Only five hours had passed since their arrival in the partially frozen world of Grizzleheim, five hours of absolutely nothing. It was far too peaceful, in Argentius' opinion, there was no possibility that whoever was guarding the map had not seen them coming from at least a mile away.

The Armada Commodore's steps creaked as he stepped off the battlement surrounding the Armada outpost. It was possible to see a figure dressed in the robes of an Assassin approaching in the distance, no doubt this was the informant that the Supreme Commander had spoken of when they had arrived -

"Commodore Septimus: Aurelio Portanova, reporting for duty."

Argentius' right arm snapped into the Armada salute as the grey cloaked Assassin walked through the gates.

"The Supreme Commander has spoken to me about you before, shall we speak inside?"

Aurelio's steps trailed Argentius' own as the two made their way into the first chamber of the outpost, the Armada Commodore seating himself behind the desk and the Assassin taking a seat on a chair nearby; lowering his hood.

"Commodore, the map piece is currently being held in a Templar base about three miles northwest of our present location. It is guarded by the Templar Master Estevan Brokenfang."

Aurelio's fingers interlocked, his green eyes locking directly upon the Commodore's amethyst ones, and for a very brief second, Argentius was nearly certain that he had seen a hint of doubt in the human's emerald colored orbs. The assassin was swift to turn his face away, however, as if he realized that he had permitted it to show within his eyes.

When the Assassin's gaze turned back to Argentius' own, the emotions within it were gone, wiped away and replaced by a calmness almost too eerily similar to the attitude often held by the Supreme Commander of the Valencian Armada, Emperor of the Valencian Empire, when he wore his mask, of course. Right there and then, however, the thought of the Commander, Kane the Second, sent a jolt down Argentius' spine.

Could he ever forget that sight? That gaunt face, distorted by what he could only describe as a lust for him, for his very being. It was burned into his processor, into his memory in all clarity, far too clear, to the point that Argentius was more than tempted to curse his ability to remember, to recall every second of his memory, everything that had ever happened to him -

"Perfetto..."

"You are MINE."

Argentius forced these thoughts out of his memories:

"This man, Estevan Brokenfang, what kind of combatant is he?"

To win a battle, there is no better way than to know of the enemies' prowess in combat, and then to turn their weaknesses against them: while there are warriors of insurmountable power, everyone, particularly humans, is bound to have weaknesses in combat.

Aurelio's shoulders relaxed, finally turning his face to him.

"The Templar master is, if you are seeking to categorize him, Commodore, a privateer of the utmost skill, at least for someone who is stationed here in Grizzleheim. If my memories do not fail me, he is quite skilled at inspiring his soldiers to do virtually anything for him, even if it includes sacrificing themselves so he could make a getaway."

Then he is either a coward or a skilled manipulator, this is not leadership. A leader should inspire their followers and prove themselves to be an example to those under their leadership.

"Acknowledged, but what of his prowess in combat by himself?"

"A formidable foe, to say the very least, his skill with a longsword is not to be ignored."

Such a cumbersome weapon was indeed dangerous in the hands of a skilled user, Argentius noted inwardly, but it could be countered just as easily with agility and precision. However, if this Estevan really was a skilled a privateer as this Assassin was painting him to be, his soldiers could pose a rather large problem.

"I see, then is there any other information I must know of?"

"Such is all that I have to offer, Commodore."

The Armada Commodore brought one arm up in an Armada salute.

"Grazie for your aide, I am sure the Supreme Commander would be pleased to hear of this."

Aurelio rose, bowing his head before speaking.

"It is my honor and my duty to serve His Imperial Majesty, ruler of the Valencian Empire and the lord of the Assassin Order - "

The sound of the alarm cut off whatever words the Assassin had left to speak. Argentius' hand immediately flew onto in the hilt of the sword clipped to his side, storming out of the outpost building. He was not exactly surprised this had happened, truly, considering it had been far too peaceful for too long already -

Already, Presidos Limus had snapped off his commands to the other clockworks, and a row of snipers had positioned themselves above the battlements, with a marine positioned next to each of them to protect them, firing down upon enemies Argentius had yet to see.

Storming up the stairs, it certainly had not taken Argentius long to peer through the slight layer of fog to see who was stomping toward them.

A group of Templars, by the mark of the scarlet cross they bore on both their armor and their flags. Perhaps about fifty men in total, nearly matching the strength of the number of clockworks positioned here, though the Armada Commodore would not put it past them to have some extra tricks up in their sleeves.

"Your orders, Commodore?"

Argentius spun around, facing Viridus. Something had jolted within him at this sight, for he could now recall an entirely new chain of memory files on his processor, and none of those were anything he had recalled looking through when he was in the archives: all sorts of strategies, battle plans to counter those sorts of attacks -

"Pick off the leaders of this assault first, then send a squadron of marines out to confront them, storm their lines as fast as possible, give them no time to react, I shall personally head the assault squad."

