TWI

There was a place in The Wandering Inn few people knew existed. Few people went there, even if they did know it was there.

Down the hallways that led up to the second floor, past the game rooms, the rec room, and yes, Erin had decided she needed both, the weights room, and even the bathing room, the wooden hallway branched right. If you kept going, you got to one of the private rooms, one of several entrances to the basement, and a closet, which held brooms and an emergency knife Numbtongue had placed on one of the shelves.

Walk a bit further, and you’d come to a suspiciously blank patch of wall that extended further than it should, with tiny ventilation holes. But there was no door, not even a hidden one, and there was only one room at the far, far end.

Even the drunk patrons of The Wandering Inn didn’t bother trying to explore that door, because it was locked and only a few people had the key. The door had a simple, chalkboard nameplate, which someone had neatly written an odd pair of words onto.

‘Altar Room’.

Inside, the wood flooring had been covered by a carpet which trailed up to a little platform, upon which was placed a pair of candlesticks. A few dressers had been installed to the walls of the room, but the main ornamentation were the chairs, filling the room for a congregation to sit in.

Of course, the imagery it evoked in layout had been changed for the true owners. The Antinium, when asked if they wanted a nice red carpet, had instead elected for a green one with little flowers sewn onto the fabric. Also, since giant, long-but-not-too-wide carpets weren’t in huge market demand, someone had bought three of the same color and put them together.

The altar was a coffee table. Someone had added a longer set of legs such that it was waist-high. That someone was actually the owner of the room, the very Antinium who it had been created for.

Pawn was no great [Carpenter], but he could do something as simple as add longer legs to an existing table. In other times, he would come here after a meal with the patrol he led up to the room. After they had taken in the common room, they would come here to sit, and he would tell them stories.

True stories. Parables. Complete and utter fiction. It varied from tales of actual events—embellished as Pawn saw them—to tales from another religion, or simply children’s stories. The Antinium who came with the [Priest] would listen, and then they would pray.

The Soldier who knelt in front of Pawn today understood all of what was normal. He had heard tales, though Antinium did not often speak, of how it happened.

You would likely be lucky enough to join the Painted Antinium after that. A meal of something other than the mushed paste that every Antinium ate, a chance to see the sky…and meet someone called ‘Erin’. Why this was a good thing, the Soldier had never known.

Yet he had wanted it. He had never wanted anything in his life of just over a year, but the day he had seen the first Painted Antinium…he had learned what ‘want’ was. What it was like to be jealous. And when he had seen the Painted Antinium walking behind the Individual holding the censer that wafted sweet incense through the dark Hive, seen the light of more than mere flame or magic…

He had felt something he could not name. It had no words. Nor was it even a good feeling, like sleep. It pushed at him. It was uncomfortable, even. A strange yearning, a sense of something that chilled and even scared him, like his first glimpse of the sky.

A void so vast and open he thought he would fall upwards into the fading orange beyond.

The Soldier beheld the Altar Room, and it was just as he’d known it would be. Yet…not the same.

There was no good food. No smiling young woman. The inn was dark. A Terrible Thing had happened.

Someone had hurt the [Innkeeper]. The person who made Painted Antinium possible, who had made this place.

The Soldier had never known her. But for all that he didn’t have…all that he had never known he wanted—he had volunteered for this.

The Soldier was the fifty-first Antinium to kneel in front of Pawn. When he looked up, he didn’t see much to set the [Priest] apart from another Worker. Oh, he had clothing instead of a loincloth and a few more scars on his chitin than a new Worker. The Soldier was almost disappointed—until he heard Pawn speak.

“Will you take up arms to defend the Hive? To do battle against our enemies? To become more than a Soldier? We are all bound to fight and die for the Free Hive of the Antinium. This is something else. When you march, you will march away from these walls. You may never return. But you will fight, and struggle, and die for something that belongs to you and all of us. Heaven. In this life and beyond. If you do not have that will, if you do not believe, go.”

It was the same line he had heard for the last fifty Soldiers and Workers in front of him, word for word. But when he looked up, the [Priest] looked at him.

No one had ever looked at him like that. The Soldier looked at Pawn and remembered the word.

Heaven.

Somewhere without fighting. Without dying or pain. Where food was good and everywhere. Where the little fuzzy things roamed about and no one would order you again. Incomprehensible, but what he had understood…called to him. As well as the rules.

You could not enter Heaven by dying alone. It was something Pawn had found, and it came to Antinium—but you had to wait. Wait in the darkness, fighting things, eating the same food…all for the reward that arrived only when you died. That was intolerable.

That was why you dreamed of joining a patrol, seeing the sky, and eating a bowl of soup.

Someone had shot the sky with six poisoned arrows. Someone had stolen the Soldier’s bowl of soup. He had not known Erin Solstice. But for a bowl of soup he never had, for the first moment of anger, the feeling that someone had taken something good from him, the Soldier looked up at Pawn.

For a dream of Heaven, a Soldier of the Free Antinium knelt.

A [Crusader] rose in his place. He turned and walked past the line of waiting Antinium, feeling…odd. The Workers and Soldiers looked at him as if he were different, and he was.

He was a [Crusader] now. A warrior of faith.

He had no paint.

He had no name.

But since he was a [Crusader], the Soldier decided he was Crusader 51. It would do, like Archer B12 or the other not-quite-named Antinium.

51. It was not 1, or 5, or 10, or even 50, which were bold, round numbers. Iconic. 1 was the first. 2 was second, which was almost as good. 3? Three was a trinity. Four was a quadruple number. Five? Five was half of ten and quintuple of one.

…You could do that for a lot of numbers, incidentally. Fifty-one? The Soldier had no notion of its intrinsic value. But he decided it was the number to have. Fifty was good, but he was one after that.

Fifty one. He liked it. Then he realized seventeen went into 51 three times and felt special.

Crusader 51 returned to the Free Hive through their secret tunnel in the basement, walking past lines of Antinium waiting for their vow. Pawn had asked for volunteers, and he had gotten more than enough.

The rest of his day was a blur after that. Crusader 51 got his armor from a Prognugator, but not Bird or Klbkch or Ksmvr. Rather, it was an Antinium wearing armor, who showed a room of a hundred how to put the armor on and gave them weapons of steel.

Prognugator Tersk. There was also Dekass, two of the Armored Antinium’s Prognugators. They were like the Free Antinium…but also vastly different. For one thing, they wore armor. The Free Antinium had thought it was strange, wearing a second skin.

Now Crusader 51 wore armor, and it was heavy. He was given a sword, a shield, and a bow and quiver of arrows.

“You have thirty. Don’t lose them. You will participate in training cycles along with Liscor’s army. Follow your squad, which will be assigned to a battalion and serve under the Antinium division fighting in Liscor’s army.”

Prognugator Dekass was making sure the Antinium receiving weapons understood their role and how to holster their gear. This was far more complex than mere armor; the Armored Queen had sent many suits of armor, but the Free Antinium had provided a number of the armaments.

So—for once—when Crusader 51 looked around, he didn’t see identical Antinium. They were given shields, most of them, but they weren’t the same shields! Some were round, others kite-shaped, and they didn’t get the same weapons. One Antinium to his left was holding a big iron mace with beveled metal making odd raised hexagon patterns across the head of the round weapon.

The Antinium to Crusader 51’s right? He had a spear.

The oddity of weapons had Crusader 51 nervous—and that was before Dekass told him he was assigned to new duties. The Soldier froze.

Squad? He didn’t go with his regular Soldier grouping? Did that mean he had to wake up differently? He didn’t know these Soldiers and Workers! And—and—battalion? Division?

Crusader 51 didn’t know these terms. They sort of made sense, but if someone asked him what they meant? He began to panic.

The way Crusader 51 panicked was to freeze up. He locked into place, looking for something to hit in case that solved his problems. And he realized—the other new [Crusaders] looked much like him.

Uncertain. Which was dangerous. One, the one with the mace, was even trembling. Was he becoming Aberration? Crusader 51 had seen an Aberration, once. It had spoken, and it had been shaking and—

Dekass seemed to notice the Antinium’s uncertainty, because the Armored Prognugator spoke, and his tone was laden with impatient authority. The Armored Antinium—whose armor was painted, far nicer-looking than the armor Crusader 51 had gotten, and possibly even enchanted from the way it glittered mesmerizingly if you stared at it long enough—snapped his mandibles together.

“You are Squad 5 of Battalion 1! Bow-armed. Battalion 1 will carry bows and a one or two-armed weapon along with a shield. Keep moving. You will follow Pawn to the surface.”

The world righted itself. The Antinium in the room, all ten of them, looked around at each other. Squad 5 of Battalion 1?

Crusader 51 realized that was his name. 51. It was special! He straightened and, stowing his weapons as he’d been shown, began to walk after the first Antinium closest to the door.

Heavy. But not impossible to walk or even run in! The Armored Antinium had balanced the armor for Antinium, and while the weapons were heavy, the armor was sturdy, and Crusader 51 found himself liking it. If the angry suits of enchanted armor fought him, they wouldn’t tear his arms off as easily!

Squad 5, Battalion 1. That was who he belonged to. That was who he was. Crusader 51 of Squad 5, Battalion 1.

His entire identity had changed. But now he knew what it was. It was all the new warrior of faith knew. He didn’t entirely know what he had signed up for. He didn’t know what his enemy was or what it looked like, only that it was called ‘Hectval’. He didn’t know what Liscor’s army was, or his new role.

But he had a name, an assignment, and that was enough for now. He followed the other Antinium in his squad as they lined up behind Pawn. When they marched into the streets of Liscor to line up in a plaza and swear to go to war against Hectval, Crusader 51 was there. When they trained, he was there. When they marched out of the gates past a crowd that cheered and shouted—even at him—

He was there. When they marched out of the Floodplains, down a long road, and towards the hills where Hectval lay—

Well, by that time, Crusader 51 had learned there was a lot more to the world than his small little Hive.

By the time news broke that Archmage Nailihuaile was slain, and the Archmage of Chandrar, Amerys, was freed, the war against the Hectval-Drisshia-Luldem Alliance had gone on for over three months. At the start, it had seemed simpler, even to non-Antinium.

Olesm, [Strategist]

“Do you…no, I suppose you think you have to do this. Sorry, that’s a stupid thing to say. So you think you can win? Are you ready?”

The question caught Olesm Swifttail off-guard. He looked up from his last meal in Liscor.

Which, as it turned out, was a drink. Nor was it the lavish meal with Lism, his uncle, set with all his relatives in the city and friends in Wishdrinks, one of the fanciest club-bars, and all comped by the owner.

It was at an open-seating spot at The Drunken Gnoll with Selys Shivertail, and his last ‘meal’ was a drink.

With little pieces of something odd at the bottom. Olesm took a sip and nearly choked on the strange, squishy stuff.

“Gah. What is this?”

“Something tea. It’s experimental. What did Imani…? Palt. Palt, what did Imani call it?”

A passing Centaur serving more drinks to the new clientele of mostly Gnolls stopped and turned. He was wearing a matching apron with the [Chef], who was hard at work at Timbor Parithad’s new inn.

“Boba tea. Well, experimental boba.”

Olesm stopped trying to suck another object out of his sweet-tea, and Selys stopped with her own wooden straw in her mouth. Both had…associations…with experimental drinks from Erin’s inn. Palt saw their looks and hastily clarified.

“All entirely healthy! It’s a sweeter flavorful tea, milk, and frozen fruits. It’s not quite there yet, though, hence the discount.”

He waved at the sign which had ‘Boba Tea’ carefully marked for nine coppers a drink. A bit pricy for a drink—and Olesm put that down to Timbor actually knowing how to price a menu—but it was nice and sweet.

“It’s not bad. I like the idea of having little bits of fruit in my drink.”

Selys chomped down on the cold square of what Olesm now realized was fruit. He took another sip and found he had strawberry? Palt grimaced.

“Yes…it’s not bad if you have it quick. But Imani won’t stop complaining.”

“About something you’ve done or the drink?”

Palt looked highly offended and swished his tail as he trotted over to argue with Selys.

“I’ve done nothing wrong! I even freeze the fruits, and believe me, you need some finesse to freeze them right without making them too hard or too soft. The problem is that Imani needs more of a jello-like bubble, rather than just fruit. It goes mushy, so we have to prepare them specially, even with preservation or cooling spells…”

“Ah. So it requires more effort. What’s jello? I’ve heard Erin talking about it.”

Olesm stiffened up at his table. Selys noted it and hesitated, but Palt was engrossed in the culinary issue.

“Some kind of gelatin. Think pudding, but more…jiggly? Water in a semi-solid state.”

“…Like slimes?”

“Yep.”

“And people eat that?”

Selys shuddered. Palt shook his head.

“I’m assured it would be a huge hit. There are gelatins in other dishes…they’re just not what Imani wants, and she’s searching for a jello-expert. Anyways, enjoy your tea. Olesm, are you heading out today? I saw the army moving, and I thought…”

Olesm looked up and caught the position of the sun in the sky. He straightened, and the scalemail armor he was wearing flashed in the light.

It had Liscor’s symbol, the city over water, emblazoned onto a badge he’d attached to a clasp around his neck. The clasp was connected to a crimson cloak, dark, enchanted, and covering his sidearm; a wand on his left, and a strange artifact on his right.

A Kaalblade. One of the House of El’s inventions, and a gift from a dead woman.

Selys looked at Olesm as he nodded.

“I’m heading out with 4th Company in under an hour. I was just saying goodbye to Selys.”

“I see. Well…I wish you the best. Stay safe out there. Don’t do anything stupid. If it’s alright, I think Imani would like to say goodbye.”

“Oh—of course. I can…”

Olesm began to rise, but Palt bade him sit.

“Afterwards. Enjoy your meal. Anything else? No? Just don’t run off.”

He trotted backwards a few steps and nearly bumped into a Gnoll server. Olesm realized Palt hadn’t been at his farewell party, which Lism had determinedly called a ‘Prelude to Victory’ party, and that he hadn’t seen Imani, Kevin, or many of the other inn’s regulars either.

Well, some were gone, and Olesm hadn’t seen Kevin anywhere—he was probably at Esthelm. Even so, he felt that if someone were here, he would have seen all of the inn’s guests. Been there, rather than sitting with Selys at the outdoor cafe-section of Timbor’s inn.

But Erin was dead. And that was why he was going.

Erin Solstice and Maviola El. Selys frowned at Olesm.

“Are you ready? You’re leading the army. Listen, Olesm. I’m not one to put bugs in anyone’s earholes, and the only one I could do it with is my grandmother—and she’s not going to listen—or Elirr. But Zel was my uncle. He always said [Strategists] leading armies was a risk. Not impossible—but have you rushed it? You can always call it off.”

Olesm looked at her. He felt a flush of anger creep into his face at her suggestion.

“Call it off? We’ve been training for weeks. We’ve mustered supply lines, sent the army ahead—we’re at war, and you’re wondering if we should call it off if I don’t feel ready?”

Selys, the [Heiress], gave Olesm a flat look like he was an idiot Bronze-rank and she were still tending the front desk of the Adventurer’s Guild.

“Yes. If it matters, you can call it off. It’ll take time, money, and be embarrassing, but I’d rather you do that than lose a battle or be dead, Olesm. What’s my answer?”

Olesm’s flash of anger turned to chagrin. Selys could do that, of course, but he realized he’d snapped because he was…nervous. Stressed.

Afraid.

He took his time replying.

“We’re…as ready as we can be, given how much time we’ve had to prepare. We put all the new [Soldiers] through the Watch and Embria’s crash training, and it works for the army. The Antinium aren’t integrated into our forces, but Belgrade’s leading them and they’re armed. Three thousand Antinium plus our five thousand regular soldiers.”

“Seems like a small army.”

Selys couldn’t hide her worry. Olesm frowned.

“It’s huge! For a city of Liscor’s size of a year or two ago? It would be massive. But you’re right…we are up against three cities. Hectval, Luldem, Drisshia.”

“And you convinced the Council to let you go to war because…?”

Olesm took a gulp of his tea and chewed furiously. The fruit was going a bit mushy, so Selys sucked on her straw.

“I don’t like this tea. I don’t eat soup with a straw.”

“Eh, it’s not cookies for me either. The war?”

Olesm curled up his tail around a chair leg. He tried to be impartial, but he kept thinking of their last battle. All the mistakes he’d made.

The fire as Maviola El burnt away. He knew he wasn’t thinking clearly, but…he looked up and met Selys’ pale yellow gaze. Olesm’s own blue raindrop irises, which matched his sky-blue cobalt scales, were collected.

“They won’t stop. Twice now, they’ve attacked. First with a raiding party. Second with an army.”

“We did march on them.”

Selys pointed out. Olesm growled.

“Yes, and we retreated before we even got within sniffing one of their cities. They put an army at Liscor’s gates with the express intent of bombarding us. They won’t stop. I’ve studied inter-city conflicts. I never thought I’d need to use that knowledge in Liscor, but Hectval will keep raiding caravans, harassing our new villages…now is the time to attack. They’ve lost chunks of two armies. They’re weak. Normally, it would be three cities versus one. We could beat Hectval one-on-one, I’m sure of it, but without the Free Antinium or this moment…so it’s now.”

He expected Selys to argue longer, but she nodded.

“If only uncle Zel were here. He’d…well, he’d probably try to stop the war, but I doubt he’d take their side. And he could have won the war fast. How long do you think this’ll take?”

Olesm cleared his throat. The cold tea was making it a bit sore.

“I didn’t put a time limit on it. Nor am I set on any one goal. It seems like a bad idea. I hope to reach Hectval and have their alliance sign a formal magical treaty within four months.”

Selys raised her brows.

“That’s fast. Uncle always said it took half a year even with the fastest campaigns.”

“Well, we’re close, and they’ve taken losses already. Don’t…don’t keep bringing up the dead.”

Selys’ brows snapped together. She looked at Olesm.

“Why? He’s my uncle. Zel, Erin, Maviola…we say their names to honor them.”

“Erin’s not completely dead.”

Olesm muttered, but the last of the three names struck him the most. Selys glanced at Olesm, and her face fell.

“Here I am making it worse. Argh. Ancestors! I should have just done it the way Uncle says to do it. Fast and quick. Here.”

She slid something across the table. Olesm blinked as he picked it up. A strange, metallic cube dangled from it with a symbol emblazoned on each side. They looked like stylized versions of elements. Fire, a bolt of lightning, an arrow…he raised his brows. It didn’t seem cheap, but it was made of bronze as far as he could tell. And it was clearly magical.

“What’s this?”

Selys huffed as she fished for her purse of holding.

“A ‘going-to-war’ gift. I’ve got two potions in here too…one second. I have beavers in my home, and they keep messing up everything.”

“Beavers? Wait—Selys, I have potions.”

The [Heiress] rolled her eyes at him.

“I know, and it’s cute that you think I buy the same quality as the city’s paying for. The cube-thing is from Hedault. Each symbol is one attack it’ll eat or block. Here.”

She pushed two bottles at him, and Olesm blinked at the colors within. He could recognize high-grade healing potions, and he looked at the Drake.

“Selys…”

“Just come back, alright? Don’t let those Creler-kissing monsters go easy. But don’t die.”

She reached across the table and gave him a one-armed hug. Olesm hesitated, but before he could return it, Palt and Imani came out to say farewell, and Timbor himself.

The [Innkeeper] shook Olesm’s claw, and Olesm recalled the man had marched on Hectval the first time, in the angry mob-army.

“Best of luck, Strategist Olesm. Here’s hoping it goes better now you’ve planned it out, eh?”

Olesm nodded slowly. Good people had died in that first group. He met Timbor’s gaze and looked towards the city, where people were cheering and waving goodbye to the [Soldiers] marching out. He looked for his horse and gave Selys, Imani, Palt, and Timbor a last look. He wanted to be reassuring, to say something like fire and wrath, that would be written down and underlined by [Historians] in years to come, even the unbiased ones.

All Olesm managed was a nod and a croak.

“We’ve prepared a bit more. We’ll see what we see. I’ll report back and see if our strategy’s viable. If not, I’ll reconsider.”

He mounted up, and the words burned in his head…and earholes as he rode off. They watched him go, not cheering, and with a kind of silence that weighed on him as he left. Olesm was glad they didn’t see his blushing face.

Selys rubbed at the side of her head with one claw and turned to the others as Olesm rode off.

“He fights better than he talks. I think.”

——

It was such a strange feeling leaving Liscor. Olesm didn’t join the procession to hear the cheering. He just caught up with Embria’s 4th Company, who were riding and singing a soldier’s song, My Broomstick’ll Level Faster Than Me, as they headed out. The cavalry and mobile forces were catching up with the infantry, hence the delay. 4th Company led the way.

Veteran [Soldiers] from Liscor’s famed mercenary army. Wing Commander Embria was still under Olesm’s command, though. She hadn’t argued hard, perhaps because Olesm was Liscor’s [Strategist].

Even so, as Olesm rode up and caught his breath, he felt a surreal feeling like the last time they’d done this.

“Off to war.”

It wasn’t far to Hectval’s ‘borders’, just past the Bloodfields, but the Drake city and alliance of three city-states were up a lot of rugged terrain—or some roads that Olesm was sure were fortified. This was no month-long campaign just to get there, and their forces could be anywhere from hiding in the Floodplains to waiting at their city for a siege.

His nerves hummed, and he turned to Embria.

“Ready for the fight, Wing Commander?”

The crimson-scaled Drake blinked one eye as she turned from watching the Antinium marching out of the gates with a frown.

“It’ll be a while before that, I think, Strategist.”

Olesm wavered. He looked across the Floodplains, towards where the High Passes began to shrink into hills and Izril’s south beyond.

“…You think so?”

That was the problem, for all he assured Selys he knew what he was doing. Olesm had been in battles, led defenses, seen fighting close up, and arguably encountered more high-level threats than most [Strategists] twice his age.

However…he had never been on campaign before. It took Liscor’s army eleven days before they even heard of the enemy.

Embria, [Wing Commander]

Dear Father,

We have embarked on our campaign against Hectval. It feels odd to be on the campaign again. I’ve missed it. I know you won’t like to hear it, so I guess this letter is a failure.

…I’ll keep writing even if I don’t send this because I have to tell someone. I can’t tell Wikir or Vell, Pielt, or Igissi, even if they are [Captains]. Wikir wouldn’t talk, but Vell’s a hothead, and it’s just not something you do.

Not that you were an officer, but you get it. The old guard always said you could lead a squad as well as any [Captain] and you did—just that you were too good at being a headhunter.

I wish you were here. We need someone like you against Hectval. It’s not just that we don’t have Liscor’s officers or the Antinium—and the Antinium are one thing. It’s…

This is a new army, Dad. You know what that means? I look around and wonder who’s going to die, because they’re so green it hurts. Even Olesm. He’s got the levels, but he’s not experienced. I almost wish I were in charge, but I don’t have experience in command either. I don’t think we should let Hectval be. I just wish either High Command or Liscor’s Council could have approved the army coming back, even a portion of it, and doing it right. But then the Antinium wouldn’t have joined.

It’s been three days and we’re climbing into the foothills around the Blood Fields. Rocky terrain. You know? The worst part, though, is that we’re still getting used to our chain-of-command, and I’m solid in 4th Company, but I think Olesm’s sub-commanders just aren’t good enough. They’re sharp, eager to fight…and not high-level enough. Former [Guards], mostly. Only a few Manus graduates, and they’re young.

So I’m a bit worried, Dad. Just a bit. The new [Soldiers] can’t even hike up hills at good speed. But I guess they’re levelling. I’ll write you something else instead, if we can send letters back to the army. Hope you got out of Cellidel.

—Embria

She rolled up the bit of parchment and wished she could breathe fire so she could set it alight. Instead, she put it back in her pouch and rubbed her shoulder.

Olesm wasn’t that bad. For one thing, he might not have had the field experience—

But he could move an army from A to B. And that was a talent even graduates of Manus’ war schools messed up.

Columns of [Soldiers] were climbing up the first series of steep, rocky terrain that was Hectval’s territory…or the border along the Bloodfields. They struggled up the hard, slightly reddish soil, swearing, carrying packs along with their armor and weapons, and generally trying not to slip and crash into the [Soldiers] behind them.

Liscor’s army had marched past the Blood Fields with no incidents, much to everyone’s relief, and had decided to take a route like the first army—climbing into Hectval’s territory.

It was that or take the known roads, and Olesm’s maps of Hectval along with knowledge from 4th Company told them there were enchanted towers emplaced there. Real pain-in-your-tail towers that some [Archers] would lounge in, taking long-range shots at you from behind magical barriers.

You could knock them down. Embria knew Liscor’s army could take one down, especially with the Antinium. She hated to admit it, but lacking any siege weapons, the Antinium were their best sappers.

However, breaking one of those towers would be hard, because an army would doubtless be dug in around them, just hoping you broke all your teeth on their fortifications, fighting uphill with enchanted towers and all the lovely traps they had to have placed waiting for you.

Slightly better to take a route Hectval couldn’t predict. They’d be waiting up in the hills, but assuming Liscor’s army got up there, there were too many ways to maneuver, and while the area had its share of narrow passages, there were entire plateaus; perfect for styming any defenders’ hopes of choking an advance.

The trouble was just what Embria had written. Liscor’s army was green. She rode her horse past the struggling infantry and sighed. Her war-trained horse carried her up the slope with ease, but 4th Company’s patrol past the [Soldiers] wasn’t just due to that.

Embria was the only member of Liscor’s 4th who had a horse. Wikir of 1st Squad, Vell, the other officers and [Soldiers]? No horses. Skywalker’s Company, as they were nicknamed for their use of the [Light Bridge] spell, were foot-sloggers, and Embria often fought on foot as well.

They looked like they were strolling uphill compared to the [Soldiers]. Vell stopped as a Drake windmilled his arms, cursing. She reached out, grabbed the [Soldier], and shoved him forwards.

“Put your pack lower down, idiot. Center of gravity! You’re so back-heavy no wonder you’re falling over. Dig your claws into the soil! You look like you’ve never climbed a hill in your life!”

“I have! I—well, the hills around the Floodplains aren’t this bad!”

The [Soldier] caught himself and tried to climb faster, but Vell snorted, and her squad marched past the [Soldiers], jeering—and giving out advice like that.

“It’s not just equipment, Commander. They don’t know anything. It’s like looking at babies. They can’t even adjust their armor, they can’t march, they get blisters…”

“They’ll learn. Faster, with us giving them tips.”

Embria had been writing in the saddle. Now, she addressed Pielt’s complaint out of the corner of her mouth. 3rd Squad’s [Captain] grunted.

“Fair, Commander. I just wish those bastards had more. Mind you, it’s hilarious when they fall down. So much for Antinium being good on any ground.”

He jerked his head, and Embria turned to look. She saw a tumbling shape rolling downhill, a flash of armor and a lot of clicking, and smirked.

The Antinium were having trouble too. The new, armored soldiers, which had chilled her to the core, were imposing with all their gear—but they rattled when they walked, and, like Liscor’s [Soldiers], they had trouble going uphill with all this new weight changing how they moved. She saw another Antinium racing downhill after the fallen [Crusader].

“Heard we’ve got a [Strategist] in their group.”

“Really?”

Embria saw Pielt and the [Soldiers] around him tune in with interest. Embria had already written her report, of course, and she nodded to the Antinium waving all four arms in distress.

“That one. Belgrade. Some kind of [Trapsetter Strategist]. Never heard of…well, I suppose his name came up. In the inn.”

4th Company looked at her, but no one brought up her father. They nodded—cautiously.

The inn was a sore point with them, as the soldiers of Liscor’s real army hadn’t liked what their city had become, and many had pointed to that [Innkeeper], as she’d been known, as one of the culprits.

However, she’d been killed by Hectval, and even the rowdiest member of 4th Company didn’t feel like insulting the dead. Especially when the commander of all these forces and a lot of Liscor’s citizens might overhear.

“At least they have a [Strategist]. What are we, a Baleros-led company? They should have put you in charge, Wing Commander.”

“Stow it. And shove your compliments back up your tailhole, Barkus. You all know I’m not about to take charge of an army. When I want pandering comments—I’ll go to Salazsar.”

Barkhus, whose name was adjusted for obvious reasons, laughed with the rest. They watched as another Antinium turned into a pillbug and rolled down the hill—and winced as a Gnoll did likewise.

“Hoi there! Commander says we’re breaking after the next hill! Get a move on and stop falling over!”

A voice from above. Embria saw an Oldblood Drake floating downwards.

“Huh. Hey, Maksie! You might be [Scout Leader] for an entire army, but give me lip again and I’ll poke holes in your wings!”

The Wing Commander shouted at one of 4th Company’s former members appointed to a larger role. The Oldblood Drake cheerfully made a gesture to the Wing Commander and flew on. She had wings—but no breath.

Stopping after only…? Embria saw it wasn’t past midday. Then again, the maddening hike uphill with all the falls and injuries must have been driving Olesm insane. She nodded to 4th Company.

“Double time up the hill. Let’s talk to Commander Olesm. And show these idiots how it’s done.”

——

A group of tired Drakes and Gnolls sat around on top of the steep hill they were climbing. Some were stretching or drinking water, but most were just sitting around. A few had even pulled off pieces of their armor—until one of the officers snapped at them to put them back on.

“It’s hot.”

“Yeah? The sky’s blue. Eat my tail.”

One of the Drakes snapped at a Gnoll. They were both young, below twenty, and the Gnoll growled back.

“It’s hot. You’re not wearing fur under your armor!”

“Yeah, well…I…you’ve never had to shed dry scales!”

“Oh, and that’s worse than split hair? Shedding fur? Lice? Why do Drakes have to always suffer worse? Just admit it, it’s hot for everyone.”

“Yeah, but it’s hotter for me because my scales are dark, and the sun—”

A helmet flew through the air, and the Drake ducked. It bounced along the ground and struck the feet of a [Soldier] who was bending over, inspecting something. She jumped and whirled.

“Gah! I nearly stepped on a fortune! Don’t do that!”

The other [Soldiers] looked up.

“What? Fortune?”

“Back off, I found it!”

The Drake waved her claw at the others. She plucked something from the ground and showed it to them.

“Look! I found a rare mushroom!”

She showed them all a mushroom with giant, vivid, rounded spots on it. It was purple, and each spot was a bright tan color. The Drake [Soldier] was delighted.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. I bet it’s a rare mushroom!”

“Could be worth something!”

Instantly, the other Drakes, Gnolls, and two Humans had gathered around. One of the Humans opined, backing away.

“Don’t touch it with your bare claws! Put some gloves on! It could be poisonous!”

“Yeah, but that’s still worth something to [Alchemists]. You know what? Don’t sell it. If it’s worth something, get it appraised and then culture more mushrooms.”

The squad of [Soldiers] stared at the purple shroom. One of them, a Gnoll without a helmet, pointed.

“Do we get a cut if it’s super valuable?”

“Hey! It’s mine!”

“We’re all in the same squad. Uell, don’t be stingy…”

“How’ll you even get it appraised?”

The Drake peered around furtively as she protectively held the mushroom to her chest.

“We have [Mages]. Maybe one of them knows how it works? Or I’ll put it in a bag of holding. Look, no one takes it from me, agreed? I’ll give you something if it’s worth it…does anyone have a container? It might be poisonous; look at those spots!”

“You can use my helmet. We’ll put something over it.”

The Gnoll eagerly offered. The squad was just about to look for more mushrooms when Wing Commander Embria rode past them.

“That’s not a rare mushroom.”

The [Soldiers] froze, and the one holding it tried to hide it behind her back. Embria sighed as she dismounted and looked around for Olesm.

“What, officer? What mushroom? We were just talking about, uh, a mushroom we dreamed about! A—”

An amused Captain Wikir cut the protesting [Soldier] off.

“That’s not a valuable mushroom. It’s just an ordinary purple one, yes?”

“Ah, but this one has spots!”

Wikir and Embria exchanged a weary, weary look. Embria sighed, and Wikir’s entire squad began laughing themselves sick. The new recruits looked uncertainly at the mushroom, and Wikir broke it to them.

“Those are insect eggs, you idiots. Haven’t you ever seen…?”

Embria saw the mushroom go sailing over the side of the cliff and rolled her eyes. But she had to confess…she’d done the exact same thing back in the day.

Everyone thought a mushroom with dust on it was the next big alchemical ingredient.

“Commander Olesm! Sir!”

She saluted and came to a stop as a Drake jumped and stopped arguing with two newly-instated [Division Leaders].

[Division Leaders]. Not [Division Captains] or [Marshals] or any combination of any military rank. This was derived from the [Leader] class and it meant…

Well, it meant the army wasn’t in the right shape to field a [General], much less most officer ranks. Liscor had an army, and they had countless officers. However, in lieu of such classes, or to make room, you had the [Leader] line.

[Wing Commander] Embria saw the Gnoll and Drake turn to her, and Olesm raised his head.

“You don’t need to stand on formality, Wing Commander. You’re second-in-command if need arises; speak to me.”

Embria glanced at the sub-officers and tried to be as diplomatic as possible.

“With respect, sir, is a halt a good idea now? We’re three days into our climb, and we were hoping to reach the fighting highlands yesterday.”

