Date posted: 30th October 2023
Heading to that golden chapter ...
That's right, I am double posting Merchant Prince and Sinonon. Because I hate myself. Go read the other one.
PSA: FFN's horrible ancient e-mail notification system is acting up again so be sure to opt-in for email notifications and the like. Or hit me up on Ao3, I'm there too, same name, same fics. If you don't think I got the review, hit me up in my inbox, I try to reply to all reviews if I can, or drop a comment on the Ao3 stuff.
Chapter 22: Hostile Takeover
"What a fool you are. I'm a god. How can you kill a god? What a grand and intoxicating innocence. How could you be so naive? There is no escape."
- Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Asuna had been on the Frontlines exactly once in her entire time in SAO, back on the 1st Floor in the fight against «Illfang the Kobold Lord». Kirito, for some reason, had always refused to head there for business, which was odd considering the amount of money military sutlers made. You'd be surprised at how a 10 Col bar of soap could easily cost ten times that when you're at war.
Now, looking at the siegeworks before her, maybe he was right. This was a bit too much for her.
But she had a duty and no amount of 'too much' was going stop her.
The commander of the Watch felt a sense of déjà vu, perched on this hill. Once, back when they were scouting the fort as a favour for Ser Reginald. Second, when they had their little picnic together. She didn't expect for her third trip to be breaking back into her own fort.
Sinon tut-tut'ed besides her. "We are not going through all that."
"Just give me the numbers."
Sinon gave her the numbers. "I don't like those numbers," said Asuna.
"I too am not a fan of math," said the slayer.
They had moved their camp from Sinon's little moonshine cave to somewhere closer: the remains of an Orage village with some hastily erected palisade walls. It would give them just enough time to evacuate if a horde took a stroll hereabouts, but that's about it. Asuna had commandeered the chief's house while the other Watchmen and jousters rested in the other homes.
The map on the table covered the general area of Fort Eternal Vigilance. They were a-ways southwest from the Fort which was northward, and the road to the Bronze Axe Inn was much further southeast-ish and to the east was Second Sister, the river bordering the fort's land. The undead horde had surrounded the fort in a semicircle, with much of the forces parked on the main road and extending from east to west. Their beaver allies were already sending timber down Second Sister, to be used for construction. Their siege tower was already complete and Asuna feared what would happen if they ever make something hard hitting like a trebuchet.
The grizzled Abbess Natalya seemed to have it all figured out though. She had dipped a branch into the pitch and laid it in a bronze bowl.
"Back during the days of Aincradius the Uniter, Grandmaster Sinaran and the then-yet-to-be Saint Olga had concocted a powerful reagent to set orc and undead alight. It takes to green and corpse flesh like flame to kindling. The formulae to its creation is a guarded secret to both the Sisters and the Suyufa al-Shams."
She lit it aflame with a spark from her dagger and the intensity of the fire surprised Asuna and her officers. "We call it «Holy Fire». It cannot be extinguished by water but only three known things."
"And what are those?" asked Asuna.
"Potent vinegar, sand, or lots and lots of urine."
"Our inability to take a piss or a shit has bitten us back once again," said Sinon. "I miss shitting so much."
Everyone else in the room chose to ignore her remarks. "If we were to use it on the enemy, wouldn't it spread to our villages?" asked Asuna.
"If carefully used in the right quantities, no, it can be controlled. But as the Venerated Saint says, 'One must burn down the entire jungle to capture the kill the orc.'"
Sinon nodded. "Grim, but practical. I like it."
"'Give the enemy mercy but plot their demise,'" quoted Sister Yulia.
"Well, a bit Machiavellian for my tastes but I get it."
"'Kill not only the sire, but the dame, and the babes too, lest they they take vengeance,'" quoted Sister Ulyana.
"... wait, are you saying we should kill -"
"Can't make shakshuka without breaking a few eggs," said Brother Rays. "Though, I think the Grandmaster was actually talking about making breakfast there."
Lieutenant Hwiatha entered the longhouse. "Warchief, we've gathered as many clay containers as we can find. It's not much, but it should be sufficient and we have a wagon filled with sand. Sir Reginald and his men-at-arms are nearby, ready to move on your command."
"Good. Fill them up as you can. Use bits of rope as a fuse to light a flame, but be careful" said the Abbess. "If we do it all right, then we can wipe the svoloch in a single swipe!"
"Let's hope so, we can't wait or hope for Commander Roger Lionel Emeri to arrive with reinforcements. We strike at dawn."
"Do you think the Fort will hold?" asked Sinon.
"We can't do this without Ser Reginald and his men, and there's barely enough light for a cavalry charge. No, it's safer in sunlight." There's nothing more than Asuna wanted more than to charge in there and save the day but killing herself and her men served no purpose. "Get some sleep and rest, we'll need it."
"Not me. I'm going to range around the north of the fort where the forest is the thickest. Last time I checked, that section wasn't very well defended." She already had her saddlebags on one shoulder, her siege crossbow on the other. "This is a one-woman job, I'll be back before the sun rises."
They exited the longhouse to where they kept their steeds; Asuna had long discovered that Sinon was not one you could say no to. "You need any help?"
"No, Master Kariwase's villagers aren't good enough and I work better by myself." She already had her horse saddled. "If I don't come back, proceed with the assault without me."
"You make it sound that there's a huge security breach or something."
The slayer fed her horse her last piece of cheese. "Can't be too careful." At that, Sinon was off into the night.
Try as she might, but Asuna couldn't for the life of her take her own advice. She had been working, fighting, non-stop, since morning and it was morning near the next day. She may have pulled the odd one-nighter back in college, studying for exams and working on assignments, it was another thing to soldier the whole day. But that strange crystal that Heathcliff had given her was still giving her the energy to get through the night. She just hoped she wouldn't crash when this was all over.
Speaking of the knight, he had been acting … strange. He was still practicing despite only barely surviving facing down a Dwarven «Steelbreaker». She found him fencing at a tree with a backup sword.
"Ho, great warchief! How goes the planning?" he asked.
"It's going well enough." Though it was mostly the Abbess and Brother Rays doing the planning, best let the experts handle it. "Are you well, Heathcliff-san?"
"Of course! Ready to take on any and all dangers we face!" he exclaimed, and some of the sentries immediately shushed him. "What next, fearless leader?"
It took a moment for Asuna to realise it: he must have been hit in the head! She had seen it before when training the Watch, soldiers getting hit a bit too hard and becoming senseless, their personalities doing a flip. Why, she recalled when Brick Wall had been knocked on the head by a beaver's log, he didn't speak in all caps for an entire day. His fellow Watchmen even had to ask the wizards if he had been possessed.
She had insisted that he rest, but she had known fighters like Heathcliff. It was like talking to a wall to convince them to not go and throw themselves at death. This is what video games did to your brain, she supposed.
"Just be ready for the next fight. I need you at your best so you better rest."
He snapped her a salute. "Sir, yessir!"
She only smiled and shook her head. It almost felt like talking to an NPC or something.
