorry Majesty, but I don’t know, and he isn’t telling.”

 

Fesk returned with all the arrows and laid them out on the table before standing aside with the same impassive expression he had maintained throughout.

 

After about twenty minutes of demonstrations and basic instruction on the theory of archery, a soldier entered the shooting range with an, unfortunately, small looking recurve bow. I could tell it was magic just by looking at it, but I still couldn’t help but feel a little confused.

 

[Bow of the Outrider: Provides minor {Healing} to a {Bound} {Mount} with each enemy slain. (Special Ability) Bind Mount: Designate a willing or {Enslaved} {Beast} as a mount. Increases the rank of the {Class Ability} if already known.]

 

The utility of the magical Abilities wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t what I was expecting either. Thinking about it a little, I realised that this was most likely another roundabout way of positioning me farther from immediate harm. Either that or it was to encourage me to keep the giant murder lizard close for my protection.

 

“Let me assure you Majesty, there has not been a mistake. More powerful magical weapons and armour can be resized by channelling mana through them over a short period of time,” Edmund explained hastily while accepting the bow and bowstring from the soldier.

 

[Heartstring: Inflicted injuries from projectiles apply {Fatigue} and {Exhaustion}. Stored MP charges projectiles to apply additional {Bleed}. (0/100)]

 

The bowstring in particular held my attention as I immediately recognised it for what it was. Heartstring was a Labyrinth key. The fact that they were giving it to me now after having all but begged for the use of a key to secure the Hurst Labyrinth meant that they probably couldn’t identify the keys for what they were. In other circumstances that might be an advantage. However, the fact that the Asrusians might be sitting on a stockpile that could put everything we had worked for at risk was a sobering thought.

 

“I need to speak with the Colonel,” I demanded urgently, “NOW!”

 

The soldier facilitating the delivery looked surprised and took a moment to react, “Majesty!” He saluted and hurried out of the shooting range.

 

Edmund was just as surprised as the soldier, reinforcing my opinion that the Asrusians had no idea that they had just given me a key, or at least the piece of one.

 

Fesk showed no signs of reacting one way or the other.

 

After ten minutes, the Colonel arrived with his small retinue of senior and junior officers in tow.

 

Taking the Colonel aside, I quietly explained the situation and expressed my concerns.

 

Thankfully, the Colonel appeared to share those concerns and promised to speak with the Regent in person about additional security measures. Which I hoped meant that they would be consulting Jacque since she would be the only ally besides myself who could presumably identify them.

 

Returning to my archery lesson, I tried to focus on following Edmund’s advice and put the potentially cataclysmic oversight of the Labyrinth key out of mind. Just as he had claimed, channelling mana into the bow and string caused it to gradually adjust in scale, and after reaching what I assumed was the right size, it stopped. It was a shame that securing correctly sized arrows were going to be more difficult.

 

Edmund promised to have arrows prepared by tomorrow, but in the meantime he had me practice stringing and unstringing the bow. It turned out for the best since despite appearing quite simple my beaded loincloth downgraded a number of potentially painful failures into mere embarrassments.

 

Once I had the hang of it and could reliably string and unstring the bow, I made myself a sling from some rope and practised hurling stones at the targets.

 

After three hours of practice, I hadn’t managed to hit a single target. I had managed to knock over a few of the targets by displacing the ground around them, but that was all.

 

All the same, Edmund showed no signs of disappointment or contempt, promising instead to change the layout of the range in order to enhance my training.

 

I took a short break and Fesk set about retrieving any stones that could be thrown a second time.

 

Expecting Edmund to bring the targets closer or draw them closer together, I felt a little angry when I noticed what he was actually doing.

 

Under Edmund’s direction, barricades and trenches were added to the shooting range. The targets were spread out in positions that gave them the most cover, even going so far as to hide some of them from sight.

 

“You are thinking about your contribution all wrong Majesty,” Edmund explained supportively, “If you will excuse the comparison, your Majesty is basically a mobile siege engine. You don’t need to hit anyone in order to be effective, you just need to come close to make them piss themselves.”

