Fringes of Arkney Village
Tsuareninya watched the guards walk along the borders of the wall, making their rounds in the early afternoon of that day. Their gait was lax, with no sense of urgency or duty whatsoever. The village which they guarded did not face any sort of adversary in recent history.
The village she had chosen as her newest target was closer to the larger cities of Re-Estize, an auxiliary residential area where the peasants harvest crops for their nobility. However, in the case of this village, the people were growing a specific type of crop to harvest.
Under normal circumstances, this place would be a high-risk target, being so close to a city like E-Liberia, but our recent victories over the last two months have… emboldened me.
As per usual, she wondered if she was not being slightly overzealous in her string of conquests. What balanced this worry was the constant reassurance from His Highness that she was carrying out His will as planned. Having the weapon masters and surviving elders also helped to advise her on matters of military importance.
Over the last two months, she and her contingent of death lords carried out a series of conquests on vital targets that she discovered while reading over the late Destrus's notes in his office. Before his death, he had made a list of necessary areas he wished to attack to possibly cripple the operations of the corrupt nobility of Re-Estize.
His only limitation, at the time, was that he lacked proper manpower and feared retaliation. The distance from the fortress and forest also posed a risk, but Tsuare deemed that with her current forces, the risks were currently worth it.
Attacking so many places in quick succession, relatively speaking, also helped to charge the artifact that the Weeping King granted her. It was called the Orb of Death, which her lord granted her as a gift. It was a rough, black thing, which whispered insidiously in her ear awful premonitions that she dared not repeat.
As it was, no one in the Knights was experienced enough to wield it properly. From what the surviving mages said about it, it needed to be "charged" with negative energy to make full use of its potential. Wherever her lord had gotten it, that orb radiated evil. If it were up to her, she would have smashed it and been done with it, but her lord demanded that she learn how to use it.
So she carried it on her person during battle, allowing the orb to feed on the death left in the death lords' wake. With their tactics, there was no shortage of energy for it to gorge on. A primary problem was that she was starting to run out of convenient targets.
She had conquered most of the villages as close to the forest, converting them to worship of the Weeping King. Some were willing participants, open to negotiation, and willing to listen to reason. The reputation of Destrus Desmodus proved a valuable asset, even outside of his home village. Like Gazef Stronoff, he was seen as a hero of the people.
"Miss Tsuare, ma'am, how are we to go about with this village? Shall we go in for a full-frontal assault, or are we going to try and negotiate first as you did for the other villages?"
She looked over her shoulder, seeing one of the men she brought along with her for today's raid. He was a willing volunteer from one of the peacefully converted villages, who wanted to escape his humble home and make a name for himself as a warrior. He was one of many other younger men and even women who joined her.
They were well armored and armed with a standard sword and shield, though a few were wielding maces and hammers. Their training with the weapon masters and their choice of armaments seemed to be influencing the fledgling warriors.
Currently, they were taking cover behind a collection of large hills, which would serve as the staging ground of their assault. All of them were either lying down or sitting, out of sight of the village but giving them just enough vantage to crawl over the crest and spy.
"I promise to walk up and give them a chance to surrender. I don't want you to get your hopes up, however, since this particular place holds a vested importance to the nobility. It is not a good place, and it is likely to be manned by people who are less than admirable," she reassured.
"You mentioned that they were growing some kind of drug here, right? I say that we just level the place and be done with it," another man grumbled. "If it's the same 'Black Dust' that my uncle was huffing, I'll burn every last damn crop and put their guards to the sword."
Others in the group muttered their agreement. Tsuare made sure to share as much as was reasonable about the nature of this place with her trainees so that they understood their mission. Destrus had, through connections with spies in said villages, learned that secret farms were growing a potent drug known as Black Dust.
To her understanding, it was widely popular in the major cities of Re-Estize, but it occasionally made the rounds in the smaller villages just outside the fields where the crop used to make the drug was grown. It was highly addictive, but what made it strange was that there were no visible side effects from prolonged use.
At least, until the user dropped dead in the middle of the day for no apparent reason.
"Not everyone is guilty of willingly going along with such evil actions, though I doubt that with how hidden these places are. The chances are rather low," she admitted.
Tsuare turned back to watch the village. "I'll go up by myself while I try to speak with them. Do not come over the hill until I signal for you. Do not worry about my safety either, as a death lord has attached itself to my shadow."
There were looks of concern among her group of trainees, but the one who spoke first nodded for all of them. That man had become an unofficial second in command of sorts since Hannibal did not accompany her this time. She smiled to soothe any lingering doubts they had, tucked her helmet under her arm, and then stood up.
She walked over the crest of the hill and directly towards the main gate in full view of the pair of guards standing above it. She straightened her posture as best she could, trying to give off an aura of calm confidence.
It wasn't long until a guard spotted her, pointing at her in alarm. The stature of both tensed, glaring at her in suspicion as she came closer.
"Halt! That's far enough! Do not come any closer, or we'll have an archer fire an arrow through your throat!" yelled the guard on the left, while the one on the right unslung a bow and strung an arrow.