The slap on the table surprised everyone, spilling a drink and making everyone jump in their seats. "Royal flush, baby! Read em' and weep!"
"I told you you shouldn't have put down all your chips!" Gretel hissed at her brother.
"Well what's the point of chips if you don't use em'!" Hansel argued. "It's like dice, what am I gonna do, not roll them?"
"It's called psychological warfare, dumbass. You should do what Argo-san is doing!"
"Be very good at the game?" she asked, sweeping the chips to her side.
"I bet she's cheating …" mumbler one of the other Watchmen at the table. Robin Hood of the Legends Whatever. She, and her buddy Thor were both beat up, the archer with a broken leg and a black eye, the hammer-user with a broken arm and a swollen eye. Damn, even the guards Hamid sent were beat up.
Her eyes narrowed. "Hell you say?"
"Nothing, Argo-san! Nothing!"
The Rat shook her head. Folks always accused her of cheating. I mean, sure, she actually was cheating - it's kinda obligatory if you wanna get into the info broking business to cheat the shit out of everyone - but it's not very nice to say it!
It had been at least an hour since the assault had started but it hadn't gone crazy just yet. A bunch of false sallies against the walls that were easily enough repelled by the Watchmen and the adventurers who were conscripted into the defense. The most difficult thing was managing the morale of the troops, especially the Orage who were not all too keen to tomahawk their great-grandma's face off. It was not uncommon for locals to call for outsiders to deal with their undead problem, if funds and time permitted. They could have burned their dead but it was a common feature in all of Aincrad's religions to not do so. Something about a final battle or whatnot.
In truth, Argo was already bored out of her skull. It was one of her very, very few flaws (she was as perfect as a girl could be, her pops used to say) and had it not been for Kirito's sweet and romantic death threat against Sergeant Hamid to make sure she stayed put, she might have flung herself off the castle into the horde.
That, or wait for a zombie to somehow climb up the siege ladders, in which she could throw it off the walls into their rotting buddies, not unlike how in 1998, the Undertaker threw Mankind off Hell In A Cell, and plummeted sixteen feet through an announcer's table.
She missed her wrestling shows.
The Watchmen, now poorer, excused themselves to stare off into the woods. Besieged as the fort was, this side of the walls was almost quiet aside from the hustle and bustle of the people in the courtyard. The beat up players were already slumped against the walls sleeping, which would have been a floggable offense but Argo was a Rat, not a snitch. Sure, less eyes meant more likely chances of someone coming over the walls to attack them, but what was gonna happen? That assassin that the elf was chasing appearing right before her.?
As she was counting her chips, she looked up to see one more player sitting. "What, you wanna lose more money?"
The stranger wore a steel cap with aventail, his red eyes barely visible through it, and a nondescript cloak over what she could see was a mail shirt. An odd looking blade hung on his belt, a cleaver of all things. Well, she was one of the few players in the game who went around punching things to death so who the hell was she to judge?
"I won big at betting at the tournament. Thought I might double or triple my winnings. You know, assuming we don't die."
Argo grinned and rubbed her hands, not even hiding her greed. "Well of course, you're welcome at my table -"
"Metzger."
"Metzger-san." A player, apparently. Well, at least this one wasn't busted as those Legends dorks. "Wanna cut?"
"Sure."
Metzger shuffled the cards as well as any seasoned gambler. "What game should we play?"
"Well, I heard of this game called Durak. Though I don't know all the rules."
"Don't worry, I am familiar with it. I'll walk you through it."
"My, my, aren't you a gentleman?" In reality, Argo also knew how to play Durak but it always helps in playing the fool when it comes to gauging another player's skills. "Hope you're ready to lose, Metzger-san, because with how well this siege is going, I think we'll be here for a while."
"Oh, I have full faith that the Eternal Watch will weather this storm." He threw her a few cards with the accuracy of Sinon with her throwing weapons. "Sooo … what do you know about Kirito-san?"
"Kii-bou! Oh boy, oh boy, let me tell you about our fearless leader!" Gossiping wasn't a good habit of hers, but it's not her fault that gossip was much of a currency as info in her trade.
Metzger chuckled, pulling out a huge flask from under his satchel bag "Oh, don't worry. We have all night. Drink?"
"Nah, thanks. I don't drink."
"Oh no, it's coffee."
Coffee was one of the Rat's few weaknesses and a vital component to any military operation, as Asuna had said. "Sure! Love some."
He chuckled. "Don't worry, I have enough for everyone."
Kirito stood there, a swirling storm of emotions raging inside him. Wonder, fear, anger, distress, despair, and even if he would never admit it in a million years, happiness. Happiness to see his old mentor oncemore.
But he squashed that last one. Threw it into the deepest corner of his heart. This man was not his friend. This was the enemy.
Akihiko Kayaba cocked his head to the side and brough his "World's #1 Neurosurgeon/Video Game Developer" to his mouth. "You just gonna stand there or -"
He dropped the mug, it fell, fell, fell to the depths, to the Castle of Aincrad. The taller man looked down to find his old mentee staring at him with pure unfiltered hatred, «Wicasa's Legacy» in his gut down to the hilt. He wrenched the blade out, spilling blood onto the clouds below.
Kirito watched Kayaba grip the gaping hole in his stomach, brought his bloody hand to his face and shook his head. "Kazuto-kun, please, you know that wasn't going to work."
"Can't blame me for trying," he said, flicking most of the blood off the blade. It splattered on some poor low-poly bird a dozen feet below him. "Didn't you say you hate essential NPCs?"
"Oh, I do, but I'm not an NPC, nor a PC. I'm the GM and that comes with a few perks."
Kayaba summoned the dropped mug, returning to him via telekinesis. A little shake and it was instantly refilled with coffee. It wasn't unlike the magic tricks he so often liked to play in the office. "I see despite your sudden conversion to pacifism, you still have that bloodlust in you. Very good. You're too talented a swordsman to embrace the Buddha's teachings. Also, I'd have thought you'd go for the throat. I know how you like to do that."
Cursing, Kirito sheathed his sword. It was very much useless here. "What the hell is all this?"
"Oh this? It's Arabica. The price has gone up lately, thankfully that's not an issue here."
"Not the coffee! This!" He jabbed at the Castle below. "What on earth possessed you to trap a hundred thousand players-"
"A hundred thousand plus-" the developer corrected. "The headcount bot isn't working very well. Glitches. Or perhaps hacks. There's at least three dozen government agencies around the world working overtime to break through my firewalls at every single moment but they've been quiet as of late. Probably got tired or got distracted by those troubles in the -stan states. Gives me enough free time to squash the smaller bugs around the game, like this one questline here."
Suddenly the world shifted. They were above Aincrad one moment and now they were above Fort Eternal Vigilance. The undead was like a lake and the fort itself a tiny island.
To the east of the fort, the homes of the settlers were still lit aflame, the necromancers trying and failing to herd their precious corpses to safety, only for them to continue to bump into each other and spread the flame. The southern road was where the main army was parked and the west beaver engineers were working hard under torchlight to create siege engines. The defenders on the walls were working hard, trying to save themselves.