 

There was a certain logic to what Edmund was saying. Even though I was by no means so incredibly large that I took the role of artillery, there was still enough of a size and the mass difference that already lethal projectiles would take on a whole new element of terror when rescaled for my use.

 

After the archery range was renovated, I tried to keep a more grounded set of expectations. Which was just as well, because I wasn’t showing any real improvement. A few dummies had been wiped out by flying debris from the barricades, but nothing I could claim had been accomplished deliberately.

 

Wanting to shake things up a little bit, I tried hurling a handful of smaller stones in hopes of emulating the equivalent of grapeshot. Unfortunately, the cover provided by the barricades soaked the majority of the impacts while the others went wide. Eventually, the barricades became sufficiently compromised to allow the scattershot to begin hitting the dummies. It would have been cause for a morale boost if it hadn’t taken so long and required functionally leaning into the skid. I was only hitting the dummies because I was deliberately sacrificing accuracy, which largely defied the point of the exercise in the first place.

 

“I will personally ensure that an excess of arrows will be available for tomorrow's instruction, Majesty,” Edmund promised while filling out a form.

 

My enthusiasm was all but gone, so I just nodded and began heading for my quarters. I was so focused on my failures that I didn't notice Fesk’s presence until I was lifting the cloth curtain that served as my door.

 

Behaving just the same as he had at the archery range, Fesk stared at me without expectation, anticipation or malice. In his arms was the magical bow and bowstring. Reacting to my shift in focus, Fesk held out his arms to offer the items.

 

Rather than taking them from him, I motioned for Fesk to enter and then followed him inside. “You can put them down by the table,” I ordered dismissively while unbuckling my armour.

 

Fesk silently obeyed, giving Shady a wide berth.

 

On the verge of evolving, Shady was a little larger than a full-grown tiger and curled up beside a small brazier in the middle of the room. Seemingly dozing, I could see him watching Fesk through barely opened eyelids.

 

After stripping my armour, I ducked outside to make sure Ushu was behaving himself. I hadn’t felt any challenges from him at all throughout the day and it had me a little worried.

 

For his part, Ushu seemed to be in a deep sleep, so I left him alone.

 

Reentering my room I was surprised to find Shady rolling on the floor like a kitten while Fesk vigorously scratched the giant cat’s belly.

 

Fesk stopped shortly after realising I had returned, standing himself back up and determinedly ignoring the none too subtle prompts from Shady to continue.

 

“There is a brush on the table if you are so inclined,” I informed him, pointing to a makeshift table down the far end of the room.

 

Fesk bowed at the waist and made his way over to the indicated table with Shady in tow.

 

Confident that Fesk would be far easier to defeat in a challenge than Ushu, I didn’t pay him much mind while I set out a simple dinner of preserved meat and freshwater. Better varieties of food were now available with a portal guaranteeing a supply line, but I didn't really feel up to making anything complicated or bothering someone else to do it on my behalf.

 

Setting aside a brace of pickled sausages for Shady on the back of the shield that served as his plate, I briefly considered reading the language primer the Regent had sent as a gift, but ultimately didn’t feel up to it.

 

Settling down beneath a large canvas sheet that served as my blanket, I thought of Lash and worried whether she was alright. I was worried for the others as well, but not in the same way. Tobi, Emelia and Clarice were all badly injured, and awaiting treatment from Ophelia and Orphiel. Nadine was very likely still...

 

I blinked. Reviewing people's information had become something of a second habit, and I immediately noticed that Nadine’s information had changed.

 

*Tingling*

 

It was an accident, but I didn’t care.

 

“Nadine!” Crouching on my knees I pulled her in close for a hug.

 

“Tim? What? Where?...” Nadine sounded confused, “I am wearing armour?”

 

After a few moments, Nadine began to pull away and I let her go. She had never looked better, very clearly in the peak of health. Similar to Ophelia, Nadine was wearing a form-fitting plate and boiled leather armour that maximised her range of motion while providing as much protection as possible.

 

“Sorry, Nadine...I didn’t mean to summon you...I just needed to confirm you were alright...” I tried to explain.

 

Nadine remained silent for a good minute while taking in her surroundings, “Where are we?” She asked nervously while eyeing Fesk and Shady.