She held up her free hand placatingly. "There is no need for violence, I come here in peace! I offer terms of negotiation for you and the ones who live in this village to consider."
The archer scoffed. "Little lady, I don't know if you know this or not, but this here is private land. We are not interested in anything you have to say, unless it's to turn around and go back the way you came or if you're with our bosses. Considering we received no notice of any visitors, you're not with our bosses."
"No, I am not, but I promise that you'll want to hear what I have to say since it could save your lives!"
Both guards shared a bewildered glance, before focusing on her again. "Is this some kind of joke? We're not going to warn you again! Either leave or be filled with arrows! We're not interested in anything you have to say."
Tsuare sighed at their stubbornness. "Very well, I'll just get straight to the point. Stand down and offer your fealty to the Knights of the Weeping King, burn down the Black Dust crops you're growing, and you and everyone else in there can walk away with your lives. This is a one-time deal, please don't make me resort to drastic measures."
The main reason she was trying so hard to not have to unleash the death lords was that she did not wish to frighten her trainees too badly. They were still getting used to the undead the mages summoned to aid in house duties around the fortress. They hadn't seen yet what sort of carnage they were capable of.
Most of their experience about their bloodlust came from stories. She knew sooner or later, the new members would have to see firsthand what they do, but she'd rather offer a way out for her future foes as she did with every Black Dust village.
Unfortunately, the whistling of an arrow was their answer, aimed directly at her throat. Her shadow shifted around her body, and a massive arm and tower shield materialized to block it in the blink of an eye. Startled gasps came from the guards, and Tsuare can see the fear on their faces.
"I see. Don't say I didn't warn you."
The death lord in her shadow leaped out with a booming roar, clearing the distance and landing directly on the wall. It instantly crushed the pair of guards into a bloody mess, cracking the wall under the sheer weight of its bulk.
Other death lords appeared around it, joining in their brethren's war cry. One of them carried a stone pillar as tall as it was, ready to place the future statue of their liege in the village center. There were horrified cries from inside the village walls, other guards who saw the surprise group of legendary undead at their doorstep.
The village gate collapsed completely, ripping a hole in their defense wide enough to let all six of them through. Already the undead was tearing through the resistance, taking sadistic glee in slaughtering the corrupt men in their path.
"Everyone, to me! For the Weeping King!" she cried loud enough for those over the hill to hear her. They responded in turn with a battle cry, stampeding to join her. She put her helmet on and began to stroll forward, content to let her lord's servants do their part.
Unsheathing Heat Striker, she made it past the wall just as her group caught up to her, waving their weapons in a challenge. She could sense excited anxiety from them, lapping at her back in waves. Their battle cries died in their throat just as they caught sight of what the death lords were exactly doing. She couldn't help but wince when she heard a slight whimper from one of her warriors.
One death lord was surrounded by a group of guards that jabbed at it with pikes. It swung around in a circle, slashing every man in half in an oddly fascinating spray of crimson gore. Their death cries were strangled, their lungs collapsing in on themselves as they quite literally fell out of their body.
Another was stomping down on its prey like a child with ant hills, a sickening squish bubbling out of the bodies. When it was done crushing the guards, it used its shield to send men flying into either other groups of guards or directly through walls.
A third one, the one which carried the mighty pillar of stone, used that as a battering ram. Any barracks it came across were smashed to splinters, dousing the rock in the blood of its victims. Shadows that flowed from its armor cleaned off the spatters, for the most part.
I wish these servants could understand the importance of less brutal fighting styles, as much as I appreciate it at times. We are here to claim this land in the name of our lord, not wantonly slaughter everything in our path unless it's necessary.
The queasy expressions of her charges were proof that her thoughts were somewhat in the right. Death lords would be death lords, she supposed. The Orb of Death grew heavier in her pocket with each death in that village.
Heat Striker's edge glowed in response to a rushing guard, who held his sword at chest level and tried to make himself as tiny a target as possible. Tsuare mentally commended the man for his tactic and then cut him down from shoulder to groin in one strike. The smell of burning leather filled the air.
"You'll still be training for such occasions, but I want you to pay attention to what I just did," she said to her group, gesturing to the bisected corpse, "Despite what the death lords are doing, you will be facing men such as these, who will use the chaos of battle to try and get the drop on you."
"They will not be honorable. They will not give you any mercy. Some men may, but do not take that as the default. Unless they outright surrender, always assume that they will die fighting for their employers because the only thing that shines brighter than a sword is a coin that fills his pouch."
When she first began her crusade, she imagined the way she spoke would have frightened her old self terribly. She would have fainted at the miraculous displays of magic and unnatural amounts of blood. That little voice of hers in the back of her head would be whispering desperately for her to drop everything and leave.
Now… These last couple of months hardened her heart. She still recalled that man from the processing camp she destroyed, the one where she was dehumanized into a slave. The fear in his eyes spoke of a man who didn't know any better, or rather who had no other options in life. She was not wrong in sparing him, but she couldn't give all her enemies such a luxury.
What would my sister think of me if she could see me now? Would she even recognize the person I've become? Can I?