"Ah, remember the Siege of Thunder Fort? That was a fun time." He sipped his coffee, the black liquid spilling from where the wound was. "This isn't exactly the most impressive siege I've seen. The one where you got all those guilds to hunt a red dragon was much cooler. Lots of death, lots of burnt corpses. Undead hordes are just a little lame, y'know? This isn't the 2010s anymore."
"People are dying down there …" His eyes darted all over but he couldn't see any of the girls. He did spy Lisbeth scoring a shot on one of the battering rams to the cheers of the defenders.
"Actually, the death rate in sieges is quite low on the defenders' side. Now all my data doesn't come from history or anything, but from all the siege tests I've ran, the defenders, assuming enough supplies, have a survival rate of 92%. Pretty good odds all things considered. And mind, this includes me throwing orcs, giants and dragons at them. Your friends will be fiiiine. Don't worry about it."
"Why … why the hell are you doing this?!" He snapped. "Do you know how many people you've killed?"
"Correction, they got themselves killed. Also, it's about five thousand-ish? I mean 5% isn't that bad considering we're on the 18th Floor. Well, the Clearers are on the 18th Floor. Fun fact: at least 70% of the playerbase are at least at a minimum four floors behind the latest unlocked floor!"
His tone became serious. "Remember your first day at work?"
"What does that matter?"
"Humour me, please. Here, I'll even offer a peace treaty." He snapped his fingers.
Nothing discernible happened. "What did you do?"
"I exploded the heads of half a dozen necromancers. That should make your defense a bit easier. You're welcome, by the way. And you and the guys said I was a Killer GM. You've no idea how much I fudge the rolls behind the screen!"
Kirito sighed. "Yeah I remember my first day. I was fifteen, I want to say? I just got laid off …"
"And here you were, an intern at one of the most prestigious companies in the world." Kayaba put hand to mouth. "Well, not anymore probably. The government has confiscated everything Argus owns and all our workers are under surveillance."
"I walked into your office, you were playing some colony sim game. I waited at least twenty minutes before you noticed."
"You should have knocked, silly! Too busy setting up my killbox."
"And then you stood up, apologised, and said: 'Welcome to Argus. Here, we're making worlds.'"
Kayaba raised his mug, now refilled. "Exactly."
"So … that's what this is? All this death. Because you want to make worlds? You could have done that without killing people."
"But what's the point of that?!" He yelled suddenly, arms in the air. "The world is beautiful and ugly; kind and cruel, easy times and hard times. That's what makes conflict!"
"The real world, maybe! But this isn't it!"
"Ohohoho, that's where you're wrong, kiddo. This is my world. Everyone who got into Sword Art Online bought it on the premise we've marketed. This is the single most expensive game ever made.
"Sixty billion dollars, Kazuto-kun. It took Japan, India, America and China less money to send satellites to Mars. The stockholders were at my throat everyday, and I had to fend them off with a stick. Ten years of development, but we did it. I did it. I showed them all!"
He laughed, unhinged, unnerving, like a madman.
"That still doesn't explain … I don't understand …"
He raised a hand. "You don't, that's fine. Lots of geniuses and artists only get appreciated after a long period of time. I've accepted this fact about myself."
"Of what? Being a terrorist, a murderer? A psycho?"
At that, he smiled. Coffee continued to leak and mixed with the blood of his stomach. "No, Kazuto-kun. A god."
It was a running joke at Argus that Kayaba had more than a screw loose. Anyone who had both a PhD in quantum computing and neurosurgery was not a normal person at all. But he had a certain charm and charisma that made him easygoing and likable.
The sounds of battle continued to rage below. "So what now?"
"Now? Well, this is where I need your help. See, despite my amazing godlike abilities, I am sadly nowhere near God's power-level. I'm not omniscient. I don't know what happens in many parts around my own world. No amount of computer generated reports will help. Sometimes I need to be on the ground, mingle with the player base. That's where I need your help."
"I'm not doing anything to help you," he spat.
Kayaba ignored him. "So here's what I want you to be my apprentice once more. Or at least my assistant."
He blinked. "What?"
Kayaba was there one moment and behind him the next, Kirito almost jumping out of his skin. The grip on his shoulder was soft, but to Kirito, his hand might as well be made of lead. Sweat started to bead on his forehead.
"Running this world of mine, fending off hackers from beyond the veil, it's tiring. I barely have enough time to enjoy the game itself! So here's my offer to you. What's the point of making a game and not being able to play it? This is the curse of the Eternal GM." He was right next to Kirito's ear. "Be my second. Help me run Aincrad."
Kirito swallowed spit. "What would that entail?"
"Oh, don't worry. I'm not giving you console commands or anything. You can still play merchant, because for some reason you've decided to hang your sword. You can do your business. I can't promise you or your friends will die mind, but better than nothing."
His voice dropped an octave. "I can even promise that I can save your fort."
"Huh?"
It was taking all his willpower not to sock his old sensei in the face. "All you need to do is accept my offer."
Kirito was silent for a moment. "And what if I say no?"
"Don't worry, I won't do anything to hurt you or your friends. I'll just leave you to your fate. Have you fend this horde yourself. You can probably do it, you've been running a hell of a tight ship. Looks like that's something you and I have in common. I'm a strict GM, not a Killer GM." He made a thinking face. "I mean, I am, technically, but you know what I mean."
"We are nothing alike," he hissed.
At that, Kayaba only patted his shoulder and stood back in front of him, all the while drinking his coffee. "Well, what's your answer?"
There have been many moments in Kirito's life that he had to make important decisions: choosing to abandon kendo to care for his sister, begging businesses to let a teenager to work for a pittance, even proposing to Argo, as much of a bad decision that was in retrospect. When push came to shove, when Kazuto Kirigaya had to make a decision, he chose instead of running away.
"I've made my decision."
Kayaba's eyes widened, a smile growing on his face. "Yes?"
"My answer is …"
It wasn't Nezha's first time in the Fort's donjon.
One of his earliest duties as an apprentice blacksmith was to help replace the old rusty bars of the cells. It was a fair amount of iron to replace, and the first task that Lisbeth had set him to finish was to fix it all up.
It took about a week of hard work, measuring the bars, convincing some of the laborers around the fort to help him with the brickwork (mostly via bribing them with food and beer), but at the end of the day, the cells were fixed. Strong steel, solid brickwork, nothing but the best high quality saw could have cut it. Even the lock on the door would have given someone like Argo-san trouble.
Much like how it was giving him trouble, as he tried to pick it himself. "Dammit, past me! You did too much of a good job!"
He had given up any pretense of stealth. The other fools in the cells either didn't give a shit, or were completely knocked out, and they left the idiot purple haired girl in charge, who was still somehow sleeping through the goddamn siege. Nezha could barely hear himself think through all the moaning, the yelling, the screaming, the hacking and shooting.
So annoyed and focused was he on the task in picking the lock (he had a pitiful 30 in «Lockpicking»), he didn't notice the newcomer in the room. "Thief."
Nezha damn near jumped into the ceiling at the mention. "W-ha? What do you want?"