 

“The Mournbrent Labyrinth,” I answered honestly, “This is the former Foothold of the first floor.”

 

Nadine froze for a moment and then gave me her undivided attention, “No one would tell me where you had gone,” she explained a little agitatedly, “Just that you were hunting down ‘the Liche’ in order to keep Sanctuary safe.” It was hard to make out Nadine’s expression beneath her helmet, but it was obvious that she was upset. Balling her fists Nadine looked down towards the floor, “I...I Don’t blame you, Tim...” She stated quietly, “After What that thing did to Emelia...to Clarice...” Nadine’s voice broke and she lifted her hand to cover her mouth, “But this isn’t going to make them whole again, you're just going to get yourself killed!”

 

“The Liche’s spells didn’t work on me,” I countered stiffly, choosing to ignore the handful of times I had recklessly placed my life in danger and almost died.

 

“Those spells,” Nadine emphasised, “Didn’t work on you,” she countered, “A monster that powerful, with Class levels, has to have a couple of dozen Abilities at least!”

 

“AND ONE OF THEM LETS HER POP INTO SANCTUARY WHENEVER SHE FEELS LIKE IT!” I snarled in agreement, “I can’t, I won't! Just sit back and wait for that thing to kill even more people!”

 

Nadine staggered back a step as if she had been struck, “I...I didn’t know that...” She admitted quietly, “I’m sorry Tim, I should have known you wouldn’t just run off like that...”

 

A long awkward silence passed between us and I could feel the small amount of mana binding this summoned copy of her beginning to unravel.

 

“Lash misses you Tim, and I know she won’t admit it, but she is scared,” Nadine sounded tired, defeated, “Just...Don’t get yourself killed, alright?”

 

Nadine disappeared before I could make a reply. However, the immense guilt and anxiety I felt left little room for logical reparte anyway.

 

*Tingling*

 

All curves and plated iron, Lash appeared in the space Nadine had just left. Slightly taller than when I had last seen her, it was Lash’s swollen belly that drew the majority of my attention. Covered in a large rounded plate, I couldn’t help but reach for her belly all the same.

 

*Clank*

 

Lash pushed free her helmet and stared at me with surprise, numbly pressing my hand against the armoured plate protecting her belly, “Is a dream?” She asked uncertainty while sniffing the air and twitching her ears.

 

I shook my head and tried to find my voice as I looked deeply into her amethyst eyes.

 

“Is safe?” Lash asked warily, protectively wrapping her arms over her armoured belly.

 

I nodded, “For you at least,” I tried to explain.

 

Lash seemed to consider my words for a moment before giving me a soft smile and leaning in close to nuzzle against my neck, “Miss you,” Lash whispered in my ear.

 

“I miss you too,” I wrapped my arms around Lash’s armoured back and hugged her gingerly while trying not to put pressure on her belly.

 

Lash chuckled and nibbled playfully at the scar on my neck and shoulder before pulling away and stripping off more of her armour.

 

Fesk saw himself out or was seen out by Shady. It was difficult to tell who was leading whom.

 

Helping Lash down onto the most comfortable section of my straw bed, I settled down next to her and felt more alive than I had in days. Just being able to hold her again, to smell the scent of her hair, feel her taut muscles...

 

Having spent more mana than I intended, I fought hard to ward off exhaustion and spend as much time with Lash as possible. The fact that she wasn’t truly here was relevant. Wrapping my arms around her protectively, I gradually fell asleep with Lash’s belly cradled safely between us.

 

Waking up early, I felt a surge of panic upon realising Lash was gone. It wasn’t until my sleep-addled brain recalled that I had Summoned her that I began to calm down. In the wake of the panic, I felt a renewed sense of purpose and determination.

 

At some point during the night, Fesk and Shady had returned and settled down to sleep by the brazier.

 

After warming some breakfast, I donned my armour and began making my way to the archery range with Fesk and Shady in tow.

 

Edmund had kept to his word and had a selection of large arrows to choose from. Broadheads for haemorrhaging an enemy to death, winged arrowheads to anchor it in their flesh, wedge tipped for piercing armour plates, needle-tipped for penetrating mail, and lastly the traditional triangle-headed arrow as a general all-rounder.