She glanced up towards a summit yet higher overhead, which marked more flat ground to maneuver around. To fight here, with an enemy occupying the high ground, was a nightmare, and her company would have already been lounging at the top.

But Liscor’s army was having trouble even getting into position. Olesm gave Embria a grimace that said he knew it too.

“The [Soldiers] are having difficulty climbing. Not yours…can I hope it’s due to a Skill? Do you have a terrain Skill, Wing Commander?”

She coughed into one claw.

“Er, [Mudgrip Boots] is the only one I have. I know one of my officers has [Climbing Expertise] as a unit-based Skill, but we have not had to use it, sir.”

Because it’s not hard to climb a hill. Olesm read between the words.

“Could he or she…use it to move a large body of soldiers?”

“The limit is forty, unfortunately, commander.”

Olesm rubbed at his temples.

“…We may still need that. I’m debating having someone cut stairs or some easier way of climbing up. Could we use your [Light Bridge] spell to…?”

Embria didn’t feel like wasting a scroll on getting [Soldiers] uphill. She looked around and raised a claw.

“A quiet word, Commander Olesm?”

He looked up, nodded, and abandoned his map to step closer. Embria whispered to him.

“It’s not bad for the [Soldiers] to learn climbing, sir. However, if we’re caught out—”

The Drake looked up at the summit and nodded, his face one of frustration as he observed the [Soldiers] arguing whether insect eggs were valuable to [Alchemists].

“That’s my thinking too. I’d send 4th Company to hold the top of the plateau, but 4th Company is an asset, and if they have to fight an entire squadron…”

Embria was glad to hear Olesm was thinking of their wellbeing—and a bit insulted by the suggestion they couldn’t hold the ground alone. Then again, one [Fireball] landing before they could dodge and Olesm lost his best [Soldiers].

“We could drag up some other recruits, Commander. Frankly, they’re wet Amentus fruits, but I’ve seen worse.”

Olesm brightened up a bit.

“You have?”

Embria felt the need to encourage him.

“They’re not worse than…well, a lot of rookies we get in Liscor’s main army. The difference is, we seperate ours, make sure they’re trained under a squad with enough veterans. They wash out or train up—and we fight with large numbers of green soldiers all the time. We’re famous for it, as you know.”

Liscor’s army used their officer-classes to turn even a Level 5 [Soldier] into a fighting whirlwind. Olesm rubbed at his chin.

“That’s true. Frankly, I was wondering if they were all somehow poisoned. Even Bronze-rank adventurers do better.”

He looked at the [Soldiers], and Embria murmured.

“A week ago, they were [Cobbler Apprentices], [Thugs], [Hunters], or any other civilian class. They’ve gone through training and can swing a sword, but it’ll be a bad first battle, too. However, they’ll level after tonight.”

Olesm nodded again. The first ten [Soldier] levels, or so they said in the army, were practically free. In that you could march, eat, dig latrines, use latrines, and complain about your pay and food and get to Level 10 without so much as sneezing at a battle.

When they went back to the table, Olesm took a breath.

“I think we need to restructure. Wing Commander, you’ve met our two [Division Leaders]? Bepol and Ramia, one from the Watch—[Guardsman], almost at her Senior Guardsman rank—and the other studied in Pallass’ academy.”

The Drake and Gnoll saluted Embria, and she saluted back.

Oh dead gods, a former [Guard] and an officer from Pallass’ academy. She knew Pallass graduated their officers at least Level 15, so they had a Level 15 [Trainee Officer] and a [Guard] who might be used to large-scale brawls or fighting since she had seen Liscor’s battles, but not a war.

Olesm read her look. So did the officers, unfortunately. Bepol’s tail twitched.

“I’ve served with Pallass’ 5th Army, Wing Commander, and you can rely on me to keep my formations in order. Frankly, I think we have more expertise than some Drake border cities.”

Embria opened her mouth to address the officer, bit her tongue on her words, then snapped back because she couldn’t help it.

“More experience than a border city…? Liscor is the most border-city of them all. Hectval, Luldem, and Drisshia might not be individually as large as Liscor, but they fight other cities constantly! The officers might not be Level 30 veterans all, but they will tear your tail off and feed it to you if you underestimate them!”

She regretted the outburst the moment it happened. Not because everyone had heard; the other [Soldiers] were too far away to hear, mostly. Mainly because it was unprofessional, and this army had to have discipline.

Bepol’s scales turned pale, but he threw a salute that said that he had been taught enough of when to shut up. Olesm was looking between Embria and Bepol, searching for something to say. He eventually snapped.

“Wing Commander Embria. A bit too frank. Division Leader Bepol and your company will serve together. Liscor’s army is inexperienced, but I’m sure you trust them as much as I, if you’re willing to fight alongside them.”

Embria’s cheeks darkened and she saluted, staring at the sky.

“Yes, Commander. I apologize for the outburst.”

Olesm exhaled. Then he heard a confusion of voices, and Embria was relieved to look sideways and see…

“Commander Olesm. Commander Embria, and Division Leaders Bepol and Ramia. I apologize, but my Antinium division has summited the hill and we are out-of-place. I apologize for preceding the other [Soldiers], but I did not realize we had moved ahead of them. Should we go back down and wait?”

Belgrade, the Antinium [Trapsetter Strategist], hurried over, looking distraught and embarrassed. Embria turned and saw his two fellow commanders, the Armored Antinium’s Prognugators, Tersk and Dekass, ordering the Antinium into neat ranks as they stood, some a bit dusty, but on the summit.

All of them. Well, most, and the rest were appearing so fast 4th Company looked startled at their speed.

“How did you…? Er, Strategist Belgrade? You’re not out of place. If anything—how did you do that? Did you dig your way up?”

The shorter Worker was wearing chainmail, and he had a sword, but he was a [Strategist] to his core. He was confused for a moment, then moved his mandibles up.

“Ah, Olesm. I apologize, Commander Olesm. That is a funny joke, ha-ha. Antinium cannot dig as fast as that. I saw that the Antinium were performing below-average in climbing the hill due to the weight of their armor. So I remedied the problem.”

Olesm, Embria, and the two [Division Leaders] all exchanged glances. There were a handful of [Tacticians] and other lower-level officers, and everyone trooped over to see what Belgrade meant.

What they saw was simple, known to Embria—and still impressed her.

In the short time since she had lost sight of the Free Antinium’s group, a simple structure had appeared in its place. The Antinium climbing the hill and passing the other [Soldiers], who looked enviously onwards, were all climbing, securely anchoring themselves to…

Ropes. Someone had hammered pitons and anchored ropes from the top downwards, letting the [Crusaders] balance and climb up. Not more than four per rope, and only the sturdiest lines at that, but it made it exponentially faster—especially because a slip was far less likely with Antinium holding the ropes.

“We do that all the time with tough terrain.”

Vell muttered, folding her arms as if the Antinium were doing nothing new. Embria bit her lip. They did do that in Liscor’s army—but she hadn’t thought of it. Nor was it her go-to idea.

She was a Wing Commander and had looked at her wing and seen they had no problem and stopped there.

Belgrade? Olesm’s eyes lit up. Belgrade was a [Strategist]. The Antinium stood there humbly as Olesm turned to him. He looked at Embria, and the Drake saw Olesm come to a rapid decision.

“It’s quite clear that the Antinium work well under you, wouldn’t you say, Belgrade?”

“They do not need much help, Commander Olesm. The Antinium will fight and are good at fighting. Tersk and Dekass have led armies before.”

Olesm was nodding.

“And your 4th Company is an exemplar, Wing Commander. I imagine they stack up with any one of our army’s other companies?”

“Any one of them, Commander!”

Embria didn’t bristle at the suggestion her company would be worse, although rivalries were real. She knew Olesm was onto something, and she was curious. Belgrade tilted his head left and right as Olesm nodded.

“Then…in light of the need for officers with experience to take the field, I am changing the structure of our forces. I will draw from our two main Gnoll-Drake-Human battalions. Belgrade, you will take charge of a third of our non-Antinium forces. Wing Commander Embria? I would like you to take three hundred recruits as whole squads and fold them into 4th Company as our shock force. Also—however you did it, Belgrade, please deploy ropes for all of our army.”

The other officers stared at Olesm, and then they began to argue—none faster or louder than Belgrade. However, Olesm looked straight at Embria and realized the same thing she did, however reluctantly.

Of the people leading or part of the army, the officers with the most experience in battle were Olesm, Embria, and Belgrade.

…And Calruz.

Calruz, [Honorbound Prisoner]

Though he was a prisoner, it was an odd thing. He had requested death, honorable or not, many times. If not death, he would settle for freedom because he would have the freedom to choose.

But it was not possible for him to be found guilty or innocent—at least as Watch Captain Zevara ruled it. His crimes were indisputable. The reasons behind them…?

So instead, she had come up with a solution based on his homeland. Trials. Calruz had eliminated Shield Spider nests with his bare hand. He had waded through Liscor’s sewers and slain everything that moved.

And he trained Liscor’s [Soldiers].

At first, the Council had argued, but Olesm had demanded Calruz’s help in no uncertain terms. Calruz had even heard him bluntly addressing the Councilmembers and people gathered to protest.

“I am aware Calruz of Hammerad is a convicted criminal. However, Watch Captain Zevara has engaged him as an asset to the city before, and this is no different.”

“You want a murderer to train our troops?”

Olesm’s lower left eyelid twitched.

“Frankly, I’ve heard worse ideas.”

“What if he trains them wrong? Teaches them to…”

“To what? Stab wrong?”

Olesm’s sarcasm provoked a furore, and, in truth—there were lots of poor ways to train someone. However, the Drake overruled the arguments with a simple one of his own:

“We need weapon experts. We have a few adventurers who we have paid to demonstrate their abilities. Guildmistress Tekshia is a [Spearmaster].”

“So why can’t we use them, Nephew—er, Commander Olesm?”

Lism was frowning at Calruz. The Minotaur waited. With one arm missing, he was hardly a good example of fighting acumen compared to, say, the four-armed Antinium, but that was only if you were armist.

Put another way, Calruz had more muscle mass than three of Liscor’s citizens put together thanks to the weight set in his room. He had more scars than any six. He was high-level, but if that were all, Tekshia would have been a better pick.

The truth was simply that Calruz was best because Tekshia Shivertail was a terrible teacher.

So were most adventurers. They were self-taught, or impatient, or they couldn’t explain what they intuited, or they didn’t know how to fight in groups compared to one-on-one, or all of the above and more.

Calruz? Calruz had trained in Minos. That was how he ended up giving lessons to Drakes, Gnolls, and Humans, but even if they hadn’t seen him directly or been in Liscor when he had attacked them with the Raskghar, most of the [Soldiers] knew what Calruz was.

They did not like him. So Olesm had Calruz teach a few classes, made sure Embria and her 4th Company took what lessons they could, and put him with the one group who wouldn’t complain.

Antinium.

——

They were a curious lot. Calruz had to admit, he had never known Antinium well. He had known Pawn and a few others, but he had never interacted with them closely.

Let alone seriously considered how they fought with four arms, much less how to improve them. He learned what The Crimson Soldier already knew within the first day of watching and training them.

Antinium couldn’t coordinate all four arms perfectly. At least—it was like someone who picked up a sword and shield trying to use them for the first time, only multiplied.

Everyone thought they would become a swordmaster within a moment of holding a sword. That they could just copy what they saw. They could not, and Calruz saw the same problem with the Antinium’s four arms.

They got in the way. They were, in fact, cumbersome, especially if an Antinium tried to chop, block, or reach for something and tangled two arms together. So Calruz improvised.

“You will move two arms together! Left side! Right side! Stab with your left! Block with your right! On my mark, stab! Block! Stab! Block!”

He had them in lines, performing a basic stab with a dagger and spear in their left hands, and a shield or even two shields in the others. The Antinium moved in sync with one another, learning how to alternate arms.

In theory, they could use all four arms independently, but Calruz was more worried about making them functional in combat. So he strode along their ranks, eying them as they stabbed, blocked, and progressed into a set of attacks. Even if they moved either side of their bodies in tandem, an Antinium could stab high and low at the same time. Terrifying for a regular [Soldier].

However, the Minotaur realized something else and began picking out Soldiers one-by-one. Strange. He hadn’t realized this earlier, though it was obvious now he saw them together. The moment he had seen Pawn, it should have been obvious. It threw the idea of ‘the Black Tide’ into the gutter.

The Antinium were not all equally talented. Some…were gifted.

Crusader 51, [Crusader]

He wasn’t sure why the Minotaur made him stand away from the rest of his squad and three thousand practicing Antinium. Had he done something wrong?

If he had, the trembling, mace-carrying Soldier had also done something wrong, as had two of the Worker-archers and a [Crusader] with a shield and sword, like Crusader 51.

By now, Crusader 51 knew the names of Squad 5. Each Soldier in the group was Crusaders 50 to 59.

The one carrying the mace was Crusader 53. Calruz, the Minotaur with one arm, stopped in front of their group and spoke.

“All of you are different from your peers. You…do not have the same awkwardness, or you have some quality I have identified. It may not be customary among the Antinium to do this, but I have selected you for training. Do you understand?”

Silence. The [Crusaders] looked at Calruz, and he exhaled slowly.

“I will take that as affirmation. You—Worker. What is your n—”

He hesitated. Calruz had been told not to ask an Antinium’s name, but the Worker volunteered it.

“I am Archer B12. I am a [Crusader]. [Archer]. Archer B12, Squad 1, Battalion 4.”

Like Crusader 51, he knew who he was. Calruz grunted.

“You speak as if you are one of at least twelve.”

The Worker hesitated, unsure of what to say. He replied slowly.

“I am one of ten in my squad. I am one of five hundred in my battalion. I am an [Archer]. I was one of Archer Group B in the Free Hive.”

Archer B12 stared at Calruz as he snorted and glared down at him.

“That is not what I meant. You…you are not like the others.”

“I am Archer B12.”

“Yes, but you are not like the other [Archers]. I have seen you shooting. There.”

Calruz pointed at a target. Every Antinium turned and saw a neat cluster of arrows in the center of a bullseye.

The other Antinium didn’t have a spread nearly as good. Archer B12 looked at Calruz as if he had done something wrong.

“I will copy the others.”

Calruz stopped him as he raised his bow.

“No. You are extraordinary. Do not aspire to copying your peers. You stand out. You—”

He pointed at Crusader 51, and the Soldier felt a jolt run through him. Calruz pointed at the other two Antinium.

“You have a coordination about you. You understand posture. You handle your sword like a master. For some reason, you use that mace as if you were born with it in your hand. Though you picked it up…what, yesterday?”

He pointed at Crusaders 51 and 53, who looked at each other in silent shock. They did? Crusader 51 had to admit…it was easy, copying the Minotaur. You just held the sword like he showed you.

He didn’t know why the other Soldiers held it crookedly. Calruz addressed his trainees.

“It is a lesson I am not sure you will understand, but I will repeat it to you. In the House of Minos, warriors are told to understand their strengths. If they are higher-levelled, more skillful, better than other warriors, they should know it and apply their strengths. Obeying orders is a virtue, but there is a time when every warrior must decide how to act. It is not arrogance or bravado, but understanding one’s strengths and limitations. You all have a gift. So you will train with me and show your peers how to fight.”

——

Crusader 51 had two weeks of training with Calruz directly. In that time, he learned Calruz was right.

The sword was simple. He held a dagger in his off-hand, a long dagger he could stab with, but he only did simple poking motions to threaten an opponent’s face. The same with the two shields on his right, both light and overlapping.

He didn’t…understand how to use all four arms independently. The arm that moved, swung, and changed with his body was his sword-arm.

And that arm slashed down and flicked up and nearly tapped the Minotaur as he leaned back. Calruz grunted.

“You cut well, but your footwork is lacking! There!”

He spun, kicked, and Crusader 51 staggered back, despite trying to cut the Minotaur’s leg. He was good.

The other Antinium? Less.

——

The five hatchet blows were all easy to parry. Crusader 51 saw each one, and the shield bash coming at his face, and deflected them all, just as he was supposed to do. Then, since he was allowed to attack, he feinted at the face and let his sword swish lower. The shield rose as if his opponent didn’t see it was such an obvious feint.

Crusader 51 poked the tip of his sword gently through another [Crusader]’s armor, in a weak spot under their elbow, and the Antinium froze. In the other duel, Crusader 53 sounded like he was making music.

The metallic thud of metal on metal was like drums. Crusader 51 looked over and saw the Antinium with the mace swinging two in both arms while his shields cheerfully blocked the spear jabbing at him. Three shields were not enough, and Crusader 53 brought down his foe with less aplomb, but almost as quickly as Crusader 51.

“A gift. Mace and sword. You two are skilled—but do not mistake that for being superior. A warrior harnesses their talent, but it does not define their ability. Even so—you two have a rare gift. More than mine.”

For some reason, the Minotaur smiled oddly as he faced them and the rest of his special trainees. Archer B12, Crusaders 51 and 53, and a dozen others were rare talents among the Antinium. It made them feel…odd.

Wrong, that they should find this easier than some of their brethren. In fact, one of the Workers assigned to archery was staring at his target. He had initially been given a spear, but he had been unable to coordinate all four arms enough to make Calruz happy. So the Minotaur had given him a bow.

Then a crossbow. Calruz looked over, and Crusader 51 stared at the most pristine target he had ever seen.

Every single bolt had missed. Calruz stared at the trembling Worker.

“…That is, in its way, extraordinary too. What do I do with…?”

He scratched at his head, genuinely perplexed. Tersk marched over with a row of pike-wielding Antinium.

“Is there a problem, Trainer Calruz?”

“That Worker, there. He…would be an unwise [Archer] to position near your back lines. I thought it was a fluke or deliberate, but if it is not? The same with spear and shield. He would die in the first clash.”

Tersk looked blankly at Calruz as Crusader 51 listened. He couldn’t help but watch the poor Worker. Was he going to die?

“Is that a problem, Trainer Calruz?”

The Minotaur gave him a sharp look.

“Not if you consider the Antinium expendable. Is that the case?”

Tersk thought about it. He opened and closed his mandibles, then replied happily.

“I do. Therefore, I have little issue with changing the Worker to spear and sh—”

Calruz slapped Tersk. Crusader 51 saw the hand come up and slap the Prognugator across the face so hard the crack sent Tersk sprawling. Instantly, Dekass whirled.

“Attack! Attack!”

He drew his sword, and some of the watching [Guards] surged to their feet, reaching for their weapons. But Calruz did not move.

Tersk rose, shortswords drawn, but eyed Calruz as the Minotaur stared down at him. He had two hatchets, two shortswords, and Calruz had one arm. Tersk…lowered the shortswords.

“Why did you hit me, Trainer Calruz? I do not think this was a friendly blow.”

The Minotaur snorted.

“It was not. You will not say that again, in my presence or on the battlefield.”

Tersk’s mandibles opened and closed.

“Is that an order, Trainer Calruz? The Armored Antinium do not listen to orders.”

Calruz shook his head. He looked at Tersk, and Crusader 51 saw him glance at the Antinium who had gone still. Calruz raised his voice and addressed them all.

“You will not. Not because I say it, but because a leader who speaks in that way deserves no loyalty from those he commands. If you ever wish to level—understand why you were wrong. I am not in the House of Minos, but if I heard that from any superior officer, be it [General] or anyone else, I would strike them or resign from my post. If you do not respect those who will fight and die for your words, you do not deserve to speak them.”

Tersk’s antennae were not visible under his helmet, but the Antinium backed up a step and stared at Calruz.

“I will…take that under advisement. What about that Worker, then?”

The Prognugator pointed at the trembling Worker, and Calruz frowned mightily.

“He should not be fighting. Sometimes there are those who cannot, by birth—or sheer…talent…”

He hesitated.

“…It is not their fault. Can that Worker not return to the Hive?”

Tersk shook his head instantly.

“He is a…special class. We have already allotted him to the war effort. What then?”

Calruz scratched at his head. He looked around and then had it. He snapped his fingers, and a little rat poked her head around his horns to see what he was pointing at. So did all the Antinium.

——

That was how, as Crusader 51 pitched camp on the fourth night, after climbing the hills, the Antinium making camp around him—which was really just them sitting down and leaning against their packs since they had no need for bedrolls or the like—were marked by a single flag.

An Antinium Worker holding the flag aloft nervously held it with all four arms. He had a simple job.

Do not drop the flag. It was one of Liscor’s, the only one attached to their division. The Worker, incidentally, was a Painted Worker who had volunteered for the army, but had been woefully unable to hit a target. His name was Artur, one of the ones taken from famous chess players. Crusader 51 was, by now, a Level 4 [Crusader]. The Soldier went to sleep since no one had orders and heard a voice.

[Swordsman Level 8!]

[Skill – Feint Slash obtained!]

[Crusader Level 5!]

[Skill – Lesser Endurance obtained!]

He started and awoke. Across from him, Crusader 53, who was holding the mace in his lap, raised it, but Crusader 51 waved a hand to show him all was well. He sat back, amazed.

He never leveled before this. But now he was. So strange.

——

In the distance, the Worker holding the flag aloft sat there, with it drifting in the night’s breeze. Someone marched by, inspecting his soldiers, and paused as he came to the hapless Worker.

“You are aware that you may remove the flag when not marching?”

Prognugator Dekass stared down at Artur. The Worker stared up at him and kept holding the flag as straight as an arrow. Dekass stared at the flag. He stared at the Worker.

“Very good. Hold that flag.”

He marched off. The Worker lowered his head. After a while, he fell asleep, still holding the flag.

[Flag Bearer Level 7!]

[Skill – Repair Fabric (Minor) Obtained!]

The Worker was just a bit pleased by that. He was a poor [Crusader]. So he did not level up as one. But the Minotaur, Calruz, had told him that a flag was important.

It meant something.

She had held the flag. A white one. This one was different and had a different sign, but it meant home, or so the blue Drake told him. Belgrade had told Artur that the flag was important too. So the Worker held the flag because that was what he could do. He held it as he marched. He held it as he ate.

He did not hold it when he excreted, but he made someone else hold it and washed his hands because that was what Miss Erin had told them to do.

He missed Miss Erin.

For her, he held the flag when battle was joined. When arrows fell, when swords clashed on metal…the flag flew overhead. That alone was what Artur could do.

Olesm, [Strategist]

The first fighting occurred eleven days in, and it was brief. By then, Olesm had already gained an unwelcome notification.

[Leader Level 6!]

“Oh no. Ancestors damn it. It’s [Strategist]! Get it right!”

He emerged from his tent shaking his fist at the sky. But the class remained. Worse, Olesm couldn’t find it in his heart to deny it—not that it was fitting.

Was he being a [Strategist] or a [Leader]? Well, it seemed to him like the answer was obvious. Olesm had drawn up the supply lists himself. He had plotted their course, checked for traps, briefed officers, done everything a [Strategist] might.

But he also settled disputes, or rather, found solutions to problems. Or just told people when to shut up. And one of the biggest problems he had?

“Squad Leader Holls, you are relieved of duty in Belgrade’s division.”

The angry Drake and small cluster of protesting officers relaxed slightly. Olesm looked up as he pulled a roster out.

“Thank you for understanding, Commander. To whom am I reporting now?”

“That would be…I will place you under Squad Leader Joit.”

Holls’ face went slack for a moment.

“Joit? But I’m a Squad Leader. Sir?”

Olesm looked up. His stare wasn’t hostile; he had learned hostile meant they thought they had something on him. His was cold. Flat. Maviola had told him to do that.

Which was ironic, given that Maviola and cold or collected were oxymorons when put together, but the [Lady] of the House of El had taught Olesm that there was a time for fire and a time for authority, and while the two could mix…

Not now.

“You are relieved of command, Squad Leader Holls. If you cannot obey a superior officer and insist on protesting to the commander of your army, you will get your wish.”

The Drake went pale. He began to protest, and in Olesm’s experience, getting to protest was also something he didn’t have to deal with. Maviola had said…oh, what had she said?

“When I lay down orders for the House of El, do the [Lords] and [Ladies] protest? Surely they do! They always do, because they are [Lords] and [Ladies] and I am not better, simply the matriarch. What they learn is that they may protest anywhere but to my face, for I am—was—the law of El. I do not have to listen to them. So I do not.”

“You are dismissed, Holls.”

Wait for it. Please argue, please argue…

Holls did. He began to splutter, and Olesm cleared his throat. A pair of [Soldiers] from 4th Company appeared, and the Drake found himself unkindly picked up. Then tossed.

Olesm looked up at the rest of the officers who had come to support, but not join, Holls.

“If you would like to resign your commission, please let me know now or privately if you wish. This is an army, not a nursery. I expect you to obey orders. Dismissed.”

They left fast, and Olesm sat back, glaring at nothing. Belgrade hadn’t even done anything wrong, but some people had a problem with him.

More than I thought. Did Erin not show them…? No, the issue wasn’t that the Antinium were fighting. Even 4th Company seemed to be grudgingly at peace with the Antinium fighting alongside them in this war. Every hand needed and all that, and Antinium had four.

The problem was that Belgrade was in charge of them.

Olesm happened to know how good Belgrade was—not from chess alone, but simply from seeing him direct Antinium during Liscor’s all-too-frequent battles. He had heard from Pawn, Garry, and Bird how Belgrade had cut down the Free Antinium’s casualty rate by an unbelievable number.

Did that mean he was ready for pitched battles with soldiers outside of his species? Olesm hated the niggling thought in his head, but the officers’ doubts put it there.

——

During the practice simulations, Belgrade moved each piece of his command adeptly. He had his own command Skills, so even with all the shouting, individual groups could maneuver. The question was…

“How’d an Ant get so good at strategy?”

Division Leader Bepol couldn’t hide his clear unease, watching Belgrade outflank Ramia. The former [Guardswoman] knew small-unit tactics, and her face said how flabbergasted she was as two lines of [Soldiers] neatly folded up her advance from both sides.

Olesm was impressed. He turned to Embria. The Wing Commander was scowling as she watched Belgrade’s [Soldiers] beat on their opponents.

Only a handful of troops were taking part in these exercises because of the clear danger of a Hectval attack, but Olesm had authorized it to prove Belgrade was good enough. Besides, they had time; they were approaching the first network of ridgelines.

If Olesm gazed across the hills in the shadow of the High Passes, he could see a pass in the plateau they had entered. Not up, but more like through a network of twined tunnels, like fingers on some overly-digited hand.

No way to go around, not without going down a lot of cliff faces and up more. However, the passes were wide enough for a huge column of [Soldiers] to pass through.

If they collapsed the passes, that would be a huge danger and problem, but Scout Leader Maksie had done several passes and hadn’t seen any magical traps or hiding figures up there. If there were lurking forces, they were in underhangs or within the ridgeline she couldn’t spot.

Olesm bet there were. He half-hoped Hectval would attack during the simulations, so they could bring all their forces to bear. 4th Company was slyly positioned on the outside, just waiting to greet any surprise attack.

None came. Olesm watched as Belgrade trounced Ramia and Bepol. The Pallassian-trained officer was better, but he ended up being flanked as well.

“How is he doing that?”

Ramia growled, dismayed. Embria broke in with a sour note in her voice.

“Harassing fire. My guess is it’s [Harassing Fire: Arrows of Slow]. He’s one-Skilling you both.”

It was lucky Bepol was still conceding defeat to Belgrade, because that might have started another fight. Olesm winced.

Ramia eyed him and Embria.

“I take it that’s a term I’m unfamiliar with?”

“Manus expression. It means he can hold down his opponent with one Skill. [Strategists] or [Generals] will do it in battle to…preserve Skills for the real opponent later on. It’s not necessarily an insult.”

Olesm saw Ramia bristle a bit, but Embria was looking pointedly at him and watching the Antinium—who was good. Olesm murmured as he scratched at his helmet.

“I’ve heard of General Shivertail one-Skilling [Strategists] like that. The same with Chaldion. [Steelscale Advance], you know? How does a Level 20 [Tactician] beat that? Belgrade’s using it to buy time to get his formations around you.”

Like chess pieces. There was something oddly static about the way Belgrade fought that Olesm thought was a weakness, but on the other hand—he issued orders so fast that it seemed like he wouldn’t ever flounder with a hundred things to watch.

Ramia ruefully shook her head.

“He should be commanding a larger share of the forces. No one’ll argue after today, I think, yes?”

Olesm nodded. If there were dissenters, well. They could grumble about the defeat, but then they had to call Bepol or Ramia’s talents into question. Which was another problem…

And that was why Olesm was leveling as a [Leader]. His first Skill?

As Bepol stomped back, Olesm gestured to him.

“Fine work, Bepol. Belgrade’s wrapped me up in chess games quite a lot. I’d give him a shot, but I think that proves he’s on-par with you two. Let’s move out. We’ll crack open a bottle from Liscor. Officer’s tents; Wing Commander, you’re on night duty. But I’ll, uh, send you a goat’s milk?”

Laughter. Embria rolled her eyes.

“Either spike it with Firebreath or I’ll go thirsty, Commander.”

However, there was no rancor in her tone, and she gave him an approving look. Just a flash—and Bepol relaxed almost magically.

Or…Skillfully.

[Soothe Ego]. Olesm didn’t have to touch him, but it was still a deft touch. The Drake sighed and Belgrade came over. At least he was levelling.

The rest of the day was spent marching towards the ridgeline. That first scouting party proved there were Hectval-Drisshia-Luldem [Soldiers] about, so everyone had their guard up. Contact came at dawn as the [Soldiers] were moving into the pass, and it was there that Olesm got to see the Antinium’s strength in battle again.

Crusader 51, [Crusader]

The lowly insects looked up one day and beheld the sky. It was the first time they had looked up since leaving their home.

The first notion they had was that the world was vast beyond the cramped darkness. They gazed upwards and beheld…

Giants. The ants quavered. They froze. Look up! Look up and see a face like theirs, hovering in the sky!

___s! For even the ants couldn’t articulate it. Giant effigies in their image! Titans walked among the heavens! It was a sign! It was—

——

The [Crusaders] of Squad 5 were squatting around, staring down in awe at the busy anthill. They were so still that only their twitching antennae gave them away as being alive.

What was this? Ants?

Yes, big, black ants, the kind that most other species would stay away from because they were big. Longer than a Human’s toe, if not all Drake claws. Step in that anthill and they’d be all over you.

However, the Antinium were fascinated. So these were ants. How strange.

Obviously, they occasionally found actual ants when tunneling around in the dirt of Liscor, but they were instantly destroyed or harvested by Workers. This was just…an anthill.

Crusader 51 stared at a little ant scrambling around near his foot. It bit his armor, decided he was actually inedible, and scurried away. Unlike other people or objects, the little ants seemed to know the Antinium [Crusaders] were real, and they were wavering between terror, awe, and a desire to defend their colony.

Now, how did he know that? Oddly, Crusader 51 thought he understood something about the little ant he was staring at. It had one mangled leg, still navigating the terrain nimbly. And it…was a she.

Female. Were all these little Worker ants female?

So odd. Crusader 51 had always vaguely assumed he was he, mainly because something told him that. He was based off of someone who had been male; ergo, he was.

However, it seemed like actual ant colonies had a lot of female ants. Crusader 51 debated what to do.

Destroy the Hive? They were by way of spoilage to foodstuffs, and one of the things a Soldier or Worker might do. However…none of the Antinium in Squad 5 moved.

Crusader 53, with his mace, kept raising it overhead to smash the opening and hesitating as the other Soldiers looked at him. He was clearly thinking the same thing.

They had to remove pests. Shield Spiders? They’d be paste in a second. Crelers? Sound the alarm!

But this wasn’t the Hive. Crusader 51 kept staring at the anthill. So…what did they do?

It never occurred to him that nothing was an option. The Crusaders squatted around the anthill during breakfast for over an hour, until Tersk spoke.

“Squads, assemble. March! Battalion 3, to the front!”

The [Crusaders] shot to their feet and strode away. Yet the petrified little ants realized not one had been stepped on or squished. The Titanomachy was over. Were they saved or spared?

They might never know. Crusader 51 marched smoothly into his squad’s position in Battalion 1. His squad of ten was boxed into a battalion of five hundred in an odd pattern, at least to Crusader 51.

The Antinium Soldiers were used to moving in a tightly-packed wave of bodies that surrounded foes and dragged them down. However, under Tersk and Dekass, the Antinium moved and fought in the Armored Antinium’s style.

In ranks. Spaced out to give each warrior room to swing a weapon, with a second rank buried behind the first.

In that way, Squads 1-5 might face the foe while Squads 6-10, armed with longer weapons like pikes or halberds, would thrust and stab through the gap or move in.

It was neat, orderly…and odd to Crusader 51. However, as part of Battalion 1, he was ready to fight. Which was why he was entirely confused when Batallion 3 marched ahead of the others into the first ridgeline pass as Liscor’s army cautiously advanced.

Why Battalion 3? Crusader 51 didn’t feel unhappy. Just confused. The battalion in front might get hurt. Die. It wasn’t that he pitied them either; he just didn’t understand the logic.

Some battalions in the Antinium division were armed with bows, or different assortments of weapons, but Battalion 1 and 3 were functionally similar. The main difference…was that Battalion 3 had crossbows instead of bows on their backs.