The elf woman looked grim and serious. In the shadows of the candles and the small ray of moonlight, she looked less like a human with pointy ears and more like a spirit of the forest, with her antlers and purple eyes. The orange tabby perched on her shoulder like some sort of familiar wasn't helping either. "I require your assistance."
She opened the door and Nezha did not miss the fact she didn't use a key. In fact, the keys were still hanging behind where the purple haired girl was sleeping. He hesitantly exited. "You're not going to kill me are you?"
"That remains to be seen. However, if you assist me in catching your partner, I will plead for your mercy when I bring you to Oakhome for justice."
"So you're telling me there's a chance?" he asked, hope in his voice. Then the tabby jumped from her shoulder to his and suddenly he felt his body couldn't move.
"I am unable to find your compatriot, despite my best efforts. He must have ridden himself of the glamour he used on himself and is likely hidden amongst the populace. I need you to find him. In the event that you do, dispatch my cute little kitteh to fetch me."
Nezha wasn't sure what's weirder: that the elf was giving him a chance to redeem himself (and keep his head on his shoulders) or the fact she said 'cute little kitteh' with the same seriousness of reading a man his last rites. "Hold on, why me? Couldn't you have asked for someone else?"
"If you are not aware, but corpse-walkers surround us and the Watch requires every hand available to help. Seeing as you are one of no useful skills, except for thievery, lawbreaking, and skullduggery, you are my best bet to find the murderer known as PoH."
Whatever magic the cat had on him released him, he could still feel that the orange fuzzball had some sort of hold on him, and the act of removing it would be extremely unwise. "Alright, I'll do just that."
"Do not approach him. Do not call him out. Do not interact. Be haste. He must still be about." At that, the elf turned about and left the donjon as silently as she entered.
Yuuki raised her head, drooling from the edge of her mouth. "Wha-? Aren't you supposed to be locked in?"
"Uh … I have to pee."
"Oh, okay." Her head dropped to the table with an audible thunk as she continued snoring. Nezha only sighed.
"Guess we have our work cut out for us, huh?" he asked the kitteh.
"Nya."
He took a cloak hanging on the wall, covered his face like a bandana, more out of shame than anything else and exited the donjon and met headfirst into a throng of people: Orage, tourists, the wounded, the frightened, and the mercantile. The sounds of battle and fire were overwhelming. The elf was nowhere to be seen.
Nezha sighed. Now, if he was a psycho assassin, where would he be?
He checked the usual places, experiencing a sense of déjà vu as he wandered the fort. The barracks had been transformed into an infirmary with only a small section having sleeping soldiers to rotate out of, a couple of alchemists he didn't recognise brewing potions; the kitchen was working overtime, with cooks working overtime to make porridge while scullery maids arguing with healers on who can use the boiling pots; the courtyard was of no use, filled New Settlers and Old Families helping mend mail shirts, making arrows or cleaning clothes; and the smithy was hard at work making repairs and ammo, many of whom were goblins trying their damndest. He did not see the familiar pinked haired smith.
There was also the tower where Kirito was at, and he'd rather not have a second awkward conversion with the guy.
He was wandering aimlessly through the halls of the fort, the moaning undead sounding far too close for his comfort when he found himself in a familiar wing of the fort.
Nezha found himself facing the door to his old bedroom and it took little to make him enter. To his disappointment, his cozy little room had been turned into a storeroom, with all sorts of junk about. They didn't even bother taking out the bed, someone had just left a bunch of rope on it.
Well, he had been wandering about for about half an hour now and still unable to find PoH. Maybe he could just … lay down … for old time's sake before he got whisked to Elf City or wherever. What are the chances he'd find PoH in the Fort anyway?
"Nya."
Despite the rather prodigious size of the kitteh, Nezha had legitimately forgotten he had the beast on his shoulder. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm freaking tired."
"Nya."
"Look, there's like a couple hundred of folks here, and no way in hell I'm sleeping out there. What if those catapults hit me? At least, here, I'm safe."
"Nyaaaaa."
"Your owner has a better chance to find PoH than I do, so stuff it, furball."
Before he could get some well earned rest (the cells, for all the improvements, didn't have the most comfortable cots) and maybe hoping this would all blow over when he woke up, the door opened.
Nezha and the newcomer blinked. The ex-smith smiled. "Oh, hi there, Lisbeth-chAAAGH! Did you just throw a lump of coal at me?!"
She had her beloved dwarven hammer out, anger in her eyes. "I can't believe you tried to escape! After all that happened!"
"I didn't! I was let go! Hey, don't hit me with that, I'll die!"
The hammer was raised high above her head, a weapon of judgment. "Rewarded as a traitor deserves!"
It was at that point the cat leapt off his shoulder and onto the bed. "Nya! Nya nya!"
Lisbeth lowered the hammer, nodding. "Oh, I see. Kizmel has tasked Nezha-san in finding his partner-in-crime."
"How the hell did you get that from a few nyas?!"
She sidestepped the question as effortlessly as Nezha tanked the coal. "Well if you can't find the bad guy, you can help me carry the rope. We need to fix a ballista and get some ammo."
At that, he perked up. "So does that mean you've forgiven me?"
"I said no such thing. Now hustle."
Despite being conscripted to find PoH and likely increasing his chance of just being executed at the spot, taking orders from his old boss was a comforting feeling. Even the watchcat on his shoulder didn't dampen his mood at all.
The smithy was hot, warm, with numerous smiths, goblins and humans alike, yelling over the sound of hammers and the irritating smell of smoke in his throat. It was like being home again. The cat on his shoulder merely mewled angrily at coming into the heat.
One of the goblins raised his head from working the bellows, yet the flames were neither too hot nor too high for the task at hand. "Gobbo gob!"
"Then go get more coal!" said Lisbeth. Nezha decided to not inform her she threw away a perfectly usable lump at him.
"Gob gob!" said another.
"We need to fix the damn bow! Ugh, fine. Nezha, you remember how to make ballista heads? We need at least a dozen."
"A bit." In truth, he had been more familiar with the bottom of a bottle than a hammer, but he did recall his brief time making crossbow bolts. "Give me the tools."
It came back to him like riding a bike. A bike that had been out in the sun for too long and was in serious need of oiling and a change of tires, but a bike nonetheless. The making of the ballista heads was more akin to making spearheads than crossbow bolts, but it was similar enough it only took him a few tries to get it right. The pliers and the hammer were comforting feelings in his hands.
The dozen done, both he and Lisbeth were hauling ass up to the battlements, the tabby chasing after. The horde was coming in full force, a sea of undeath, as the defenders fought on. The siege tower was slowly coming to, the moonlight shining upon it like a titan of death. Atop were a squad of beavers, arrows, javelins and thrown axes at the ready, as Dwarven Steelbreakers pushed the wheels of the tower forward. "That thing isn't stable enough to come up the slopes!"
"That's not what a siege tower is for, dumbass!" Lisbeth yelled. "It's archer support while the real heavy infantry comes with the ladders."
"But in the movies …"
"The movies are wrong! That's not what siege towers are for!"