 

“Just focus on drawing and loosing as I showed you, Majesty,” Edmund insisted encouragingly, “Accuracy will come with practice and familiarity. It is important that you go through the motions and become comfortable with the idea of taking only a split second to aim.”

 

I nodded to show I understood and loaded my hip quiver with traditional arrows. The barricades from yesterday were gone, replaced with targets placed at staggered distances.

 

After a few hours of clumsily sending arrows downrange and missing the closest target by almost comical degrees, I took a short break to allow my arms, chest and back to recover. While munching on a snack of dried salted meat, I vaguely recalled a documentary on the hundred-year war. It mentioned how the English longbowmen were required to train from six or seven years old, and that it visibly altered the bone structure of their shoulders and back. Rolling my sore shoulders, I was no longer sceptical of the claims.

 

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It was something of a given at this point that Iron Gut facilitated accelerated recovery in just about all forms. It was also something of a fitness cheat. So long as food was available to facilitate the accelerated recovery and someone was willing to tolerate the discomfort and pain, it was possible to visibly develop and build muscle in real-time. This was important because I could feel underused muscles being shored up and adapting to purpose. It was no wonder Ogres were considered to be so terrifying. It also explained why the Asrusians insisted on Iron Gut being chosen as the aura for every Settlement.

 

After giving Fesk enough time to retrieve a number of arrows, I returned to practising in relative silence.

 

Besides occasionally calling out a correction to my stance or draw technique, Edmund was content to watch me continue sending arrows down the range.

 

I was no more accurate than before, but the strain of drawing and firing the bow had grown considerably easier to bear.

 

Taking another break after a few more hours, I wondered how long it would take before I would begin showing signs of progress. I was still unable to hit a target at fifty feet.

 

As tempted as I was to switch to using my sling, I stuck it out and continued practising with the bow. Despite my hopes that I would be rewarded by hitting the target, it simply wasn’t to be. However, I did show some small amount of improvement, I was no longer sending arrows quite so wide of the target. If I kept at it, I might manage to hit the target in a week and hit it consistently in a month.

 

Taking a final rest while Fesk set about the daunting task of retrieving the hundreds of arrows that had gone wide of the target. Edmund had a small work detail to clean the arrows Fesk retrieve and store them away for next time.

 

Despite having done nothing besides warm himself by a brazier in the archery range all day, Shady somehow gave off an air of profound tiredness all the same.

 

Upon returning to my dwelling, Fesk lit the brazier and Shady settled himself down for another nap.

 

Ushu was still in a self-induced recovery coma so I decided to leave him be.

 

While taking a mental tally of Ushu’s diet, I realised that I hadn’t seen Fesk eat anything over the past two days.

 

Already quite lithe and sinewy of build, Fesk’s complexion made it even more difficult to determine his condition. However, after observing him for a few minutes, I was convinced that Fesk was in the early stages of starvation.

 

“Eat,” I insisted and held a brace of pickled sausages in front of his face.

 

Fesk bowed his head and accepted the sausages. Doing as he was told, Fesk began gnawing at the edge of one of the sausages. Far from the ravenous hunger, I would have anticipated of a starving man, Fesk ate with almost detached indifference.

 

A quick glance at Fesk’s status confirmed his HP was in fact full, but it was lower than I otherwise would have expected given his alleged elite status. It wasn’t until I began skimming through his status in its entirety that I believed I had found the source of the problem.

 

[(Racial Ability: Unto Death): Reduces penalties from negative {Conditions} while following orders and {Commands}. Damage taken while acting under orders and {Commands} is reduced.]

 

I grimaced and turned my attention back to Fesk, “Strip to your underclothes,” I ordered while bracing myself against the worst.

 

Fesk obeyed, shedding his padded cloth armour and immediately losing a third or more of his total mass.

 

Sinewy was the most positive way of describing the Thrall’s build. An odd blend of defined muscle and emaciation that reminded me of crucifixes, it was clear to me that Fesk had almost no body fat whatsoever. Worse still, his body was littered with scars. Some were red and raw, while many more were differing degrees of pale white.

