See Note in Chapter One:
Transcript from the Night Before:
Marth: Here is your formal contract Navarre. I understand that you giving me your word isn't up to your customs. So, I had my advisors draft this. It's the same contract the Princess gave to you during the Siege of the Ghoul's Teeth.
Navarre: Give me a day to read it. I must check it to make sure it is written correctly. Do you require a signature?
Marth: I do. (Navarre is out of earshot.) Are they all this… disrespectful to royalty.
Behind the Scenes:
Navarre: Hm… let's see. Huh. I'm an entire unit of my own. My ability is really living up to its name. I take orders specifically from the commanders. This might be interesting.
Later…
Navarre: Here. I have signed it.
Marth: Hmph. I should have put in it that you have to call me "My Lord".
Navarre: Yet until you father was killed, you were a political pawn not worthy of lordship. The same with the Princess you travel with. False royalty with no power.
Marth: While you raise a valid point, I haven't met a commoner like you.
Navarre: You shouldn't regard us with such disregard. I've been responsible for several nobility deaths already… And I've only been killing for 8 years. Common-
Marth: I'm sorry, Navarre. It just occurred to me that some of the Generals might be hearing you speak. They are quite loyal. However, I wish to speak of this matter again. Meet me the night after the battle if you are still alive.
Navarre:
Navarre was puzzled.
He felt as if the military did not suit him. There was too much attention given to him since he bore the flag of the special operation forces yet he did not eat, sleep, or talk with the other special operations soldiers. There were rumors that he was of royalty or a new personal slave of the princess. More than a few times, individual soldiers had the nerve to ask him if he was either. He rejected both rumors, disgusted with the fact that they might associate him with royalty or slavery.
He tapped his KILL-EDGE impatiently. The man calling himself Prince Marth would have redistributed the KILL-EDGE had it not been extremely difficult to use for the ordinary soldier. This gun was his. There was no one in the world who could wield it, as it was modified heavily. The recoil patterns were specifically adjusted so that only he could read them. The scope was removable, and required a password to access. Navarre was about to modify the weapon for fully automatic fire, but he decided that the recoil patterns might become too unpredictable. Thus, he retained the fire-modes that he had decided to use.
A good day in the technology room had certainly paid off. Especially when he was starting off.
(author's note: So… the KILL-EDGE is "forged". However, there probably won't be anyone wielding it except for myrmidons/marksmen and swordmasters/hell-shots)
The armory's attendant handed Navarre an assault rifle: the MARK-STEEL. Though not as fast or powerful as the KILL-EDGE, it certainly did its job correctly. He took it out for a firing test later that day. About a mere bullet in to the test, he decided that the MARK-STEEL was absolutely worthless due to the unnecessary heaviness and disgusting accuracy.
Navarre donned a thick overcoat to cover the evidence that he was an Altean soldier. He moved into a nearby tavern and tried to listen to the other men. He bought nothing but an apple and listened to the conversation.
"Oh yeah! I hear the Arena fighters aren't any good around here, but they still look like they can shoot!"
"Didja hear about the Altean knights coming up here? This place is so fortified. In fact, there are heavy Vehicle and Tank fortifications here."
"Fighters… I hate fighters."
He shifted slightly in his seat. A person had joined him at his table. Green haired and garbed in blue, he had a certain aura about him that suggested great power.
"Long day, eh? A drink perhaps?" the stranger asked
"No, but thank you," Navarre replied.
"Hm… I see. Are you from around these parts?"
"No."
"Neither am I. I used to be a magic student at Khadien until it fell to the Darkness Cult Faction."
"Huh."
"My name is Merric. Sorry… you just struck me as someone interesting and as someone who might be able to lead me to a long lost friend."
"Pardon?"
"Don't deny it. The garb you wear is from either Talys or Altea. It was quite an obvious giveaway that you are an Altean soldier in disguise." (Navarre cursed silently. He thought that the garb seemed too suspicious.)
"And you have me in checkmate. I can't draw a pistol at you in a tavern like this." Navarre squeezed the tranquilizer shot in his hands.
"Well, there would be no need. I'm one of the prince's closest friends."
"I'd assume so. Here's a beacon. If you are hostile… hopefully you can lie as well as you did to me." Navarre got up from his seat and left immediately.
He relayed information to the prince. He set out for the arena and turned his receiver off.
After successfully winning a series of successful fights, he pocketed his small fortune and felt more awake than he had at dawn. He waited for orders from the prince.
*Captain Lucas' POV (Original Character, don't worry. His purpose is to die.)*
At noon, the infantry in the area could not report for duty. Rumor had it that a single sniper blew through the 4 squads that were sent to intercept the Altean army.
Captain Lucas later was informed that the Royal Guard of Talys and the remnants of the Royal Guard of Altea had taken the other 2 squads by again reading their movements. He looked around nervously. How in the world could the enemy gain such intelligence so quickly? He changed communication channels.
The tree behind him rustled. It revealed a glow of red that instantly vanished after a fraction of a second.
Suspecting nothing, he continued to relay information until 14:00.
Just before the vehicle and tank cavalry arrived, he realized that they had no reinforcements left. He relayed which formations they were to use; simple tactics that were safe for superior numbers. He reasoned that using the cavalry to surround individual units or squads would prove to be an excellent strategy.
Just as he finished ordering the cavalry to their next position, he learned that the Altean army had predicted their moves. He cursed himself for being so predictable. Now the main force might suffer at the hands of enemy explosives units or enemy tanks. He just had to find a way to maneuver the second wave lead my Mattias whose beacon had just disappeared.
Mattias was gone, but his troops were still useful for surrounding the Altean Army. He ordered Mattias' unit to flank the Alteans. The units disappeared on the map after engaging with the Royal guard.
Captain Lucas cursed his luck. What more could be done?
He finally ordered his tank unit to provide suppressive fire. This proved to be most of use as the Alteans retreated on the map. He sighed in relief. He closed his eyes for a second and then turned back to the map.
A classic feigned retreat. The unit was going to lose in the firefight.
Who was commanding and predicting his moves? Nevertheless, he still had his tanks. He ordered them forward.
He looked up at the sky. A helicopter was floating over the tanks, showering them with deadly WING bullets. The circuits of the tanks were sure to give out at this point. No use for them. The anti-air legions would have to deal with the helicopter.
He started to order them forward when he thought otherwise. He lined them up across the bridge and spanned them across the river. They were about to fire at the helicopter when suddenly a vapor trail appeared from out of nowhere.
The gunners each fell to the ground. The drivers and passengers soon fell after.
He cursed himself for using open vehicles. Sure they were fast, but there was no guaranteed protection. He should have just sent an average anti-air heavy artillery unit to deal with the pilot. But then he remembered… the vapor trail.
He heard someone cock a pistol.
An Altean soldier unlike any other one he had seen emerged from the now ruined trees behind him. The soldier smirked at him.
"Checkmate."
Navarre
The real commander of the battle lay dead at his feet. There was still one unit guarding the gate. However, that was not his fight. Navarre turned away from his hiding spot.
"Well played, Grust and Macedonia. Well played."
Navarre reloaded the KILL-EDGE and walked away.
My military strategy isn't the greatest.
I don't have a beta reader yet either! This is fine… since I only have a chapter and a half that I wrote.
Chapter Three will feature some conversation and a battle.
Feel free to review.