He couldn't believe Hollywood and strategy games would lie to him like that.
They reached one of the corners of the walls where Watchmen were shooting arrows. The ballista's bow had been removed and the thick string had been snapped in half, thanks to, of all things, a bronze-head tomahawk in the groove. How the hell did that get up here?
"What's the situation, Sergeant Hamid?" asked Lisbeth, throwing the axe away.
The Nadyah sergeant looked grim and serious. "The siege tower is coming to, and none of the other ballistae around the fort can hit it. Not that we could move the heavy things here anyway."
"And the rest of the wall?"
"Holding. Sergeant Brickwall is doing an admirable job as is Yeoman Dupont."
"Looks like you lot are pretty good shots," he noted. On the ground, numerous dwarven skeletons were skewered by the bolts, their corpses still standing, their siege ladders broken.
Hamid's eyes widened. "You …"
Lisbeth raised a hand. "It's fine, he's with me. Now cover us before the arrows come here."
Nezha may have not been in the smithy for a while, but he had truly not been in combat since forever. Since the beta, actually, when he had run a dungeon with the Legends Brave the night before he was on watch duty. He supposed, in his own way, was making up for logging out. Ironic that he had joined the fort to get a job, then found out his boss was the Throatcutter in beta everyone hated, only to be defending the man's little project.
A ballista of this caliber could have launched a 500 gram bolt at over 500 yards. They had a dozen on hand. Best make it count.
"You ever shot one?" asked Lisbeth.
"Nope. Sinon-san was supposed to teach us but she never got around to it."
"Remind me to kick Sinon's ass when we're done with this. IF we survive this."
The first shot missed the tower completely, which made Lisbeth most angry (despite the fact she was the one to aim and shoot the thing) but Nezha had been round the smith long enough to understand her mood. He and Hamid ratchetted the string back, a task his moderate investment in STR actually helped in and loaded the next bolt.
The next one flew high and flew true, Striking the five-storey engine right through its walls. By that time, it had come into range and the beavers were raining missiles upon them. A javelin missed his head by a handspan. "Uh, do you have a helmet I can borrow?"
"Reload faster!" the sergeant shouted.
Though the slope up the walls were at quite the angle, it was just enough for the tower to just be at least a storey taller than the wall. The damn beavers were better marksmen than he expected as a javelin knocked a Watchmen nearby. His two comrades were on him in an instant, carrying him down the steps.
On the downside, the enemy was in range of them. On the upside, they were in range of the enemy. Nezha couldn't recall, but he was pretty sure there's a law about this.
The next shot struck a partcularly large and hench beaver, nailing him right in the chest. "Bullseye!" shouted Lisbeth.
"We aren't done yet!" said Hamid, raising a shield to fend himself.
But try as they might, the beavers were fantastic engineers and the tower held. Through the numerous holes in the tower, the defenders could see beavers climbing up the tower. Two dozen zombies were marching up the slope, Dwarven Steelbreakers behind them, with a wizard in heavy mail controlling them. There others were all too busy defending their side of the walls.
"We're out!" said Nezha. "Should I get more bolts?"
Before Lisbeth could answer, a tomahawk sprouted from her left shoulder, throwing her to the ground. Sergeant Hamid was on her, shield raised as three arrows struck wood. "Lisbeth!" Nezha shouted.
"I'm good, I'm good!" She tried to move her left arm, only for the bleeding to get worse. "Shit! I can't shoot!"
"We need something heavier. More potent. Holy Fire would do but Yeoman Dupont has used most of it!" said Hamid.
"Where can we -" he felt something brush against his side and looked down.
"Nyergh."
The tabby, at some point during the whole fight, had gone off to do his own thing. Yet here he was again, a jar of … something in its mouth. It was a big jar too, made of clay, and likely no easy thing to carry. A piece of string was coiled around it. Nezha carefully picked it up, popped the lid and recoiled in disgust. "Ugh, what the hell?!"
Hamid perked up. "That is Holy Fire! The cat must have found it somewhere. We can use it against the enemy!"
"Then why the hell did we not have this in stock?"
The sergeant shrugged. "The scary Sisters and the paladin required it more than us, for what purpose, I know not."
"Damn, I need to hit the infirmary. Nezha, you fucking shoot that thing and don't you miss," said Lisbeth.
"But I don't have the experience!"
A hail of arrows broke against the stone next to them. "What better time to practice?"
Hamid helped him ratchet the string back. It was roughly the size of a water bottle, but a fair bit heavier. Placing the pot into the groove, he lifted and angled the ballista at a 50 degree angle.
"Do you know what you're doing?" asked Hamid, igniting the wick.
"Absolutely not," he said, and pulled the level.
There was this cliche in fiction: that, in moments of pure stress, high tension, and high stakes, time will slow down as the 'camera' slowly pans for the big epic dramatic thing to happen. Nezha found out that this was not the case.
In one moment, the tower was death incarnate, the unholy alliance between beaver and necromancers, and in the next moment, it lit up like a tree on Christmas. If Christmas trees were giant piles of flame that is.
The siege tower, which must have taken God knew how many beaver/zombie-hours put into it was gone in an instant. A huge cheer came from the defenders as the wizards wet their silly little black robes and ran towards their lines, their dwarven bodyguards following after.
"Great shot! If you had missed, I'd have thrown you of the wall!" Lisbeth said cheerily, as if commenting on the nice weather.
"Thanks!" he laughed nervously. He had forgotten how scary Lisbeth could be.
"Now get me to a healer."
Lisbeth leaned against him as they staggered down the steps to the courtyard. Immediately, a bunch of the womenfolk came to get them. As she and the wounded defenders were taken away, and Nezha felt the need to return to his original mission, someone bumped against him. "Oh, sorry."
"Don't worry about it," said the stranger, his face hidden by an aventail. In his arms was the Rat and Nezha was instantly worried.
"Is she okay?"
"I think something got to her," said the stranger. "Something got to the defenders on the southern wall. The guards there, they're sleeping."
Hamid waved him off. "Ah, worry not. Nothing will get through the stakes and steep incline. We are safe back there."
"You should probably get them away, though."
"In time, in time, Mister -"
"Metzger. Here, you best take her too," he said, handing the sergeant the Rat. For all his worry, there seemed something off about this fella. Something familiar.
"Hey, you."
"I've got to return to my post," said Metzger, turning around and walking up the steps.
Nezha turned tapped the cat on its forehead. It was off in an instant.
"Hold on!" The ex-smith ran up the stairs. "Hey! Wait up!"
He pulled at the stranger and saw those familiar eyes through the eye slits. "It's you -"
PoH smiled with his eyes. "It's me," he said, as Nezha felt something cold in his stomach.
He looked down to see the cleaver in his stomach, shining in the firelight. Nezha staggered back, touching his wound. He saw something in the corner of his eye, right under the healthbar: «Paralysis Poison»
"Nezha-kun, Nezha-kun," he tsk-tsk'ed. "You should have stayed in your cell."