Crusader 51 had been issued with a Soldier-bow, which meant it was designed so even he could put an arrow on the string with his clumsy digits. The crossbows of Battalion 3 were in even shorter supply; they had oversized triggers so a Soldier could pull them. They were so cumbersome to reload you got one shot unless you had a break from the fighting.

One shot, as Dekass would happily point out, was more than zero. Math.

It was he who led Battalion 3 into battle. From the rear, but still ahead of the others. Crusader 51 had mixed feelings on that, too.

If Tersk and Dekass were new, they were still Prognugators and to be obeyed. Yet if Tersk, for all Calruz had struck him, was more like Pawn, then Dekass was the Ksmvr or Klbkch. Why, exactly, Crusader 51 couldn’t say. It was his…reputation?

These things spread through the Antinium without much verbal exchange. In Crusader 51’s mind, it simply was that Tersk was probably better to lead than Dekass. Dekass ate too much food. Dekass was greedy. Dekass was less intelligent. And Dekass was still better than Pivr, who Crusader 51 had never met and didn’t want to.

——

The Antinium advance ran into an attack in the first hour of marching. The [Crusaders] came to a stop as Dekass spotted movement down the pass. Then a line of Drakes and Gnolls advanced, and the first [Fireball] spell exploded among their ranks.

Contact! Battalion 3 was engaged!

“Tersk to Commander Olesm. One [Mage] capable of [Fireball]. Dekass is holding ground. Battalions 1 and 2, advance! Cover Battalion 3’s flank! That position! [Precise Orders]!”

Tersk was booming, and Crusader 51 marched forwards—not to join Battalion 3, which was fighting the Drakes and Gnolls, but to their left flank.

They had been attacked in a V-shaped intersection, and while fighting had engulfed the right, Tersk clearly thought another attack was coming on their left. Crusader 51 had his sword drawn, his long thrusting dagger, and two shields on his right raised.

You do not have the room to maneuver. Do not disrupt the fighting line if possible! Make economical strikes! Defense is paramount to offense; the enemy will tire and give you a weakness!

Calruz’s words bellowed in his mind. Crusader 51 was ready. Stab through the gap, raise the shield to cover his face like so, angled such that only an arrow from dead ahead would even find the narrow gap between helmet and shield cover.

He waited.

And waited.

And realized the enemy was fighting Battalion 3. Crusader 51 hesitated. He saw Crusader 53 turning his head to check the enemy. The other Soldiers in Squad 5 shifted ever-so-slightly.

What a strange way to fight! This wasn’t like the Hive. In the Hive, they would be engaged now and fighting, sometimes surrounded by the foe.

Hundreds of swarming insect-monsters, or surrounding a whipping Flesh Worm. Or—Face Stealer would be there, and every Soldier would be falling over.

If the armored foes attacked, they would fill the tunnels after passing Belgrade’s traps. And each Soldier not resting or retreating would be moving to a new hotspot; when the dungeon attacked, it was fighting, sometimes for hours—until it was abruptly done.

This?

Battalion 3 was fighting a rank of Drakes and Gnolls, who very politely weren’t exploding through the stone to grab Antinium and drag them into the darkness. Nothing was scuttling on the ceiling, and there weren’t any fliers.

When an attack did come, it was from the left as Tersk had predicted. A second group of Drakes and Gnolls charged down the pass, shouting.

“Drisshia! Drisshia triumphant!”

They had long pikes and heavy armor. Battalion 3 was advancing as their opponents peeled away; Crusader 51 was aware of Tersk bellowing.

“Battalion 3—hold! Hold—”

They met in a clash. Crusader 51 saw a pike aimed at his chest and side-stepped it. The tip skated off his shield, ran into an Antinium behind Crusader 51, and stopped as the Antinium blocked it. The Drake holding the pike slammed to a stop, and one behind him darted forwards with a sword and shield of his own.

“Die, Ants!”

He lunged, stabbing at the only spot he could see; Crusader 51’s face. The Antinium parried the sword.

The Drake’s eyes bulged, and he swung his shield across his body. Crusader 51 saw the Drake stumble backwards as Crusader 53 brought his mace down on an arm and someone screamed.

Still less noisy than hearing a Flesh Worm shriek. And…Crusader 51 saw the panicked [Soldier]’s shield blocking his face and chest.

So he stabbed the Drake in the inner elbow of the sword arm. Not deep enough; the sword didn’t slice the arm off, but the Drake screamed.

“Miuss! Get back!”

The pike-Drake thrust his friend back and the Drake retreated.

“Potion! Get a potion—”

“Fall back! Fall back! Allies away!”

Another Drake came at Crusader 51, and he blocked a sword that bounced off his shield. When he went to riposte, his opponents were running. Crusader 51 found himself, sword poised for a thrust, with no one to thrust at.

The attack had just come to test Battalion 1’s defenses, or let the other force fall back. Either way…Tersk hesitated.

“Hold ground! Bows!”

Crusader 51 fumbled for his bow and raised an arrow. He loosed as Tersk bellowed; he watched his arrow fall short and two Drakes fall. One got up as his friends pulled him to his feet. The other did not.

And then the battle was over. Crusader 51 was left with blood on the tip of his sword, a miffed feeling…and the Antinium’s first victory spreading across Liscor’s army.

However, it wasn’t Battalion 1, Squad 5’s victory. It was Battalion 3’s.

Embria, [Wing Commander]

When the first contact report came in, Olesm snapped an order through her speaking stone.

“Wing commander! To Tersk’s position! Be ready to assist!”

“Damn, damn, damn. We have to help the Ants?”

Vell shouted, but Wing Commander kicked her mare into a gallop.

“On me!”

4th Company didn’t waste time. They shot towards the pass where the Antinium were engaged and that was when Embria—and the rest of Liscor’s officers and Olesm himself—got to see how the Antinium did.

Embria had seen the [Crusaders] breaking the enemy morale before, but this was the first time these Antinium had gone into combat. She had to confess, aside from knowing the enemy, she was curious to know how they did.

Tersk and Dekass had been informed they should leave a passage for reinforcements like 4th Command to maneuver in the tighter passes, so 4th Company came to a halt behind the engaged battalions. Tersk was holding an intersection on one side, Dekass on the right.

“Idiots think they can take a two-pronged attack? Why not just pull back?”

“Can’t see what’s coming if they do. This isn’t bad strategy.”

Vell and Pielt argued the soundness of the two Prognugators’ strategy. Embria didn’t interject; she was watching the battalion who’d met the enemy in force.

It looked like these [Soldiers] were Drisshian. Embria knew the alliance, and Hectval-Drisshia-Luldem were a mixed army. Each city had a specialty. Hectval? Archers. Good fletching. Luldem had magic. Drisshia?

Armor. Their heavy infantry were decent. 4th Company could chew them up and spit them out, but they stacked up well against average groups. By the looks of it, their commander had known Antinium were coming and decided to try an old standby of the early Antinium wars on them.

Which was the armored charge. Pikes, longer weapons, ram into them, cut them up, and fall back. Superior damage and potentially no losses if you erased them.

…It was a solid Antinium Wars-era tactic, and Embria would have personally kicked anyone who suggested it on this group. That tactic worked because you were facing massed Antinium. It did work if they were boxed up in a narrow pass.

But these Antinium? They had armor.

You idiots. She growled at Drisshia’s forces as they slammed into Battalion 3 and it became a melee. Was she rooting for the enemy? No! But…

The Drakes and Gnolls slammed into the Antinium, and their long weapons failed to down their foes. The ones armed with swords and maces and whatnot charged forwards and ran into a line of Antinium. It was then that Embria recognized the tactics Dekass employed.

Armored Antinium fighting.

Each [Crusader] blocked and swung their weapons in a rhythmic pattern, fast, hard cuts or slashes, just like Calruz taught them. They hunkered behind shields and their armor, and their foes found themselves battering against foes with just as much armor as they had.

Few figures fell on either side. About six Antinium were down after that [Fireball], but they were stumbling up.

“To the rear! Squad 3, advance!”

Dekass smoothly let the wounded retreat, and another squad rotated in. The Prognugator was doing something…odd. Embria didn’t feel the need to charge and advised Olesm as much.

“We’re watching a punching match, Commander. Antinium…might be winning. Check that. They are.”

“Hold ground, then, Wing Commander.”

“Received.”

The Drakes and Gnolls were getting the worst of it. Drisshia might have veteran soldiers, but they did not like four arms. They were hesitant, watching for more attacks and struggling to deal with the simple fact of two blades coming at them when a [Crusader] struck.

However, armor was armor, and the truth was…neither side was hurting the other. Embria didn’t see any amazing bladework, so Liscor’s and Drisshia’s forces just hit each other as hard as they could. If one side dropped a shield or fell, then they were likely to die, especially as heavy as the armor was.

Enchanted weapons could cut through armor. Veterans like 4th Company could aim for gaps. Skills changed things, or a charge…this was good, old-fashioned Golem boxing.

Golem boxing, a term for heavy infantry fighting. Embria watched for a minute, then two, as neither side gave in. Then that peculiar thing happened.

Dekass had been doing something odd, standing behind Battalion 3, his enchanted shield raised to cover his face in case of spells or attacks. He had made the Workers with bows shower that [Mage] and other [Archers], but no Antinium were dying as some arrows rattled off shields and helmets.

However, Dekass had been…head bobbing? Ever-so-slightly, his head had been going up and down, up and down. Embria had wondered if he were sick, but she now knew what the Prognugator was doing.

“Squads 1, 3, 4, fall back! Squads 5, 6, 7, advance!”

The [Crusaders] fighting Drisshia’s front line…disengaged and stepped backwards, and the Drakes and Gnolls, surprised, watched a second squad advance straight into them. Fresh Soldiers hammered down Drisshia’s front as the Drakes backed up.

“Huh. What was that?”

Vell blinked at the odd tactic. Embria heard a grunt. Captain Wikir was glaring at Dekass.

“That’s Armored Antinium tactics. They’re rotating [Soldiers].”

4th Company murmured. Embria was familiar with the tactic; you simply rotated in a new line of fresh [Soldiers] every so often. Liscor’s Army didn’t use it; they had Skills that made up for exhaustion, and that took a lot of numbers and training.

It made sense to do with the Antinium, though. She watched Dekass head-bobbing and realized—he was counting.

Two minutes of fighting and he’d order a change. Drisshia’s own began to fall as their commander was unable to pull off the same maneuver and the exhausted front fell back in disarray.

Whoever was leading Drisshia’s forces tried to retreat. Embria saw the heavy infantry turn—and then saw Dekass raise an arm.

“Crossbows! Loose!”

The snap of Crusaders in the back ranks firing their crossbows made Embria and all of 4th wince. Now she understood why the Prognugator hadn’t ordered them to fire during the charge.

More screaming [Soldiers] went down. Drisshia turned, bringing up shields to try to cover their retreat, which slowed them down. And Dekass?

“Advance!”

He rolled Battalion 3 at them in a slow onslaught as fresh [Crusaders] marched on the retreating Drisshian forces.

“Flanking charge. Looks like they’re bailing their buddies out.”

Pielt pointed, and Embria saw a second charge coming down from the left. It did about as well as the first one, but both groups were fleeing. Dekass continued advancing until a wall of flames burst from the ground.

“Magical attacks. Commander, permission to follow?”

“Denied.”

Olesm had followed the entire battle with reports through the speaking stones, and so Embria found herself riding back with 4th Company as the victorious Antinium checked wounds, and then prepared to continue their progress.

She broke the silence as 4th Company trudged back.

“Thoughts?”

“It’s the Armored Antinium fighting style. Textbook. I saw it during the Second Antinium War. They haven’t changed. Makes my fur stand on end.”

Captain Wikir growled. A few of his squad spat but said nothing else. Embria looked at Vell and the others.

“How do they stack up?”

“We can take ‘em, Wing Commander.”

Lieutenant Kesa opined. She kept chewing on some long-bladed grass from the Floodplains back home. Always some of it in her mouth.

“Obviously, but how do they stack up otherwise?”

Embria had her opinion, but she wanted them to say it so she knew she was right. Igissi looked at her fellow [Captains] and gave a reluctant answer.

“…They’re pretty good, Wing Commander. Not veterans, but for a first-time unit? They just flipped up Drisshia’s tail and gave them a spanking. Not that they ran into Drisshia’s best, but…”

But that’s what happens when you give average Soldiers armor? Vell spat, and Embria nodded. She felt a twinge of unease in her stomach.

“Just so long as they win the war…let’s head on back.”

“Glad we didn’t have to bail them out.”

Pielt muttered. No one particularly argued with that.

Olesm, [Leader]

The first battles in the ridgeline were messy, and Olesm hated them. He couldn’t see any of it. He was stuck coordinating the attack, and his training had prepared him, but this was the first time he was coordinating a battle where he didn’t see the attacks and maneuvering.

It threw him off, but he had officers on the ground who were supposed to deal with that, so Olesm’s biggest move was keeping an eye on the entire battle.

One of the things he did was to check each group’s advance as they clashed with the Hectval alliance’s forces hiding in the ridgeline. They were skirmishing, trying to bait groups into following them and getting lost and surrounded. Olesm refused to let it happen.

“Ramia, slow down. You’re coming to another intersection—Belgrade, prepare to link up. Scout Leader Maksie, do you have eyes?”

He waited and then heard three voices in quick succession.

“Slowing down. I see movement on the far end.”

“Commander Olesm, my forces are moving to meet Division Leader Ramia’s. Pausing two hundred feet from intersection. Please give word to advance.”

“Commander, I am moving into position. Forty seconds to eyes.”

Each one had a different style and cadence. Olesm waited, listening to more reports filtering in. He was timing them so that if an attack came…they wouldn’t be unsupported.

Advance and secure each pass. It was like a puzzle. Some [Strategists] wouldn’t try this for love or money, but Olesm had guessed that Hectval hadn’t put as many troops here as the passes. They probably wanted Olesm to slow down so they could turn this place into an impassible barricade.

Olesm wanted to take the ridgeline as fast as was safe. But the real test, the real fighting?

He didn’t see it. He heard it, and it was obvious to Olesm that one group was under attack the most.

“Prognugator Dekass. Reporting a second attack. Battalion 3 is holding.”

“Commander Olesm to Tersk. Slow your advance. I want you to prepare to reinforce Dekass’ lines.”

“Prognugator Tersk. Acknowledged, Commander.”

Olesm was overseeing Ramia and Belgrade’s link-up when another voice came down the line.

“Prognugator Dekass. Forces are retreating. Harassing fire from cliff face. Minimal casualties.”

Olesm snapped around.

“Someone get me a [Scrying] spell on Dekass!”

The [Mage] capable of the spell hurried to a scrying orb. It took five long minutes before Olesm saw another line of Drisshia’s soldiers clashing with Dekass and archers on the cliffs.

“Dekass, hold out. Pull our sharpshooters and take those [Archers] out. Pull one lightning-bolt [Mage] as well.”

If only he had fliers! Olesm saw the order go out and one of his specialist squads move in. [Hunters] from Liscor, experts with the bow…the cliff-[Archers] fell back as one took an arrow and fell—Olesm looked away with a grimace.

It wasn’t bad so far. He couldn’t detect anyone intercepting their messages, nor was this a full army in the pass, clearly.

But Ancestors, they had it in for the Antinium! Or maybe just Dekass’ battalion? No sooner had the infantry pulled back again than Olesm heard Maksie shout.

“Commander! I just saw a magic flare high up! All stop! All stop!”

“All troops, halt and watch for collapses!”

Olesm shouted. This time he heard the distant thump and crumbling groan of rocks collapsing. He whirled, ran out of his tent, and saw dust rising from above the ridgeline.

“Where was that?”

“Antinium got it. Looks like…Battalion 3!”

Maksie reported in, breathless, flying over the collapsed passage. Olesm’s stomach churned. He’d thought they hadn’t had time to do that!

“Was that a prepared spell?”

“Nope. Looks like they put a [Mage], Commander. I’m watching three—and two are puking their guts out. They’ve overdosed on mana to pull that. Want me to try and take a shot?”

Olesm hesitated. He dearly wanted to, but Maksie was one of his only fliers.

“No…no. If there are any of your [Scouts] up there, or [Archers] on the ground with an angle, have them take down those [Mages].”

“Yes, sir.”

Olesm turned back to Battalion 3. He tried to raise Dekass.

“Dekass? Prognugator Dekass, status?”

Silence. Olesm heard Tersk snapping into the stone.

“…assault on Battalion 2. They are engaged with a Drake force which has flanked them in Battalion 3’s absence. Battalions 1 and 4 are pulling back to support them.”

“Wing Commander, get to the fighting. Maksie, watch for more [Mages].”

“Two dead. Last one is surrendering.”

“Make sure they don’t cast a spell. Wing Commander?”

“On it. Three minutes.”

Olesm stared at the map as a [Tactician] fumbled to try and put the little painted pieces in an order showing what was happening. He heard Bepol speak up nervously.

“Commander, I’m looking at more forces headed my way. Not armored, but a lot of them.”

Olesm’s head snapped up.

“In that case, pull your riders forwards and prepare for a charge with your infantry. Your discretion, Bepol, but prepare one volley with all your [Archers]. Give me a mark and three countdown.”

The Division Leader paused, but his tone was suddenly exceptionally relieved. He knew what Olesm was doing, but the [Strategist] didn’t say it out loud—just in case they were being monitored.

“They’re raising shields.”

“Aim up—then straight ahead. Ready?”

“Ready in…”

Bepol was giving orders. Olesm heard him exhorting the [Archers], then the Drake spoke.

“Three…two…one…now! Volley!”

Olesm heard the snap of bows and gave it another second, then he shouted.

“[Instantaneous Barrage]!”

He didn’t get to see the second volley of arrows appear and hit Hectval’s forces, but Bepol’s tone said it all.

“That got them! Charge! [Victor’s Push]!”

He was good on the attack. Olesm switched back to Tersk as the Prognugator began speaking rapidly.

“Coordinated attack. 4th Company arriving. Commander, Drisshia in retreat. Battalion 2 engaged. Battalion 3 engaged. Pincer on three sides. Enemy falling back. Surrendering.”

Olesm snatched up the speaking stone.

“What was that?”

Then he heard a crackle from Dekass.

“Prognugator Dekass. Communications restored? Commander, Drisshia forces are retreating or have surrendered. Orders to engage?”

“We can wrap them.”

“I—yes! 4th Company, Tersk, advance! Dekass, what happened?”

The Prognugator of the Armored Antinium was calm, but ever-so-slightly smug.

“We were buried by falling rocks, Commander. However, the burial was ineffective. Mostly dirt. Poor collapse of tunnels. Battalion 3 is continuing to dig itself out; however, I ordered an attack on the enemy’s rear.”

Olesm exhaled hard. Battalion 3 was alive! Not only that—they’d dug their way out?

Nothing like Antinium to thwart collapsed passages. Olesm sat back as he heard Embria routing the rest of the attackers.

“First prisoners of war, Commander. Battalion 3’s looking battered, but they really didn’t expect their attack to go south. Permission to advance?”

“Pull Battalion 3 back, and yes, Wing Commander. Tersk? Full advance.”

——

That was the largest engagement on the twelfth day by far. By nightfall, Liscor held over half the ridgeline at secure defense points, and Olesm counted several [Mages] taken out, all with Luldem’s insignia on their armor, as well as over eighty prisoners and an estimated hundred casualties on the Hectval alliance’s side.

Not huge numbers, but the battles had gone one way, mostly. The probing attacks on the Antinium and aggressive assaults had all been foiled, and he guessed three times as many of the enemy had been wounded, forcing costly potions or treatments.

If there were a star of the hour—it was certainly down to one group, who had not only fought in four successive clashes, but survived an avalanche and then dug themselves out to flank the enemy from behind.

“Battalion 3 of the Antinium division deserves a commendation.”

Olesm was sitting in the command tent, relaxing, when he suddenly came to an understanding, as if someone had snuck up and poked him with a Wand of Jolt.

Bepol stopped sipping at his brandy from a cask he’d somehow brought from Invrisil. He was a bit off-guard, but he blinked at Olesm.

“They did well, I suppose.”

The Drake admitted grudgingly. Even Embria nodded, and Belgrade leaned forwards as he broke away from playing chess against Ramia.

“I believe they may experience higher-than-average leveling tonight, Commander Olesm. Perhaps if a commendatory speech is read out loud they will level even more? This is a good idea.”

“No, no. I’m not familiar with all army traditions, but Wing Commander Embria, isn’t rewarding the best unit a tradition in the army?”

Olesm turned to her and saw the Wing Commander blink uneasily.

“I…yes, of course. The [Sergeant]—er, soldier who takes the most heads of officers, the best fighting unit, or one that got thrown into the thick of it. Everyone knows, but sometimes High Command does something like give them leave when we get to a city first.”

“We can’t do that for the first battle.”

Bepol pointed out. Olesm waved a claw; he himself was sitting at the mess table, though he’d dearly have loved to pull up a chair and play chess. But he sat with the [Tacticians], [Lieutenant] Kesa, and a few other officers. He eyed Kesa dipping a blade of grass into a bowl of sauce and then sticking it into her mouth. Embria mouthed at her.

Stop that.

Kesa, embarrassed, took the grass out of her mouth.

“Well, we can certainly draft some kind of statement. Battalion 3 fought valiantly and against superior odds…”

Ramia began. Bepol interrupted.

“Not superior. Significant. It’s in the wording. In fact, we might want to not use that at all. That implies we think the foe is significant.”

A Drake raised her claw.

“How about, ‘Battalion 3 triumphed in the face of adversity against Hectval’s numerous attempts to overwhelm them?’ That implies numbers, but…”

“Ooh, I like that.”

The others present began debating the way to phrase it. Olesm turned to Kesa, Embria, and the rest of 4th Company.

“In your experience, how well-received are High Command’s…verbal…addresses?”

“Permission to speak candidly, Commander?”

Embria glared at Kesa as the Drake raised her claw eagerly.

“Permission denied. Not that effective, unless it really mattered, Commander. Something…tangible would be better. Words won’t hurt, though.”

Olesm nodded.

“Maybe…do we have anything in the rations we could give? Say, a half-ration of something Antinium like? Belgrade, what would that be?”

“Anything but wheat-based products.”

The [Strategist] replied instantly. Bepol frowned.

“Yes, but dates, fruits…”

Olesm smiled slightly.

“Belgrade means anything, doesn’t he? Antinium don’t eat anything other than their rations…wait. How much of their…food…are they eating?”

The [Trapsetter Strategist] considered the question.

“Enough for eighty-six protracted days of battle, Commander. It is highly storable, highly difficult to rot, and highly…nutritious.”

Olesm shuddered. Embria raised her brows, but she had probably never seen the Antinium’s food-paste. It could be green. Grey. Brown. Orange…but these colors were, in and of themselves, not offensive. Something about the paste…and those colors being dominant and speckled in with things Olesm thought he recognized, like a tooth or…

“Let’s give them a half-ration of other food. And a commendation to Battalion 3’s fighting spirit. We’ll do that every day there’s major fighting or someone to celebrate. It seems like a good tradition so long as we’re not low on supplies.”

The other officers nodded, even 4th Company. Olesm felt that alone was good, but something was bothering him. This was good, old-fashioned leadership. Manus’ teachers would have approved and probably given him examples of ways military leaders encouraged or chided their soldiers effectively.

So what was he missing? Olesm sat there as Bepol began to do a draft and Ramia lost a game of chess to Belgrade, prompting Kesa to try and then lose in eleven moves. Something was missing.

…Erin’s inn? Olesm thought of her inn. Here he was, at war. There was little of what Erin did or her inn—save for the Antinium. She hated wars, for all he thought she was a brilliant [Strategist] who hid it only as a love of chess. What would she do?

The blue-scaled Drake brushed at his armor, free of any blood or gore, and looked up at Belgrade. He remembered the Painted Antinium and Belgrade…

Belgrade. The [Strategist] glanced at him as Olesm blinked. He rose to his feet and exclaimed.

“That’s it.”

What they needed, as much as commendations, as much as a little gift? Olesm saw the other officers look at him and glanced at Embria. He couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it, being in 4th Company. But perhaps she had and just hadn’t volunteered it, or she didn’t think of it as something Antinium would do. Olesm took a breath.

“Battalion 3 of the Antinium division is faceless. No one knows Antinium. No offense, Belgrade, but they look alike.”

“This is very fair.”

Olesm looked around. He saw Embria raise her brows.

“They need…a name.”

[Leader Level 9!]

[Skill – Bird’s Eye View obtained!]

[Skill – Boosted Morale (Unit) obtained!]

Crusader 51, [Crusader]

Thus was born Crab Battalion.

At first, Crusader 51 had no idea what they were talking about. The other Liscorian [Soldiers] camped next to the Antinium, but there was a bit of a divide. The Antinium did not speak, and Liscorians were trained not to ask their names or really interact.

There was a lot of staring that went on, but after the first battle, the [Soldiers] were celebrating, even the ones who hadn’t fought. A number of petitions were made for the officers to treat everyone for a few drinks…which Crusader 51 understood not to be water, but it was denied.

However, that night, Commander Olesm Swifttail himself gave a little speech to the [Soldiers] and Antinium [Crusaders].

“…and in recognition of their feats, I have awarded them a half-ration of supplies for their enjoyment and personally certify Battalion 3 of the Antinium with a new moniker.”

Murmurs of interest among the [Soldiers] standing to attention. They hadn’t really enjoyed the speech about the ‘valorous conduct’ of Battalion 3, for all it was true. Those were words.

But these words? Crusader 51’s antennae waved in the night air.

Moniker?

“What’s a moniker?”

“A monkey? From Baleros?”

“No, it’s monetary. He’s giving them a bounty?”

The whispering [Soldiers] were silenced by Division Leader Bepol’s glare. Olesm raised a claw.

“A moniker—that is, a name. In the future, each battalion may decide on theirs or find a nickname. However, in this case, given their stubbornness and ability to sneak up on the enemy by surprise, I declare Battalion 3 to be named…Crab Battalion. After our own Rock Crabs of Liscor and Little Crab football teams!”

Surprised murmurs and even chuckles. The [Soldiers], looking so bored or inattentive, came alive. They looked around, and Crusader 51 turned to the surprised Battalion 3. Who were now…

Crab Battalion. They looked at each other, much like Crusader 51 had done after he’d become a [Crusader]. Changed. Redefined.

And they got snacks. Crusader 51 watched as the [Quartermaster] carefully had a bundle of food remanded to Dekass’ care. Each [Soldier] in the five hundred stood up, collected a half-portion of food, and looked at it.

It was…yogurt.

The exigencies of Liscor being so close to the front, as well as holding spells, meant that yogurt was not impossible to store and carry. In addition, these were in handy pots. The [Soldiers] had been issued utensils designed for their hands, and the Workers had spoons. They stared into the pots as Crusader 51 looked at the food. Crab Battalion, thus named, had food and a moniker.

An odd feeling stole into Crusader 51’s chest. He had felt it before, but never as strongly. That unpleasant, possessive anger. Irritation too deep under his shell to be removed.

Jealousy.

Artur, [Flag Bearer]

He had not fought. He had carried the flag.

He might level for it, even so. However, before he slept, Belgrade found him.

“You must amend your flag. Crab Battalion is now a battalion. Therefore, they have a sigil. I have suggested they paint it on their armor.”

Artur looked up. The [Strategist] appeared quite happy, and even Tersk and Dekass, who had somehow allotted himself one of the yogurt rations, also looked pleased.

“This is a good endeavor. I may copy it among the Armored Antinium. What sigil will Crab Battalion have?”

Belgrade clacked his mandibles as the two Prognugators stood with him. He looked at Artur.

“…A crab? I do not know. Someone should draw it.”

Dekass delicately took a huge spoonful of yogurt and inserted it between his mandibles.

“Who? Who draws the Painted Antinium’s colors?”

“They do.”

Dekass nodded.

“Then who will do it for a battalion? You?”

Belgrade frowned, twitching his antennae slightly.

“I cannot draw. Dekass, you command them. You should draw.”

“I do not draw. I recommend Tersk.”

“I have never drawn anything except military-oriented maps.”

The three Antinium looked at each other helplessly, and then, as one, seemed to recall Artur. In a flash, Belgrade developed a true trait of command.

“Artur, you draw Crab Battalion’s new sigil. Yes. This is a good idea. I will go over here now and find something else to do.”

He hurried off, and the [Flag Bearer] stared at the flag he was holding and around at Crab Battalion. He looked around.

Draw? With what?

The Painted Antinium did have paints. Artur found some; the ‘quartermaster’ let him have some. After all, he was Antinium, and the Worker assigned to their supplies assumed he had orders. Which Artur did. So he could take anything he wanted. So he did.

He was finger-drawing a little orange crab onto a stone as a bunch of Antinium stared at him and trying to figure out if it was appropriate when he heard an argument.

“Belgrade. Belgrade. What are Battalion 3—Crab Battalion doing?”

Artur listened as Belgrade and Olesm stepped aside to talk in low voices next to him. He carefully put the flag in front of him and dipped his finger in the orange paint. Artur was so busy listening and working, he didn’t see one of the [Crusaders] in Crab Battalion edge over and dip a finger in the paint and watch Artur.

“They are sharing the food, I believe, Olesm.”

“With other battalions?”

Belgrade inspected the other [Crusaders].

“…Yes? Is this a problem?”

Artur glanced up. A lot of the [Crusaders] were offering spoonfuls of their rations to other Soldiers, who were lining up. The Liscorians were watching with fascination. Olesm made a sound.

“No, but—it’s their ration. I know it’s a virtue to share, but some of those Antinium didn’t even fight!”

Belgrade nodded reasonably.

“Yes, but it would be unfair for the others not to have a taste.”

“They can hardly share a bowl of yogurt among…six Antinium! That’s barely a mouthful each!”

“Ah, but the other Antinium would not get to experience it if it was not shared, Olesm.”

The Commander caught his breath. The blue-scaled Drake looked at Belgrade, not blankly, but thinking hard. He knew what Belgrade was getting at, but Olesm’s response surprised Artur and Belgrade.

“Perhaps that’s fairer.”

Belgrade stopped, and Artur glanced up. He saw the [Strategist]-[Leader] looking at Belgrade under the moonlight. For the first time, Belgrade looked uncertain.

“How would that be fairer? The other Antinium may never taste the yogurt again.”

“Yes, Belgrade. But Crab Battalion fought, and some of them died. That’s their reward. It’s not even much of one, but it’s theirs. That’s…the point. It’s unfair. It should be. They did something exceptional, so it’s theirs. I’m not saying they can’t share. But they don’t have to. Just…make sure they know that.”

He walked off, and Belgrade looked uncertainly at Crab Battalion. Artur ducked his head when Belgrade turned towards him, and lifted the flag.

A little, orange crab with a rocky, grey shell rose on Liscor’s standard. Artur held it high up, and later saw that little symbol appear on every member of Crab Battalion’s armor in some location over the next day. He also noticed that the yogurt didn’t get shared around as much. He never got a taste.

But he had not fought. Was that fair? Artur didn’t know, but when he saw the other Antinium looking at Crab Battalion, who walked as one, who the Drakes, Humans, and Gnolls pointed out as…Crab Battalion, he thought that was already unfair, so the yogurt was fairly unfair.

In the coming days, Crab Battalion would enter combat five times out of six days and receive commendations three times.

[Flag Bearer Level 10!]

[Skill – Flag: Inspiring Sight obtained!]

[Skill – Stainless Fabric obtained!]

[Skill – Basic Drawing obtained!]

…That last one felt like an insult to Artur.

Crusader 51, [Crusader]

On the fourteenth day, he never saw the arrow that killed Crusader 50. He was fighting forwards, trying to cut a screaming Gnoll who was running back, when he sensed a gap on his side. He looked left, and Crusader 50 was lying on the ground.

Each Antinium was issued with a single low-grade healing potion. Crusader 51 reached for it and turned Crusader 50 over and saw the arrow sticking out of his head.

He must have knelt there for a while. Long enough to see green blood running into the rocky soil. Long enough to see a tiny little beetle climbing on Crusader 50’s shoulder.

Someone tried to behead him. Crusader 51 heard a scream and saw Crusader 53 bring his mace down on a Drake’s head and leave a dent as the [Soldier] fell back, dead. The other [Crusader] had green blood on his armor. Someone had slashed through his chestplate, and he was leaking green.

The two Soldiers looked at each other for a moment, and Crusader 51 stood up. They turned and heard Tersk bellowing.

“Squads 5, 7! Fall back.”

So they did. Crusader 51 saw Soldiers running past Crusader 50’s body. A Worker with a halberd chopped down on a screaming figure. A Drake, who had been screaming and filling the air with sound as he blasted spells from a wand.

Crusader 51 hadn’t heard it. He looked up as Tersk bellowed.

“[Lightning Bolt]!”

All the [Crusaders] ducked, though the magic would run through them. Some raised their shields as if to block it. The spell arced across hundreds of fighting Antinium, Drakes, Gnolls—and exploded in midair as a [Mage] countered it.

A shower of ghostly arrows traced back the path towards the [Mage]. Commander Olesm’s [Instantaneous Barrage] Skill. Crusader 51 saw a Drake with a nimbus of crackling magic and two raised arms fall backwards as the arrows overloaded the barrier. The [Archers] in the formation dove for cover, and someone began to blow a horn.