Rather than answer, she kept marching on, dutifully leading the pups of the Weeping King to their end goal. The fighting was gradually declining, as the last of the guards were killed or began to flee. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that some of the dead began to rise again, their mangled bodies becoming zombies for the death lords to command.
That was an ability she saw fairly well in the early battles. Each death lord by themselves could easily destroy a town or even city, and it was because of their power to passively resurrect their prey into more undead warriors.
They reached the village center, the pillar carrier setting his cargo down and stepping back. Every death lord in attendance began to bang their swords and shields together, a hellish noise that deafened everything else. Tsuare could barely think, her teeth rattling in her jaw from the constant booming.
A dark cloud formed over the pillar, the pure essence of the Weeping King Himself. He was not there presently, but he could remotely send bits of his power to help carve out the chosen image of Himself. In His graciousness, He promised to make the statues for his followers until a proper artisan was trained among the Knights.
With shadowy tendrils, sheets of rock were slashed off, speedily creating the desired shape. Tsuare always wondered what the significance of this particular image meant to her lord. Was it perhaps a former appearance of his that he was particularly fond of? She did not ask, since she had found herself slightly disgraced when she had lost one of his precious death lords to those noblemen in Alenbonne.
Recent events had infuriated her lord as well, especially when he discovered the "guest" that attached itself to her and followed her back to the fortress. She could still recall that day vividly in her mind, the day of her first failure.
The Weeping King always exuded a quiet, deadly aura that held its gravity. Tsuare did not doubt in her mind that if He so wished, she would be smashed into a paste by His will alone. It wouldn't be difficult, since she was already kneeling as she gave her report of what happened in Alenbonne.
Currently, they were speaking in their room Destrus. She could feel that pressure on her shoulders, preventing her from standing upright. It pushed against her from all angles, holding her in its grasp. Her muscles strained just too much to even flinch. At best, she could lift her head, seeing that her master was seething.
"What a pity, that one of my chosen suffered such a loss," He said with great restraint. "My wolf was entrusted with a member of my entourage, and not only does she take it on a standard mission to explore the home village of Destrus, but it is slain by a magic caster of all people."
She got the impression that He wasn't exactly talking down to her, but that the incredulity of what occurred in Alenbonne suspended Him in disbelief. He was furious to be certain, just not at her. Unfortunately, His power was magnitudes enough to still affect her.
"Tell me, Tsuareninya, did these 'noblemen' give you their names? Did you and Hannibal manage to glean anything useful at all?"
"The chaos almost made me forget, my lord, but I believe I caught their names. There were two men and a woman, named Peroroncino, Ulbert, and Dynamite, respectively."
Immediately, the pressure alleviated from her body. She hadn't realized the weight of His aura was beginning to smash her ribcage, making her involuntarily gasp. Undead, by their nature, did not have facial muscles to show off expressions, and yet Tsuare could have sworn that when she looked upon her lord, he appeared stunned.
His jaw opened and closed repeatedly, astounding the leader of the Knights. The fierce undead was, for the first time that Tsuare had seen, at a complete loss for words. He also seemed confused, as if He didn't understand the names either.
To her best guess, it was possible her lord recognized one or two of them but did not recognize the rest. Personally, all of the names sounded odd even for foreign nobility. She would never understand the eccentricities of such people unless it was about their near-limitless capacity for cruelty.
The Weeping King began to pace in front of her, muttering to Himself. He spoke so fast and so low that she could barely catch what He was saying, but one single word kept coming up over and over again in the span of His self-rant: Ainz.
It felt like a special word, the way he said it. It was not for her to understand, for to try and understand anything that her god did felt like folly. In time, perhaps the answer would reveal itself to her, or He would deign to share the word's meaning.
As he kept pacing, a certain sense of… wariness grew within Tsuare. If she didn't know, she would say that her lord was nervous, scared even. Such an idea was absurd, but the longer her lord kept pacing, the more this wariness continued to develop roots in her heart.
It nearly reached a boiling point when he suddenly stopped. That quiet fear she did not quite believe came from her lord, not unlike a child when scolded or fearful of scolding, vanished completely. It was as if it never existed in the first place.
He had reached a consensus with Himself, she thought. "Thank you for sharing with me, my wolf. I shall ponder on the meaning of those names for a while. Despite the loss of the death lord, it was not directly your fault, so I shall be merciful this time."
She bowed her head in gratitude. "I understand. I'll strive to be more proactive in the future, and to try and avoid situations where your servants might be put in unnecessary danger."
"Do not worry about such things. What occurred was a fluke, although the nobles you mentioned are somewhat worrisome. I will take care of things, so all you have to do is complete your mission and bring me my offerings-"
He stopped mid-sentence, focusing on her intensely. Tsuare's heart leaped into her throat, briefly thinking that her lord decided to punish her after all. Her pulse increased lethally when his hand shot out towards her, claws outstretched at her throat.
She yelped when His gauntlet brushed past her jugular and latched onto something behind her. An inhuman screech erupted, sounding louder than it should have in the stone walls of Destrus's old room. A feeling of something slimy being peeled off her back made her shiver, grabbing her biceps and rubbing them to try and warm up.