He slumped back against a wall and slid to the ground. He heard screams. Hamid giving orders. On the northern wall, he could see a man in a feathered cloak, raising his tomahawk in the air giving a mighty war-whoop.
Fuck me. The poison was going to last a minute or two. No good deed goes unpunished, huh?
There were three reasons Sinon was out in the woods alone when there was a horde of undead wandering about: one, she was an introvert and introverts needed to recharge their batteries. She could handle Kirito, Asuna and Argo, but being in a company with so many others, even if it was a pretty small one, was not her style.
Secondly, she felt pretty bad about not training the troops to use the ballistae. She thought she left the job on Lisbeth. Did she tell Lisbeth? She legitimately couldn't mostly, because it was the one spot on the wall that had no ballistae on it, even if the slopes were the steepest and properly staked. A good enough climber like herself would have no issue scaling that and she felt the need to double check.
Thirdly, and most importantly, if the Fort was going to fall, she might as well bed Kirito before they all died.
It didn't take long for Sinon to find a tent with the skull sewn onto it. Tying her horse to a tree, she slipped into the brush, siege crossbow in hand.
She heard voices: "Apprentice, how goes the assault?"
She froze as she recognised it: it was the big baddie in the caves. The one whose staff Argo stole and wormed her way through Sinon's skin.
"Our spy in the fort is in place. Given the signal, our Honoured Braves will storm the castle where the runes are weakest and the security lightest."
Silence.
"Great Lord? Are you displeased?"
"What do you think?"
"Well, I thought -"
Something clank and a part of the tent had become a patch darker. Waste of a perfect good goblet of wine, no doubt.
"I gave such an excellent speech, do you not recall?"
"Uh …"
"I said: 'Here, where the Watch has put the least men on the walls and the runes are at its weakest. Now go forth and bring us victory!' Do you remember that, apprentice?"
"Yes, lord. It was only a couple hours ago."
"And, and, you told me to wait because we had our spy in the Fort and it would be more tactically sound."
"Our Honoured Braves are one of our finest undead servants, lord. Much magic has been invested into them. If we were to remove the guards on the wall, they could perform greater deeds when they breach."
"And they have climbed the walls already?"
"Yes, lord, mere moments ago. We will continue to power them from afar. They are to secure Conotocaurius and slaughter all who stand in our way."
"This is sufficient. Now begone, I must study the Book of Mmatmuor further for the release of of our lord. Get the others to prepare Mark and Recall at once."
Sinon cursed under her breath. There were two choices now: attempt to eliminate the Heresiarch and his cronies by herself, or ride back to Asuna and get backup. Either way, she would have no time to scale the walls of the Fort and save Kirito.
It took her a grand total of two seconds to choose the third option and sprinted to the walls.
She smelled the smoke long before she saw the fire. The newly built homes of the New Settlers were still aflame and the battle was still raging on. There seemed to be an endless number of the horde. She could only hope that dawn came sooner and wash the mass in righteous fire.
Sinon could just spot a dozen Honoured Braves scaling the slope as easily as a mustang slides on a plain. be no guards whatsoever on the walls, where the hell were they?
These mobs were the tough looking bastards in the cave chambers, champions in their past lives, and mini-bosses in their own right. Fierce axemen, deadly javelineers, and master skirmishers; those javelins could have slain a Granum knight and his horse in a single throw if the legends were true. She stood no chance against them without her usual kit.
But the great thing about ranged builds is you always were outside your opponents' range, thus was Murphy-sama's Law.
Hiding behind a rock and setting up her arbalest, she took aim at the wall. The moon was with her that night as its light illuminated the attackers. The leader of the warband stood on the parapets, hefting his tomahawk into the air and bellowing a war-whoop. He was the most impressive of them all, wearing a cape of feathers, golden armlets wrapped around his thick arms. Why the necromancers allowed these undead to decorate themselves, she had no idea; perhaps allowing these corpses some semblance of their past lives made them better fighters.
The question will remain unanswered as she let the bolt loose, arcing through the air and striking the warchief in the head. His head snapped back, stood still for a moment before plummeting over the wall and impaling himself on a stake.
Eleven pairs of eyes looked backwards but she had already moved into another position and reloaded her arbalest.
But the Braves did not stay, did not hunt, but instead moved like a team onto the walls. Sinon slew one of them at the bottom of the rope, hitting him in the base of the spine as he too fell and skewered himself on spikes. Her third shot struck the shoulder of another brave, but it ignored it and the entire team of Braves were already over the wall.
She cursed. She needed to go after them, now, and warn Kirito.
The stakes and the steep slope had given her a harder time than she cared to admit. Snatching the two bronze tomahawks of the warchief she had killed, she used them as climbing picks, hacking them into the earth and onto the stakes. They were sharp annoying things, and the tips of the stakes dug into her arms and legs as she climbed. What kind of asshole planted these?
Oh yeah, it was her who suggested that to Master Kariwase. Good job, me.
Climbing up the rope and being ever grateful she had a strong back, she popped her head between the merlons only to duck, narrowly avoiding the hatchet that clipped the top of her hair. "Hey! Do you know how hard it is to find this specific shade of blue?"
Planting both feet on the walls, Sinon launched herself sideways and clung onto the crenel on the left. She was about to haul herself up before she spotted the figure rushing and launched her further left.
This went on at least eight times before she pivoted back to the right and clambered over the walls. Slinging the crossbow off her back, she let loose at the Brave and the heavy bolt planted itself right in its shield arm, pinning the undead's shield, to its shield, and to its torso. The zombie was too busy unlodging the bolt to notice Sinon had already produced her second weapon, and the Brave found itself growing a tomahawk right in its face. The blue fire in its socket died as the dark magic that bound it left its body.
She checked her surroundings: there were guards on the walls but they were out, either dead or sleeping, she couldn't tell. The rest of the Watchmen were still fighting as the horde kept pressing. More and more ladders were being placed against the walls as the defenders engaged in horrible intense melee. The remains of a burned siege tower lit the surroundings like a great lamp. The rays of the rising sun peeked over the mountains.
Below in the courtyard, the Braves were slaughtering their way through the crowd. They left alone the wounded but those who dared opposed them were cut down like chaff before the scythe. A few of the fighters on the wall were let go to face them but most stayed put.
Sinon took aim and decided otherwise. In this melee, with a hundred civvies in the courtyard, she was likely to kill someone she didn't mean to. She rushed down the stairs before someone stopped her. "Sinon-san!"
She halted and saw the smith slumped against the wall. "Nezha?!"
"They're …. going to the dungeon! S … stop them!"
The ex-smith looked to be between life and death. Sinon kneed beside him, handing him a potion. "Here, take this."
"I can't … paralysis."
She poured the potion in his mouth regardless. "Argo … knocked out. PoH … poisoned guards … wake her."
"That's what I plan to do. You gonna be okay?"
"... G-g-go!"
Nodding, she left the smith by himself. There was no time to question him about anything. She had a Rat to wake up.
It was easy to find Argo as someone had unceremoniously dumped her on a pile of hay. Reaching for her pouch, she pulled a vial and brought it to her nose. "Ewah! Wha-where-who-how?!"