 

Fesk’s empty stare made it painfully obvious that his state of starvation was no accident, he was trying to kill himself.

 

“Fesk, you are required to eat meals of sufficient size to keep yourself healthy,” I ordered in a level tone.

 

Fesk narrowed his eyes ever so slightly in response before bowing his head.

 

I sent a patrolling soldier to have spare clothes and armour delivered for Fesk, and sent a message to the Colonel to have the Surgeons inspect the Thralls for malnutrition and starvation.

 

Sending a mental command to the other Thralls along the same lines as I had for Fesk, I felt a few flickering challenges confirming my concerns. With the Thralls under my control and a plan for their ‘rehabilitation’ already in progress, the possibility of an existing command or order driving them to suicide under my ‘care’ was sickening.

 

When the new clothes arrived, I had Fesk dress himself and then pointed to his new belt, “You are going to eat and exercise until you fit the fourth loop of that belt with an empty stomach, understood?”

 

Fesk nodded.

 

While it was convenient to lay the blame for Fesk’s attempted starvation at the hands of the Vampyrs, for whatever reason, it didn’t strike me as being the truth. However, limited to asking yes or no questions, there was only a limited capacity to get the truth out of Fesk himself.

 

Waving down another patrolling soldier, I had a message sent to Edmund this time, making it known that I wanted to know as much about Fesk as could be uncovered. To immediately turn on his masters the moment he was free of control, there had to be more to it than casual cruelty or other Thralls would have done the same.

 

Fesk was diligently, if somewhat reluctantly, working his way through the brace of sausages I had given him earlier.

 

Deciding that the malnourished Thrall would need more than just sausages to return to peak health, I made a trip to the quartermaster and left with a half dozen crates of fresh vegetables and a barrel of flour in addition to a large cooking pot and large bowls.

 

Making a stew from some of the vegetables and a few handfuls of salted jerky for flavour, I left it to simmer over the brazier and doggedly renewed my attempts at progress through the language primer. More akin to an advanced picture book, finding a grip on the written language was difficult due to words being spelt entirely differently than I was used to, causing my preconceptions to get in the way far more often than not.

 

All the same, I could feel a distant method to the madness and kept at it, occasionally stirring the stew to break the sensation of squeezing my brain through a tiny keyhole.

 

Serving out the stew, I made sure to watch Fesk closely until his second bowl was empty.

 

Keeping the remaining stew for an easy breakfast, I left Fesk to his own devices and set about making my bedding more comfortable so I could study more comfortably.

 

While I was tempted to Summon Lash again so we could spend some time together, I was worried that the environment of the Mournbrent Labyrinth would negatively influence her health or that of our unborn child. It took the better part of an hour to shake the memory of the cracked, withered and weeping eggs the Liche had left in its wake.

 

I decided to take an early night instead.

 

The better part of a week passed more or less with the same routine.

 

In contrast to my mediocre progress in archery, Fesk had shown significant improvement in his recovery. Now possessing the build I had assumed he had in the first place, Fesk’s padded armour gave him a similar physique to most of the younger female Asrusian soldiers. Favouring flexibility and a compact build over the bulging biceps and barrel-chestedness that the younger men strained for in private training.

 

I wasn’t particularly surprised. Many of the Thralls appeared to have a similarly slim build regardless of their sex, making it seem like a genetically expressed trait of their Species. In fact, given that the Thralls were created by the Vampyrs, I realised that the slimmer Thralls like Fesk were, most likely, second-generation or greater while the outliers were almost certainly those converted by the Vampyrs.

 

Ushu had finally awoken and was positively itching for battle, and as his lug would have it, the Vampyr commanders were on the verge of attempting another major offensive.

 

Both sides had been probing each other with scouts for the better part of the morning, skirmishing at a distance while trying to provoke the other into making a move. In possession of a well-entrenched position, the Colonel apparently felt no need to take the bait and just needled the enemy commander right back.

 

Having witnessed this exchange a couple of times already, I knew that it would only be a matter of time before hordes of shambling undead would be unleashed towards the outermost defences to serve as a buffer for ranks of Thrall infantry and weaker Vampyrs hoping to prove themselves and achieve some sort of advancement.