In front of her, the Weeping King held up a writhing, shapeless mass that clung to His fingers. It tried to escape every which way, but could not evade her lord's adamantine grip.
"It seems those three nobles are smarter than they look! They attached a shadow demon to you, likely hoping to spy on us and learn all our secrets. It is good such creatures cannot elude my sight, not when I am a creature of darkness myself."
A profound sense of horror drained the blood from her face. "This… this was attached to me? Am I-Was I going to die? Would it have killed me or held me, hostage, in exchange for information?"
"No, not unless it was commanded to. This one seems to be primarily for surveillance and would have done nothing until it was discovered. My levels allow me to be aware of such creatures, and to dominate them into submission."
To show what He meant, circles of dark-red runes appeared around His forearm. "[Dominate], [Memory Alteration]."
The shadow demon stopped wriggling, appearing calm in the Weeping King's grasp. He brought it closer to His face, growling softly, "You will say nothing of what has occurred here. You will act as if Tsuareninya Veryon is merely a servant, working towards her goal. She did not meet with me, and she will not meet with me for the foreseeable future. Report back to your master with this info as if you were being a good little pawn."
The creature made a motion like it was nodding. The powerful undead lord let it go and it reattached itself to Tsuare. She watched as it melted into her shadow, which she expected to hurt but felt nothing. Her stomach turned itself into knots.
"Those who sent this creature should not see the deception that has happened. It will act as if we never met here, and that you are simply following the will of a god who has not yet appeared to you. You should be safe."
There was an unspoken "for now" that the young girl felt was attached at the end there. Nonetheless, she bowed again for His aid. "I-I will get to work right away, planning my next expedition. I shall not let you down!"
"See to it that you do not."
And with that, Her master dissolved into darkness, back to whatever realm He inhabited when He didn't grace her with His presence. Having revealed the new guest that was attached to her, though, Tsuare knew that so long as she enacted her lord's will, she was never truly alone.
For better or for worse.
A few days later, the Fortress of the Weeping King
Tsuare was watching over the same group of fledgling warriors again. They were in the main training arena where she had learned her first-ever martial art, which held significance in her heart. She hoped that, with time, these new arrivals might also find the place endearing, where they first began their journey as seasoned warriors.
"Come on you, pathetic weaklings! Your leader took the time out of her day to come and watch you all! At least put your backs into your swings you fucking ingrates!"
"Sir, please! Don't you think you're being a bit too dramatic?!-"
SLAM!
She winced at seeing the poor boy being sent flying through the air, crashing into a crate of leather armor that once was reserved for inductees such as herself. The Warhammer weapons master was in a cheerful mood today.
Even with only one arm, the veteran had the strength to wield his signature weapon with deadly efficiency, striking blows that could crack bones through pure plate armor. The inductees were doing their best, trying to utilize flanking tactics on the singular man.
Two of them managed to get behind him, jabbing at the small of his back. It was a decent attack that would have crippled a less equipped man on the battlefield. Unfortunately for them, the weapons master only wore the heaviest armor, so thick and tightly packed Tsuare wondered how he moved as fast as he did.
The Warhammer wielder laughed. "That's the spirit! Maybe if you bit harder than mosquitoes you might've hurt me!"
In an elaborate show of brute strength, he spun with his hammer out, windmilling an unlucky woman into a nearby wall. At the last second, he slammed his hammer down with such force he cracked the floor, making the flanking pair stumble.
From there, they were quickly knocked down, groaning from "light" taps to their guts. At the beginning of the fight, there had been five of them standing and ready to go. There was currently only one person left.
Tsuare nearly recoiled as if she was still out on the training floor when the weapons master turned to face the last man, her "second in command" during the fighting at Arkney Village. The cruel satisfaction on her old teacher's face made her squirm.
"I guess that just leaves you then," he said, raising his massive hammer to point at the inductee. "Tsuare tells me you were quite the influential member among your ragtag band of misfits out there. Let's see if your bite can back up your bark."
That inductee, only slightly older than her, shot her an appreciative look that also asked "why?!". She smiled as encouragingly as she could, but her fear for what would happen to him must have shown on her face since the boy in turn paled.
He was no one special, just some blond-haired, blue-eyed farmhand that wanted excitement. Tsuare imagined he was regretting that line of thought right now.
"I-I can only promise that I will do my damndest to make you all proud of me," the boy said, unable to keep the waver out of his voice. The weapons master chuckled balefully in response.
"Pride? We don't do pride until you accomplish something worthy of our respect here. You're all green around the gills, only a few months into your training. You have a long ways to go before you make me proud of you, child."
The way he said that made it seem like he was directing it toward not just the inductee, but everyone else in the room. The defeated, hurting trainees barely could sit up to watch how this final bout went.
However, the way the weapons Master gave her a side eye, she got the impression that it wasn't just the inductees that he was talking about. After all, those five were a few among a couple of dozen that filled their ranks now.
It's only fair. I got shoved into this position as a whim of fate from the Weeping King. He chose me, yes, but relatively speaking, I'm still green myself as a leader.