“4th Company incoming! Move, move!”

Crusader 51 looked around and moved left—just in time to see a Drake riding past him, a spear raised. She surged past the [Crusaders] in front and rammed it into a Drake’s throat, whirling the spear.

The flash of red made Crusader 51 flinch. Some of it landed on him. He didn’t have a nose, but it smelled like iron.

That was what Hectval’s blood smelled like. Drakes and Gnolls.

Antinium blood smelled different. They smelled like insects, foreign to mammals when they died. Drakes lay staring blankly at the sky. Gnoll fur clotted with blood, but they lay like puppets.

Antinium curled up into little mounds of shell and limbs. Crusader 51 looked around at Battalion 1, Acid Jars, and realized he had made a mistake, somewhere.

——

Crab Battalion. How Crusader 51 had disliked them.

After the first day, it hadn’t been more than envy. Crusader 51 had not gotten any yogurt. Nor had he gotten something to draw on his armor.

They had. However, Olesm had been more cunning than anyone had known. He had created in the Antinium, for the first time…a sense of competition.

The fact that Crab Battalion had a name and award made them stand out. So had Olesm’s promise to commend the best fighting force. Naturally, the [Crusaders] decided that if you were going to get yogurt instead of your paste, they would fight for that.

Try hard. Not that they didn’t try, but there was an extra…keenness when they went into the fray tomorrow.

Passage-fighting. Narrow spaces to large areas for multiple squads to fight shoulder-to-shoulder. Dangerous if you ran into spells, but armor could save you.

Crusader 51 was ready. He and Crusader 53 were both Calruz’s students, and they were in the same squad. No other squad had two gifted Antinium. So naturally they would do better and receive the reward today.

…They did not. Mainly because they were both ordered to loose arrows as the first ranks of Battalion 1 repelled a few charges from [Riders]. The enemy did not attack Battalion 1.

They attacked Battalion 3 instead. That was—

Crab Battalion. As if Dekass were a lodestone, or for vengeance, the second day saw [Mages] taking potshots at Crab Battalion at range. Lightning spells. In response, Olesm mounted archers and had Maksie call out targets. [Mages] were an asset, and a limited one at that; if one of them cast a spell, they had better be ready to eat an arrow in return, and few [Mages] were of Magus Grimalkin’s caliber or even his students.

“For heroism in the face of an onslaught of spells, Commander Olesm has awarded Crab Battalion another commendation. News of their advance in the face of a storm of spells has reached Liscor, and the Council has commissioned an illustration of the advance.”

Tersk read out the announcement, and Crab Battalion was given pork tenderloin.

Crusader 51 had never known pork had a tender loin. This time, it was not shared. The scorched armor of the [Crusaders] still bore their crab symbol, and they ate slowly, savoring the meal while the other Antinium smelled it.

The next day, Dekass proudly strutted across the ground and announced to Tersk he had levelled up.

“My unit is now resistant to electricity. I therefore request permission to lead our advance. I also cite the increased levels among my command. The average is now 9, with many [Crusaders] having achieved their first capstone.”

Crusader 51 had never heard of the snowball effect, but he would have understood the dirtball analogy. Crab Battalion was leveling up. You could see there was a difference. Not just in levels, the Soldiers and Workers held their shields more confidently, and when they clashed, they looked—sharp.

Therefore, they got into the fighting more often as Olesm recognized that. Not that it was one or two skirmishes in the following days.

Liscor’s army took the ridgeline and emerged into what would become their main battleground: a series of gentler hills that nevertheless extended into a large network of caves and unexpected valleys.

Much like the Floodplains, but on a larger scale. The garrison force that had tried to slow Liscor’s advance fell back—and linked up with Hectval’s real army. That was when the first big engagements occurred.

——

Crusader 51 stabbed nine opponents and executed a slash that injured six more on the first day Battalion 1 saw massed combat. Squad 5 entered into pitched battle as the Antinium [Crusaders] met Hectval-Drisshia-Luldem in force.

He didn’t know the numbers, and he didn’t see the strategy at play. What Crusader 51 saw and heard were Drakes and Tersk’s orders.

“Antinium! Get them!”

“They’re wearing armor—don’t waver! That one’s a Prognugator! Get—”

“Traitors! You Lizardfolk traitors! Antinium and—”

They were angry. The forces of the Hectval alliance shouted insults and raged at their counterparts, but they were also afraid.

Afraid of the Antinium. This was the first time they met the [Crusaders] en masse, and that was when they experienced what their forces had felt before.

[Combined Skill: Wrath of the Righteous].

Suffer. Perish.

The sky. The sky!

Anger.

Voices that echoed in your head, in your very soul, that you couldn’t drown out. Voices from a group that had no tongues. What terrified the Drakes and Gnolls more, perhaps, was how the [Crusaders] expressed their fury. No great oaths, no litany of curses.

Just…

That. Crusader 51 saw Drakes go pale, back up, and run, even when they weren’t losing in the first few encounters. Even Drisshia’s heavy infantry did not want to fight the Antinium. A Drake would block a sword thrust—and the second dagger would bounce off their armor, slash, catch their weapon on a shield, open their mouth to call for help—and see a crossbow aimed at their face from the fourth arm at point-blank range.

——

Battalion 1 got their moment in the sun after that battle. And their name.

“They melted through their opponents. Acid Jars. That’s what we’ll call them. Acid Jars.”

Olesm excitedly commended Battalion 1 in the aftermath, along with three other groups. He had elected, given that there were four main divisions in his forces, to commend four battalions per day, one under each main commander.

The Acid Jars got their first meal of food, and it did not disappoint. Crusader 51 had never had the goat’s cheese and salsa before, yet he thought that when he took a bite of the loaded potato—it would have never tasted as good if it weren’t Battalion 1’s triumph.

He saw the other [Crusaders] watching him and almost went to share.

Almost. Then he remembered that Crab Battalion had eaten twice and not shared, so he did not.

A strange thing passed over Crusader 51 after that meal. He had never felt…hungry…after eating. Nor was he now, since the half-ration was in addition to his regular nutrients. But he wanted more. He wanted another day of victory.

[Crusader Level 9!]

[Skill – Enhanced Edge obtained!]

[Skill – Resistance: Sleep obtained!]

All was well. Crusader 51 woke up on the fourteenth day excited for battle.

Then Crusader 50 died. Crusader 51 wondered if his shield hadn’t been high enough. H-had it been his fault? Maybe he had moved out of line trying to kill more opponents so Battalion 1 would be commended again.

Battalion 4 got their first commendation and a nickname—Razorbeaks—that day. Crusader 51 didn’t care. He sat in his squad of nine and looked at the others. He looked left, and the [Crusader] who had stood in front of him and knelt before Pawn was gone.

Gone.

Soldiers died, but Crusader 50 had been…Crusader 50. Crusader 51 hadn’t known him to do anything iconic. He hadn’t been in Calruz’s class. But he’d been there. Somehow, Crusader 51 had forgotten, with his armor and the sky and everything else, that they could still die.

Embria, [Wing Commander]

Dear Dad,

We’re in the soup now. You know how it is. Though we never talked about it. Everyone told me that Sergeant Relc, the Gecko, always laughed going into it. That he would charge in and come out whistling and telling dumb jokes.

I can’t. I wonder if that’s a lie, like how they said old Durrell never flinched even when arrows struck him. He flinches. He just—doesn’t scream.

It’s the soup. It’s not hot as some fronts. We’re better than they are.

The Ants Antinium fight well. It scares me. I know they’re green as new grass, but they’ve been fighting Drisshia since they’re both heavy armor, and I think Drisshia loses. They’re regulars, and the Antinium fold them up. Not that we haven’t taken casualties.

Barely over a hundred dead across the entire army after…I want to say a week of real fighting. I’m watching Hectval’s alliance fall back now. Potions did it, but the truth is they’ve got a bit more magic, maybe, more [Mages]. Roughly equal numbers…so we won.

4th Company must have sniped four low-level officers and three [Mages] along with a few battalions. Hectval probably lost some of their best attacking Liscor, or they really thought Olesm would be worse than whoever they sent. He’s got…a few big Skills.

Remember [Instantaneous Barrage]? I can’t imagine how much they hate it. He’s also got [Vigor of Champions], so 4th Company goes in and doesn’t stop unless we need healing. So we got them.

It’s still the soup. But we’re winning. The question is—what does Hectval do next? They can maybe try to out-spell us, but [Mages] eat that [Instantaneous Barrage] or get sniped and they’re gone for good. They can’t out-shoot us. All those Workers with bows plus Liscor’s archers mean we tend to win. Either a cunning strategy or…

Hey Dad, I fought in another battle the next day. Idiots tried the Mellian Cascade. I really think they thought it would work. Liscor’s army might be green, but 4th Company just walked over and blocked each wedge when they went in, and they surrendered or got chopped up. Strange thing though—

There’s something off about those Antinium. I’ve heard that [Strategist]—Belgrade—and those two ‘Prognugators’ call them a strange class. I keep trying to get it right so I can report it, but I think it’s—[Crusader]? I’ve never heard of it. And they have weird powers. I’m beginning to think Hectval isn’t just incompentent.

Though they’re that, too. Either I tell you we’re at Hectval’s walls in a week or they surprise me, because we just took about eight hundred prisoners.

—Embria

Lulv, [Spearmaster]

The Mellian Cascade was an old tactic that originated from Manus. The theory was that you formed multiple spear-wedges and sent them into the enemy from multiple oblique angles while your hammer pinned them down from one angle.

Hit them hard enough and you popped the enemy formation. It had been famously unraveled by Chaldion when he was a young [Strategist], and the Antinium Wars had never seen it work that well.

It was what some thought of as a useful gambit against [Strategists] or [Commanders] who had never seen it happen to them.

“They tried it on the Antinium. See how they go in, there? Antinium turn—eat them. Same with Liscor’s army. There’s a shock—then that group of five hundred splits, hits two wedges, and they start crumbling.”

“4th Company. Liscor’s own. Looks like they’ve augmented it, but you can tell they’re veterans. They’ve seen the Mellian Cascade. Idiots.”

The ‘idiots’ were for Hectval’s commanders. Lulv agreed, but the Gnoll resting his paws on the table didn’t voice an opinion right away.

“I see…well, I see a lot of mistakes. See how they’re boxing in their opponents? They know this isn’t a border-conflict with Cauldus or another city, but they fight like it is. That’s a classic surrender pileup. Only, Liscor doesn’t surrender, and they eat a boosted charge from 4th Company. Again. And those were their veterans. Meanwhile, the Antinium just keep chewing up their left side.”

“Three battles. There’s some kind of morale-Skill at work; they’re not just running because they’re outmatched. Lulv, do you need a changeup? Lulv?”

The [Spearmaster] of Manus looked up. He focused on the High Command of Manus, the security council, and growled.

“No, Dragonspeaker Luciva. Apologies. I was thinking.”

The Dragonspeaker wore her armor like a second skin. An old, old sigil of Manus traced a line across her breastplate and helm; what was new was the feather. She added a feather with a blue plume, to match her scales purely as ornament.

The leader of Manus, Dragonspeaker Luciva, nodded as General Milka continued her breakdown of the last battle. She approached, and Lulv straightened.

“Hectval has accepted the mercenary offer for Wytel’s Spearlance. They were insisting upon direct leadership under one of their officers…until yesterday.”

She saw his grimace and grinned.

“We’re passing an attaché to them as well. A consultant for hire.”

“Do I know him?”

“Sokkel. He served in the Cyles Plains battle…”

“Huh. Good.”

Spearmaster Lulv looked at Dragonspeaker Luciva, armored almost like a [Knight]. To many of her kind, she was an example of her people. She had higher cheekbones, and her scales were predominantly blue, but mixed with white and yellow, a rare, tricolor blend. When she stood in the light from one of the crenelated windows, she looked like she held up the entire keep, sun playing off ancient armor.

Manus, the City of War. However, she had lost too much to be the young heroine to be cast in poetry. The notch at the edge of her lips dropped, where once it had just made her look battle-hardened. She had lost her daughter recently, and she walked heavier, spoke more deliberately.

Compared to her, Lulv knew, he looked far plainer. He wore dark armor, a rare lacquered wood rather than anything else, over dyed-black Wyvern hide. Lulv was lean compared to other Gnolls, but he had always been lean. When he walked, it was more like he stalked forwards, never fully tall, always slightly slouched—and he almost always carried the spear Luciva herself had given him.

Ashwood from Noelictus, written with Lulv’s name and title, and on the tip, the very finely-ground point of a dark red metal, crossing to a lighter pattern of off-gold. A near-perfect conical tip, not flattened or a teardrop or other type of spear. This one was almost like the tip of a lance, though he could cut with it if he had to.

Adamantium-tipped over Lord’s Bronze. A [Spearmaster]’s weapon.

That was the only thing immediately flashy about Lulv. He looked his part and admired Luciva for looking hers. Her ancient armor and the weapon she carried, the Fang of Manus, or Parentkiller, its true name, the glaive that permanently crackled with electricity, was just as showy.

And neither she nor he truly cared how they looked, only how they were seen. Lulv to skulk around in battle, Luciva to inspire. They both passed by the other’s attire as something they had seen a thousand times, the same with their faces.

If there was someone they would always scrutinize, to see if she was upset, bored, or anything else, it was the individual who wasn’t here. Wall Lady Rafaema.

Luciva was half-distracted, even now, speaking to Lulv. She was thinking of Oteslia, and Lulv had wanted to volunteer for that assignment. But this needed a [Spearmaster].

“Frankly, Hectval-Drisshia-Luldem have the numbers, but they’re worried about other attacks or a feint. Sokkel can improvise, but I think Milka will agree; they need to bring it to bear. They cannot trade equally against Liscor. I’ve identified three main assets: their [Strategist], who outlevels theirs, 4th Company from Liscor, and the Antinium. Do you want to amend that or requisition anyone else?”

The Antinium. Lulv focused in a heartbeat. He dipped his head for a second, thinking.

“No, Dragonspeaker. I’ll play it by ear, but I have my line of attack and fallbacks. Air support?”

“Six Wyverns. Although if we show them…”

“All I need are bombardments. I’ll head out within the hour.”

“Then I will wait on your report. Manus waits for you, Lulv.”

“Manus waits upon no foe. Thank you, Dragonspeaker Luciva. Before I go…is there anything from Makhir?”

Lulv turned once before he exited the security council. He saw Luciva’s commanding smile turn to a frown.

“Rafaema is withdrawn. She’s keeping time with Cirediel, and Makhir doesn’t cite him as a positive influence.”

“Has he ever?”

The Dragonspeaker tried to smile, but she flicked to their ongoing projection of the Oteslia-Zeres siege.

“We’ll make sure she’s safe. Get us a gauge on this new threat, Lulv. Or remove it.”

He picked up his spear and saluted her.

“With Dragon’s will, you’ll never know how good those Antinium are as a war asset. Spearmaster Lulv, sortieing.”

Then he left.

——

Lulv found his command waiting for him, ready to go by the time he reached the outer walls and the mustering point for them. He saw four hundred Drakes and Gnolls, packed and ostensibly wearing gear of [Mercenaries], albeit battle-trained ones.

No insignia, no other markers to show they were from Manus. However, subtlety tended to end there.

If Liscor’s 4th or any veteran group saw this lot coming at them in battle, they’d signal for reinforcements or retreat. It wasn’t hard to spot the faint…glimmer on weapons or armor that said that everything these [Soldiers] carried was enchanted.

Most of it wouldn’t be noticeable until it came out of its sheath, but this was not an infiltration group. The lowest-level [Soldier] here was Level 20.

“Officer present! Attention!”

The soldiers snapped to attention. Lulv addressed them quickly. He didn’t have a speech prepared, and he didn’t speak one now.

“Our designation is Wytel’s Spearlance. We are fighting for the Hectval-Drisshia-Luldem alliance, but our target is not Liscor’s general army. We will be fast-travelling via Wyvern to forty miles outside of Hectval’s war front and entering the engagement on foot. We will engage and decimate the Antinium contingent before withdrawing. If you are captured, you will be ransomed.”

He debated reinforcing the order not to identify themselves, but decided against it. These were not children. The [Soldiers] listened as Lulv rested his spear next to him.

“These current Antinium are Free Antinium that seem to have adopted Armored Antinium fighting styles. Do not assume they will stick to that strategy. Expect Skills. Mark any targets with unusual…abilities. I repeat, expect levels. We estimate most are still below Level 15. That is where they stop. Understood?”

A few quiet murmurs. Antinium with levels. That was one of Manus’ worst nightmares. Lulv heard a faint laugh amid the murmurs.

“So they’ve already out-levelled Hectval?”

Because they were veterans, Lulv didn’t expect or enforce silence, and he grinned along with the others.

“Our job isn’t to bail Hectval out. They started this mess; they can burn on it. Don’t let yourself get stabbed, but don’t clash hard with non-Antinium if you don’t have to.”

“Any veterans?”

A Gnoll raised her paw. Liscor’s army was a well-known outfit. Lulv shook his head.

“Only Liscor’s 4th. Our target is Antinium-only.”

“Sounds like we’ll be having a vacation. Level 15 Antinium? I thought this was a volunteer mission, not garrison duty.”

That wasn’t a comment to the group as a whole. Lulv’s ears perked up, and the Gnoll turned his head. The [Soldiers] recoiled instinctively as he grabbed his spear and pointed it.

“You. Out.”

A Drake froze as Lulv singled someone out in one of the columns.

“Sir?”

“Out. Get me a replacement. If any one of you thinks this is going to be an easy job where the hardest thing will be holding your tails out of the mud—step out now. The Antinium have deployed their newest combat unit. Free Antinium. Underestimate them and you’ll get your entire squad killed.”

The [Soldiers] went somber in a minute. Face burning, the Drake stepped out of line and retreated. Lulv went on.

“Don’t treat this like Armored Antinium. Think of this like a Twisted Antinium raid. Be prepared for anything, and if you slip up, you have something crawling out of your face. Report any oddities—and your officers will be debriefing me hourly, but report it to my face if you have to. We are not playing games here. I want those three thousand Antinium gone, and I will make sure that happens if I have to stab all three thousand myself. Since my arm gets tired, are you the [Soldiers] to back me up? Or do I have to get another group to—”

They shouted and roared too loudly for Lulv to continue. He raised his spear and nodded.

“Alright, then. Dragonspeaker Luciva is counting on us. Muster up—oh, and try not to antagonize Hectval. I don’t care what the Drakes do. If I don’t take a swing at them, you don’t.”

The cheering died down, and the [Soldiers] moved forwards to the waiting Wyverns. You needed a lot to transport even four hundred [Soldiers], but Manus was the City of War. If they needed to, they could have requisitioned [Mages] for teleportation or used horse relays.

Lulv climbed onto his Wyvern-transport, and the [Rider] shushed the unhappy creature. Shame these ones didn’t spit frost, but elemental Wyverns were notoriously even worse to train. Lulv sat back and waited. Just…waited, as the Wyvern took off. It would be a long flight, landing, forty mile march, introductions to whomever was commanding him, and then…

Then he’d see where to strike.

The [Spearmaster] waited, eyes half-closed, until it was time to move.

Embria, [Wing Commander]

Not one level.

They said adversity built character—and also raised your level. Well, Embria feared the war wasn’t adverse enough.

…Or she had her father’s problem, and that was that she was fairly high-level in two main classes. Not as much as the Gecko of Liscor—but enough such that leading 4th Company through so many victories wasn’t enough to guarantee her levelling, even in a warzone.

Embria was a Level 28 [Spear Hunter], having leveled twice after coming back to Liscor and training with her father.

She was a Level 28 [Wing Commander] too. Double-classed, same level.

Even one of those was enough to make her close to a prized veteran in Liscor’s army. Wikir, for instance, was one of the old-guard, and he wasn’t a Level 30 [Captain].

It was hard to pass your capstones. Mind you, Wikir had started from the ground and was old enough to remember the Antinium Wars, but he hadn’t always been in Liscor’s 4th. Pass Level 30 and Embria would be…

Well, she might be a [Spearmaster]. And if she also passed Level 30 in [Wing Commander]—she’d have passed Relc when he first began being called the Gecko of Liscor.

It was an odd thought. Embria was sure Relc was higher-level. But she’d gotten to where he was…faster? Around where he was?

She wanted to level. Frankly, if she could have traded two classes for, say, a Level 32 in one class…

Well, she wouldn’t do it, but she’d give it a damn good thought. Because your classes gave you variety, but the height of your levels dictated the power of a Skill.

Take Olesm, for example. He was new to leading armies, but Embria saw his [Instantaneous Barrage] Skill, which could launch hundreds of arrows in a free volley attack at least once per battle, and she saw what Level 30 meant. As a [Wing Commander] and [Spear Hunter], she could help take down a dangerous group, battle an enemy officer, and slay them.

Olesm could change the entire battle around, especially if he pointed at a high-level opponent.

Anyways, she wasn’t leveling today. Embria sighed. She scowled up at a hill as Liscor’s army advanced over the last battlefield. The confusing terrain behind them meant their army had kept moving from battlefield to battlefield, trying to box their foe in, and Hectval kept fighting back—then retreating.

Right now, she was overseeing the inspection of all the supplies they’d taken from eight hundred prisoners of war, who would be ransomed off or held in a prisoner train. Olesm had learned from last time, and they wouldn’t be breaking out any time soon. Nor would Hectval launch a sneak attack to free them.

“Nice arrows. Unenchanted gear, unenchanted gear…personal possessions…”

Vell, Wikir, Pielt, and Igissi were all present, showing other officers how to efficiently sort and strip enemy combatants. That was the kind of thing this new army didn’t know. Everything from how to organize your pack to how to loot properly.

“Is this…are we going to wear the enemy’s armor, Wing Commander? It seems a bit off.”

That was from Division Leader Ramia. The [Guardswoman] was patently uncomfortable with the idea of battlefield acquisitions. Embria turned to her and tried to explain as Vell made her squad sort the gear.

“It’s not theft, Ramia. Nor would I advise tossing on armor without checking it; there’s lice as well as all the crap enemy soldiers will put on their gear if they think you’ll get it—including crap. But if you’ve got a hole in your armor and you see some new chainmail…I advise you not to crack down on that so long as a [Soldier] trades their gear. Now, looting is different. This goes straight to command to divvy out. We’re not [Pirates], but we’ll definitely take healing potions, eh?”

Ramia nodded, a bit relieved by Embria’s reassurances. Wikir chipped in with a reassuring growl.

“Don’t worry, the fact that we have so many prisoners is a good sign. Taking eight hundred in one engagement—Hectval’s probably tearing their fur out over it. Look at them.”

He nodded in the distance to where the other army was camped on the hilltop. In theory, they had the high ground.

In practice, they had lost every other area of ground, and while they had the numbers, Liscor had beaten them again and again. Embria nudged Wikir.

“Don’t say that. They can probably conscript if they haven’t done a round already. Plus, they’ll empty their garrisons.”

“More loot, more levels, more prisoners, Wing Commander. Liscor’s army loves it all. Give me your best! I’ll sell your helmet with the rest!”

The Gnoll replied cheerfully, quoting one of Liscor’s army’s adages. The other members of 4th Company laughed and cheered, and Embria smiled. Ramia glanced at them.

“Liscor’s Army. I haven’t seen it in…ten years. I forgot how much I liked hearing the [Soldiers] on leave shouting that.”

Embria glanced at Ramia and then looked around for those familiar insects in armor. She saw Wikir frown, and Pielt looked up with a glower.

“Yeah. We miss the city too. But you know how it is. Always another front. We never came back too regularly.”

Ramia nodded uncertainly and brushed some fur out of her helm.

“But once every few years. Is it just…the Antinium? I wasn’t comfortable with them myself, but I’ve met some of them. Senior Guardsman Klbkch—everyone knew them, and they aren’t…monsters. Belgrade plays chess. Is it just that?”

Wing Commander Embria found she was suddenly very uncomfortable with this line of questioning. She coughed.

“Of course they’re not. But High Command and a lot of the veterans…fought against them. Sserys? General Sserys? Hero of Izril and Liscor? You know what they did.”

Twenty years ago. She was too young to remember that, not really. She just remembered Relc being really upset whenever she asked how he died later on. Liscor’s army had been with Sserys, a great number of them.

None had come back.

Ramia nodded, looking conflicted. Embria was grateful she was interrupted from another question.

“Speaking of adding to provisions, make sure you get it all checked for rot or poison, obviously. But if you take out a commander’s tent, you can find good eating. Let’s see what we eugh! Wing Commander!”

The Wing Commander and Ramia turned, and Vell nearly dropped what she was holding. She’d been going through Hectval’s rations, and she lifted a tin can in outrage.

“What, Vell? Is it asparagus? Grow up. Until you see an Asparagus-monster, I’m not convinced there’s a problem!”

Embria shouted and the other [Soldiers] laughed. Vell glared back, waving the tin.

“It’s not that! Wing Commander, take a look at what these Hectval bastards eat! If there was ever a good reason to go to war—this confirms we should wipe ‘em out!”

Curious now, Embria trotted over. She expected something revolting, although she couldn’t imagine what was worse than the Antinium’s paste. Not that they ate bugs. Did Hectval eat…?

She stared down into the tin perplexed for a moment. Ramia gave a huge sniff.

“Doesn’t smell bad. What is…”

The two women stared down into the tinned can of Hectval’s rations. They looked at Vell’s face, and Embria gingerly poked the half-eaten ration of…

“Is that…is it…pudding?”

The entire object wobbled from Embria’s poke. She saw Wikir crack open another tin and make a face.

“Eugh. It’s all of this. What is it?”

“Some kind of gelled…it’s not pudding. It looks like sausage mixed with congealed…what is this? Someone get me a prisoner!”

Embria was mildly revolted. Ramia was outraged. When one of the bruised Drakes was hauled up, he stared blankly at her when she thrust the tin into his face.

“What? You gonna feed us to the Ants? You’ve got our food—”

“Shut it. What is this?”

He went cross-eyed as she thrust the wobbling dish in front of his face.

“…Food? You gonna eat that?”

He looked hungrily at the can. Vell, Embria, Wikir, and Ramia traded glances. The Gnoll pointed a paw down.

“This is food? What, exactly, is it?”

The Drake considered the question.

“Looks like…beef stock sausage gelatin. Bit of boiled corn mixed in, and, uh, might be a lobster gelatin on the side. Nice. I remember eating that yesterday. Can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t finish it up.”

Embria stared down at the wobbling not-liquid stuff. Beef stock, sausages, bits of boiled corn, all contained in a…gel. Like a slime, but less viscous.

Hard soup. That was what they eventually got out of the prisoner. Hectval, as it turned out, made gelatins.

The horrified 4th Company found, as they opened more tins, that the preserved rations were all like this. Apparently they had something that helped make gelatins, or just specialized in it, because they didn’t bother with canned soup or even sandwiches.

Why would you, when you had the glorious slice of gelatin with a hard boiled egg, pieces of turkey, carrots, and other components of a fine soup…frozen and turned into a slice of gelatin?

Mm. Spread that on some toast. Oh, wait, Hectval didn’t believe in toast. They believed in gelatin.

If one of the people of Earth could have been there, it would have answered one of the dark questions they lay awake at night pondering. Which was—would any other culture outside of Earth’s organically come up with a creation like spam?

Yes. Yes, and it was Hectval.

Why have a fish when you could have an artful bit of gelatin shaped like a fish, with fish-colored gelatin flavored with fish…matter…concentrate? Speckled within with juicy goodies—because the gelatin was going to be juicy, and soft, and you ate it with a spoon—or perhaps a giant, wet, pink blob of what turned out to be tuna-flavored something?

——

When Embria showed Olesm the objectionable goods, his face said it all.

“…I don’t think we need to replace the [Soldiers]’ rations with that. Will it keep?”

“Probably. I honestly think we can’t use it, unless we want riots or hungry [Soldiers].”

Olesm agreed. He rubbed at his face as the officers encountered true culture shock. Bepol couldn’t stop poking a wobbling tower of three kinds of gelatin he’d stacked together.

“Just insane. Who would do this to good food?”

Olesm almost agreed, but something bothered him. He remembered a conversation he’d had…with Selys? He was staring at the gelatin, trying to remember, when everyone heard a slurping sound.

Slowly, Embria and Olesm turned to see Belgrade slowly, and noisily, trying to suck bird-poultry-spam off a spoon. The [Strategist] looked around and slowly put down the spoon.

“It is tasty, though.”

Olesm blinked.

“You…enjoy this, Belgrade?”

Vell gagged as Belgrade took another wobbling bite with every sign of delight.

“I find the texture very palatable. Nostalgic. It reminds me of the Free Hive’s paste, but tastes impeccably better. In texture as well. Hectval has lessons Garry must learn.”

Olesm wavered, but his personal horror aside, it simplified a lot of issues to feed the prisoners their own food. And to let any excess be quietly given to the Antinium for…disposal.

——

That was one event Embria remembered vividly, even as she wrote an actual letter to her father—then to High Command—and sealed both for delivery. She didn’t include war talk to him, nor did she know if he was getting the letters.

However, it wasn’t as if the Runner’s Guild wasn’t making an effort.

Liscor’s army was not stranded from home, nor did they have to rely on [Messengers] or the long supply chain. It was late at night, and Embria was waiting in front of the odd door with a glowing purple gem set in the top when someone else stopped.

“Ah, excuse me, Wing Commander.”

She turned and nearly touched the spear on her back, but relaxed…slightly.

“Strategist Belgrade. Not joining the officers playing cards?”

They had a habit of doing that, those not on duty, and Embria knew Olesm abstained, but she occasionally went there to talk. Belgrade tilted his head. He had a bundle of letters too.

“Excuse me, Commanders? We’re opening in one minute by our count, and it’s fast. Transit? Supplies? Messages?”

“Just letters. Here. Thank you.”

“I, as well. To Pawn. My report is also meant for Xrn. I have labeled both.”

Belgrade handed the letters to the [Mage], who nodded a bit warily. Embria eyed Belgrade.

“…You report back regularly?”

“Every night.”

The two stepped back as the [Mage] counting down with a flashing timer-spell decided it was time. She threw the door open.

“Letters. Three wounded! Detritus—”

She passed letters through first, then three [Soldiers] were helped through, and then crates of trash or things meant for Liscor. Briskly, some muscular folk of all species dragged them through on the other end.

“Damn, mana’s going down. Refill! Damn door…”

A weary official on the other end was complaining, but a crate of supplies was pushed through—just potions, nothing heavy. Everything cost magic, and the line of people behind the door were clearly waiting to go through.

“Hey, is that the army? What’s the news?”

“We won again! Obviously!”

The [Mage] shouted, to general cheers. Embria cleared her throat meaningfully.

“Don’t leak information.”

“Sorry, Commander.”

The [Mage] looked abashed. Embria stepped back as the door quickly closed with an agreed-upon time on both ends. She turned to Belgrade and found he hadn’t left.

The two leaders looked at each other, Embria far more uncomfortable than Belgrade.

“Well…it’s good to see Liscor. I shouldn’t keep you from the officer’s tent. I don’t see you playing card games, but, er, it’s open. Nightly.”

She wished she hadn’t suggested he come, but Embria was already edging away. Belgrade glanced at her, and replied in a fairly cheerful tone of voice.

“I do not attend. I am aware the other officers do not care for my presence. Yourself included.”

Embria swung back.

I don’t mind your presence…was a lie she didn’t utter because it would probably set off [Detect Lie] spells back in Liscor. She coughed instead.

“I, uh…apologize you’ve gotten that impression.”

“You attempt to hide it. But you are poor at subterfuge. I take no offense. I was told that Liscor’s 4th would not be hospitable or other elements of the army. I joined anyways.”

Embria did a double-take.

“…Why? You signed up?”

She had assumed the Antinium had joined because they had been ordered to. Belgrade looked at Embria oddly.

“Every Antinium in the army volunteered. We will hurt Hectval. For Erin.”

For…Erin Solstice? Embria blinked. Belgrade nodded at her.

“You see, they took a good thing away. Bird did not go to war; he must chase after Mrsha. Pawn stays with his people. Anand is elsewhere. Garry is a [Chef]. So I had to. One of us had to.”

“Is…there something about you five that makes that so important?”

Embria was wavering between the oddity of having a conversation with an Antinium—which she had never done, even with Klbkch, really—and finding out info on the Antinium. High Command had given her orders, but she had never thought to…ask.

Belgrade looked straight at Embria. He was like every other Worker, nothing visible in his insectoid eyes. They never moved. They had no pupils, and no eyeballs to rotate, and in that sense it was like talking to a statue. Creepy.

However, Belgrade’s tone was too…personable. He was cheerful, but there was a kind of edge to it that would have made Embria eye someone who said it at a bar. Or under her command.

“We were there at the beginning. We should have died before she did. Failing that…we will take revenge. Even if she comes back, someone will suffer.”

“Why Erin Solstice?”

Belgrade gave Embria a look like she was a [Recruit] and he was a [Veteran Lineholder] being asked why he held his spear like that.

“Because she fed us. Because she played chess with us. Because these things have never happened to us. You do not like Hectval’s food? You find it disgusting?”

“I—er, yes. Revolting.”

Belgrade nodded peaceably.

“It is the finest food I would have ever tasted had I not known Erin.”