Without leaders, even the most organized group of warriors will fall into chaos, and when chaos reigns, destroying them is nothing short of easy pickings.

Within mere seconds of issuing the command, the Armada Commodore's fine tuned senses picked up on the sound of humans screaming, screaming as they were shot down by the Armada snipers with lethal precision, each shot guaranteed to pick off at least one man: metal armor jingling as they fell off their horses and the snow crunching under their bodies of flesh as they were felled by the Armada clockworks.

Even at this distance, it was possible for Argentius to see the color of red spreading slowly over the once flawlessly white snow from the ruined skulls of the Templar generals, blood with grey bits of brain matter from the wounds ripped open by the snipers, their bodies twitching once or twice like the corpses of freshly slaughtered pigs before they stilled completely.

Still, however, the sound of sniper rifles going off never relented, thunderous enough so that it was nearly impossible for Argentius to even tell where they were coming from; they were all around him, echoing endlessly as the night was turned into a bloody display of carnage in the once peaceful world.

"Ora!"

Argentius found himself snapping off the command who knows how long later, perhaps a few seconds, or perhaps a few minutes later; storming off the battlement with his sword already drawn, until he joined the squadron of marines that were to storm into the Templar ranks, which by now had fallen into pandemonium and chaos. Judging from the desperate shouts of humans in the distance, some of them were attempting to bring order back amongst them -

"Stand your ground, those pieces of scrap metal are no match for us!"

"Damn it, stand, stand, men! Do not run away like children before those toy soldiers!"

The gates of the outpost swung open like a pair of arms, showing the clockworks the way to their enemies. It was then, Argentius found his previous hypothesis, how the ranks of Templar soldiers were falling into disarray from the deaths of their leaders: men trampled over each other in attempts to flee the bloodstained snow of the battlefield, their eyes wide open and darting between themselves and the clockwork squadron as well as the Armada Commodore himself, some of them so fast it almost seemed possible that they could snap their own necks this way.

Argentius felt no remorse as he fell upon the men, even those who had fallen to their knees before him, not even when his processor acknowledged their pleas for mercy.

"Spare me, Commodore, spare me!"

"Oh please, I still have children at home-!"

Each one of them he had struck down, without what the humans would have called mercy. Argentius swiped the blade across the throat of one of the men, then spun around, sheathing his sword into the body of another. The first gagged, one hand flying up to his throat, his eyes impossibly wide before his body went limp, drops of scarlet red still dribbling, spilling out of the wound the Armada Commodore had cut into his throat and onto the snow, turning its tiny crystals a vibrant shade of red.

Turning his attention onto another foe, Argentius found himself swiftly sidestepping to avoid his sword's strike, the Templar barely having enough time to recover before the Commodore had driven his sword through his chest, blood pouring out of the wound like a torrential fountain when the weapon was removed.

As he slashed and hacked and stabbed his way through the humans, Argentius Septimus found himself relishing it all. It made the blood in his veins race oh-so-pleasantly, with each human he fell, each throat he had slit without a hint of remorse or even the slightest emotion.

It felt right, like he was built to cause such carnage.

Those worms deserved their end for challenging my Commander's power, they deserve to have their throats slit open like this, like the animals they are.

And that thought was the same, like it was supposed to be there, lurking within the depths of his processor and directing his every move.

The Armada Commodore did not question it.

Still, he slashed and ripped a bloody path through the battlefield, looking into the eyes of each and every one of the men he felled with his blade, watching as the light faded out of them, only to leave a pale reflection of his amethyst colored ones behind -

It was far too soon before each and every Templar soldier that had participated in this assault laid dead in the snow, some of them having their heads shot into a million little pieces of skull and brain matter, others with their throats slit open, blood still gushing out of some of the newly slain ones.

Briefly, Argentius wondered:

How many of those died by my hands?

He could not say.

"There are no more survivors, Commodore."

Viridus' monotone almost sounded louder than usual behind him, perhaps it was because that there were no longer any humans left around, no more living beings, save for his own clockwork soldiers.

"Clean the bodies away, ensure there are no traces of this battle remaining."

For if anyone is to know that we are here, or even figure out the map was here, I dread to think of the results.

It had not taken the clockworks long to clean the bodies away, leaving behind only large patches of red on the snow where they once laid, some of them a darker shade of red than the others. Argentius supposed this would not matter by this point, considering a already steady downfall of snow had begun: if his calculations were correct, at this rate, the snow would cover the patches of red.

There is only one way to stop any more of those assaults from happening, and that would be to strike them before they could recover.

Argentius is a rather interesting character in this sense, isn't he? On one hand, horrified of the Supreme Commander, yet still a brilliant tactical leader and warrior.

Be sure to leave a review if you enjoye this chapter! Until next time!

-Hades