Tsuare pursed her lips at the thought. Between all the battles and planning out their next target, she recognized that it had only been a short amount of time for everyone. At the beginning of the year, the Knights of the Weeping King were a force to be reckoned with, a shield against the greed of the criminal underworld. Nobles were just one part of it, a part she could only indirectly reach.
They were slowly gaining back some numbers, but one of their primary issues was replacing the magic casters who created the bulk of their organization. One or two of the new arrivals had a penchant for magic, but it would take nearly twice as long to properly train them up as a warrior could be, and that was if the prospective mages had the potential in the first place.
The death lords helped out majorly in that regard since they passively raised slain enemies. Every time Tsuare returned with them from their battles, the surviving mages always made sure to bring them to specialized storage rooms until the undead were needed again.
Without dedicated necromancers like they used to have, replenishing undead forces was slow, too slow for her taste. Thankfully, she was informed by her lord that something else was coming up, a way to regain the glory of the Knights and bolster her reputation as a leader.
In the span that she was sorting through all of these thoughts, she noticed her surroundings darkened from something above her. She looked up in time to see the horrified look of the boy flying over and straight into the wall. With his defeat, that officially meant that today's training session was over.
The Warhammer weapon master's nostrils flared. "Such as it is, I guess. I have another batch of these whelps to take care of, so you're all dismissed. Go and nurse your wounds, think about what you did wrong today. We'll go over some drills first thing tomorrow."
He hefted his hammer and rested it on his shoulder. The inductees groaned as they stood up, helping one another and limping out of the room. Nothing usually came out of the training room unbroken when a weapons master was teaching that day, whether it be their bones or their spirit.
"You would think that, despite the heavy losses we suffered, you might go a little easier on the villagers that came here," Tsuare lightly suggested.
"Ha! Then you still have much to learn as a leader. If anything, I should be working them all twice as hard to get them to battle-ready status," her elder huffed, "Undead or not, we're knights first. Living minds will always trump the empty skulls of skeletons, so we need hot-blooded warriors in the field."
"Surely you must also recognize that we won't have such people if we end up breaking their spines. The Weeping King does demand bloodshed, yes, but he wants us to bring him more capable servants. We can't have capable servants if we destroy their spirits."
"Oh, is that a fact? Is that what our god-chosen leader has to say about it? Alright, fine, whatever. I promise not to swing my hammer as hard tomorrow."
The weapon master began to walk out of the room, "You've got guts, commander, I'll give you that. Not even Destrus got the chance to lead death lords into battle, but you're still too new to go down in history as among our greatest. You're going to need a swan song to accomplish that."
It was just Tsuare left alone in that room. Her cheeks felt hot and she hung her head since there was no one around to see her act so glum. The weight on her shoulders grew heavier from the words of the weapon master, unable to completely shield herself from the sting of his words.
For a moment, she allowed herself to deflate. The months had not been kind to her mind, every battle wearing her down in a way that not even sleep could give her respite. A "swan song"? She had heard the term before, to describe the last accomplishment of previous leaders of the Knights.
So I either have to die while performing my greatest deed or right before I retire. How does my Lord handle such pressures every day?
That was a stupid question. He was a god, and gods did not need the help of others to handle their responsibilities. Before joining with the Knights, she recalled disjointed stories of the Four Great Gods and their deeds, single-handedly bringing together nations and gathering the people as one.
Such adventures were beyond mortal hands. She was just thankful she had the experience of the Weeping King Himself to help her along her journey. Besides, she was still freshly anointed. Likely she had a few more years to hone her edge and become a truly worthy leader, or, if she still felt she was not up to the task, she could always pass on the mantle to someone else once their organization was rebuilt.
Turning on her heel, she began to make her way back up to Destrus's private quarters, passing by the living quarters of her peers so that she might say hello along the way. One of those rooms belonged to the inductees, of which she saw that about two dozen of them were seated on their bunks, getting ready for their next duties of the day.
Time could be difficult to tell in the Fortress, since they were completely sealed off from the outside world besides the one portal leading inside. Usually, they had clocks that served as their frame of reference, which had originally been gifts passed down from the Weeping King to his followers over the generations.
Each one was meticulously maintained to help everyone living in the Fortress keep track of time and their duties since they did more than just train all day. There were a variety of chores that each member was responsible for, and was dependent upon a rotation decided upon a few weeks in advance.
Such chores included equipment maintenance, house cleaning, kitchen duty, night watch, watchtower patrol in the outside world, scribe work of important documents, community outreach, and more.
Hannibal crossed her path, the massive farm boy carrying a bucket and mop. She smiled at him, taking comfort in his calm disposition. "Do be sure not to be too harsh with the others who got this duty. I'd hate to start receiving requests to transfer out because they didn't keep the place spotless."
Being a man of few words, he mocks saluted her in response with his ghost of a smile. Trailing right after him was a trio of brothers that were among their newest recruits. Every single one of them gave the same "village idiot" impression, which reminded her to make sure they never carried a sword onto the battlefield.
Passing them, she decided she needed to check on the necromancers, to see their progress when it concerned the undead they currently had and what their status was. The path to reach the storage room was not a well-known one, requiring specific knowledge of where to go to reach it.