“Do you mean you eat that paste every day?”

Embria was revolted by it. Belgrade looked her dead in the eyes.

“Of course.”

“But you don’t like it.”

The Drake tried again. Belgrade gave her another one of those looks.

“…Why would we enjoy it? Do you wish to have some?”

She raised her claws defensively.

“No, absolutely not!”

The [Strategist] nodded.

“Then why would we want to eat it?”

“Er…because you’re Antinium. I just thought…”

Well, that was it. Belgrade raised his mandibles, and Embria wondered if that meant he was angry.

“You are very funny, Wing Commander Embria. Do you think Antinium are…happy? That we are, on average, happy? Or that we do not feel?”

“…If I had to guess? I wouldn’t assume you were feeling much. Or that you’re happy in your Hive.”

A strange fluttering sound emerged from Belgrade’s mouth, like some vast moth making a weird noise. Embria jumped and put a hand on her sword, but Belgrade just shook his head.

“So funny. You are wrong, Wing Commander. Even about us not feeling anything. I did not know I was sad until I learned what happy was. Have a good night. If you find any bed bugs, give them to me, please.”

He turned and walked off, leaving Embria alone with mixed feelings in the night.

——

The Hectval army came at them an hour later. There was plenty of warning. Horns had Embria out of her tent and swearing. She had her armor on in a trice and saw Vell stumbling towards her, yanking a boot on as she cursed out Hectval.

“Those idiots want a night attack? Do they think the Antinium don’t see in the dark?”

“Do they?”

“I bet they do! I’m wiping my tail with a hundred of those [Soldiers]! 2nd Squad, with me!”

Angry 4th Company [Soldiers] formed up. They weren’t nervous—just pissed they had to fight sleepy. Even the regular Liscorian [Soldiers] looked more grumpy than nervous.

Morale was high, and Embria saw Olesm forming up a broad defensive line. Like always, the Antinium were on the left, and Embria saw Belgrade on the right while Bepol and Ramia, under Olesm, took center.

“4th Company! We’re maneuvering! Maksie, you see why Hectval’s in the air?”

The [Scout Leader]’s voice took a moment as Embria called into her speaking stone. Embria was marching her five hundred briskly, ready to hit targets of opportunity. Wikir had command of the other half of her forces and began to split off so they could hit more areas.

“I…I see a new group in the middle. Not big. I can’t tell anything from this high up. I’m…hold on. I feel like I’m being watched. Is there something up here with me?”

The uncertain note in Maksie’s voice made Embria hesitate. Olesm tuned in instantly too.

“Oldbloods? Watch for enemy [Scouts].”

“Yes, sir. It’s not that. I feel…no, I can’t see anything and cloud cover is nonexistent. There’s something off about this, though. Wing Commander, you feel that?”

Embria did. Whether it was Maksie provoking it or intuition…something like [Dangersense] stole over her. And in fact—Vell grunted.

“Wing Commander. My [Dangersense] just pinged me. Hard.”

Embria twisted in her saddle. She looked at Vell, then called out to Olesm.

“Commander, we’re getting…warning signs. Be advised, I’m expecting an ambush or something new.”

“Understood, Wing Commander. We’re braced. It looks like Hectval has called in reinforcements.”

It did indeed. Embria scanned the forces in the darkness for that odd group Maksie had spotted, but all she saw were [Light] spells, torches, and a lot of [Soldiers].

“Major push. It’ll be tight fighting.”

“I’m putting in a request to Liscor for our door and emergency forces. Just in case.”

Olesm’s voice was tight. Did he sense it? Embria sat up in her saddle, though she was watching for arrows. They were out of range as of yet, but…

What was that uneasy feeling? She shifted her grip on her enchanted spear. Something was out there.

“Charge! For Hectval!”

“Luldem’s walls—”

“In Drisshia’s—”

They didn’t even shout the same thing. Embria saw dull glints of metal as figures raced downhill, their armored tails skating across the ground. Looser formations, trying to keep pace. Scared faces behind the helmets.

Boys and girls. Gnolls in the front. They slammed into Liscor’s shields, and then she saw a line of figures, flailing, struggling to heave each other forwards, shouting…

Blood in the darkness. But once more, the attackers lost.

It was on the left side where their charge was forced back a step almost before it had come. The spectral arrows that landed among their ranks; the right side where screaming figures were tripping up their comrades, shouting about traps. Bear traps?

Wing Commander Embria wasn’t searching for a point to tear the charge to shreds, though. She was looking up at the hill.

The entire damn army’s coming down.

“They’re going in for a full attack. Commander, you seeing this?”

“They can’t even bring that to bear! They’ll be massed up!”

Bepol shouted in confusion. Olesm replied tersely.

“I see it. [Mages] will begin throwing [Fireballs]. Watch out.”

The army was clustering up, beginning to try to spread left and right around Liscor’s entrenched lines, but they were all heading down, save for their archers and mages. Embria’s eyes narrowed.

These are Antinium tactics. It was ludicrous, too. Their front ranks could fight Liscor’s forces, but everyone else would be bunched up, not fighting, and at risk of one [Fireball] exacting devastating losses.

Where is that group Maksie mentioned?

“Wikir! Take your side past the attackers and chop up their rear lines! Wipe out everything, including their command.”

“Aye, Wing Commander.”

He peeled off. In another battle, Embria would have elected to follow him and do as much damage, possibly even take out their commander.

However, she was growing more worried by the second. Where was it? It was out there. She had an instinct.

Relc, the Gecko of Liscor, had never talked about being a [Soldier] to his daughter when they went back to Liscor. Only as a girl while they traveled with the army did he tell her stories. One of the things that had kept her up at night was his comment about headhunters beside himself. Ambush teams.

“It’s like a feeling on your scales. They’re out there. They could be an innocent [Archer] or a green-as-grass Drake kid. Then they turn, and you see that you’re dead. They’re waiting for you. So you have to wait for them, even when you’re fighting.”

Embria had felt that a few times in battle. She waited, riding back and forth, as 4th Company watched her uncertainly.

“Wing Commander. We going in or…?”

Lieutenant Kesa began, but Captain Vell snapped at her.

“Shut up. There’s something in the air.”

She felt it too. Embria saw the [Soldiers] fighting the Antinium moving backwards. Once more, the massed voices of the [Crusaders] hummed in the air. Embria heard it.

…the sky. The…

Wrath and righteous fury. It made her scales tingle uncomfortably.

Hectval was pressed up against Liscor’s army, and Liscor was refusing to flinch. The alliance’s forces looked like they were going to break. Embria, watching the [Crusaders] fight, saw a strange group emerging from the retreating [Soldiers], disobeying their officer’s orders to keep fighting.

A panicked Drake was stumbling backwards when another [Soldier] knocked them aside. This Gnoll was bent over, hunched, and knocked another [Soldier] out of the way with his free arm.

He didn’t break stride. He was moving through Hectval’s ranks with a number of other [Soldiers], all of whom had a certain glitter about their armor that made Embria focus on them with alarm.

“Wing Commander! The left flank!”

“I see it, Maksie. 4th, on me!”

Embria began to ride towards that spot. Olesm was speaking into her earpiece.

“What have you seen? Scout Leader?”

How could either one describe it? It was something about the way those [Soldiers] moved. Too confidently. People were dying around them, and they were just alert, not panicking. They didn’t break formation, even with other [Soldiers] shoving them.

They had enchanted gear. Then, Embria saw their leader.

She picked him out like any other officer could have picked her out. He wasn’t at the front of the formation, but he led them. A Gnoll in black armor, stalking along with a spear held low.

That’s a [Spearmaster].

The [Spear Hunter] realized it in a flash. He had nearly reached the Antinium’s front lines. About three ranks separated his group of strange [Soldiers] from theirs, and the Antinium were calmly fighting. They had no idea—

“Tersk! Dekass! Elites incoming! [Spearmaster]!”

Embria shouted into her speaking stone. She saw the Antinium lines changing, maneuvering to bring their veterans to bear, angling their bows and crossbows down.

Too late. The [Spearmaster] saw the movement. He raised his paw and shouted something. Around him, the [Soldiers] charged. They knocked down the alliance’s forces in front of them. The Antinium in the front ranks looked up and saw the new threat coming.

The Gnoll shot past the others. Embria saw his spear raised, aiming at the first rank of [Crusaders] who pivoted, steel armor and shields gleaming.

Wrath. Perish.

Embria rode at the Gnoll, 4th Company accelerating.

“Skills! Now!”

Vell, Pielt, and Embria all began using their Skills to make the [Soldiers] following them as strong as could be. They were going to miss the first attack, but Embria was galloping now, racing ahead of the others.

“[Daring Charge]! [Piercing Arms]!”

“[First Strikes]! [Formation: Accelerate]!”

“[Blades of Glory]!”

The Gnoll reached the Antinium lines. Embria saw him jump. Jump? Why—

She saw his spear twist in the air. The glittering red tip of metal and dark shaft of ashwood twisted in the air. Curving impossibly, the spear’s tip striking down.

For a second, Embria saw something like a giant beast’s fang slice through the air. Left—right. So fast she nearly missed it.

Like a flash of lightning, it went through the Antinium in front of the Gnoll. One rank, two—

An Antinium Worker in the third rank lowered the bow he was carrying. He stared ahead, confused, at the collapsing Antinium in front of him and then at his third arm. He only saw green blood leaking from his torn armor. Where had his arm gone?

The Gnoll landed. Embria’s blood chilled. She pointed at him.

“Kill that—”

The [Spearmaster] raised his spear as the Antinium turned incredulously towards him. The wavering lines of Hectval-Drisshia-Luldem’s alliance clashing against Liscor looked up as something dark filled the night sky. Drenching torches and the light spells. Embria looked up as the Gnoll raised his spear overhead. She felt a dread creeping up inside of her.

[Fear].

Then everything went dark.

Lulv, [Spearmaster]

The Antinium looked like they always had.

Armored Antinium. He had fought them in the Second Antinium Wars, and after that in quiet skirmishes.

These ones were different. Not in arms. Lulv heard a voice.

Suffer. Perish.

Some kind of intimidation Skill? The Gnoll didn’t stop his advance, though it made his fur stand on end. A voice was still just a voice. He had seen far more terrifying things.

So these are Free Antinium. He caught a glimpse of their front rank. This was the battalion that had done so much damage to Hectval’s alliance? He could see why.

Heavy armor. Tight formation.

No gaps to exploit. The [Spearmaster] hadn’t expected any.

Sokkel was waiting for his signal. Lulv chose a spot. Someone had seen Manus’ advance. He felt a prickling in his mind. Threat incoming.

However, Manus’ forces needed a hole. So the [Spearmaster] leapt. His legs crouched on the rocky ground and then the Gnoll flew.

He saw the Antinium in the front rank raising their heads to stare at him. An armored Antinium calling orders.

Antinium on the right flank. Belgrade the [Strategist]?

[Covert Target Mark]. Both glowed in the split-second Lulv saw them. Then he used his Skill.

[Spear Art: Fangs of the Dire Wolf]!

His enchanted spear struck twice, twin flashes through the Antinium’s lines. Lulv landed and saw bodies collapsing. The Antinium recoiled, looking right and left.

Dead? Just like—?

The spear had gone through armor and bodies without stopping. Unenchanted steel couldn’t stop Lulv’s spear. Nor low-level [Soldiers].

“Charge!”

An officer of Manus roared. [Soldiers] streamed around Lulv, and he raised his spear overhead in one paw.

The signal. The flash of surprise in the Antinium’s ranks wouldn’t last. The enemy commander had eyes on him.

So Sokkel closed the eyes. The sky began to turn dark. The clouds gathered at an impossible speed—but not regular grey ones, or even dark thunderclouds. Pitch black mist streamed down from the heavens, engulfing both armies. Liscor and the Hectval alliance were thrown into darkness, but one side had been expecting it.

[Storm of Clouded Darkness]. Now was the time. Lulv shouted as his spear rose.

“[Intimidation: Spear of a Thousand Graves]!”

And fear ran through Liscor’s army. Lulv pointed his spear straight ahead.

“Forwards!”

Manus’ veterans ran past him, towards the Antinium who’d held their ground. Lulv saw a Soldier swinging a sword and hatchet with decent coordination at one of Manus’ [Soldiers]. The Gnoll swept his own sword up and took one of the Antinium’s arms off. The Soldier staggered, brought up a shield, and the Gnoll whirled. The slash took off the Antinium’s head, armor or not.

“Split their lines.”

“[Lance Formation]! [Steelsundering Blades]! Go, go!”

One of the officers roared, and Hectval’s forces created a wedge along Liscor’s lines, through the Antinium gap. Surprised Drakes and Gnolls found themselves flanked.

Not his job to win this battle. However, it kept Liscor’s army off them. Sokkel had advised Hectval-Drisshia-Luldem’s command to split Liscor’s army in a charge. He had promised the Antinium wouldn’t stymie them.

Of all the groups fighting in the darkness, the Antinium were the most cohesive. They pivoted and fought—but they had no idea what they were fighting. They had never met high-level enemies.

Lulv ran forwards, his job done, as he heard screams of panic, chaos in Liscor’s ranks. He saw an Antinium Worker with three arms raising a shield to block him. He stabbed through the shield and the Antinium with the adamantium-tipped spear, drew it out, and turned.

[Hurricane Stabs]. [Ten-foot Reach]. His spear shot out, six, twelve, fourteen times, ramming through Antinium, creating another gap that Manus’ [Soldiers] streamed into. Enchanted blades cut through armor. They didn’t panic under the darkness cloud; they could see each other, so each soldier followed the other forwards, listening for orders in the chaos. Lulv was looking around.

Where’s that Prognugator?

“Spearmaster! Enemy charging!”

Lulv whirled and saw a single [Rider] leading a group of infantry straight at Manus’ forces. He growled.

“Liscor’s 4th! Anti-Liscor tactics! First Assault, turn and repel with me!”

Manus had met Liscor in combat. Drakes and Gnolls turned and set themselves as 4th Company rode in. Fast. Hard. Each [Soldier] must have had a dozen Skills boosting them.

One of Manus’ [Soldiers] raised his axe calmly. He looked at the first [Soldier] of Liscor’s 4th coming at him and spoke.

“[I’m As Good As You Are].”

He brought down the axe on the shield, knocked the charging [Soldier] flat, and another of Manus’ soldiers speared the downed warrior in an instant. Lulv murmured.

“[Spear Art: Scythe of the Field].”

This time his spear was a horizontal crescent sweeping across the [Soldiers]. It would have decapitated the front rank—but then Lulv saw the pinpoint of death and twisted out of the spear art. He flicked his spear up, deflected the thrust at his head, and aimed a killing thrust at the horse.

“[Superior Parry]!”

His spear bounced as the Drake holding it knocked his thrust astray. She turned, riding her mount left, and Lulv saw another expert with the spear.

No [Spearmaster], though. Liscor’s army used to have a famous one. Lulv advanced.

[Ricochet Stabs]…his spear tip shot towards the ground and then seemed to bounce upwards, aiming at the rider’s legs and the horse’s unarmored belly. She cursed, deflecting them, then leapt from her saddle.

Lulv could have killed the horse. He did not. The Drake landed, wise enough to know that the horse was dead weight.

She was not prepared for his charge, a single leap like a [Duelist], that carried him across the two dozen paces to ram his spear through her chest.

Almost. Lulv turned as a sword threatened to cut across his chest. He took a slash against his armor. A Drake [Captain] had saved her Wing Commander.

“[Spearmaster]! [Captains], on me!”

She was roaring. The Drake Wing Commander hesitated, but then the red-scaled Drake advanced with her [Captain]. Lulv saw more figures coming his way.

They didn’t need to fight Liscor’s 4th. He blocked the slash from the [Captain] with his spear, whirled it, and knocked the [Spear Hunter]’s stab away. She tried to cut low; he stomped the tip of her spear into the mud as she swept it towards his legs. The Drake with the sword was waiting, though, and lunged.

Lulv’s spear knocked the sword aside, so hard it would have gone flying but for her claw locking it into place with a Skill. The [Captain] stared up incredulously at Lulv as he whirled, parrying a crossbow bolt at close-range. An Antinium Soldier tried to reload as one of Manus’ officers ran him through with another spear.

The Drake [Captain] looked at Lulv, and her eyes focused on his spear. She gasped.

“Oh shit! Man—”

Lulv ran through her stomach with a grimace. The Drake fell backwards, holding at her guts as the Wing Commander slashed her spear up in a flurry of strikes.

“Vell! On me! Fall back! Fall—”

Someone lunged at Lulv, and he choked up on his spear, slashed across a throat, and fell back as well. Liscor’s 4th was retreating from Manus’ blades. Lulv whistled, and the soldiers around him retreated.

“On me. Take out those Antinium.”

He turned back to his target. The cover of darkness wouldn’t lift all night or until it was dispelled. In that time…Lulv saw the Antinium retreating, disorganized. He nodded.

“[Each Death, Another Breath].”

The [Spearmaster] formed a wedge with the soldiers under his command and advanced.

Crusader 51, [Crusader]

The strange soldiers were killing them. Battalion 1, Acid Jars, had been ready to fight. Not eager for a commendation, but ready.

Then Dekass had said ‘elites’, the sky had gone dark, and…

They’d begun dying.

The first [Crusader] who died took an arrow through the chest. It went through their armor, and five of the other Crusaders tried applying healing potions, because it wasn’t a fatal wound.

But it was poisoned, and the Worker stopped twitching as the Antinium waited for orders.

“Reform…Battalion 3…”

Tersk was out there, but his voice was distorted. Battalion 1 waited for their name, but they didn’t hear anything. Only shouting, howls…and a kind of eerie lack of noise.

The clash of metal-on-metal was normal to Crusader 51, by now. He didn’t hear it. Were they not fighting Drisshia’s heavies? He looked at Crusader 53, who had raised both his maces, confused, waiting.

The Antinium of Battalion 1 saw nothing through the darkness. Nothing, nothing…a hint of movement?

Then the Drakes and Gnolls were on top of them. One swung a sword through one of Squad 4’s pikemen without a sound. The blade cut through armor, left a green trail—the [Crusader] died as Crusader 51 jerked. He began to advance and saw a blade coming straight at his face.

Parry! Calruz’s roar was an echo of Crusader 51’s desperate instincts. He parried the blade and felt his sword…tear?

The steel was cut from the contact with the enemy blade, but it missed his face. The Drake cursed; he had a buckler in one hand, and Crusader 51’s stab with his shortsword bounced off it.

And Crusader 51’s arm went numb. The shortsword dropped from his arm as the enchanted shield rose. His sword jerked back from a slash, and the Drake raised his arm for a thrust. Crusader 51 raised his own shield and realized—

It wouldn’t stop that enchanted blade.

Inexperience. The Drake thrust his sword forwards, and Crusader 53 brought his mace down on the arm and snapped the bone.

It was an armored arm, with some thin scaled armor, but the descending mace caught the arm on the downswing…at the same time as Crusader 53’s other mace caught it on the upswing from the bottom.

With nowhere to go, the arm snapped, and the Drake screamed.

“Aaah!”

He leapt backwards. Crusader 51 ran forwards to stab him through the face, and his blade vanished as a Gnoll parried the blade off the sword. She whirled her own shortswords around.

“Injury! Fall back!”

“Watch out! Those two are better!”

The Gnoll woman turned, and two more of the strange soldiers moved to face Crusader 51 and Crusader 53. But by now, the rest of Squad 5 had seen them.

Multiple squads were engaged, and one of Squad 5 turned to thrust a spear forwards. One of the strange soldiers knocked the spear aside, lunged with a spear, and tried to stab Crusader 58 through the chest!

Crusader 51 and Crusader 53 saw it and reacted instinctively. Crusader 58 hadn’t realized they were enchanted blades, but the two Antinium knocked the blade down and stabbed forwards—only to nearly dissect themselves on the other two [Soldiers]’ blades.

“Huh. They are better.”

The spear-wielding Drake commented. The strange [Soldiers] pulled back, counted the nine Antinium, and, to Crusader 51’s surprise, backed up. They joined another group of their own, cutting into Squad 2.

Did they attack? Squad 5 didn’t know. Tersk wasn’t here. They had to attack. Did they fire arrows? Crusader 51 stared at his severed sword tip. He had no sword.

“Continue fighting! Assist other squads! Do not retreat!”

A voice broke through the stifling darkness. Dekass! Crusader 51 had never been more relieved to hear his voice.

Squad 5 instantly advanced. The enemy turned to face them, dividing themselves up, and Crusader 51 swung his shortsword in place of his regular one.

Strike—parried. Shield block—one of the Drakes took a piece out of it. Slash at an arm and a wince, but no blood because the armor was too tough—

Then Squad 5 was backing up. Crusader 53 was bleeding. Crusader 58 was dead.

Their weapons. One of the Drakes whirled his sword through an Antinium’s arm. He severed Crusader 51’s shortsword as their blades met and turned to stab Crusader 53 in the stomach. The Antinium wavered, falling back, and Crusader 51 planted the jagged end of his sword in the Drake’s eye.

The soldier dropped, and the others spun. Crusader 51 backed up, grabbing for something, and Squad 5 fell back.

“Soldier down.”

One of the Drakes announced with a calm bite to his tone. The others checked the fallen Drake, but the sword hilt was buried in his skull.

Crusader 53. Was he alright? Crusader 51 kept his guard up—and saw the other [Crusader] pouring his healing potion onto his stomach. The wound closed. He would live.

“Do not retreat! I demand reinforcements. Tersk, to me! I must have ranged support! They have enchanted weapons.”

Somewhere, Dekass was shouting at the top of his lungs. Squad 5, in the chaos of it all, found themselves holding with Squads 2, 4, and 9…what remained of them. The enemy advanced, confidently sundering blades and armor. A Drake used a Skill that made his blade set one of the Antinium on fire.

Another drew an arrow and loosed it through a shield. A third raised his shield, blocking a barrage of strikes from three Soldiers, including Crusader 53! A fourth drew his sword in a glittering arc, and Crusader 51’s [Quick Slash] took off his arm.

The Gnoll blinked at his arm, and Crusader 51 ran him through. The other soldiers looked at Crusader 51 and spotted what he was holding.

The enchanted sword. One of them cursed, and Squad 5 backed up, leaving their dead behind—and another one of theirs.

“Three casualties. Back it up.”

One of the officers spoke quietly. The enemy glared at Squad 5, but they didn’t advance. Squad 5 let Squad 2 go for their bows, and the soldiers…retreated.

Crusader 51 hesitated, but Dekass had said to hold their ground. And besides…but for Crusader 53 saving him and the enchanted sword, they wouldn’t have had a chance.

Squad 5 looked at one another. One of them, Crusader 52, broke from 53 and 51 to see if any of the others were alive. Crusader 51 and 53 decided to help turn over the still bodies.

Crusader 51’s hands were green with blood. He stared at them and then the sword he’d picked up. Magic. He had never seen a magic sword. Did he put it back? It wasn’t his.

No. I need it.

The [Crusader] realized it was the only thing that could help him kill the enemy. How many were there? Where was the rest of Battalion 1?

Something whispered over his head, and Crusaders 51, 52, and 53 flinched. They looked up—and then around. Crusader 51 froze.

Where was Squad 5? Where was Squad 2, 9? He saw a few figures staggering—and then the Gnoll appeared.

He had a spear. Just a spear, but the tip glittered. He thrust once, such a simple move that looked so easy.

It was beautiful. Concise, economical.

He killed one of the [Crusaders] with it, turned, stabbed another, and looked around.

Every other Antinium was dead. Something had cut through them at chest-height. The spear?

Crusaders 51, 52, and 53 rose as the [Spearmaster] spotted them. He said nothing, but the Gnoll raised his spear. Crusader 51 lunged, sword slashing low, as Crusader 52 fumbled to stab with his spear, and Crusader 53 darted left, maces swinging hard.

The [Spearmaster] parried Crusader 51’s sword, ran the Antinium through the belly, tore it left, took one of Crusader 53’s arms on his right, then the other, and beheaded Crusader 52. He looked at Crusader 51 as the Antinium fell, and turned to the staggering Crusader 53. He frowned, raised his head, and blurred away as a hail of arrows struck Crusader 53’s back and armor and the ground around him.

“Volley! Volley on my target! Advance!”

Dekass led more squads forwards as Crusader 53 sat down, staring at his arm. The [Spearmaster] blocked more arrows, leapt forwards, stabbed three Antinium in a moment, and then went for Dekass.

Crusader 51 didn’t see what happened next. He was curled up in pain. It hurt. It really hurt. He wanted his potion. Where was his potion?

It was broken. The shards broke against his hand. Crusader 51 didn’t know what to do. It was going dark. He…

He didn’t want to die. He lay there, and the world grew fuzzy…

Something wet poured over his stomach. Someone yanked his hands away, and it hurt, so Crusader 51 fought to put them back…but then the pain went away!

The Soldier uncurled as he felt the hole in his stomach closing. He felt the world focus and realized someone was kneeling over him.

Crusader 53. He’d found Crusader 52’s potion and was pouring it onto Crusader 51. The two Soldiers looked around. Squad 5 was gone.

Crusader 53 fell over onto his back. Crusader 51 saw his two severed arms bleeding weakly and scrambled to his feet. He ran over to the bodies, searching for a potion, and ran back to him. He knelt over Crusader 53, who didn’t rise, even when his wounds closed. But his antennae twitched when Crusader 51 tore off his helmet.

He was alive. Crusader 51 knelt by him, the enchanted sword raised, terrified the Gnoll would come back. Antinium ran around him. Drakes and Gnolls shouted, ran past him—some looked like enemies, but neither paid attention to the two still Antinium.

Crusader 51 knelt for a long time, holding Crusader 53. By the time his friend woke up, the cloud of darkness was thinning, and light was rising.

They had survived. But neither [Crusader] felt anything like warmth or happiness, though every squad who survived was commended that day.

Squad 5 was gone. Crusader 51…

Who was he now? He looked around at the dead Soldiers and wondered how this was fair.

[Crusader Level 13!]

[Skill – Blinding Flash (Sword) obtained!]

[Skill – Faith is My Strength obtained!]

Crusader 51 clenched and unclenched his hands.

He felt as weak as a bug.

Belgrade, [Strategist]

The instant the darkness descended, Belgrade knew they were in grave danger.

His first hint was the speaking stones.

“Commander Olesm. Please come in. What are your directives?”

He heard nothing. Belgrade tried again.

“Commander Olesm?”

Nothing.

Then the [Fear] effect struck. Belgrade felt a terrible terror seize him. Something was coming to kill him! He was going to die!

The Antinium wavered—but wait. He had felt like that many times.

The Antinium resisted the fear. The same could not be said for his forces.

“Run! Run! They’re everywhere!”

“They’ve broken through our ranks! Fall back!”

“Hold! Hold your ground!”

Some of the officers tried to stop the panic, but Belgrade raised his voice.

“No. Retreat. Fall back!”

He had seen Hectval piercing Liscor’s lines. The enemy might be flanking them. The [Soldiers] began retreating as Belgrade tried to raise Olesm. They had a backup system if the [Messages] and speaking stones went down.

“Get me our runners. I need to speak to Olesm.”

The problem was…they had never needed to use it. And either the designated messengers were dead or they’d fled.

All Belgrade could do was fall back and try to rally his forces. So the Antinium retreated and felt it was…

Familiar.

Kerone, [Squad Leader]

The officers were on the verge of running. Squad Leader Kerone was no hero; he didn’t even have a true military class, just [Squad Leader] rather than [Captain] or [Sergeant] because this wasn’t Liscor’s army. If he held and told the others to do the same and listen to the Antinium, it was because he knew they had no chance if they scattered.

However, their leader wasn’t Commander Olesm—it was Belgrade.

Kerone hadn’t been one of the officers who’d vocally objected to an Antinium leading them, but he had held his doubts. Now? He heard a babble of arguments as the Antinium surveyed the fighting in the darkness.

Where were they? They could barely read maps—and this was surely not the time to try! Hectval was everywhere, and they were fighting around…what? Caves? One of the hilltops?

Belgrade seemed to know. He was trying to give orders.

“Squad Leader Messk, move your forces to hold that position, there. I require a runner to the embattled squads…there.”

He pointed at fighting and shouting down the hill.

“They must retreat to this location.”

“You want to send us into that?”

“Yes. I must.”

A panicking Drake shook her head rapidly.

“No! No! I won’t let you send me to my death like some Antinium! We’re people, not—”

Belgrade clicked his mandibles together.

“We must fight or die. You will not be safer hiding here. Order. I must have more Skills to tell them from afar. These are not Antinium.”

“No, we’re not!”

The [Strategist] turned to the officers. He twitched visibly.

“That is not an insult. If you were Antinium, I could save your lives. Our forces cannot hear me. If we lose our cohesion, we will be routed.”

That brought some sense back into everyone, Kerone included. He stepped forwards.

“Messk, you heard the commander. Get down there! I can divide my squad up into runners.”

Messk hesitated, but then she obeyed. It was that or…or what? Belgrade at least had a plan.

Kerone had to admit—it was cowardly, because dividing up his squad meant he would stay here, coordinating them. Belgrade glanced at the Drake.

“Good. You are Kerone.”

“Yes, sir. They’re pushing.”

“Yes. But Hectval is equally uncoordinated.”

“…Are you sure?”

The Drake could see virtually nothing in the darkness, but either Belgrade had Skills or simply vision he didn’t…or he understood more in the flurry of shapes below. The Antinium pointed.

“I see multiple squads engaging each other, not battalions. Hectval has scattered its troops as much as we. This was an intelligent plan—poorly executed. We must draw together.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

Strength in numbers. Belgrade wasn’t saying anything Kerone disagreed with. The [Strategist] pointed down.

“Get me those squads. We will reform a defensive line around the hill. Deploy traps and wait for Olesm to contact us or find a point from which to strike.”

He was a defensive, organized leader. Kerone sent his [Soldiers] down into that darkness to pull back the squads.

…And they never came back.

Some tried. He saw groups heading towards him, but many ran into the enemy—or even attacked each other. Belgrade kept giving rapid-fire orders.

“Reinforce those squads, there. Squad Leader Itr, direct your [Archers]…there.”

However, he was trying to yank his command together and struggling. Kerone shifted from foot to foot. He saw Belgrade standing and looking down into the fighting. He didn’t know how long had passed. Thirty minutes? An hour? Belgrade seemed to be coming to a decision.

“We must go down there ourselves.”

The other officers gaped at Belgrade in shock.

“Down? Are you mad? We have a position!”

The [Strategist] calmly glanced around.

“We cannot inspire and unite the squads. Either we risk ourselves or…it’s familiar. They’re scattered. Someone used a [Fear] spell.”

Familiar? Kerone frowned at him. The Drake had heard of Belgrade. One of the Antinium, whatever that meant. Like the Yellow Splatters who was in the Watch. He knew there was a story there.

It revolved around…the inn. The [Innkeeper], who, depending on who you heard it from, was a menace, a strange miracle-worker, a blood-spewing maniac who went around stabbing people.

A martyr.

A friend to Goblins and Antinium.

He didn’t know which, but one of the reasons people would follow an Antinium at all was because Belgrade was part of that story. The [Strategist] drew an enchanted shortsword.

“We will go down. Squad Leader Kerone, form a bodyguard with me. Our app—”

Kerone saw Belgrade stumble as he walked towards them. The Squad Leader waited.

“Sir? Our approach?”

The Antinium felt at his side. He grasped something and turned. Kerone saw, in the magical darkness, the [Strategist] grasping at a feathered shaft.

“I have been sniped. Take cover.”

Everyone dove as Belgrade stumbled forwards. Kerone reached for him, and the Antinium collapsed behind a boulder. They looked for more arrows, but none fell. It was as if someone had aimed for Belgrade, through the darkness.

Kerone fumbled for his potion.

“We’ll get you on your feet. Just one…why isn’t it…”

He poured the glowing liquid onto Belgrade’s side. The arrow was buried deep, and the Antinium caught his arm as Kerone went to yank it out.

“It is barbed. My wound is not healing.”

He looked up at Kerone’s terrified face as the Drake shook his head. The Antinium clicked his mandibles. So softly.

“Poison. Of course.”

Belgrade, [Strategist]

“Familiar.”

That was all he said. It was hot.

He was dying. The poison was trying to kill him, but he was Antinium. He had been engineered to resist poisons.

However, it also stopped him from healing, so in that sense, the poison had done enough.

The arrow had hit him in the guts. Not the chest or head. In that sense, it was a…poor shot. Belgrade was in no position to feel fortunate.

The churning pain in his stomach had already turned into a feverish haze. That was a bad sign. He was lying propped at the top of the hill, as the officers panicked.

“Hold the line. [Deploy Trap: Bear Trap]. I needed more traps.”

He was speaking to Kerone and the others, trying to keep them from running. They would die, running about in the dungeon.

“We’re not in a dungeon, sir. We’re at war in Hectval’s foothills.”

The Drake addressed him. Belgrade’s mandibles opened and closed.

“Did I say that? Similar. You will die uncoordinated, alone. The squads must reform. Form a fighting line. Hold choke points. It is easy. If I die. You do it.”

The Drake paled at the thought.