 

Curiously, the elite undead such as the Blood Wights were no longer deployed in the conflict. This was odd since I would have thought the Vampyrs themselves would be considered more valuable.

 

With the assistance of Fesk and a small team of soldiers, we fitted Ushu’s saddle and stocked it with ammunition. After all the hours of practice, I wanted to at least fire a few arrows in an actual combat situation.

 

Fesk had a bow of his own and seemed fully capable of keeping his footing in spite of the significant swaying of Ushu’s saddle.

 

Riding Ushu out of the existing wall of defences, we headed out towards what was shaping up to be the front lines.

 

Settling down four trench lines back from the outermost defences, I could feel Ushu’s mounting excitement as the first Zombies and Skeletons began shambling out of the distant fog. Crypt Stalkers skulked in the midst of the horde, an unusual addition in recent days. The cowardly undead were faster and more nimble than the Skeletons and Zombies, but they fared poorly in open combat.

 

The best I could figure was that the enemy was making the most of locally available assets in the hopes of grinding the local Asrusian garrison into submission through sheer attrition. But that didn’t make sense unless...

“Unless they are waiting for allies of their own to turn the war in their favour...” Speaking the words aloud, I felt a chill settle in the pit of my stomach. Far from a tactical genius myself, I could only hope that the Colonel could provide an alternate explanation once I sought him out after the battle.

 

*****

 

Accepting the transcribed orders from his aide, Captain Samson couldn’t help but frown. After delaying the enemy for just over a week, his planned retreat had been denied at what was basically the last minute, replaced with orders to hold until further notice.

 

Even with the enhancements made to his men, they were so severely outnumbered that it would hardly make a difference. Laine city would make a much better location to stage a final defence. With fresh supplies secured from the Laine Labyrinth and the thick sturdy walls of the city, it would be possible for them to hold near indefinitely against all but the most dedicated siege.

 

The empire had brought many slaves, but few siege engines, and the majority of their soldiers and officers were inexperienced. The only true advantage they held was in their sheer numbers and pigheaded stubbornness to try and solve just about every problem by throwing more slaves at it.

 

“Cancel the retreat,” Samson hissed to his second in command, making every effort to keep the irritation and anger from his voice.

 

“There is another message Captain,” the aide stated quietly, “But it is top secret.”

 

Captain Samson frowned and accepted the message device. Waiting until the aide left the room, he then transmitted his personal code to identify that he was in fact the one on this end of the connection. After correctly answering a number of challenges to his identity, Samson was informed that the preceding order came from the Lord Regent himself and that Captain Samson was to expect the arrival of a VIP who was to be personally escorted to the Laine Labyrinth under the heaviest possible guard.

 

Grimacing, Captain Samson accepted his orders. As much as he loathed the idea of his men dying so a wealthy merchant or influential noble could escape the fighting, orders were orders. He took some small consolation in the fact that the defence of Laine did not rely upon him alone. His fellow Captains would already be headed to the city and shoring up the defences under the supervision of Colonel Patrick.

 

The town was already empty save for the soldiers under his command, and the scorched earth directive had been abundantly clear in emphasising leaving nothing behind for the enemy to make use of. This of course now presented a problem since they were now required to stay longer than they had planned for.

 

Many buildings that could have been used as strategic bottlenecks and shelter were now mounds of rubble and kindling waiting to be set alight. With no way of reversing what had been done already, the best they could manage was to make the most of what was left.

 

The news of their retreat being delayed was already having a negative effect on morale.

 

Despite the still unexplained quest system providing on-demand supplies in the field, and the conversion of soldiers into ascendant beings that could evolve like the Labyrinths monsters, being denied a tactical withdrawal at the last moment was always a bitter draft to swallow.

 

With the enemy due for reinforcements, Samson sincerely hoped that the VIP would be arriving sooner rather than later.

 

Making a point of being seen and speaking with his junior officers, Samson implied but refused to outright admit that they were still going to retreat from the town. Impressing on the rank and file via proxy that the situation was just as likely to change again at a moment's notice,

 

Allowing additional rations to be taken from the redemption quest as a move to improve morale, Captain Samson watched the enemy releasing their contingent of slaves from their shackles and whip them into a battle line beneath the afternoon sun.