In the hallway leading up to Destrus's old quarters, she stopped at an unassuming section of the wall. She had to feel around the bumpy rock for what she was searching for but found a portion that felt less solid than others, almost springy to the touch.
Pressing on it, the section of wall grated on hidden hinges and swung inward, revealing another hallway. Right as she stepped through, the doorway closed, sealing her from the rest of the fortress. A torch rested on a handle on the wall, alit with purple flame.
Grabbing it, she made the rest of her trek in good time, reaching another door that resembled the vault of the Weeping King. There was no special mechanism to open it, so she just made her way inside.
The pungent stench of decay assaulted her nose, almost making her gag. She wished she brought a linchpin to plug her nose, but she'd make do with her hand for now. She put the torch on a handle right next to her.
The room itself was circular in design, with a railed pit situated at the direct center of it. Along the backend of the wall was a set of stairs that led downwards, a spiral staircase that spanned the equivalent of a grain silo in a wealthy village.
There was just one necromancer on duty that day, wearing the black, traditional robes of a mage. His face was obscured by a cloth, and he wore a wide-brimmed hat that covered everything else except his blue eyes. He was jotting down something in a notebook he was carrying when he spotted her.
"Hail, Commander Tsuare! Come to see the progress we've made thus far. Sorry about the smell, but would you like a facial cloth to help?" Called out the mage tending to the storage room.
"That would be appreciated, thank you," she said, walking over and reaching for the outstretched cloth. As soon as she put it on, the smell receded. She breathed gratefully for the enchanted cloth.
"I do apologize for dropping in on you like this, but I did want to make sure that our reserves are at what they should be. Given the last couple of months, I'd think that the alcoves are close to full."
The necromancer in charge for the day grimaced. "About that… I don't think we're nearly as ready as you are hoping."
"What do you mean? Have the death lords not supplied enough undead to replenish our undead forces? Surely we haven't been using up too many in the course of menial duties," she asked incredulously.
"It's not that, commander. We haven't used any up at all but rather we just don't have enough. Come here and see for yourself what I mean."
He led her to the railing that surrounded the pit. Looking down, she saw the full extent of the spiral staircase that led down into murky gloom. The bottom could not be seen, but that did not matter. What did was that along the walls where the staircase was built, there were alcoves carved out that were deep. Inside each alcove was fitted a couple of dozen undead, one in front of the other.
Because of how much space this storage room took up, Tsuare guessed it to be situated further into the mountain, than any other room made in the Fortress. It might have been… behind the Vault of the Weeping King? She'd need a map to be certain.
"My apprentices and I have been filling them up as best we can, but your death lords are so vicious that many of the undead they bring back are highly damaged. From what I've seen of your handiwork, commander, they, ah, tend to waste a lot of valuable material in their conquest of the targets," the necromancer explained.
Tsuare hummed, rubbing her chin. "I know full well what you mean. It's a shame, really, but I dare not command them any further than I already do. They are His Highness's entourage lent to me, after all."
"That is understandable, but that means that we are nowhere near our true capacity. If anything, I'd argue that we're barely breaking past half of what we could fully hold. We're built to house hundreds, possibly thousands of troops. It's a pity we could not employ them in full when the Death Spreading Brigade attacked."
Sadly, this was true. From what she read of Destrus's old reports, he had been trying to lessen their reliance on the use of undead auxiliary. Even before the attack on the fortress, their undead numbers were low. If she recalled his exact words correctly, she believed he said in his reports that he wished "to project a more humane outlook."
Which was fine. It probably helped with recruitment efforts back then, as Tsuare wasn't even aware the Knights used undead until about a couple of months into her training. It was why she didn't introduce the inductees to the death lords yet and still used the chore system instead of having the undead do all the work.
As it was, on the other hand, their situation called for more desperate measures. The nobles from Alenbonne proved that the death lords were not indestructible. She needed to collect as many undead as her necromancers could handle, to complete her mission.
"I see," she said "Then I'll just need to look elsewhere for the undead. Perhaps the death lords possess an [Dominate] ability like the Weeping King, or have you made any leeway with the magically gifted recruits from the villages? What about the orb?"
The Necromancer shook his head. "I'm sorry, commander. Magic like necromancy is a hard art to master, since it is, well, unnatural to say the least. Many of our experienced teachers perished in the assault, as you well know. Those of us who remained were either barely out of training or still undergoing it ourselves. Creating the numbers we need to fill our storage rooms would require a level of mastery only the old mages were capable of. Don't even get me started on the orb, since it evades our every effort to utilize it."
"I guess then we pray a miracle drops out of the sky and provides an army at the snap of our fingers."
"That, or someone else like our liege appears to grant us the knowledge we need. You wouldn't happen to have anyone like that in your back pocket, would you?"
Their light joking helped to disperse the tense air. The Weeping King could likely summon a host of powerful undead as he pleased. The fact he only provided the death lords their support meant one thing to Tsuare, which became more prominent over the months.
We are being tested. To become wolves means using everything at our disposal. We cannot rely on handouts forever, and the generosity of our lord will only go so far. As a leader, this is my greatest obstacle to overcome.