She slapped a hand on a whiskered cheek. "Smelling salts. You're in the courtyard. It's me, Sinon. You've probably been poisoned. Now get up, we've been breached."
"I was drinking coffee and - oh, that son of a bitch! That must have been the assassin the elf was looking for!"
"You up to fight or not?" There was no way in hell was Sinon able to fight in this panicked crowd.
The Rat jumped off the hay bale and cracked her knuckles. "Let's get to it!"
The courtyard had turned into a mass melee by the time both girls got around the courtyard proper. Watchmen fought Braves as the civilians rushed to safety. For every Brave was equal to four or five defenders. Sinon saw Agil and his staff fighting a Brave whose spear was like that of a striking snake, Brickwall and his men were fending off and failing to fight against a dual wielding Brave and at least two of the Undead had clambered up the smithy roof, launching javelins into the crowd.
Sinon struck one of the javeliners in the knee, toppling it over. Argo, with a speed almost equal to Asuna, rushed towards the falling Brave and caught it overhead, and with mighty thews threw it into the smithy. It crashed against a rack of tools and Lisbeth's apprentices were upon it, clubbing it to death with their hammers.
Argo barely dodged the javelin from the second Brave. Sinon let loose and missed, the bolt breaking against the castle wall, as it descended the roof. It retreated to its comrades by the doors of the dungeon, as two Braves followed a curious looking cloaked stranger and the remaining five stayed behind - a roadblock and distraction.
"That's him! That's the asshole who poisoned me!" shouted Argo.
"Catch him!" shouted Sinon to no avail, everyone was fighting their own battles, in the courtyard and on the walls.
Kizmel appeared next to both of them. "You let these foul things into the Fort?!"
"Hey, at least we were fighting! Where the hell were you?!" Sinon shot back.
"This arguing does us no good. We must apprehend the criminal, lest it be too late," she said, unsheathing her bone sword.
The three of them rushed to the doors of the dungeon and descended, Sinon fuming. If they hurt a single hair on Kirito's pretty head, I'll kill them. I'll kill them all.
PoH was in his element.
The planning, the scouting, the stealth, the deception, the poison, these were the tools of his trade. His years in the geondal had set him up well for the mission at hand. The lack of electronics, vehicles, firearms and other modern amenities would in theory make things harder, but he had taken it as a challenge. Electronics could be replaced with good old fashioned spying, horses and ships took the place of cars, and his Ruger Mark IV replaced with his cleaver. No more bunking down in tombs of dead men anymore for him.
While he could probably not take on a decent melee fighter, he had other gadgets to rely on. Not even in reality had he access to NVGs but a «Night Eye» potion for darkness worked just as well, if not better.
There, at the base of the stairs were a pair of Watchmen. "Halt, who goes -"
He flung the borrowed bronze tomahawk at the guard as the Brave behind threw his javelin, hitting neck and face simultaneously, The dead men slumped to the ground as he and the two Braves entered the chamber.
He shivered, once again forgetting to put on something warmer, something his undead compatriots need little of. "Lock and bar the door!" and so they did.
They entered the chamber, realising there were no other Watchmen; most likely pulled out of the dungeon for wall defense. There were only three figures at the end of the hall: the two mages and the bigshot around here, slumped in a chair.
The female mage noticed him first. "Stop! Who's there?"
"Take them alive," he ordered and readied his cleaver.
The older wizard turned about and acted first, muttering a spell under his breath, a slim mace pointed at one of the Braves. A bolt of lighting shot forth, blowing a hole in the undead's chest. The second shot of lighting from the girl's fingers missed PoH just barely.
He threw the clay pot at their feet, enveloping them in smoke. He rushed into the smoke and caught her by the neck. A burst of wind enemated from the older mage and the smoke dispersed.
PoH escaped the AoE attack and raised his voice. "Don't move or I'll slice her throat!"
The older man lowered his hands, the sparks on his fingers dying out. "Please, no! Don't hurt Ava!"
It was at that point the Brave struck the professor in the temple, almost knocking the turban off him. The old man raised his hands in defeat.
"Bound both of them. I will prepare the spell."
It took a moment for PoH to recall the correct runes but he had dealt with enough drug smuggling to know what he was doing. He poured the stinking reagent into something resembling a circle with eldritch letters onto the tiles, all the while the two wizards glared at the both of them as they were tied to a nearby pillar.
Biting his thumb, he dripped the blood onto the sigil. Suddenly, the reagents glowed as a flash of light engulfed them all and as their sense returned to them, as a newcomer appeared in the dungeon.
The Heresiarch came alone, in his gold-inlaid purple robes and his bronze breastplate, wielding the Book of Mmatmuor to his chest. A deep chuckle emanated from him as he let out a laugh that echoed throughout the hall.
"At last! I have returned!" He turned to PoH. "You have done well, assassin."
PoH bowed. "As long as I get paid."
"Richly, in fact." He turned about to see the piles of gold in the shack. "I may even allow you to take a donkey's haul of the treasure."
"Make it double."
"Done. I am a merciful lord."
The Heresiarch pulled down his hood to reveal a cruel face: his skin was stretched across his skull tightly, his grey eyes was like that of a coming storm and his elf ears were clipped - the sign of a criminal from elven lands. He bore two great scars across atop his head and the wound on his left cheek showed teeth. "Ah, it is like coming home."
"Home? What are you talking about?" asked the apprentice girl.
He turned to the wizards. "Ah yes, Professor Ramza and his apprentice, Ava. I have read your works, professor. I must say I am a quite an admirer. Your thesis on the runes of Baro the Bricklayer was instrumental in discovering how to unbound our lord, Conotocaurius."
The professor scowled. "I wish you had not read them in the first place then."
He turned to the slumbering merchant at the armchair. "Ahah, this must be Lord Kirito then. Hmm, he is younger than I expected. This is the great lord that has harassed my cult, assembled a mighty host and revived the Eternal Watch from near death? He is mightier than he looks. What did you call him again?"
"Throatcutter," he spat out. It took all of PoH's willpower not to end him then and there, but no, he must bide his time. "Be careful, Heresiarch. He may be sleeping but he is one of the strongest duelists in the realm."
"I am not worried about such things, now I have my staff and both books. But, just in case …" With his telekinesis, he took the longsword from his lap and flung it into the corner.
Banging came from the other end of the hall. "Ah, there must be reinforcements."
The undead Brave walked to the end without a single utterance of an order from PoH or the necromancer. "But enough, I will do what must be done. With the Books of Sadosma and Mmatmuor, I can begin the ritual."
"You fool! You'll kill us all!" the professor shouted. "Do you know what you would unleash?!"
The elf spun, robes spinning about him. "And what do I care? Do you know what Aincradius and his ilk has done to me and my ancestors? His Companions? The fraud that is Wicasa and that accursed giant Baro? The Wise. The Bricklayer. The Ascended. I spit on all of them!"
Now, PoH wasn't all that knowledgeable in regards to the mythos and faiths of SAO, but if he had to guess, it would be the equivalent of cursing a real life god if the sheer disgusts on the mages' faces was an indicator.