“We can’t get the squads. They’re lost out there. Belgrade, commander. Don’t die on us. Olesm—Commander Olesm. Someone try to raise him!”

“You will not. They have jammed our spells. We are cut off. Surrounded. A fear-Skill was used. Or spell. That…that is familiar.”

Belgrade could see the fighting from where he was propped up. Someone had tried to compress the arrow to slow the bleeding. The bandage was already green with his blood.

“There. Wipeout.”

Belgrade wanted to point, but his arm was made of lead. He ordered Kerone to save that squad, but the Drake refused.

He knew what to do—but his limbs, his command, were unwilling to listen. Or unable?

They were not Antinium. Olesm had made a mistake. If you could not have your commands obeyed, your level was meaningless.

They were afraid. Which was fair. Everyone was afraid. This—this reminded Belgrade of the past. Yes. The day they had all died.

“You’re alive, sir. Keep awake. Where do we go? What do we do?”

Belgrade’s mandibles clicked together.

“Hm? There…they’re coming up the hill. Just like last time. There’s one of them out there.”

“Who?”

“Skinner.”

A gasp. They knew that name, too. That monster. Belgrade mumbled.

“I was there. I saw him die.”

It felt like he was dozing off. He would say something, then snap back to dreaming. Remembering? The [Strategist] heard something talking.

“The inn? You were at…”

The officers were around him. More or less? Were others listening too? Belgrade nodded. Poor little soldiers, dying out there.

“I was there. Very familiar. There weren’t many of us. Barely a few squads. Workers. Low-level. We fought. Knight. Bishop. Good names. Garry. Bird. Magnus. Belgrade…”

Yes. There he was, standing, fighting with the others. Around an inn with undead swarming at the windows. Leaping ghouls.

“Stand and fight together. Dying. Until the end, until the end, he said. Then I was still there, but they were all dead. I regretted it.”

“You’re alive. You’re still alive. Belgrade…Belgrade…stay with us.”

Someone was shaking him. Belgrade wanted to sleep…and knew he couldn’t.

“If I could go back. I could kill Skinner myself. With traps. With Skills. You can never go back. I should have been there. Six crossbow bolts. I could have taken one.”

Something was calling to him. A warm fire. A quiet inn. A smiling [Innkeeper]…but if he slept, he would never see it.

Perhaps in heaven?

“I do not believe in Pawn’s Heaven. I cannot see it. I want it. But I was there. We are all Knight.”

They were like him, in the end. They panicked, and they couldn’t think together, in that rare, wonderful moment. They had lived under the sky and ate good food and took it for granted, and they did not like him, but that was what he saw.

Squads of Antinium. Standing and dying together.

“Yes. Do that.”

“Do what? Sir? Sir…?”

“Stand. All you can do is…”

Belgrade tried to move. He could not, so he spoke. Below him, each squad, fighting—his voice could not pull them past their foes. But perhaps…

Stand. Back-to-back, in a ring. Around an inn. They didn’t have the number for grand strategy. They were not pieces on a chessboard, even if they named themselves after the game.

Stand, until the last one fell. A little chess club, fighting for each other. They did not have to be there. But they had to. And each one fought so the other wouldn’t fall. For one more second.

A hundred little chess clubs appeared in Belgrade’s vision. He smiled.

Yes. Someday they would kill Skinner. Then…then came Goblins. The [Innkeeper]. Join together. Reform the [Archers]. Send a light upwards.

We are here. Until Klbkch came from the Hive.

“We’re doing it. Sir? Sir…!”

Belgrade murmured.

“Hm? I’m awake. I’m awake. I’m…”

His voice trailed off. His side truly hurt, but it was a receding ache. Belgrade clung to something. As if he had eyes weary to close. He wanted to drift off, but not yet.

“One after the other. But not yet. We will be with you until the end. Which is now.”

His waving antennae slowly stopped moving. Then…Belgrade sighed.

“Yes. Bird was right.”

Kerone, [Squad Leader]

Delirious. The Antinium was delirious. He was alternating between strategy, telling them where an attack was coming. Promote the pawn. Bishop coming.

The inn. He kept talking about the inn. Below him, the squads had adopted a strange formation. The Hectval soldiers fighting with them saw them forming rings, slowly trying to link up with each other.

Squad fighting. Slowly drawing together. It was working.

But the [Strategist] was fading away. The officers were kneeling, listening. Almost…hypnotized by the story. They would get up and go, but the [Soldiers] healing, resting—heard the Antinium murmuring that oldest tale.

“It is such a strange thing, fear. I was afraid. She was afraid. But there are things worse than dying. Skinner was scary. When I woke up and everyone was gone but Pawn, Garry, Anand, and Bird…worse.”

This was Belgrade? The [Strategist] didn’t see the [Soldiers] listening. Nor…he was feverish. He spat out the water they gave him. He trailed off.

“One after the other. But not yet. We will be with you until the end. Which is now.”

“Not now. Stay with us. Belgrade? Strategist?”

He heard nothing. The Antinium looked around, and the sodden arrow in his side leaked more blood despite the claws, hands, and paws on it.

“Yes. Bird was right.”

He went still. For one second, his antennae dropped. Then Belgrade stood. He pushed himself up and stood.

Swaying, bleeding, heedless of everything else. The Antinium hunched with the effort. But he moved his feet, angled his body…how? Where?

“I was right here. I was always here.”

There was no context to it. None at all, unless you had listened to his story. After all, he was one. Alone, he was a single statue in a ring.

Right here. Below him, squads looked up and formed their own rings of bodies. They pointed. There. The [Strategist] stood on the hill as the clouds of darkness began to break, so Liscor’s forces fought towards it.

I was always right here. Squad Leader Kerone had never thought to ask for an Antinium’s past. He had never cared, though he wouldn’t throw stones at Workers, and regarded them as strange but not necessarily evil.

He stood, propping Belgrade up, and looked at the [Strategist]. He knew his story, now. At least, one part.

Silently, Kerone promised himself one thing: if he should survive this day and this war, he would go back to Liscor. Walk out the gates and head up that hill. Go visit that ruined place where the inn had burned before being rebuilt elsewhere and see…

Where Belgrade had stood.

The Antinium was cold. He was always cold to the touch, but as the sun shone down on his armor and head—as Olesm’s banners came to view and they saw Hectval retreating, and the losses.

The officers were silent, but Kerone looked at Belgrade.

“Strategist Belgrade?”

The Antinium said nothing. Kerone’s grip loosened. The other Gnolls, Drakes, and Humans slowly looked around, and began to lower Belgrade down. They gathered around him, and Kerone went to unclasp Belgrade’s arm from the arrow and fold them across his chest.

The Antinium slapped Kerone’s claw away.

The [Squad Leader] jerked back. He saw Belgrade’s head move. The Antinium clicked his mandibles.

“Every time I try to sleep, the voice speaks to me. It is annoying.”

“Strategist!”

Kerone shouted. He turned and waved his arms.

“[Healer]! Get a [Healer]!”

Belgrade, [Strategist]

Belgrade sighed as Kerone grabbed at him. But he listened to the voice that told him he wasn’t dead. If he were, he would hear Erin saying something about popcorn with yeast.

All he heard was…

[Trapsetter Strategist Level 33!]

[Conditions Met: Trapsetter Strategist → Combined Arms Strategist Class!]

[Skill – Antinium-Expertise Command obtained!]

[Skill – Prepared Battleground: One Hour obtained!]

[Skill – Army: Springwood Supplies obtained!]

[Skill – Squad: The Chess Club’s Stand learned.]

Elirr, [Councilmember]

There was no celebrating the day after the new element entered the Hectval War. Every other time Olesm had sent a report through—he declined to waste the door’s precious mana—Lism had brought a bottle of something to pop, drink, and toast with.

The bottle of Amentus wine sat unopened on the table. Elirr could have used it, to be honest.

Anything to tell him the world wasn’t as it was, and he wasn’t reading the casualty numbers right. The rest of the army had taken terrible losses, but it was the Antinium’s numbers that made him read it again and again.

Antinium killed, estimated: 938.

Antinium wounded, estimated…

That one number.

“A third of the Antinium division. How? This is more than they’ve lost in the entire…”

The Council sat in a state of shock. Lism was hunched over, staring at the numbers. All of the forces had bled. Belgrade’s division had been cut off, in particular trouble, but the [Strategist] had apparently inspired them to keep fighting rather than be wiped out.

That number. Wounded lists were far, far higher. But the wounded tended to walk away because a potion was so powerful. So the real loss was the damage to armor, morale, or the loss of the potion.

The Antinium had been issued with potions and still. Elirr rubbed at his brows. It didn’t seem quite…he didn’t believe it, but he had seen the wounded being escorted through the magic door until it was shut down to be resupplied.

“We cannot move reinforcements through. We must advise Olesm that we don’t have the mana to do that. Potions? They need potions.”

“How many? I thought they had plenty, even…”

Guildmistress Alonna looked up. Elirr pointed.

“Down the page. Hectval went for their supply lines. We now have a shortage of potions.”

The council stirred. Tismel sat up.

“We can replenish them, though. Right?”

Lism glared, directing his vacant stare onto a familiar target for wrath.

“Oh, naturally. We can suddenly produce thousands of healing potions. A shortage is…we will issue an order to all [Alchemists]. Send for Celum, Invrisil’s stocks. Someone find our budget. But—we should make an announcement.”

“Surely not. That would be admitting we lost.”

Zalaiss spoke up. Elirr muttered.

“It will spread, regardless. Everyone talks.”

“We could order them not to—”

Lism closed his eyes.

“Zalaiss. Please don’t say anything stupid for one moment. Please.”

A terrible silence fell over the room. And they were not the ones fighting. Elirr looked at the lists. The army remained. The Antinium had lost a third of their forces, but it was mercifully—no, incredibly lighter on casualties, even though the loss of many supplies was a terrible thing. The rest of the army had taken a tenth of the losses per division.

Why was that? Olesm hadn’t written out anything definitive. But he had suspicions, and Elirr’s hair rose as he read them.

Embria, [Wing Commander]

She knew exactly who and how it had happened. It wasn’t hard. Embria had almost known, but Vell, lying in the [Healer]’s tent, had croaked confirmation to her.

“It’s Manus, Wing Commander. It’s Ancestors-damned Manus. That was their veterans. I’ll bet my tail on it. And I think that [Spearmaster]…that might’ve been him.”

“Spearmaster Lulv.”

Vell’s eyes flickered as she held her stomach. The enchanted spear’s wounds were not…easy to heal.

“You know him?”

“Reputation. His Skill made me suspect.”

“How many Ants did they kill?”

“Nearly a thousand.”

Vell put her head back. Embria didn’t know what to think. She had heard Belgrade had saved his entire division. And even if she bore the Antinium no good will…

Even she had trouble watching the remnants form up. Embria needed to talk to Olesm, though. Manus was in this war. They would probably deny it; that was their standard operating procedure, and there was no proof. But they had sent some of their best to kill the Antinium. She walked out of the tent and avoided looking at Tersk and Dekass. Both had survived, although someone had tried to snipe both with enchanted arrows.

Their armor had protected them, so the Prognugators were counting their forces.

Artur, [Flag Bearer]

Artur had been jealous of Crab Battalion. He was assigned to Battalion 4, Razorbeaks, and everyone had been envious of Crab Battalion, with their four commendations.

It felt so…wrong. Artur felt dirty, though his armor was still pristine. He had hung back in the fighting, holding the flag.

Doing nothing as Crab Battalion and the others died.

Crab Battalion…was gone. Tersk and Dekass looked at four squads, each with less than half their original number.

And that was it. The unknown soldiers with their enchanted blades had targeted Crab Battalion. Battalions 1, 3, and 5 had endured the worst fighting.

There were only two [Crusaders] left in Squad 5, Battalion 1. One had two arms missing. The other? The other had an enchanted blade, which Tersk inspected.

There was no counting how many of the enemy had died, but it was a low, low number. In fact, Tersk had reported to Olesm in Artur’s earshot that he could confirm six dead. And that had been with Dekass calling in volleys of arrows onto the [Crusaders]. In fact, that was the only thing that had made the enemy retreat. They had healed all wounds, retreated rather than stay and risk losses.

Artur could see other [Crusaders] looking at him and his flag. Perhaps it made them feel better. He hoped it did.

Artur felt so useless. He had been in the darkness, and if only…if only his flag could have done more. But he had seen Crab Battalion fighting against [Soldiers] three times their level at least. The difference was just that.

Levels.

Elirr, [Councilmember]

The Council of Liscor drafted a somber announcement to go out across the city. From their rooms, Elirr had a view of it from the windows. He heard the howls of Gnolls fearing their loved ones were lost as well.

“So what happens next? Do we retreat?”

Alonna sat wearily at the table. The first hour of their day had exhausted her, and Elirr just wanted to go to Jeckle, the Ice Wyvern he was training, and pet him and feed him.

However, Lism shook his head.

“Olesm hasn’t written that.”

They all looked at him. The purple-scaled Drake glanced around.

“I’m not being his uncle. I’m being realistic. You don’t surrender and roll over after one bad battle. He thinks there’s a chance. Maybe they retreat and fortify. Hectval is still out there.”

“But if Manus is in it…”

Jeiss had come back from delivering the news to Watch Captain Zevara. He had also run the news to the Free Hive. He closed the door to the Council’s chambers.

“That’s our job. If they are in it, we scream it as loud as possible and throw every accusation. Manus is interfering in other city’s battles. No Drake city likes that. I just told the Watch Captain; she got a copy anyways.”

“Smart of Olesm. What did she say?”

“She’ll take a muster of volunteers, make sure we’re ready for any Hectval groups sneaking around the Floodplains. Oh—and she’s answering one of his requests. But also…I have this. The Free Queen has written us a letter.”

The entire Council looked up sharply. Tismel blurted out.

“The Free Queen can write?”

Jeiss laid the letter on the table. It was unsealed, and he offered it to Alonna, who hesitated.

“Dictate, I think. Want to read it out loud, Alonna?”

The Guildmistress cleared her throat.

“The Free Queen…is she speaking in third person? It’s like a royal announcement. Er, let me…The Free Queen has been apprised of the casualty reports in Engagement #11. She congratulates Liscor’s army on its survival.”

“Congratulates…?”

Lism mouthed, but Alonna went on.

“The numbers of Antinium deceased are acceptable, the Free Queen feels, for a wartime scenario. She is prepared to resupply Workers and Soldiers in the same quantities, provided Liscor will authorize transit and aid in rearmament. She suggests the Antinium dead may have weapons or armor that can be repurposed for—does she not care?”

Alonna nearly tore up the paper. She whirled.

“Nearly a thousand Antinium die and she’s ready to send another thousand in!”

“They’ve seen worse battles. She might think it’s acceptable. But check the signature.”

Jeiss murmured. He’d already read the letter, then. Elirr saw Alonna go down the letter and blanch.

“What?”

The [Mage] pursed her lips.

“It’s signed…Xrn.”

The Council looked at each other, and Elirr felt that familiar prickling on his skin and fur. Well, that was one person who might not look at a thousand dead as a problem. But a thousand…

Was Belgrade alive? Elirr thought of Pawn, or Silveran, who cleaned his shop and would have done it for free just to pet the cats. The Gnoll put his head in his paws.

“Yet the war will continue. We can’t move the Soldiers and Workers through the door. On foot, then. And that replenishes the Antinium’s losses completely, doesn’t it?”

Tismel broke the silence, sounding almost cheerful. Even Zalaiss slapped his arm, but the Council began to break from its stasis.

“We need to send supplies. That damned door sucks more mana than a [Sailor] sucks down seawater. How did Erin ever make it work properly?”

Jeiss muttered. Alonna sighed.

“Her inn is a leyline. We could move the door…”

Lism interrupted.

“It’s disrespectful. And we can’t ship everyone through it.”

Alonna threw up her hands.

“Well, let’s prioritize! Send the [Healers] and any specialists. We have a few Olesm wants.”

“Anything. How many?”

“Just the [Healers] who we’re shuttling through. A poison-expert for Belgrade. Um…one from Zevara, and it looks like…three Antinium ‘specialists’ from the Free Hive. Huh?”

Alonna caught sight of the names on the list and stared down. Jeiss sat up, and Elirr leaned over. His face turned dark, and Jeiss looked at him.

“You okay with it, Elirr?”

The Gnoll hesitated, then nodded.

“Better Hectval than us. I won’t object. Who are the specialists from the Antinium?”

“No clue.”

Olesm, [Leader]

Olesm had leveled after that night. As a [Leader]. He had heard that you did, even if you lost a battle, but he felt disgraced.

He waited for the reinforcements. The Antinium had to march, but Belgrade needed the poison-specialist, even though he’d survived the worst of it.

However, Olesm had written to Zevara the instant he’d learned Manus was on the attack. They were now low on potions, but more would come, and they’d have to make do.

Strangely, when he’d told Belgrade that, the Antinium had begged for him to write a request to Pawn. The [Strategist] had insisted on being carried to greet the visitors as well.

It did move Olesm, seeing that the Antinium had some volunteers from his division to do it. The maligned [Strategist] had won over his command in a single night. Olesm wanted to ask him how.

“Who are we expecting?”

“Help for…healing. They did not come with the other Antinium. But if they are needed, they will come. They are an…asset. I am not allowed to say their classes.”

“I see. But they can help heal?”

“Yes. And the Antinium will benefit from them in other ways. They are like Pawn.”

Olesm’s brows sharpened, but he saw the door open.

“Crates coming through! Stand clear!”

The first supplies of potions were shoved through the door, and the most wounded, who needed to get to Liscor, went through next. However, Olesm and Belgrade were waiting for a few people.

“Antidote specialist? Who am I treating?”

A cautious Human came through the door, spotted Belgrade, and hesitated. Olesm waved him over.

“Check with our [Healers], please.”

“I am allergic to wheat.”

Belgrade called out as the toxin-expert hurried past him. However, the two were waiting for the last specialists.

There were four of them. Three came in a group. Olesm frowned.

They were like Pawn indeed. He had never particularly noticed them, mainly because Pawn was odd enough. Nor did he know their names.

However…the Antinium who walked forwards, three of them, all had robes over their chitin. They were Workers, not Soldiers. They carried simple clubs—but that was not their weapon.

At first, Olesm thought they were like Jelaqua. Until he realized what they held was not a flail, but…that object Pawn held.

A censer, Erin called it. Something meant to hold and burn incense. The three Antinium looked at Belgrade, and one stepped forwards.

“Strategist Belgrade. I am [Acolyte] Jerimy—”

“Shh! Shh! No classes!”

Belgrade waved his arms and winced. The [Acolyte] fell silent as Olesm stared. A what? However, another of the Antinium saw Belgrade’s bandaged side.

“You are hurt.”

“Yes. There will be fighting. You might need armor. I will speak with you…”

The [Acolyte] didn’t listen. He walked over, touched Belgrade’s side, and whispered. Olesm saw Belgrade stiffen…then relax. He didn’t understand what had happened until Belgrade slowly sat up and, to the amazement of all, hopped out of his stretcher.

“You should not do that openly. There is secrecy to discuss.”

His wounds were healed! Olesm had seen—he gritted his teeth, trying to piece it together. And wondering, more importantly, how to use that.

Despite their unique classes and abilities, Pawn’s disciples entered the Hectval war with little notice or fanfare at first.

Mainly because you could not [Appraise] what they had. Also, because the last specialist Olesm had called for made a larger impression. Olesm watched as they undid the specially-made bindings. He stepped through, and some of the Gnolls growled and the Drakes glared, but Olesm was certain.

He had written to Watch Captain Zevara only one thing when he had learned Manus had sent their best. If they wanted to enter the war…he would send someone right back at them. Manus was the Walled City of War. Perhaps, at last, the prisoner would get his wish. Either way, Manus and Hectval would regret it first.

Olesm had written to Zevara simply:

Send forth the Minotaur.

Calruz of Hammerad stretched his arm out as he looked at Olesm. The [Strategist] glanced back, towards his forces.

Crusader 51. Artur. Embria. Belgrade…the fighting Antinium, Drakes, Gnolls, and Humans of Liscor’s army.

The entrance of Manus into the Hectval war took place nearly twenty days into the fighting. Liscor’s advance would stalemate in the foothills for the next two months, and see the bloodiest fighting by far in that time.

Author’s Note: It’s 3 chapters. I think. And they might be big.

But that’s timelines for you. I am still heading towards the end of Volume 8, but it turns out that rather than the goalposts being moved, I just can’t tell how long a mile is.

However, there’s also danger in rushing. Taking a break is so important…I can’t write this chapter nearly as long, nor as well without rest.

I think you can see that it’s improved? I can always do better, however! And I will continue to do so. But you have voted, and I am writing our Hectval arc. Look forwards to the next part or not. It is a genre, and I think people familiar with it know enough of what might be coming.

Always in The Wandering Inn’s style, though. Thanks for reading! I’ll see you next chapter. Pray for Hectval. Not necessarily good things, but prayer abounds.

Crusader 51 wondered why other officers didn’t stop him.

——

He was not strong. [Faith is My Strength] only made him stronger. He believed when they heard the sermons. Heaven…Heaven…

But he was not strong. Just stronger.

Crusader 53 was strong. They ran into an officer leading Hectval’s [Soldiers]. He cut down Crusader 57 again. A sweeping flamberge. Enchanted. Another piercing, too-sharp blade.

It met Crusader 51’s own enchanted sword, and the Drake backed up, cursing.

“Take out that Antinium!”

Crusader 51 fell back as spears jabbed at him, glancing off his armor, and he whirled his sword, slashing at the other weapons. But that left Crusader 53 exposed! The officer saw the lopsided [Crusader] and charged, his sword sweeping out for a cut straight through Crusader 53.

The [Maceman] turned. And his mace swung at the enchanted flamberge. The two weapons met—and the officer’s weapon went bouncing away.

“What—”

The Drake looked flabbergasted at the flamberge as it nearly juddered out of his claws. How? The mace was not enchanted! And yet…did it glow as Crusader 53 lifted it? How had it done that? How—

[Weapon of Faith]. Crusader 53 brought it down on the helmet, and the Hectval troops broke and ran. The Soldier happily patted his mace as Crusader 51 stared down at Crusader 57 again.

——

“Enchanted flamberge. We will send it back to Liscor.”

Tersk announced the moment Squad 5 presented the weapon to him. Dekass agreed instantly.

“This is an enchanted weapon of acceptable grade. Too valuable to be lost.”

He looked at the squad of Antinium. You could not lose enchanted items. Those were in short supply. The same with valuable Antinium. Everything else?

He spotted Crusader 51’s sword and pointed at that.

“Tersk. That Antinium has an enchanted sword as well. A potent one.”

Crusader 51 saw Tersk focus on him. The Armored Prognugator clicked his mandibles.

“Ah. You are right. I had seen it, but Dekass, as someone who has been a Soldier without armor, I considered Squad 5 might benefit from it, as that is a weapon they use.”

Tersk tapped the side of his head knowingly. Dekass nodded but twiddled his thumbs.

“Yes…but would that sword not be lost when this Antinium dies? I suggest, Tersk, that we return both blades to the Free Antinium. They have already accounted for more worth than one squad…given their turnover rates.”

Tersk reluctantly looked at Squad 5.

“You may have a point. Crusader, hand over your gear. We will replace it. I will send it tonight via door.”

His sword? Crusader 51 slowly lifted his sword up out of its sheath. Tersk reached for it impatiently.

A giant hand fell on the Prognugator’s shoulder. Tersk went still, and the specialist assigned to their division rumbled.

“You will not.”

Calruz the Minotaur, with his one hand, regarded Crusader 53. And Crusader 51. He nodded to them as Tersk began to argue. The Minotaur had one huge axe strapped to his back. He did not have his little rats, but he was Calruz. Crusader 53 stared up at the Minotaur as he snapped at Tersk.

“You do not understand your soldiers. I thought you were beginning to learn.”

Tersk’s mandibles clicked shut. He took a step back, regarded Squad 5, and abruptly nodded.

“You are right. They should keep the blade. We will even give another squad the flamberge.”

“What? Inconceivable. Tersk, this conclusion is nonsensical!”

Dekass protested, but Tersk and Calruz were inspecting each other, and the Minotaur jerked his head. Tersk slowly nodded back.

“Dekass, it is a lesson Pawn taught me once. I will explain it to you many times.”

Squad 5 watched as he marched Dekass off. Then they looked to Calruz. He nodded at Squad 5. Calruz eyed the zweihander the new Crusader 57 held.

“Huh. That’s oversized. Someone made that for a truly large form. Even a Soldier would have trouble with it. I’d think twice about using it with two arms. Give it to me. We’ll replace it.”

He reached for the blade, and Crusader 57 smacked Calruz’s hand down. All of Squad 5 recoiled as the Minotaur blinked.

“Give that to me. I will replace it with—”

He reached out again, and Crusader 57 bit at him. Two mandibles clicked, and Calruz jerked his hand back. He and Crusader 51 stared at the new Crusader 57. Who was this?

Another bad Antinium. The Worker with the zweihander on its back refused to let Calruz take the blade. And when they were dismissed for food, he elbowed his way to the front of the line.

Crusader 51 disliked him instantly. What was a Worker doing with Squad 5? When Crusader 51 sat down to feed his pillbugs, Crusader 57 took one look at them and tried to eat one! When Crusader 51 grabbed his arm, the Worker didn’t hand the pillbug back, but flicked it into the distance.

Crusader 51 punched him in the face. The Worker bit his arm. Every Antinium halted as the two began to punch each other and roll around fighting. Crusader 51 saw Crusader 53 get up to help, but the smaller Worker should have been easy for Crusader 51, a Level 14 [Crusader], to beat.

However, he was so strong! And he punched and bit—Crusader 51 had used his mandibles as a weapon, but he had never encountered an Antinium who tried to bite as a tactic. He was pinning Crusader 57 down when the Worker suddenly spoke.

“oFF. GEt oFf ME.”

Every Antinium drew back in horror. Crusader 51 leapt away, and Crusader 53 raised his mace.

The first Aberration appeared in their ranks as a survivor of one of the decimated squads. Crusader 57 with the cursed zweihander. Worst of them all.

Aberration.

Calruz, [Honorbound Prisoner]

“It must die. I will execute it at once.”

Tersk drew his sword and advanced on the pinned Worker. Once again, Calruz barred his way.

“Why?”

The Prognugator looked at Calruz with pure astonishment. Calruz did not know what to think of Tersk. He was intelligent, sharp, a gifted leader with a mind for strategy, and had a lack of fear, even when Manus, a Walled City, tried to kill him battle after battle.

At the same time, he was arguably less intelligent than Rhata or Haldagaz. Calruz missed his pets.

They were with Selys. He would not take animals to a front. Calruz had not trained them for battle or subterfuge…if you would even train common rats to do that. He did have a class.

[Pet Owner]. It had surprised him that he could gain a class as a [Prisoner]. Perhaps, though…he was not one.

Calruz was fighting with no chains on him. He did have a tracking spell and a bracelet sealed onto his right leg. But Olesm had let him fight.

He did not lead forces. Calruz did apprise Liscor’s officers of impending attacks, but he was not permitted to lead.

He fought alone, from front to front. The Minotaur took no joy in it, but he did find a certain satisfaction. This, at least, mattered. One-armed or not, the Hectval Alliance had learned to fear a Minotaur with an axe coming at their ranks.

The House of Minos would look at me like a fool, the way I fight. All of the Beriad would call me insane, even the most foolhardy of them.

One-armed warriors were not unheard of. Calruz had no prosthetic, but even then, he could have taken his position in an honorable rank of warriors if he were in the army. Yet he fought alone, charging into pikes and spears, trusting to his Skills.

[Steelbound Hide]. A relic from surviving Skinner, falling into the dungeon, and taking command of the Raskghar there. He had possessed [Thick Skin], then. When he charged the Crelers, it evolved.

Drakes would stab into him with mundane weapons, expecting him to defend—but his axe would crash into their ranks. Faster than they could attack.

Offense. Calruz didn’t think of it as a fair battle. Simply war. He would have challenged Manus’ forces for his honorable death…

If he thought he could kill any of them. They would shoot him before he got close. And besides…

The [Honorbound Prisoner] had realized he had to live. At least in this war. Not just so that Hectval would be punished.

For the sake of these poor warriors. For Tersk’s own honor.

“Why must that Worker die?”

“He is Aberration.”

Dekass said it as if it explained everything. Calruz frowned at him. Yes…if he thought of the two Prognugators in terms of his rats, Rhata was Dekass. She was a simple soul. Strong…Calruz had gotten a rare Skill as a Level 11 [Pet Owner]. He hadn’t expected to level so fast, but all he did in his cell was pet them, exercise, speak with Zevara, construct a miniature climbing gym out of scraps for the two rats, sleep, and so on.

[Pet: Best Quality, Refined]. A Skill for the House of Minos’ warriors to be proud of…for rats.

It was ironic, but it fit Calruz perfectly. Let them have a Skill most Minotaurs would be proud to receive. Rhata could drag a ten pound weight around when he tied it to her. 🐀

Dekass was Rhata. He was a simple leader. He did not understand nuance, but he was capable. Calruz even suspected he was better with his sword and shield than Tersk, who handled it less confidently. The Antinium did not seem to realize each warrior had their own best weapon. Or none, in the case of Artur, the [Flag Bearer].

However, Tersk was unto Haldagaz. Calruz’s white-furred little rat would sometimes sit on Calruz’s head, and the Minotaur would read a book to him. He almost thought Haldagaz understood; Rhata just ate while they read. Tersk was like that. Almost. Almost, and Calruz thought they would be warriors of different species, but on the same level.

Tersk was looking at Calruz like Haldagaz, trying to understand. Aware there was something he was missing. His mandibles clicked slowly.

“It…the appearance of an Aberration means they are a defective Worker or Soldier, Calruz. They must die because they will kill everything they see. They are not of the Hives.”

Calruz raised his brows.

“Do you see that Worker killing anyone?”

“He attacked Crusader 51.”

How could they tell them apart? Calruz recognized the sword-wielding Antinium, but the name? Crusader 51. He eyed the Soldier pinning the angry Worker with three more of the others.

“He also bit at me when I tried to take his weapon. But he did not try to kill anyone.”

“Ah, but he will. You are not Antinium, so you are unaware. We must execute the Aberration. The madness can spread.”

Interesting. Dekass was raising his sword, but the Worker thrashed.

“yoU. YoU. sTUPid DEKass. I AM [CruSAdeR]. i FIGhT.”

Calruz saw Dekass recoil and grabbed the Antinium.

“He speaks. This seems less like madness or…it seems more like an out-of-control [Warrior] to me, Tersk. A [Berserker] who has lost control of reason. Not desirable—but not deserving of death.”

Tersk turned to face Calruz.

“That is an interesting…idea, Calruz. However, my Queen’s orders are clear. I must kill any Aberration I see.”

“Do you know it to be an Aberation?”

Tersk was stumped.

“It clearly is one. It has behaved like every other Aberration I have slain.”

Calruz gritted his teeth.

“Yes…but do you know it is an Aberration? Tersk. Is there a way you could be wrong? Because listen to me. This Worker was a survivor of a squad that perished, all but one, yes?”

“Yes…we rotated them into Squad 5.”

The Antinium was very hesitant. Crusader 57 had gone still as Calruz tried to drip-feed Tersk an idea.

“Perhaps it is not an Aberration. Perhaps, if you are not perfectly certain, the honorable thing would be to let Crusader 57 be.”

“Why?”

Dekass laughed, a fluttering sound. Tersk was frowning at Calruz, his mandibles drooping. Calruz looked around. All the other Antinium were watching him.

“Because it is a poor precedent to execute a warrior in front of their fellows. It is not uncommon; the House of Minos has known the like, but not in modern day. The offense must be grave indeed, and we pride honor above all. We know there are reckless warriors, those with poor temper. We do not kill them for that, Tersk. What serves the Antinium, or Liscor’s army, in killing this Worker?”

“It would…eliminate a threat.”

“If this Antinium was going to kill, surely it would have already.”

“It disrupts Squad 5.”

Tersk countered, but his tone was…thoughtful. Dekass looked incredulous as Calruz knelt.

“Worker. Or…Crusader 57. You have caused a disturbance. If you refrain from doing so, will you fight and obey orders?”

The thrashing Worker slowed. It looked up at Calruz, and the strange, oddly quavering voice actually calmed down. Although that was saying a half-screamed warble turned into a molten hiss of unsurpassed rage.

“I…am obeying. Even your stupid orders. I fight Hectval.”

Calruz rose. Tersk looked struck.

“I…that is not what Aberrations do. Or say.”

“What is normal?”

The Minotaur was curious, not that he would ever return to Minos. But perhaps he could report it? Tersk shrugged.

“Curse the Queen. Swear to kill everything. Rebel. ‘I will not obey.’”

Calruz’s brown eyes fixed on Tersk, and the Minotaur felt his palm grow suddenly sweaty. Did the Antinium not know how it sounded? It didn’t sound like madness. That sounded like…

“Tersk. Will you let this [Crusader] live? His squad might watch him.”

“It is a risk to them and our division. Persuade me, Calruz.”

Tersk tilted his head left and right. Calruz met his gaze.

“I cannot give you a logical argument based on your Hive’s orders or history. I can only suggest this, Tersk. It would be dishonorable to kill this Worker. That is what I believe.”