Briefly, her mind wandered to the Orb of Death. After her successful capture of Arkney, she gave it back to the mages for further study. Any day now she was expecting them to inform her of a breakthrough. They had learned a few secrets from the magical item, hinting at how the mages could make use of it.
It wanted to be used, that much was certain, and yet it refused to give them a straight answer. From the little whispers she listened to, it wanted someone "worthy". Who could be among them might reveal themselves in time.
"Ah, Commander Tsuare! Before I forget to say something, one of the other mages wanted to see you. He would have remained here, but pressing matters forced him to leave. He'll meet you in the scrying room our lord set up."
Her concerns were raised slightly. "I wish I'd known beforehand so I could've saved the trip. Thank you for letting me know anyways."
The necromancer bid her farewell, the young girl already knowing where she needed to go. Making her way back down the hallway and ensuring the secret door was adequately closed, she went in the same direction as if she were going to the Fortress's main atrium.
In that shared space, where various knights, inductees, and other individuals went about, she went to a simple room that was inconspicuous. She knocked on it twice and then waited patiently for the door to open.
A young mage poked his head out. "Commander! You made it! Come in, quickly! You'll want to see this!"
Tsuare was ushered inside, taking care to avoid bumping into a stack of reports haphazardly set in her oath. Glancing around she could see that the scrying room was, for lack of a better term, a mess.
It was a spacious room with a couple of desks for the scryers to sit at, originally used for filing reports that Destrus couldn't be bothered with. Recently it had been converted, a large, ornate mirror set up against the wall that was provided by the Weeping King. The purpose of which was to keep an eye on their conquered villages.
I'm not so worried about the villages that converted willingly, but those that I had to take by force. The day our numbers reach capacity will be a welcome blessing indeed.
"It seems we may be dealing with a situation on our hands," the mage began, dabbing his forehead with a cloth. "I've been keeping tabs on the villages, as you ordered, and came across this scene at one of your recent victories. Take a look."
Tsuare looked at the mirror, where she saw a scene of a dilapidated farm, the fields behind it on fire. She recognized it as one of the fields used for Black Dust, a diminutive operation compared to a place like Arkney.
What caught her attention was the group of five women that stood dead center, gazing up at the statue of the Weeping King that was left behind. They were clustered together, on the defensive.
At their head stood a young woman with long blond hair, braided with a blue rose. Her armor was noble and radiated wealth, with colors like sky blue, pure white, and velvet red traced with gold making up the bulk of its scheme. This woman was beyond beautiful, such that Tsuare couldn't begin to properly describe her. She was likely to attract suitors from across the land for her hand.
Someone she thought was a man stood next to the leader, towering over everyone else in the group. In actuality, she turned out to be an overly muscular woman. A tiara sat on her head, contrasting heavily with the crimson plate armor and war pick she carried.
A pair of slender twins was there as well, differentiated by the blue and red bows they wore in their blond hair. Their dress was the same: mesh bodysuits with a half-breastplate and metal bracers. They bore the profile of assassins.
The last member of that group was the oddest one. Their body shape indicated they were a young child. A reddish robe covered them, making it troublesome to see distinguishing features. Were they a charge of the group, perhaps?
"Who are these people, Frederic?" Tsuare asked.
"They are, ah, adventurers, commander," Frederic said nervously. "Not just any adventurers, but adamantine-ranked ones at that!"
"Really? What are they called? You seem familiar with them, so anything you can tell me would be helpful."
"They are Blue Roses. A legendary adventurer's group, as bestowed by their ranking. I've seen them in action once when they helped to defeat a horde of ogres that threatened my home village years ago."
"Women of the people then? They look capable, but should their presence here at one of the farms put us on high alert?"
Frederic wiped his forehead again, looking so worried. Tsuare wondered if he was coming down with a fever of some kind.
"Not at all! Not at all! They don't know of us, precisely. I've heard stories that they tend to work closer to the capital, but that's as far as my knowledge goes. By the Weeping King, they are glorious! Such beautiful, fair maidens they are, especially the taller one."
His tone jolted Tsuare out of her professionalism. "I-I'm sorry, what?"
"Ah! I'm getting a bit ahead of myself commander. Don't mind me. I just look up to these women quite heavily. I'm a big fan of theirs, you see."
Tsuare realized that Frederic wasn't nervous, but incredibly excited. He was practically drooling at seeing Blue Roses. Please don't tell her she had been called all this way just to admire them with her scryer.
She cleared her throat. "Right. Here I was afraid that the Knights were going to have a problem. Is that… all?"
Frederic snapped out of it. "Apologies. Originally, I called you here because I wanted your advice on what we should do with this development. They have seen our handiwork, our operations. Should we bring them into the fold? Tell them what it is we are doing?"
Already, the young leader was shaking her head. "Unless they start showing hostile behavior we should leave them be. You said they saved your village from ogres once, right? They seem like good people, and I don't want to give them any more of a reason to come after us. Keep an eye on them, see what their purpose is, and report back to me."
"As you wish, commander."
Having settled that, Tsuare decided it was time to leave. As soon as she closed the door behind her, she sighed in relief.