 

Mostly comprised of low-tier monsters in cheap armour, the five-hundred or so slaves were all directly under the Command of a cabal of Slavers. By Enslaving the monsters directly, it ensured that the Asrusian army was denied the ability to scavenge Slave Collars and send monsters of their own back at them. Not that they were allowed to since the Lord Regent amended the rules of engagement.

 

“READY ARROWS!!” The Sergeants barked up and down the wall.

 

The soldiers on the wall did as they were told and nocked their arrows in preparation to fire.

 

The ragged formations of Enslaved monsters began trudging towards the wall.

“CEASE FIRE!!! STAND DOWN IN THE NAME OF THE LORD REGENT!!!” An authoritative voice demanded, drawing all eyes towards the crumbling remains of one of the evacuated merchant manor houses and the Ranger that was now sprinting towards Captain Samson. Through use of an Ability Samson was not familiar with, the Ranger suddenly disappeared in a burst of black smoke only to appear right in front of him.

‘

Fearing an assassination, Samson reached for his sword but paused in confusion as the ranger hurriedly took a knee and held up a writ of identification bearing the royal seal.

 

“Captain Samson!” In spite of the sprint, the Ranger’s voice was crisp and clear, “By the order of the Lord Regent, Francis Asrus, you and your men are to treat Tim of Sanctuary with the utmost respect and civility at all times. Failure to do so will result in demotion to a penal platoon and redeployment. As a member of high royalty, you are to refer to him as Highness, Majesty or by similar affectation of deference unless explicitly told otherwise,” the Ranger paused for a moment and looked up to he could fix Samson with a menacing glare, “If at any point yourself or one of your men makes the fatal mistake of referring to his Imperial Highness as an Ogre, the perpetrator will be charged with high treason and summarily executed,” the Ranger purred, his eyes flashing menacingly, “Are the Lord Regent’s orders understood?”

 

Captain Samson slowly nodded.

 

A number of things were suddenly making sense. Somehow, the Lord Regent had managed to ally the kingdom with a distant empire, and for whatever reason, perhaps teleportation failure or something similar, had resulted in said Emperor requiring...

 

Captain Samson’s eyes grew wide in shock as a hulking heavily armoured giant began lumbering down the street towards them. Almost as tall as the few remaining buildings, he was impossible to miss, so the fact that he had infiltrated the town without being spotted did not bode well. Even more strangely, there was an Asrusian soldier and a large black feline following a half step behind him.

 

“His Imperial Highness, Tim of Sanctuary,” the Ranger explained with a hard edge of warning in his tone and a hand on the hilt of a dagger.

 

Captain Samson could only stare, frozen into inaction as the giant and its escort drew closer.

 

This wasn’t right, it couldn’t be. The Lord Regent had made an alliance with a powerful nation to save the realm, to ally with monsters was madness.

 

The giant stopped just shy of the wall, and in spite of the height advantage the wall afforded him, Samson was very nearly on eye level with him and was terrified by the determined and intelligent gaze hidden beneath the giant’s helmet. “You will not fire upon the slaves,” he demanded coldly, “Do as you wish with the others.”

 

As if to punctuate his point, horns signalling the call to battle began sounding from the enemy camp.

 

“I was told-” Samson noticed the glare from the Ranger, “-Majesty, that your safety was my primary concern. Would it not be more prudent to retreat and leave the burning town as a distraction?”

 

“I am not leaving without them,” the giant replied bluntly

 

Samson frowned and glanced towards the Ranger, hoping that he would provide some form of clarification.

 

The ranger simply stared back with an almost mocking air about him.

 

“Pass the order along,” Captain Samson relented, “No firing on the slaves.”

 

The gathered Lieutenants and Sergeants nodded grimly and began hurrying away to inform the rank and file.

 

Watching the enemy take formation outside of bow range, Captain Samson felt his stomach clench as he was proven right and the enemy stayed true to form by amassing a horde of slaves ahead of their core forces. Predominantly composed of weaker monsters, there were a number of humans as well, but all of them were under the control of Slavers and their assigned Taskmasters.