Dekass rotated from Tersk to Calruz as the Armored Prognugator went still. He drew his sword.

“Alright then. Let us kill—”

Tersk grabbed Dekass.

“I see. Then we will let Crusader 57 live.”

“Whaaaat?‘

Dekass looked as flabbergasted as any Antinium Calruz had ever seen. Yet Tersk just nodded.

“Come with me, Calruz. We will dine as I believe is customary. You must explain more.”

The Minotaur agreed. They headed towards Tersk’s tent as Squad 5 stared down at Crusader 57. The Worker watched the Prognugators go, then tried to bite Crusader 51’s hand.

“Let go of me. Idiots.”

Crusader 51 jerked back. He rose and stared after Calruz as the Worker stomped back to his zweihander and sat down. He almost hoped Crusader 57 would die to the curse next battle. An Aberration was…?

Crusader 53 just watched Calruz, one-sided like him. The [Maceman] had seen Calruz nod at him. Thoughtfully, Crusader 53 sat down and began toying with his gear.

The next time Calruz saw Squad 5, the angry Worker was still alive. Oh—and the Minotaur did a double-take when he saw Crusader 53 had glued two makeshift horns to his helmet.

Poor little warriors. Calruz tapped one of Crusader 53’s fists with his own, looking in his eyes. He missed Rhata and Haldagaz. 🐁 But he fought that these children might live. Yet he—Olesm—they could not stop Manus.

Not yet.

Calruz could endure the losses of the Antinium because he had lost his team, his comrades before. He had lost his mind and honor. Rather than stop under the weight of it all, he fought harder.

He did not know how they dealt with it. Crusader 57 was a symptom, not an aberration. Even Antinium broke. And these…these weren’t mindless Soldiers or Workers.

They had a cause. That would make them weaker and stronger than any of their kind had ever been. But the suffering. You could grow numb to it. And that was the worst of all.

Artur, [Flag Bearer]

He saw it all. Like Maksie, like Crusader 51, he was there. The difference was that he did nothing.

Brave Soldiers like Crusader 51 fought. They survived and risked their lives on the front. Calruz jogged off alone, to fall on the enemy, one against a hundred.

Maksie flew through the sky, dodging spells and arrows, to call for reinforcements for the dying and wounded, to make sure their end was watched.

But Artur just held the flag. A useless Worker with no ability to fight. He held the flag he had been so proud of. It had the insignia of every single battalion he served with.

Even Liscorians. Even squads like Significant Beavers. They came up to him, the Worker with the flag.

“Er…we have a patch. If you want, we could sew it on?”

“Yes. That is good, please.”

Jordes recoiled as the Worker carefully retying the banner to the shaft of wood spoke. But then he handed the Fortress Beaver logo over, and Artur produced a needle and began to stitch it onto the flag.

It made the symbol of Liscor’s city look less…well, magnificent without detail, the icon of the city. Instead, the flag had dozens of little insignia, from cute to meticulously drawn. Like a children’s drawing.

Perhaps that bothered some of the people who saw it, because Artur had heard Olesm receive a petition that the Antinium not carry the banner. Or rather, that banner.

“Why in the name of the walls would I entertain that?”

He snapped back in a discussion with Bepol, who’d brought it to him. The Pallassian-trained Drake looked uncomfortable as Artur listened in.

He could get near the command tents. In fact, Artur alone could go wherever he pleased if he was in the right camp.

He was the [Flag Bearer], and as such, Tersk and Dekass rotated him from battalion to battalion. In fact, Olesm even sometimes requested Artur join a Liscorian section.

Because Artur had a Skill. Well, multiple Skills.

He could repair scratches and other small damage to the flag just by willing it, which was very important so that the patches didn’t need constant replacing. Nor would the flag get muddy or bloody; even water slid off the fabric. However, the Skill that mattered to all the officers was Artur’s first flag-Skill.

[Flag: Inspiring Sight].

He held the flag, and [Soldiers] saw it and didn’t break. They gazed at the flag and fought on. Weary limbs too leaden to move would rise—because they saw their patch flying on Artur’s flag. That was Artur’s first Skill, and it alone had made Olesm seek him out.

In that first battle when the cloud of darkness descended, Artur had stood petrified as Manus’ forces attacked. Liscor’s regulars and the Antinium crusade had looked for orders amid the chaos—and the flag had kept them rooted. When death surged around them and all was chaos and every officer shouted an order—

The flag flew.

What they didn’t understand was Artur’s guilt. He watched them die, sometimes right in front of him, sometimes from the rear. He was just a single Worker. Holding a flag that Bepol or someone found objectionable.

“It looks like a child made it, Olesm. There are laws in Pallass about disgracing flags.”

“This isn’t Pallass, Bepol. Besides…what’s the problem with it looking…”

Olesm looked around and didn’t notice Artur. Oh, the Worker had a giant flag, but he was standing with Liscor’s regular one. So it just looked like two flags were flapping in the breeze.

“…like children made it? Commander!”

“Children did make it. Do you know how old Antinium are?”

“Sir?”

“Do you know how old Antinium are? By any definition, Bepol…”

Artur watched as the argument turned into Bepol quickly exiting Olesm’s tent. The Drake looked patently uncomfortable with the idea Olesm was suggesting. Olesm emerged from the tent and saw Artur holding his flag. He eyed the Worker.

Artur held the flag.

——

The worst part was, Artur didn’t die. And yes, it was the worst part in a way. It meant he lived with the guilt of it gnawing at him each night.

Why? Well, even when Manus assaulted their lines, or Hectval attacked and the Antinium fell back and it was time for Artur to die…

They avoided the flag. It wasn’t that Hectval or the other [Soldiers] from Manus didn’t see him, it was that if they spotted anyone else, they went for that foe first. Because Artur held a flag and no weapons.

And because a flag wasn’t much of a target. At first, Artur suspected the very patches on the flag saved his life. It looked…less like an icon of hated Liscor, and more like that children’s flag Bepol suggested. So it just wasn’t a priority.

That was, until the other flags started getting destroyed.

——

Olesm Swifttail had a hundred thousand problems to juggle, and Artur sometimes observed him doing his [Leader] job. A lot of it was around managing the army as much as the strategy.

“He led us into a suicide charge. Commander…”

“He is your superior officer, and he thought it was an opening. I understand your reservations, Squad Leader. How open is the dissent?”

“I…kept a lid on it, sir. But I came to you as soon as…”

The Drake saw Olesm point at her.

“Keep a lid on it. That is an order. Bepol will transfer your squad across commands since you were chewed up. But I don’t want to hear any scuttlebutt. Any rumors. Is that clear, Squad Leader Nellb?”

“Yes, sir.”

The Drake looked relieved. Olesm was left cursing, trying to figure out how to arrange it so that Bepol didn’t see that the squads were being transferred out of his command because they’d lost faith in him. His eyes alighted on Artur as the Antinium stood in his favorite spot—next to the main flag in the command area.

“[Flag Bearer] Artur. You’ll be heading to Ramia’s command, and I’m assigning some squads to join you.”

Artur was a valuable excuse. The Antinium found himself marching with three battered squads, who didn’t exactly curse Bepol to hell and back…and he found Ramia’s forces as the Gnoll perked up upon seeing him.

“Three squads? Ah…not at full strength, no. But Olesm’s sent a flag? Wonderful. Er…what is his name?”

She whispered to one of the Gnolls, and Artur spoke.

“I am Artur. I have a flag.”

Ramia jumped and looked at Artur.

“Er—ah! Yes. Good to meet you, Artur. I knew we had a [Flag Bearer]…why don’t you tour our camps? Are you a non-combatant?”

“No. I am present in battles.”

Ramia looked relieved as she nodded.

“We will stick you with…Pricegougers. That’s Battalion 3. At the rear. You do have a morale Skill, don’t you?”

Again, Artur nodded, and Ramia exhaled.

“That will be very useful. Very useful. I will have one of our Squad Leaders show you a tour route. Squad Leader Nellb? Tell me—is there another, ah, reason you were assigned to escort our flag here…?”

The Worker left and toured the camp. [Soldiers] looked up, and a few pointed at him.

“Look at that. That’s the Antinium’s flag bearer.”

“Are there more Ants coming to our area…?”

“No idea. Hey, Squad Leader Kerone! Do we get more reinforcements?”

The Drake escorting Artur shouted back.

“You want more? Belgrade’s already hammered his side flat. Do we all have to come over and do your job for you?”

The [Soldiers] under Ramia’s command jeered good-naturedly. The Squad Leader looked more comfortable around Artur. So comfortable, in fact, that Artur spoke.

“Is Strategist Belgrade sending reinforcements to the center?”

Kerone jumped, like many who heard Artur speak. He hesitated, coughed into a fist, and replied.

“My squad’s part of a company that came to help fight, yes. The right’s going well. We destroyed an enemy camp, and they’re retreating hard. Division Leader Ramia’s forces requested some support, so Belgrade sent us over. Not that they needed us that much!”

Artur accepted this lie as a lie. He hung around Olesm. He knew Belgrade was doing better than any other part of the army.

Ramia’s forces…weren’t dying. Not like the Antinium. But the Alliance was showing its backbone, and she was not Olesm or Belgrade.

So it was the soup. Artur knew all that. What he didn’t realize was something trivial. Well, two things:

Firstly, Ramia’s forces had no flags left, aside from one standing outside her tent.

Second? There were no [Flag Bearers] but Artur.

It wasn’t as if [Flag Bearer] was a class Olesm had dedicated himself to creating. He had assigned [Soldiers] to carry a flag, but Hectval burned every flag they captured, just like Liscor would do to all three cities in return. They were not a critical resource, nor did Olesm request more flags from Liscor.

So Artur’s flag began to become a rarer and rarer sight. Indeed, he realized his Skill was one of a handful in Liscor’s army.

[Flag: Inspiring Sight]. As Kerone led him around Ramia’s command, [Soldiers] spotted it and some approached.

“Hey, is that the Antinium flag? What’s going on? Is the Antinium side sending Ants here? Or is it going so well we’re getting their flag? Can anyone add to it?”

Kerone shrugged.

“I don’t think so. Commander Ramia’s gotten three squads. A bit beat-up. The flag’s on tour for morale.”

A few Drakes, all of whom had an odd, strutting walk and an odd badge one offered Artur, frowned.

“Morale? It does feel…well, I feel a bit better looking at it. Fancy that. So no news from the other fronts?”

Kerone shook his head. Artur looked at him, then clicked his mandibles.

“We have received a reinforcement of two hundred and thirteen Antinium. Commander Olesm has also won a protracted battle on Division Leader Bepol’s side. We are also receiving a shipment of Corusdeer steak as premium rations, to be divided up per command tonight.”

The Drakes recoiled, and Kerone blinked at Artur.

“How do you know that?”

The [Flag Bearer] gave him a blank look.

“I heard it?”

He did not tell them about the bad things, like Crusader 57’s squad being wiped out. That was bad for morale. Or Bepol’s failed charge.

However, the [Soldiers] perked right up at the news about the steaks. One looked at Artur, and, to the Antinium’s astonishment, held out a claw.

“Do you shake hands? We’re from Liscor’s Players.”

That explained their badge, which looked like a stick-man with clothing. Or stick-Drake? Kerone was fascinated.

“You’re Liscor’s Players? Nice name. My squad’s Friendly Mold. Any relation to the actual thing?”

One of the Drakes chuckled, but with that note Artur had learned to hear.

“Any relation? Half of us are Liscor’s Players. Not the main cast…well, one of us was. We signed up after the first attack.”

“Why?”

Kerone didn’t know the connection Liscor’s Players had with…Artur kept looking at them, even as he toured on.

Each [Soldier] had a reason to be here. Sometimes it wasn’t much of a reason beyond ‘getting paid’, or that they didn’t know what else to do.

Sometimes it was a reason that had roots back to the inn. Artur kept repeating his news, because [Soldiers] asked and Kerone prompted him to.

“Corusdeer steak…a victory on our left. Yes, I believe they will soon become regular rations as Commander Olesm did not want them to go bad.”

That cheered them up. In that sense, the Antinium and Liscor’s soldiers were alike. Good food…just saying it made them smile, as if it were as large as a victory. Artur’s feet hurt from walking.

[Flag Bearer Level 12!]

——

He saw two battles under Ramia’s command and leveled up to Level 14. A level per battle.

Artur thought he encountered more arrows as two arms held a shield up. Ramia certainly told him to go back towards the [Archer] lines twice.

“Bastards are shooting flaming arrows at us. Keep that flag raised! Move Squad 9 up! There’s a gap…”

One hit Artur’s flag in the second battle. His flag caught fire and he had to put it out—but then he raised it again as the tear mended. That was all he did, and five arrows rattled off his steel armor, but Ramia sent him back to Olesm with a personal commendation and a request to have Artur return.

Olesm read out the note and glanced at Artur.

“Any new levels and Skills related to that flag?”

Artur had gained a new Skill—[Indefinite Marching]. He shook his head.

“No, sir.”

Olesm drummed his claws on the table.

“Well, I’m placing you back with Bepol and the Antinium. Report to Tersk. Oh—what now?”

A [Soldier] was waiting for Olesm even as Artur marched towards the tent opening.

“Someone to see you, sir. Not one of ours.”

“An enemy? Someone from Liscor?”

Olesm looked up sharply. The [Soldier] hesitated, and Artur marched out of the tent.

And almost into a strange fragrance in the air. An odd perfume…and a head that recoiled, and a look that made Artur’s chitin crawl.

A Drake man stepped back as a dozen odd warriors wearing cloth-type armor over their metal gear put their hands on their weapons. But he lifted a claw. He had an odd…tattoo…across his clawed hand. Artur stared at him as the group stood well clear of him.

“Interesting.”

“Come in!”

Olesm’s voice sounded from the tent, and the Drake turned. He walked to the tent, and two of his bodyguards went to follow, but he lifted a claw as the [Soldiers] guarding Olesm bristled.

“I will enter alone. Here is my weapon…you may, of course, search me.”

The [Soldiers] nodded, and one of the guards protested.

“But Master—!”

“Silence.”

Artur’s head turned as he watched the Drake consenting to a thorough inspection via magic and simply being patted down. In the tent, Olesm’s head rose, and his eyes narrowed as he saw the [Slaver] of Roshal smile politely at him.

——

Artur saw no more of that. However, it was glimpses such as these that gave him an insight no one else had into the war. Front lines and back.

He also got to see how people were changing. There had been no room for a [Flag Bearer] in Tersk’s understanding of how war was fought at first. However, when Artur reported his commendation from Ramia, the Prognugator paused.

“It seems you have a positive effect on morale? This is…problematic. Antinium have no morale. We do not break and run. Perhaps it would be best to place you in a position where you can aid Bepol’s command.”

He was learning. But he still didn’t understand. Artur nodded.

“I will do so.”

Behind Tersk, Calruz rubbed at his face.

“I believe we need another chat, Prognugator Tersk. A [Flag Bearer] is not a worthless class. It is a leader—of sorts.”

Tersk turned back to Calruz, and Artur tilted his head. The Minotaur did not meet with Olesm. He wrote notes and had a speaking stone, but most of Liscor hated him.

However…Artur had noticed Calruz, after the heavy fighting, would come to Tersk’s tent more and more and dine with the Antinium. So that he was not alone.

——

Artur learned there was a shortage of flags on his side as well. The Antinium had brought exactly one. And unlike before…this time, the flag was a target.

“Arrows incoming! Take cover!”

Artur crouched, shield raised, as arrows pinged off metal. He wore full armor—but with the right elevation and range…

Something pierced the metal on his side, and he felt a flash of pain.

“Wounded! Get them out of here! [Counter Fire]!”

The officer leading the [Archers] spotted Artur, but the [Flag Bearer] shook his head and produced his healing potion. He gulped it down, half-rising to peek across the battlefield as the officer stormed back, exchanging arrows with Hectval’s forces.

Hm. It was not good. The archer-duel was one thing, but Bepol was making the same mistake Olesm had chided him for once before in private. Artur had heard Bepol was fond of the line-breaking charge, and it had worked the first dozen times.

However…Significant Beavers were bogged down in the middle of a reinforced second line. Satel was covering Utel, who had a hole in her leg, as Bepol roared.

“Back! Back!”

And while he was focused on saving his charging soldiers, Hectval would…Artur looked up.

There. The [Riders] were coming. Hectval’s Alliance didn’t have many in the mountains, but the ones they did cut in, just like Olesm had warned Bepol. But the Drake had tunnel vision. The [Riders] nipped in, distracting one of the engaged squads, and forcing them to fight on two sides.

No! They retreated, and Bepol regained control, but Artur saw good Drakes and Gnolls fall. Then another arrow struck him in the shoulder but lodged in his chitin. It still hurt a bit.

[Flag Bearer Level 15!]

[Flag: Lesser Missile Defense obtained!]

——

After that battle, Artur spent three hours mending the holes in his flag. But he got a new Skill. The instant Bepol heard about it, he and Tersk began arguing where to put Artur.

“I need him with my [Archers].”

“The Antinium would benefit likewise from archer protection.”

“Ah, but it’s only lesser missile protection. Better to have it away from a direct volley. Is it permanent? That’s…not bad. Can we test it?”

Artur ended up standing with his patched flag as a group of [Archers] shot headless arrows at him and watched them swerve slightly. The Skill couldn’t block a direct shot, but it turned a lot of hits into grazes or misses.

An inch or two could be the difference between life and death. Tersk ceded Artur to Bepol…mainly because the Drake had taken some bad losses.

“It’s those damn [Riders]. They’re invisible or sped up. I know Commander Olesm claims he can see them, but I need 4th Company or something to handle them.”

Artur nearly fell over his flag when he heard that. Did Bepol not see the [Riders] coming at him, straight as day?

No…he didn’t notice. He was not infallible. Artur watched Bepol uneasily, because he didn’t like the Drake’s lack of vision. But did he say something?

Artur did not. He was only a [Flag Bearer].

——

The next day, Artur watched a repeat. Bepol didn’t charge the front; instead, they charged him.

“We’ve got them. Surround them—I want a [Shieldline Wall] there. Get me Archer Squad 2. Oh! Someone just shot their officer! Lucky!”

The Drake crowed as a fluke arrow nailed one of the officers through the eye. Artur watched as he eagerly set up a killing zone, funneling the unlucky vanguard through two [Shield Walls] in a V-formation while archers shot straight down the center.

And he never saw the [Riders] on the left. Bepol had a far larger group to deal with, and he might win the battle if he ate enough of Hectval’s own or made them surrender.

Artur’s gaze strayed left. He saw Significant Beavers on the flanks. They hadn’t spotted the [Riders] using boulders as partial cover either. They were locked on the warriors ahead of them.

Of course they were. Everyone had tunnel vision in a battle where death came one way. But Artur saw it. He could only watch and defend himself.

“Commander Bepol. Commander Bepol. The left…”

The Drake didn’t hear him. Artur raised his voice—looked down the hill. Bepol was surrounded by his people. He didn’t hear! Artur’s flag wavered.

——

Significant Beavers was skirmishing with Hectval’s [Soldiers] in a scrum. Some bastard was flicking [Light Arrow] spells at their ranks, so everyone had their shields up, guarding their faces.

“Someone get me a javelin. I’ll nail that bastard!”

Utel was growling. That was the same Drake who put a hole in her leg yesterday! Satel was passing one up when they heard a shout.

It was a loud roar, not from their regular Squad Leader, but off and to the left. Satel had never heard the voice before, but it called to them by name.

“Significant Beavers! Flanking charge! On your left!”

The squad whirled. The front line with Jordes began to disengage, but the voice shouted.

“First rank, hold! Second rank, pivot! Javelins! Third rank, forwards after the javelins and brace! Spears up!”

Who was shouting that? No time for questions. Satel tossed the spear, and Utel whirled. She hurled a javelin, and one of the [Riders] went down.

“That poor horse—”

She growled in dismay, for she’d hit the screaming animal. But then the [Riders] were charging. Satel anchored his pike, and the [Riders] tried to swerve. They were peeling off! So the voice roared.

“Arrogant Wyrms, cut them off! [Archers], loose!”

A squad behind Significant Beavers cut across the [Riders], and then the fighting caught the charging horses off-guard. A volley of arrows and over half the riders were down. Satel ran forwards to mercy-kill a screaming horse, but Utel yanked him out of the way.

“Hold on! Hold on! Healing potion!”

She got kicked for it, but the horse saw the arrows in its side yanked out, and stood up, shakily, as the Gnoll held its head and stroked its flank.

Significant Beavers fell back from the front as Bepol saw the disturbance and rotated them out. However, Satel kept looking around for who had spoken.

“Which officer was that? I’ve never heard that voice. They were right on the money, though.”

Jordes was nursing a cut on his arm. He looked around, frowning.

“I don’t see anyone else…maybe it was one of 4th?”

There was no one about. The only other person was…Satel blinked.

“Artur? What are you doing on the front? Get back behind the lines!”

The Worker with the familiar flag looked at Satel and nodded. He marched back as Utel frowned at him. Satel looked at her and then Artur and frowned.

“It couldn’t be…”

——

[Conditions Met: Flag Bearer → Banner Leader Class!]

[Banner Leader Level 17!]

[Skill – Unit: Moment of Frenzy obtained!]

A minor consolidation. A useful Skill. When Olesm heard Tersk’s report he put two-and-two together. His eyes narrowed, and Artur looked away as Olesm checked his reports.

“So that’s who saved Bepol from eating another side-charge. Artur. You issued orders in battle?”

“I did not mean to. I am sorry. It is just that he did not notice the charge and there was no time.”

Artur quivered as he held the flag, but Olesm just shook his head. He looked at Artur, almost wonderingly, then strode from the tent.

“Is that [Slaver] hanging around?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get rid of him. Get me Bepol and Tersk. I have a new position for Artur.”

That was how the Antinium found himself receiving his officer’s rank, a personal tent…and permission to command any forces as he saw fit.

The first Antinium to receive a promotion. The Antinium a lot of Liscor’s [Soldiers] could point out.

The Ant carrying their flag. Artur. [Banner Leader]. It left an impression on Liscor’s army. It left a larger impression on Manus’ forces the instant they heard an Antinium had been appointed as an officer. Artur was added to a list.

However, the one it left the largest impression on was…

Olesm.

Olesm, [Leader]

He’d gotten good grades in Manus. Not that he’d gone through officer-training. He’d passed through their [Strategist] courses and come out as a [Tactician] spoken of well by his teachers.

They didn’t rave he was the talent of a generation, but Olesm had been proud of it. More importantly, Lism had been proud of it. The fact that Olesm had gotten a job as the [Strategist] of Liscor was a combination of his predecessor joining the army in solidarity when the Free Antinium arrived, retiring, and being hired for another post at better pay.

Even so…that was sort of Olesm. A handsome lad. Gifted.

‘A good young man.’ People, especially Lism, said it until Olesm began to believe it. He forgot, sometimes, that it was not usual for your uncle to raise you because your actual parents didn’t want you. He had been fairly confident he was doing everything right.

Then Erin Solstice came along. Olesm ate humble pie—and then spent a week lying in a stone coffin after an undead monster nearly sacked his city, all because he went to play adventurer.

More incidents after that. He became a shadow to a real icon who united Goblins and Antinium, who did the things he, a [Strategist], didn’t conceive. However, Maviola El came through Liscor like a burning fireball. Changing everything in her wake.

You just need a spark. She was of the opinion the world was tinder, waiting to burn. Olesm had learned as much from her as Erin. Possibly more.

War taught Olesm one more thing about himself. And it was this:

Olesm was not a ‘good boy’.

Every night, he did not dream the same dream. He was no [Dreamer] or whatever class you might get. But he had a daydream, which was a night dream but not a dream…

He imagined Hectval burning. Olesm had a rough description of their city, and he wondered how long Antinium might take to break down an enchanted wall from below. Even with a fortified base, if you dug away an entire pit…Drake cities had fallen to Antinium Hives before because no one had met a species this good at digging.

If he had a single hill, or could build a tower, and put a squad of [Archers] on it while tying up the walls? 4th Company was specialized at taking walls and other vantage points.

Just put a squad of [Archers] on the walls for eight hours. Flaming arrows. He imagined the citizens might put up a defense. And he wondered how many would die.

Sacking Hectval was not Olesm’s goal. His goal was to reduce the Hectval Alliance’s strength until they signed a treaty of non-aggression. If they didn’t? He’d have to make sure they were not a threat.

He wanted them to fight until they came to those gates. The vengeful dream came to Olesm wondering, realistically, how he would deal with casualties among children. Among truly innocent people—and he stopped.

Because he didn’t like thinking about innocents, even though he knew many were. Olesm wanted Hectval’s people to suffer as much as he and Liscor had. A hundred times more. He hated them in a way he hadn’t even hated Skinner, a monster. A monster was just a monster. Those were people who’d done things he would never forgive.

That was why it was so hard to turn the [Slaver] away.

——

The [Slaver] of Roshal was a Drake. He had a tattoo of his city on his claw. To Olesm, it looked like a set of scales…but they seemed to change every time he looked at them. Never on one side. Never balanced.

Magical. Also, the [Slaver] was a Drake, though he had [Slave Bodyguards] of other species. In fact—no [Slave] was a Drake, and the [Slaver] was one.

That was just a kind of mental trick. Drakes would be more receptive to seeing that. Olesm knew Roshal did not have that many Drakes. But their agents in Izril?

“I am not selling any prisoners of war as [Slaves]. Liscor does not keep slaves, Slaver Cubol.”

The Drake offered Olesm a fine vintage of wine. Olesm pointedly ignored the proffered cup until Cubol sipped it. He never broke from his smile or took offense. Which made Olesm warier of him still.

“Liscor does not explicitly ban [Slaves], does it, Commander Swifttail?”

“We don’t keep them.”

Olesm frowned at the [Slaver]. Cubol raised one brow.

“Ah, but you don’t have a law in your charter banning them. Perhaps the sale or taking within your city, but certainly not the existence. That’s not a violation of your conduct of war either. I merely mention this as a fact.”

That was such a…Olesm put in an information request and did some reading himself. By the next time Cubol arrived, Olesm snapped at him.

“How did you know that?”

Roshal’s representative didn’t have a gift for Olesm to turn down. This time, he offered Olesm some news.

“Newspaper? Chandrar International. By a Rémi Canada. I order it from home. It is always nice to have another point of view, don’t you think?”

Olesm glared, but he let Cubol leave the newspaper because he wanted to know if it contained anything about Ceria. He was tempted to throw Cubol out of his tent and bar him from the army.

However, Olesm couldn’t arrest him, free the slaves, or touch Cubol in any way. Roshal was a foreign power, and they were notoriously protective of their [Slavers]. So why did Olesm listen?

Well, at first it was to argue over Liscor’s laws. Cubol had hit him with that before Olesm could tell him ‘no, and don’t bother me again’.

“How did you know Liscor has no anti-slave laws about them passing through the city?”

It was a notable lack. Cubol smiled.

“It would have been something I was briefed on. Few cities have that charter, Strategist. That would make them opposed to Roshal—whereas we can at least move freely. I believe Roshal does negotiate for that simple right.”

Olesm’s scales prickled. Did that mean almost every Drake—or most cities had that kind of opening in their laws? How long and how much had Roshal lobbied to do that?

He picked up the newspaper and flipped through it before he cursed and tossed it down. It was hard to tell Cubol just to get out, etiquette aside.

Am I under a Skill making me listen to this?

“I’m not interested in selling [Slaves].”

“Liscor could benefit very greatly from the sale thereof. I happen to know this war is not going…perfectly. A hundred enchanted weapons would turn the tide.”

That was why Olesm hated Cubol. If it were simply about [Slaves]…Olesm pushed aside the idea of buying a hundred Kaalblades and handing them to the Antinium. Wasn’t that fair? The problem was…Cubol looked at Olesm.

“I understand this is no normal war, Commander Olesm. I don’t visit regular city skirmishes. They do not tend to sell each others’ [Soldiers] into slavery. But this? Hectval? I don’t know all the details, but let me ask you one question before you throw me out. Your stance on [Slaves] or not—we don’t need to argue. If you hate my class and everything I stand for? All the better. Ask yourself this, Commander. How much do you want Hectval to suffer?”

He was good. Olesm looked up at Cubol and calmly picked up the newspaper. He had a magical lamp that he could use at night for steady illumination, but everyone had backup candles. He lit one, held the newspaper over it, and watched it catch fire.

Cubol watched calmly…until Olesm was holding a flaming bundle of paper in his claw. The [Strategist]’s face changed as he held the fiery bundle. It singed his scales. But he didn’t let go.

The [Slaver] watched as Olesm, in clear pain, stared into the heart of the flames. When the fire went out, he was holding ashes and his hand was burned. However—when Olesm looked up, the slight sweat on his brow rolled down around sharp eyes.

“That was a Skill. I’ve been taught how to break them, even adept ones like yours, Cubol. You are banned from Liscor’s army. Get out. If I want you, I’ll contact you. And I will never contact you.”

The [Slaver] frowned at Olesm, the polite veneer slipping away for the first time. Then he smiled ruefully and rose.

“I suppose the [Strategist] taught by the matriarch of the House of El would say no less. Although House El has sold [Slaves] to us before, you know. Even Maviola El had dealings with Roshal.”

Olesm’s head snapped up, but Cubol was already stepping out of his tent.

That was bait. Olesm refused to take the bait, but he was shaken by how much he wanted to.

Too competent by half, that [Slaver]. Olesm tended to his burned claw. He had more important things to do. Like realize that Artur had a talent for leadership.

Like…

Being a [Leader].

——

The morale of the troops was something Olesm worried about. He was no Zel Shivertail, and Olesm wished he could have taken lessons from the Drake. Each army was different, and each [General] had a different style.

For instance, Zevara was a leader who kept to her office, delegated to her trusted officers—but came out whenever it got hot. She inspired by competency but made a clear distinction between her and her command.

Olesm knew that Liscor’s army was more rough-and-ready, and high command would come down now and then. Zel? Zel would probably walk the camps. Ilvriss had been one of the delegators, the inspiring archetypes who [Soldiers] trusted by weight of his reputation.

Olesm…split the difference. He didn’t walk around clapping weary Drakes, Humans, and Gnolls on the backs, telling them to ‘keep their chin up’ or ‘fix that shield, son’.

He was young. It was a stupid look. Moreover? He didn’t think a lot of the army needed that. It was rough fighting. They were in the soup. But Liscor won more than it lost.

He went where he felt, instinctively, morale was hanging by a thread. Even when they won, it felt like they lost.

Olesm spent his time among the Antinium.

——

“I have eaten of the Rock Crab soup. It bleeds blue. The soup is filling and hot, and it tastes sour, such a deep sour as it makes your antennae wave, left and right. But the meat is so tough. So chewy. Some, I have heard, call it bad meat, but I have eaten of the Rock Crab soup, and my bowl was filled four times before I was sated. That is a soup you will one day have—if not here, then in Heaven. Believe that. Fight for that day and believe.”

Olesm listened to one of the [Acolytes] preach. Preach…it was an odd word, but it fit the odd style of address.

Nor did he quite understand what the Antinium was doing. Which one was it? He wore robes like Pisces’, white, trimmed with green, and all four arms were raised.

Theophilus? Olesm didn’t care about the words…he cared about the reaction of the [Crusaders].

They listened. However, Olesm saw a few staring more at the sky or at the food other [Soldiers] were noshing on than the [Acolyte]. It seemed Theophilus realized that too, because he had begun praying in more than single-sentence litanies.

Tersk, Dekass, and, to an extent, the three [Acolytes] and Calruz were the officers of the Antinium division. Olesm had far more than two main officers in every other division, but Antinium had no leadership, historically. A single Prognugator might command an entire army.

That needed to change. After the first bloody battles, Olesm walked around the camp and found himself…disconcerted.

The new Soldiers and Workers looked like they were settling in fine. They sat around, doing nothing but staring at the ground, plants, the sky…other [Soldiers], but the ones who’d been with the army from the start were more animated.

One lay on his back, just staring up at the clouds. Another was playing a…shell game? He seemed to be working it out with two other Antinium. Two Workers and a Soldier, squatting around.

Personality. Olesm thought that was a good thing. He scanned about and saw Squad 5, sitting around, idly watching pillbugs crawl about. One of the members caught his eye and earhole.

“…fUck. EAt pOOp. SEVer yOUR taiL. diE, DiE, DIE…”

“What is that?”

Dekass halted on Olesm’s tour of the camp.

“Ah. That is the not-Aberration, Crusader 57. We are watching him, Commander. Tersk has not allowed me to slay him, but if you would like to overrule that, I will be happy to oblige.”

“An Aberration?”

Olesm had seen and heard of Antinium going insane in his tenure as a [Strategist]. Workers going berserk and killing Liscorians…but mostly other Antinium. It was rare, but he knew how dangerous they were.

Yet when Dekass explained Calruz’s reasoning, Olesm looked around, glared at the Minotaur, and nodded.

“If he’s being watched…that’s your discretion.”

“Yes, Commander Olesm. I am pleased to report morale is high, as you can see.”

Dekass snapped his mandibles together happily. The [Acolytes] nodded, and one, Theophilus again, hastened to speak.