The cursed tomes and the staff floated before the now gold covered stone doors. The Heresiach began chanting under his breath as the chains began to rattle. At the end of the hall, PoH can hear the door break down. "I should handle that."
"No, I need a sacrifice. One of great authority and power. The professor and his apprentice pale in comparison."
"You can't!" the apprentice said. "He is interfacing with Conotocaurius! You'll fry his mind if you wake him!"
PoH blinked. "Oh. But do we have to use him?"
"Why does it matter? Was it not your intention to kill him?"
"It is but not like this." PoH envisioned a great duel, he wanted Kirito to watch everything he had built brought to dust. He wanted to torture his friends in front of him and turn him mad. That's why PoH saved his pretty blonde girlfriend, to better torture her in front of him and drive him mad.
"Do it, now! The runes are at its most weak! There is no better time!" he hissed.
PoH sighed. Guess brain frying was good enough.
He walked to the armchair where Kirito was slumbering and shook his head. The boy, and he was most definitely no older than eighteen, looked almost peaceful sleeping. PoH didn't know why he was down here, but it was a good thing he was, he supposed.
He moved to grab him by the collar only to find he couldn't flex his fingers. "Wha-"
PoH brought his right hand up to his face, found that there was a bowie knife stuck through it, and his hand had turned into solid gold. "What."
Kirito arose, wrenched the knife out of his wrist. Recognition flashed in his eyes. He said nothing as he kicked him away. PoH fell and tripped over, unbelieving what he was experiencing.
"Throatcutter!" he called out, but Kirito didn't hear him. The merchant turned around and threw his knife at the mages. The enchanted blade turned parts of the rope into gold and wizard and apprentice broke through.
Professor Ramza summoned his mace to him and blasted lightning at the Heresiarch's back, knocking him and his magical artefacts to the ground. The chains stopped rattling and at the same time, the door exploded into splinters as a bone blade decapitated the Brave.
"No." PoH shook his head. "No, no, no ..."
"Assassin! Defend me!" he croaked.
"Professor! Ava! I know a way to contain Conotocaurius and fend off the undead horde! A spell!" Kirito yelled.
"How?!"
"I'll tell you later! I'll help you prepare it!"
Looking up, he saw that reinforcements indeed had come: the blue haired hunter, the Rat, and the damnable elf. His right hand was useless now. He could not defeat them, even had he not been an amputee.
But if there was one thing PoH had learned in all his time in organised crime was the value of retreat. He dashed to where the summoning circle was and bit the thumb of his left hand.
"Fool! Assassin! You owe me-"
Light surrounded him and once again, he found himself in the Heresiarch's tent. His apprentices surrounded him and looked most confused. "Lord? What are -"
Months of planning. Months of scouting. All undone in an instant, just because PoH had forgotten to check if Kirito had a backup weapon. He laughed. He laughed at the absurdity of it all. The bastard. That fucking bastard.
The apprentices raised in the tents raised their staves. "Assassin, explain yourself now!"
Oh, he had no time for this bullshit. "Fine. Here's my answer," he said, and split the man's head in half.
The great thing about necromancers, their spells are really, really powerful. The other great thing about necromancers, being a corpse-diddler and out of shape bookworms meant you were absolutely useless in melee. He never had killed a group of people with his non-dominant hand before.
PoH exited the tent, bloodied head to toe, madness in his eyes. PoH mounted his horse and rode away. As he crested the hill, he saw a great fire surrounding the fort as an army of spirits poured out of the Fort and another army attacking the horde from the flanks. They were finished. He was finished.
He galloped into the early morning mists, clutching his right golden hand, plotting his vengeance.
It is written in the Annals of the Eternal Watch, by the Steward and Annalist Tupi, on the third night of the Tournament of Wicase, that the following events happened:
Lord Kirito, CEO of the Kirito Corporation, with the assistance of Professor Ramza and his Apprentice Ava, from the Department of Wards and Curses of the University of Medina An-Nur, performed a spell that revived the dead Watchmen of the fort. They marched out, looking as healthy and hale as they were in the prime of their life, some ten thousand warriors in total, one tenth to the walls of Fort Eternal Vigilance, the rest marching into the field. At the same time, the forces of Asuna, Warchief of the Eternal Watch, Head of Security of the Kirito Corporation, with the assistance of the Sisters of Saint Olga and Hopeful Rays from Behind the Cloud, Brother-Ghazi of Suyufa al-Shams, and Ser Reginald Warwick of Fort Arrowhead, set the enemy's tents and wizards alight with Holy Fire.
Trapped between the rallied forces of the Watch and the spirits of Watch's greatest generation, the horde stood no chance against the assault. By mid-morning, they were annihilated to the last zombie, dwarf and beaver alike. A few of the beavers of the Castoridae League swam upriver to escape the fire and slaughter. When the slaughter was complete, the spirits of the watch disappeared and returned to their tombs beneath the fort, to await and answer their final call on the day of Eternal Chaos. By afternoon, the reinforcements from the City of Mankhlar led by Roger Lionel Emeri came to, bearing soldiers, healers and food.
It was revealed that Lord Kirito had communed with the spirit of the Conotocaurius, and through wile and guile, had deceived the Prisoner into revealing a spell to revive the Watch's Honoured Dead. As the Fort had gone into decline, much of the well kept crypts beneath were collapsed, left to the passing of time that even I, Annalist of the Watch, had shamefully forgotten of its existence. The saboteurs were able to hide themselves within the Fort and plot their dastardly deeds. This spell was what ultimately allowed the Watch to fend off the horde, as was the leadership of Warchief Asuna, the mettle of the Watch, and our comrade-in-arms.
Lord Kirito was quoted as saying: "This was some Dead Men of Dunharrow shit right there." He did not elaborate what he meant by this or where Dunharrow is.
But more heroics are to be written, as the forces of the Watch are to tend to the living and dead alike, and the final touches to . Yeoman Pierre Dupont and his fellow settlers, Old Lady Ohkwáho and her family, the two alchemists helping tend to the wounded in the infirmary, the bard who raised our spirits doing our darkest hour, the chef with his delicious burgers and - and -
Tupi set his quill down. "Miss Yuuki. If you do not mind, I am quite busy. Aren't you supposed to help Miss Asuna?"
The girl looked awful, with her hair messed up and a bit of dried drool at the edge of her mouth. "No! I need to know what happened! I asked the others and no one's telling me!"
"Then you should have not slept during the battle!"
"Listen, old man, it's not my fault a growing girl needs her beauty sleep. I am God's eepiest soldier."
Tupi sighed. There was still so much work to be done.
And much work still. Next chapter next month, hopefully. A wrap up, and then, well, you know. The thing.
I was originally going to post this next month but I soldiered on and I'd appreciate some rebiews, so if you'd please, that'd be great, thanks.
Before you ask, no, I am not posting that here. That'd be on Ao3. You know how it is with this ancient website. Not even the Adeptus Mechanicus can keep this running for long.
See you later, folks.