 

The northern Empire never used Slave Collars in military operations. It was a basic form of resource denial to prevent their enemies from salvaging and using the Collars against them. It also made the expenditure of slaves considerably cheaper.

 

Wearing nothing but filthy rags, or even nothing at all, the slaves began stiffly marching towards them accross open ground, carrying crude ladders intended to allow the soldiers behind them to scale the town wall.

 

The enemy infantry and archers maintained a rather significant distance from the Slaves, no doubt wanting to make absolutely certain that the slaves would be the ones doing as much of the fighting and dying as possible.

 

The giant shifted his attention towards the Ranger, “You said the Slavers would have bodyguards protecting them in the camp?”

 

The Ranger nodded respectfully, “Yes Majesty.”

 

“And that they are the most likely to be Variants?” The giant continued.

 

“Indeed Majesty,” the Ranger agreed.

 

“Take some men, and make sure they have the best chance at escape,” the giant ordered.

 

“As you command Majesty!” The Ranger turned to Captain Samson with a predatory grin, “Captain, by the authority vested in me by the Lord Regent, I am commandeering a dozen of your Scouts.” Without waiting for any form of response, the Ranger jogged unerringly towards the supply train where the Scouts were waiting to serve as the vanguard for the retreat.

 

When the slaves were not fired upon, it seemed to throw the enemy commander off on his timing or perception of distance. Instead of charging once they entered the range of the Asrusians bows, they continued stiffly marching at the same pace. Nearly a full half of the distance between the enemy camp and the town was covered before the Slaves began transitioning into a staggering jog.

 

With the Slaves now at the base of the wall and clattering their ladders into position, Captain Samson drew his sword and prepared for the worst. But nothing happened.

 

Peering cautiously over the wall, Captain Samson was surprised to see the slaves were all standing motionless.

 

Cries of pain began echoing over the field from the advancing ranks of the enemy and from the more distant enemy camp.

 

“Let...them...in...” The giant growled.

 

Slaves began weakly trailing around the wall and towards the gate, some even knocked over the ladders on their way past.

 

“What?-” Captain Samson felt the breath catch in his throat as he saw fresh blood dribbling down the giant’s breastplate.

 

“LET...THEM...IN!!!” The giant repeated angrily, his hot breath thick with the scent of blood.

 

Taking the initiative, Lieutenant Mayer ran off towards the gate.

 

“ENEMY INFANTRY IN RANGE! FIRE!!!” Bellowed a Sergeant from further down the wall and was answered by a scattered hail of loosed arrows. “FIRE AT WILL!!!” The Sergeant bellowed, this time earning a chorus of affirmations from up and down the wall as Archers and other soldiers began firing arrows into the disorganised ranks of the enemy infantry.

 

Expecting the enemy to regroup and retreat under a shield wall, Captain Samson could only watch in silent incredulity as the enemy infantry and archers scattered, running around like headless chickens. Scanning the field for enemy officers, he was surprised to find no sign of them. That was until he began looking amongst the dead littering the field. Although he couldn’t be sure, Samson was fairly certain he could see the imperial purple cloak of the enemy commander amidst a small pile of other bodies.

 

With the slaves now pouring into the town, Samson was forced to let the mystery slide for the time being.

 

“Give them food and water!” The giant barked hoarsely while making his own way towards the supply train.

 

Lieutenant Mayer began barking orders of his own, directing the soldiers guarding the supply train to distribute food water and clothing to the slaves.

 

The giant stiffly sat himself down by the gate and removed his helmet to reveal thick trails of blood running from his eyes, nose and ears.

 

His throat suddenly quite dry, Captain Samson looked back out over the wall towards the fluttering purple cloak of the enemy commander. Even though he wasn’t precisely sure how, Captain Samson couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow the giant had managed to murder the enemy commander and seize control over their slaves in one fell swoop.

 

The very idea filled him with dread as he considered the possibilities and was reminded of the Ranger’s rude but thorough warnings. Captain Samson could now understand why the Lord Regent was so determined to keep the giant appeased. As valuable as an ally the giant may be, he would make a terrifying enemy.