"And here I was thinking the issue would be serious. Well, it could be, if we don't keep an eye on it. We just need to stay on the lookout, and I need to plan out our next attack. The paperwork never seems to end."
It's been a long time coming, but I know this is the right course of action. Warlington… You were too far away, but this string of victories has emboldened me. One way or another, our flag will fly over the ruins of your operation!
Content settled over her before a strange buzzing on her back interrupted her train of thought. The shadow demon attached to her was growing agitated, which meant only one thing.
The Weeping King returned and was waiting for her. Why? Had something else developed that she wasn't aware of? He would answer those questions for her, but with the two-month silence, His timing was curious.
It did not matter. He was here now, and that meant He had new orders for her. There was no delaying it. Warlington would have to wait, or maybe not, depending on how the conversation went.
Still, a strange pit in her gut told her that today's meeting was not going to be ordinary in the slightest.
In the Arntawa Sea
Ocean currents caressed his colossal scales gently, wearing down the sharper edges over time. The warmth of the waters was pleasing to his snout. A variety of ocean life brushed against his indomitable size, reminding him that he was not alone in the sea, even as he slumbered.
Those of the sea he did mind. He still maintained boundaries, especially with the sea god and his people. The non-sentient fish, however, did not mind. They did not know better. To them, he may as well be an ocean cliff that led off into the vastness of the abyss.
His fins gently swiveled, detecting changes in the water instantaneously. The muscles of his belly contracted when shifts in the earth, from as minuscule as a mouse digging a hole to a mountain cracking in two, were detected. They lay dormant for now.
Jormungandr, the world serpent, the bane of the thunder god, and master of the oceans, was taking a well-deserved rest on the ocean floor. He blew out air bubbles in his nostril, his version of a snore beneath the waves.
His thoughts slowed down. Whenever he pondered, it was only for a short time on a single subject. Today, he contemplated whether he would sit his head closer to the continent of Olari or the shores of Prunela. With Prunela, he'd be closer to his brother, but with Olari, he could keep an eye on his niece.
His niece…
His brows furrowed, causing an entire continental shelf to crack. An undersea earthquake began to erupt, only for his cheek to flinch and immediately stop it. He would not tolerate anything but his thoughts annoying him.
Olari had seen much change in such an inconsequential time. His niece and her friends arrived as part of the convergence a short while ago. With their arrival came a change in the tides, an instinctual reaction that reached down to his mammoth bones.
Apexes were not meant to delude themselves into dealing with lesser beings. His niece should have never entered his mind at all, not when he was resting. And yet the concern his brother showed for her meant he cared for her as well, if only by proxy.
His thoughts sped up, contemplating many things at once. Rest would not come easily to him. The black dragon had been invading his mind since he declared he would surrender the gauntlet to the dragon lords. His admission to Fenrir returned in full force, gnawing at his soul.
We are being… manipulated.
The muscles of his stomach contracted so harshly that he thought he got a cramp. His eyes immediately flew open, bathing an entire ravine in amber light. A host of eldritch horrors scuttled from his sight on all manner of tentacles, claws, and limbs.
His gaze turned toward Olari, where his instincts told him the earth boiled with malice. A series of tunnels was widening. Dug out by a host of insects controlled by the black dragon. An unnatural heat radiated from those tunnels, vicious talons trudging deeper into the dirt.
So you have begun to make your move. Is your return truly so assured? We shall see what the others make of your reveal, defiler.
To move without care was catastrophic. He would need days to plan his next move so that he did not accidentally sunder the world with his weight. Based on the frenzy of motion beneath Olari, that was about the right time. Whatever came next would coincide with his meeting with the dragon lords.
If the black dragon's plans were as they always were, this was intentional. Jormungandr was being mocked. The rage in his chest grew so hot that the water boiled and killed whole schools of fish in the vicinity. The shells of the mire-lurks nearby were cooked a bright red.
His movements would not go unnoticed by the sea god and his people. Good. Let them prepare themselves for his upheaval. The world serpent did not wait on the whims of mortals or their gods, even if, in the past, they had killed him and his brother.
Soon… his niece and her allies would be forced out of hiding. It would be rude to not prepare a proper gift for them. She was his family, whether by blood or bloodshed. The dragon lords would help them. They had to if he was to be so generous as to give up his prize to them.
It was just a waiting game. To see how the hierarchy of the world would again shift, and to see who might be buried beneath the rubble.
Hello dear readers,
I hope you're all doing well. I apologize for making you wait longer than usual for this latest chapter of mine. Unfortunately, this website is acting finicky for me, and I just barely got the ability to post new chapters. As an apology gift, I'd like you to know that chapters 51 and 52 are reaching completion, courtesy of a friend of mine on the Ashurbanipal Fanfic server I'm a part of. His name is Crit, and he has his own story called "Better the Devil you Know". I highly encourage you to check him out as a thank-you for the next two chapters.
As always, I want to thank my beta team for their help with editing this chapter and making it better. I also want to thank the entirety of the Library of Ashurbanipal fanfic server for their support. Without them, this story would not be possible. As an aside, I do wish to bring back more consistent author's notes like I used to. I miss being able to speak to you readers this way.
Until you collect the other eight!