“We will fight and die to defeat Hectval, Commander. We will not mutiny or flee. Your concerns are unnecessary.”

Olesm looked at the Antinium, Tersk especially. He cast his eyes across the Antinium camp and shook his head.

“You’re wrong. Something is very wrong.”

Dekass looked puzzled, and the [Acolytes] snapped their mandibles together, worried. Tersk came striding up, putting on his helmet.

“Apologies, Commander Olesm. I was writing my own report to my Queen. Are you inspecting the troops for emergence of Painted Antinium or significant levels? They have not appeared yet, but my hopes are high.”

Painted Antinium? Olesm glanced at Tersk.

“Is that what your Hive wants? More Painted Antinium, Tersk?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Dekass and Tersk spoke at the same time. Tersk glowered at Dekass until the other Armored Prognugator clicked his mandibles.

“Oh. I was employing, ah, sarcasm. We do not want that at all. That would be entirely distressing and not our goal.”

Olesm rolled his eyes. He turned to Tersk.

“I’d like that too. But I was just saying to Dekass—morale seems terrible in the camp.”

Tersk peered around as Dekass muttered, ‘subterfuge successfully employed’ to himself.

“…I do not understand entirely, but I also comprehend your meaning, Commander. Calruz has expressed similar concerns. Can you elaborate? This is my failing as a leader to grasp. Your perspective as a non-Antinium is entirely valuable.”

Olesm raised his brows. Tersk was changing. He nodded around the camp and illuminated it all. It was so simple.

“They’re not angry.”

The [Acolytes] and Prognugators looked at Olesm. Tersk’s mandibles opened wide, but Dekass laughed.

“Why would they be?”

Olesm didn’t answer him. He turned to Theophilus.

“Acolyte Theophilus.”

“I am not an [Acolyte]. That class does not exist. I am a [Healer]. You cannot read my class.”

The Drake was getting sick of Antinium lies. He ignored that.

“When you…spoke to the Antinium this morning.”

“A morale-building exercise. It has nothing to do with—”

“Silence.”

The [Acolyte] fell silent, and the Commander glared at him. He spoke crisply.

“Why aren’t the Antinium angry? Why aren’t you angry? A thousand Antinium were killed. By Manus—or Hectval, if we want to go down the official line. Those Soldiers and Antinium? They lost their comrades. That Worker is the only one having a normal reaction.”

He pointed at Crusader 57 and saw the Antinium look up. Olesm received four middle fingers, but it just illustrated his point.

“Angry…?”

Theophilus looked at his two other [Acolytes]. It was Zimrah who replied in a lighter tone than Theophilus. She? She spoke to Olesm.

“Antinium die in the Hive every day, Commander. It is a terrible thing. I weep for it, though I have no tears to shed. I weep in my heart and pray for a day when no one will die again. However, even a newly-born Soldier and Worker knows it is coming. That is our tragedy, and why we dream of better days. We are not angry; this war is terrible, but no worse than how we live normally.”

Jerimy nodded, and Olesm recoiled. He had never heard an Antinium talk like that! Aside from perhaps Pawn. Yet he replied just as quickly.

“That’s wrong.”

Zimrah’s clasped hands unclasped for a moment, and Jerimy raised one hand.

“Respectfully, Commander, this is what Pawn teaches.”

“Not anger? He tells you not to be angry?”

The others hesitated. They conferred, antennae waving, and Theophilus replied.

“He is angry at Hectval. That anger is in us all, without a doubt.”

“But not towards the [Soldiers] who killed the [Crusaders]. Because Antinium expect to die. You’re not angry. You should be. They’re out there. Don’t you want revenge? Don’t you want justice?”

A few Antinium were listening in, Olesm knew. Zimrah opened and closed her mandibles.

“We cannot think like that, Commander Olesm.”

“Why not?”

The [Acolytes] conferred. It was Theophilus who raised his head slowly. He looked at Olesm, and the words were dragged out of him with less confidence than anything else he had said.

“Because…because if we were angry about our people dying. If we were angry that we were killed, that so many die…we would be too angry. We would be…so angry.”

There was a warble in that last sentence. Tersk and Dekass turned to Theophilus, and Olesm bared his teeth. It was not kindness. He looked around at the Antinum and saw them eating their horrible paste.

“Don’t you award a ration to surviving battalions, Tersk?”

“As per your orders, Commander. We commend a battalion after every battle.”

“Huh. That bastard offered me enough gold to arm everyone. And food supplies. We don’t have a food shortage. We’re close enough to Liscor and the door…”

Olesm stared blankly at the Antinium slowly eating the paste. Tersk waited.

“Sir?”

“Commander?”

Theophilus was waiting for a reply too. Olesm turned back to him. He gazed at the [Acolyte] and looked around the camp.

“Be angry. They did this to you. Not monsters. Not fate. Hectval’s [Soldiers]. You’re here, fighting and dying, because they killed Erin Solstice. Because of them. You’ll meet them on the battlefield. Think of that.”

Every Antinium in earshot had gone still. Their heads turned to Olesm, and he saw Theophilus step back. Zimrah looked anxious. Tersk? Tersk tilted his head and watched the other Antinium thoughtfully.

That was Olesm’s first change among the Antinium.

[Leader Level 17!]

——

Levelling like an adventurer. Almost none as a [Strategist]…but as a [Leader]?

He leveled. His [Soldiers] died. Was it because Manus was in this war too? Or the sheer losses?

Olesm didn’t know. But he did know his orders had some effect on it.

He leveled again after he instituted a new command.

“All Antinium are to now receive standard Liscorian army rations. Moreover—each new reinforcement of Soldiers and Workers are to be fed, regardless of the time, before entering battle. I would also like to request any supplies of easy-to-read books or other materials from Liscor’s Council…with consultation from Pawn for the objects Painted Antinium use.”

He finished muttering and signed the order. And again, it was not kindness that dictated it, but that dark thought that this would make them stronger.

His officers objected. Wing Commander Embria brought it up with a frown.

“We’ve just shortened our supply line from weeks of reserves to a single week or less. We’ll need to demand far more supplies—which costs coin.”

“We’re ransoming prisoners to the Hectval Alliance. Someone get me Artur. Artur, tell Tersk…”

Olesm summoned the [Banner Leader], who was coincidentally hanging outside of his tent, and the Antinium trotted off. Embria, Bepol, and some of the other [Tacticians] and officers saw Olesm get up.

“Commander, this is a matter of morale.”

Olesm met Embria’s gaze.

“I’m sure. Why don’t we walk over to the Antinium camp? Tersk has agreed to show us something.”

“What? Which is…?”

Embria followed Olesm. The Drake steeled himself. He was not going to enjoy this.

“…Have you checked the supply listings of the Antinium? They never ship more of their food with their reinforcements. Somehow, amazingly, it doesn’t seem like they consume any of their inventory of food. In fact, I think they’ve added to their stock.”

Wing Commander Embria’s brows rose. She had not checked the roster. She and the other officers walked straight into Olesm’s trap. The Drake hadn’t had lunch yet.

He didn’t have dinner, either.

Embria, [Wing Commander]

She did not write this down, even as an imaginary letter to her father. She could not—she summarized it to the rest of 4th Company like this.

“I just watched Antinium make their food. They had some of their dead. Stripped them of armor—and then began stomping them into paste.”

Captain Vell stopped eating. Maksie was not present; she had stopped showing up at 4th Company’s barracks.

“Ancestors. Do you mean…”

Pielt gagged. Wing Commander Embria wiped at her mouth. She had not thrown up—with effort.

“Not just that. They had grain, edible plants…bugs…and some of the enemy dead. I wondered how the Antinium cleaned up the battlefield. I never saw them burning…”

“Commander. Stop.”

Lieutenant Kesa looked ill. Embria stopped, if for her own sake as much as anything.

“And they’ve been doing that all this time? That’s what they eat? I—there’ll be a revolt once the soldiers hear that.”

Wikir growled. Embria shook her head.

“No, there won’t. We’re switching over to full rations for everyone, remember? And I can’t say I objected after that.”

Commander Olesm had gotten no objections. Rather, when Dekass had objected to the waste, Olesm had told him that Liscor’s army might suffer an outright mutiny if they didn’t switch.

So that was what the bugs ate. It made them more monstrous to Embria.

More monstrous. Cannibalistic things that ate other people.

More—

——

“Scout Leader Maksie. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

It was rare that Embria had to go to a superior to sort out discipline in her company. She was a Wing Commander. If she needed help, that was a failing on her part.

However, Maksie had gotten into a second fistfight with Vell, and this time it had attracted the attention of the regulars, rather than being a quiet brawl in the tents. Olesm looked at the black-eyed Maksie.

“No, sir.”

“Well, then, I am transferring your tent and command out of 4th Company. We’ll assign you with the rest of the regular [Scouts]. You are docked half a week’s pay. As is Captain Vell. Wing Commander Embria, your discretion for anything within your command.”

“Very good, sir.”

Embria saluted, and she and Maksie strode out of the tent. Neither Drake looked at the other until they were well out earshot. They stopped next to two flags flying in the center of the camp and began to argue.

“You’ve been with 4th for years, Maksie. What the hell has gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into me? What’s wrong with you, Wing Commander? You and Vell and everyone else? Are you blind, or do I need to give you a lift up so you can see everything?”

Maksie was red, quivering—and it was a shock from the cool-as-glass [Scout] that Embria remembered.

“I’m not hopping in bed with the Antinium. But if Vell wants to run her mouth off, I’ll hit her again. I’m off.”

“You can’t leave. I’ll grab Vell. You meet us tonight and keep your fists at your sides. We’ll talk this out. 4th Company doesn’t split up. After the war…”

Maksie pulled away from Embria.

“After the war? I don’t know if I’m staying with 4th.”

Embria felt poleaxed. She staggered—someone leaving their company, Liscor’s army, was unheard of! It was so rare that only honorable discharges like Menolit or dishonorable ones were common.

Or…Relc.

Maksie looked like she’d stabbed herself as well. She faced Embria, breathing hard, and in a low, pained voice, hissed.

“I’m one of the army, Wing Commander. But they’re wrong on this. Can’t you see it?”

——

Wing Commander Embria had been a regular [Soldier] when she’d run away from home to join up. Liscor’s Army beat a lot out of you, like being an idiot, thinking you were the next Gecko just because you were his daughter…and they beat things into you.

Like Sserys’ history. Greatest [General] of their age! The veterans would tell stories of campaigns, give the newbies tips, even try to teach them weapon Skills.

Even tail-signs.

“What are tail-signs?”

Olesm poured Embria a cup, and she took a sip. She was talking with Olesm. Not because they particularly liked each other, although there was enough respect now. He wasn’t far behind one of Liscor’s [Strategists], and he was pulling double-duty as a commander.

But Embria had no one else to turn to. There was Ramia, Bepol, and arguably Belgrade. However, Embria could only visit one at a time given how they were split up. So she tried to resolve her issues with Maksie.

“Haven’t you heard of them? It’s when a [General] might be standing at the front, shouting…well, shouting whatever he wants. But everyone watches his or her tail. Sserys used to do it. It’s a simple feint.”

Olesm frowned.

“I think I recall…no. No, actually, I don’t think Manus teaches that. It sounds easy to break as an enemy [Strategist].”

Embria rolled her eyes. [Strategists] always thought of it in those terms.

“Maybe, but it could be a few seconds of difference when the enemy regulars hear you say ‘we’re charging down the center’—only for an entire army to go left. That’s the kind of thing we used to do.”

“Not anymore?”

“Well…they caught on. Besides, High Command is good. But we lost a lot during the First Antinium Wars. The core of the army Sserys took to end the war was Liscorian.”

Olesm nodded. Embria played with her cup.

“The old guard tells you about that. The bastard Antinium. Of all their horror stories—Crelers and Antinium were some of the worst. No one from that era doesn’t know a dozen people who died to them.”

There were more things the old guard told you. Things you didn’t reveal. Things the army did or had done—or just secrets about other commanders. Like…ah, well. Sserys was their hero, and that had never changed. Antinium? If Maksie had gone back to the rest of the army and said what she said, it would have been dangerous.

“They’re soldiers. Do you think it’s wrong for us to feed them regular food?”

“No. I agreed the instant I heard what they ate. But you’re feeding them before they go into battle.”

The Commander stretched out his claws, as he worked a cramp out of one.

“Absolutely. I didn’t realize it but…the reinforcements might not have eaten regular food. That’ll be their first and last meal. Oh—and I’ve told Tersk to announce the next meal to them.”

“What?”

“Like beans. Or fish stew.”

“No! That’s…”

Embria sat up, glaring at Olesm. She felt something and struggled to give voice to it.

“Even I can say that’s a kind of foul, Commander. Liscor’s army does something like that if we think we’re going into the soup tomorrow, but telling them what they get if they come back? Feeding them up before you send them into the blade trap? I wouldn’t treat cows or pigs like that!”

He was treating them like a [Farmer] treated livestock. Olesm raised his brows.

“I thought you weren’t on Maksie’s side.”

“I’m not!”

She recoiled instantly, but Olesm just leaned on his desk.

“I’d rather give them something than nothing. And they’re in this war because if the Antinium division pulls out…we might not be able to win. And Manus is assailing them time and time again, and they’re dying. If they were Gnolls or Drakes, what would you do?”

“I’d tell them to pull out and tell you this war wasn’t worth it. Not if we’re going into the meat-grinder. I’d expect the rest of the army to mutiny—unless they were war criminals or there was some other reason.”

Olesm gave Embria a bright smile.

“Amazing what being a different species does. How about Humans?”

She pushed herself back from the table.

“It’s Antinium. They’re the exception! They wiped out cities to the last Drake, killed Sserys, and would have butchered us all.”

Olesm nodded. He lifted his cup.

“Then should I send you a bottle each time we take over a hundred casualties? Why do you look so upset? I care about them, but I’m sending them to their deaths. What’s your problem, Embria?”

He was needling her. The Wing Commander refused to answer. She put her claws on the table, too upset to drink.

“Just tell me why. Not about me. Just…you. You don’t think like 4th. You grew up with them, but you’re willing to employ this strategy? Explain it, Olesm.”

The Drake toyed with his cup. He hadn’t drunk much either. He looked up at her, and his eyes shone by the candle’s light. Not his magical lantern, a more susceptible, flickering glow.

Fire.

“When I told Calruz I was going to continue sending them forth, he was not happy. But he didn’t stop me. Pawn knows what I’m doing, and he could probably stop the reinforcements. He doesn’t. I am requisitioning books, toys, whatever they could use in their spare time, and I’m even thinking of putting one squad with other divisions. Just…one squad, because Manus might retaliate to the rest. But when the new reinforcements come, they’ll eat good food and be promised more. I told Tersk to plan out bedding. A blanket or something.”

“Why?”

Doomed [Soldiers]. Olesm looked at the candle.

“Strike a spark. Light a fire. Do you know, Embria? This tactic was used once before. Just once, and the [Lady] who told me it said that it was one of the bitterest blazes she ever saw. It wasn’t Antinium. The regular [Soldiers]—they weren’t even [Soldiers], some were [Militia] or conscripted. They would have mutinied, but the [Lords] and [Ladies] went right with them. They were butchered, but a few embers caught. And the Goblin King never took the north.”

The Sacrifice of Roses. Wing Commander Embria rose and saw the scope of his plan. Very simply. She walked away from the desk and stopped at the tent flaps.

“Some day, there will be a Third Antinium War. You know it. I know it. Liscor’s army doesn’t go back to the city. We don’t go back, and we left you hanging to dry…even to the Humans. Because one day, Liscor will vanish and the Free Antinium’s Hive will be there. And High Command will send us marching back to burn it out of existence.”

That was what they believed. Olesm looked up.

“Harsh.”

“We begged the Council not to do it. You’re all sitting on a Tier 7 trap spell, and you won’t move. That’s how they always described it to me.”

Embria repeated the sentiments of Liscor’s army, word-for-word. Olesm just laughed at her. He raised a glass.

“Some day, Wing Commander, there will be a Third Antinium War! I think so too. The difference is? Liscor’s Army will march against the Hives. And when they do—the Free Antinium will be marching right with them. That’s what I believe.”

Embria whirled and stalked into the darkness. What a fine mess this was. He was employing the oldest tactic in the world. The one that had made the Tidebreaker. The simplest command—if you had the stomach for it.

Counter-levelling. A single spark for every hundred that went down. She hated him for it—and realized he’d won, maneuvered her right into his trap. Because to believe his strategy was working?

She had to believe the Antinium could actually level. And that meant…

Theophilus, [Acolyte]

At first, he spoke of the sky. Then, he tried to tell them of the good things they had yet to see. Theophilus realized he was failing when he began falling behind Jerimy and Zimrah. And when he saw that they did not believe.

There were some Antinium he had learned to recognize. The agony of watching them disappear and come back wounded and hurt? He clung to the ones he recognized.

Like Crusader 51, with the magic sword. The Soldier lined up each day with the others and listened to Theophilus’ sermon.

…And Theophilus did not touch him.

[Acolyte Level 18!]

[Skill – See Conviction obtained!]

One level over a week. Fast leveling, far faster than in the Hive. Slow, compared to Zimrah and Jerimy, both of whom were almost at his level—and he had been six levels above both!

Each one had a talent. Jerimy was the Antinium who was the most involved. Of the three [Acolytes], he would share his food ration with other Workers and Soldiers. He also read stories to them, from the book he’d taken from home, and he spent time in their company.

Zimrah? The most selfless. She would heal until she curled up and lay down. Healing was her forte, and she would even run to the squads coming back from the front to try and save another life. She had even asked for [Healers]’ bandages and such, for when her faith ran dry.

Theophilus was the preacher, the copy of Pawn.

…And he was failing.

Crusader 51 had a Skill, like most [Crusaders] who reached Level 10. [Faith is My Strength]. He was not…that much stronger. Some [Crusaders] seemed to react to Theophilus’ sermons, to the crucible of war. A shield that was unbreaking, or even, Theophilus had seen, an Antinium who could heal others, like the [Acolytes].

He used that as his example in his next sermon. Theophilus pointed from his pulpit, and every Soldier and Worker turned.

“Crusader 334 is my topic for today. Crusader 334 can heal. They have fought, and I have personally removed no less than eight arrows from their armor. Hectval attacked them and hurt them, and yet Crusader 334 lives. They stand against Hectval, for Heaven, and they are my example. If they still fight—so can you all!”

That moved them. Theophilus could see their conviction gathering. To him, his congregation was a sea of stars. Some faint, some barely glowing at all, like Crusader 57, the angry Worker.

Some blazed with faith, like Zimrah and Jerimy. Crusader 334 was one such, yet all the Antinium seemed to shine for a moment, as Theophilus’ sermon worked its magic.

[Acolyte Level 19!]

Theophilus smiled and slept the sleep of someone on the right path. He called out Crusader 334 again the next day, lauding his example, though it was not as effective…but Theophilus had thought he was on the right track.

After the second day, Crusader 334 was dead.

——

Theophilus stared down at his meal, untouched. Jerimy, handing out food to the others and speaking with them, looked at Theophilus.

“Theophilus? What is wrong?”

“Share my food ration, Jerimy. I am unable to eat.”

The [Acolyte] sat there, head lowered. Crusader 334 was dead. Manus had killed him. The [Spearmaster] himself.

Yet Theophilus could not make that sound good, no matter how he tried. The [Crusader] was dead. He had been brave, fought for Heaven, all the things Theophilus told them were right.

Yet he was dead. He had known [Heal Minor Wounds]. He could have healed Antinium and made them well as Theophilus, Jerimy, and Zimrah did. But he never would.

He was dead.

Olesm had told Theophilus to be angry. Zimrah was weeping quietly. She had clasped two hands together, and the other two hands were pattering down her upper arms, fingers tapping.

Like raindrops. Some of the Soldiers and Workers watched her. They had no idea what she was doing.

“It is Mrsha-speak. Of the Painted Antinium. I will teach you.”

Jerimy was telling a Soldier. Zimrah wept. Jerimy shared. Theophilus and Jerimy did not see where Zimrah went after that—if Theophilus had, he might have stopped Zimrah. But he was blind and deaf.

The [Crusaders] stood in ranks when Theophilus stumbled up to his podium, and their conviction was weak. It was not a darkness of unbelief…just the cold, grey mundanity of a world where Heaven was distant and death waited.

Theophilus tried. The [Acolyte] spoke.

“Today. I regret to tell you what you may know. Crusader 334, who was blessed with healing…perished in battle.”

The Antinium stirred. Just a slight movement. Crusader 51’s head was bowed low. He did not look up as Theophilus went on, speaking automatically, the words rushing out of him like blood from a wound in his face.

“The [Spearmaster] slew him. I am told Crusader 334 fought bravely. He was brave. Now he rests in Heaven. Believe that.”

He saw a few Antinium looking at him, clinging to his words. Many—too many—listened but saw no Heaven.

Heaven was hard to believe in. Even Pawn said that. You could not touch it. You could not see it. Yellow Splatters had died and told them Heaven was real, so Theophilus was filled with faith in his presence.

But Yellow Splatters was not here. The [Acolyte] went on.

“Crusader 334 was an example to us all. Despite the odds, he did not run or retreat. He was here to punish Hectval, to fight them. To protect Heaven and the Hive. He…he…”

The words did not come out. He could not glorify Crusader 334 enough. Theophilus believed he had been glorious. Yet…yet…

The [Acolyte] stopped upon his pulpit. The Antinium Crusade watched as Theophilus leaned on the podium, and Jerimy hesitated, hurrying up to perhaps pull Theophilus away.

Then Theophilus spoke.

“It is not right. He should not have died.”

The Crusade…stirred. Theophilus spoke, half to them, half to himself, in a muttering voice. Not projected with hope, but with something else.

“They killed him. That is what they do. Hectval. It is always Hectval. Some say Manus. But who took away our sky? Hectval. If not for them, we could be in the inn. She would be there, laughing. She would take my hands, and Pawn would laugh and smile. We should all be there. Instead, we are dying here. Crusader 334 is dead. Because of them. Hectval.”

Something was rising in Theophilus’ stomach. A kind of bile, but worse. Dekass and Tersk were used to his minute-long speeches, so they were hesitating as Theophilus went on. Jerimy had stopped, and, like the others, he was looking at the [Acolyte].

Every eye on him, Theophilus grasped at the podium.

“Hectval is bad. Hectval is wrong. Hectval is…”

He had talked about needing to fight Hectval but…now a word came to him.

“Evil.”

The [Crusaders] looked at each other. Evil? They knew the word, but they had never applied it to anything. Not Flesh Worms. Not Furfur. They had things that they disliked, even hated. But this?

The [Acolyte] on his podium looked around.

“Evil. Yes. Do you know what evil is? You do not. You, who have been in the Hives—we slay monsters. Facestealer is evil. It comes and kills us. Monsters? Monsters are bad. Hectval is evil. As evil as Facestealer. Why? Because you should not be here! Because you die! Because all of this suffering would not be if Hectval did not exist! That is what they have done!”

He struck his podium in a rage, cracking the wood slightly.

“Crusader 334! Your squads! It is all Hectval’s fault! That is why they must die! They are worse than Facestealer. That thing is a monster. They? They were born under the sky. They had lives, and they still killed her. They kill us. They have a choice. They…”

His breathing was disjointed, as if he were ill. The [Acolyte] looked up and hesitated. Faith shone in his gaze, brighter than ever before. He saw Crusader 51 gripping his sword tight. What was he saying? What was he doing? It came out of his mandibles in a flash.

“They will never go to Heaven. There is no Heaven for them. They are bound for nothing. Worse than nothing. They are…hellbound.”

Hell? The [Crusaders] looked at Theophilus, and he raised his arms.

“Hell! I have heard it spoken of! It is more than Rhir! It is where they will go. It is—”

He searched for what it surely was.

“—It is a place of suffering. It is a place where they will go when they die. The Humans have their Heaven and Hell. So do we. Ours is a place for our enemies to sink into. A watery grave. A place where they die and feel pain. They are hellbound, and you will deliver them to a place where they will be punished for every [Crusader] who falls. They are all cursed. Cursed! I mark you all for Heaven and they for Hell. Go! Send them there.”

His arms rose in a paroxysm of rage, twitching. Theophilus screamed at the Crusade—and then slowly toppled over backwards, onto his back. He did not hear or see what happened next, he just collapsed into a dead faint.

[Conditions Met: Acolyte → Cleric Class!]

[Cleric Level 20!]

[Skill – Weapon Proficiency: Club obtained!]

[Skill – Lighter Armor obtained!]

[Miracle – Cursed Hands obtained!]

It began. When Theophilus awoke, Tersk was standing over him.

“At last. I see it again. Pawn’s strange class.”

The Armored Prognugator looked down at Theophilus. He could not read the [Cleric]’s class.

[Cleric], not [Priest]. A class meant for…battle. Yet somehow, Tersk knew. He spoke, as Theophilus realized he was lying in the [Healer]’s tent.

“Your fellow [Acolytes] have advanced their class. They have fought on the front. Dekass does not understand. He will.”

Fought? On the front? Theophilus stood up and saw Jerimy.

The Worker had a flail. He also had two deep scars on his armor. And a new Skill. He was shaking with a fury, like many of the [Crusaders]. Theophilus hesitated as he saw Liscor’s regulars staring at the Antinium.

What had happened when he was out? Significant Beavers were pointing at the Antinium.

“Did you see them go into the fight this time? I thought they fought hard before—they were vicious. That little Worker with the huge sword bit someone’s face off!”

“Not the only ones. I thought they were going to chase Hectval into the Bloodfields. I’ve never seen one of the Prognugators—Dekass—have to order them to stop. Who was…she? The one who saved Satel?”

She? Theophilus looked around. He stumbled through the camp, as [Crusaders] stood about, the light of something shining in their gaze.

——

Crusader 51 was rolling a boulder half his height along, exposing a multitude of centipedes for his collection, marveling at his strength.

He believed. He believed or longed for Heaven, but what Theophilus had told him struck a chord even deeper. There was Heaven for him. And Hell for his enemies. That was justice. That…felt right. He wanted to believe in that.

——

Theophilus himself was grappling with what he had said. His new miracle, and the realization he’d had at the pulpit. He would fight. He was angry, just as Olesm had said. He would fight tomorrow, and levels had given him the Skills to do so.

Jerimy had felt his rage. He understood something that perhaps Pawn himself had not yet fully realized. Theophilus longed to speak with Pawn and hear his words, but there was something else.

For every dark mirror, there was a light side.

She stood among Workers and Soldiers—and Liscor’s regulars. Drakes were taking her hand and shaking it. Thanking her. Asking her questions.

Zimrah. The [Cleric] stopped when he saw the [Priest].

She had run into battle with the other [Crusaders], wearing only her robes. The unbearable wait had been too much for Zimrah, so she had found the wounded as they fell. And she had leveled in the battle itself.

Squad 5 was among those who had seen her appear. Crusader 57’s shaking had stopped. He looked up at Zimrah, holding one of her hands as she spoke.

——

What did you expect from her?

The [Crusaders] were hurt. Some were dying.

They had thrown themselves into the fighting, so intensely that some fought surrounded. Hectval was not Manus—but their blades were sharp.

A mortal cut ran down Crusader 57’s abdomen, nearly splitting him in half. Crusader 51 and 53 were leading the squad defending him, but they had no more potions!

The cursed zweihander lay across Crusader 57’s front. Though it had been a Skill—[Sundering Slash]—which had cut through armor.

That was when she appeared. A [Priest], her class’ name still ringing in her ears, running across the battlefield.

An Antinium in robes. Hectval’s [Soldiers] spotted her, and some marked her—but the [Crusaders] charged into them rather than let Zimrah die.

“Wounded? Where are—”

She saw Squad 5 and ran towards Crusader 57. The Worker was spitting.

“dyING. I’M DyinG. caN’t sAvE ME.”

He shoved her hands away. He knew her Skill. [Heal Minor Wounds].

“I am a [Priest], now. Hold still.”

He laughed at her. Crusader 57 knew Skills. So she had consolidated her class, right? Good for her. What did she have now?

[Heal Moderate Wounds]? He felt death eating him up from the center. The Worker began to curl up as Zimrah reached down for him. He looked up—and saw her dark brown-black eyes begin to shine.

They shone bright, a flash of color like the first beam of sunlight that Crusader 57 had ever seen. She grabbed his hand, and in that moment, as she spoke her new miracle, the Worker realized he had made a mistake.

He thought faith obeyed rules. The [Priest] grabbed him, and Hectval’s [Soldiers] saw a flash. A Drake boy, Vess, stumbled back as his squad retreated.

“Someone report this to command! Back! Back—”

Yet the Drake watched as the Antinium with the robes spoke in a…feminine voice? He thought he heard the Skill, but that couldn’t be. Because if he’d heard right, she said—

“[Cure Mundane Wounds]!”

Dekass, [Prognugator]

“What?”

Dekass slapped himself. Then he turned his head to hear again. Tersk repeated it.

“[Cure Mundane Wounds]. That is her new Skill. I am apprised of two Skills for combat that Theophilus and Jerimy have learned. They will employ them in the coming battle.”

Dekass just stood there. He knew how the world worked. He knew the intricacies of armored combat and the capabilities of his foe.

Nothing in his tutelage had prepared him for that Skill.

“Let us revisit Zimrah’s new ability. It sounds as though that would cure…mundane…wounds, Tersk.”

“Yes.”

The Armored Prognugator clicked his mandibles together a few times. He wondered if another good slap would help.

“Clearly my hearing faculties have stopped working. No, we are all under a [Confusion] spell. We must employ anti-illusion tactics. Tersk. That would imply she could heal all wounds that are mundane.”

“That is what mundane means, yes, Dekass. Hmm…yes.”

Tersk had a dictionary open. He tapped a word.

“Mundane. She insists on fighting, so I may put her in armor. She must be guarded. I have already told the Free Antinium to send artifacts to protect her and the other—”

Dekass walked out of the tent. He stared at the ground and tried to find the runes or hidden spells on him. He checked himself into the [Healer]’s. The Gnoll stared at Dekass and gingerly took his temperature. She felt at the cold chitin and hesitated.

“What is wrong with you, yes?”

“I am sick.”

“How?”

“I do not know. It is your job to tell me. If I am infected, kill me quickly. Have my sword.”

The Gnoll had a problem with taking Dekass’ sword. She’d never be a proper Antinium [Healer]. Olesm came to ask why Dekass was bothering her, and Dekass realized he couldn’t tell the Commander because it was a new Skill in a class he was supposed to keep secret. So he employed subterfuge.

“Nothing is wrong, Commander Olesm. I am coincidentally sick and nothing else of note has happened.”

The Drake gave him a long look as Dekass decided he might actually not be under a spell or sick. The Armored Prognugator walked back to Tersk.

“We must test this at once. I do not believe.”

Tersk opened his mandibles in a smile.

“Neither did I. But I am beginning to. That is the point. It is happening again. This is the potential of the Free Antinium.”

Dekass…had never quite understood what Tersk was raving about when he reported to the Armored Queen. The Armored Queen, in her graciousness, had opined that the Free Queen had a chance, and that the other Queens had been less than welcoming to her, but she had expressed reservations that the Free Antinium could survive with their enemies using the city against them.

However, she had sent Tersk to see. When Tersk reported to her, she had sent Dekass with him. The Armored Prognugator had considered food the Free Antinium’s real asset; their leveling Soldiers and Workers had not impressed him as much as the Grand Queen’s secret project or other specialist Antinium.

After that day…he saw wonders.

——

Three Antinium walked the battlefield and did something that no one could believe. Observers from Manus’ divisions watched, rubbed their eyes, and raced back to report to their [Spearmaster].

Most of the Alliance’s soldiers just laughed in the faces of those who claimed to witness it. Or nervously checked if they were going up against the Ants tomorrow.

On Liscor’s side, Belgrade looked up at the sky and smiled. Liscor’s [Soldiers] whispered about it, doing much the same thing as Hectval, but encouraged by something.

Yet all those who saw it with their own eyes? Saw…

Zimrah raced forwards, and Dekass watched as an Antinium with nine cuts across their body jerked. There was a flash, and they rose.

The light looked like the sunlight upon the Grand Queen’s beautiful form the first time Dekass had ever stood in her presence. The Antinium did not know what it was, but the Soldier rose, wounds healed.

It was not a perfect Skill. Poisons—more advanced poisons, anything from a spell or enchanted blade, stymied Zimrah’s power. Yet it did not matter how severe the wound.

It closed. It healed in a flash. Other times, Zimrah would use a lesser Skill, because she could use this…miracle…all of twice before she fell over.

The other two Antinium were easier for Dekass to understand, but their powers were…weird. If he wrote to the Grand Queen now—a foolhardy task given that it would be intercepted—Dekass would say that the Antinium might have developed their own [Mages].

But what odd magic.

Vess, [Magic User]

“[Cursed Hands]. Suffer, Hectval’s [Soldiers]! You are evil! I curse you! As Pawn cursed you, I curse you with bad luck and gangrene! With a lack of cats! With death! Hell! You are bound for—”

The screaming Worker was scary enough. He had a flail and was wearing armor like the rest, but then Vess saw a hand reach up from the ground and try to drag one of the [Soldiers] in his squad down.

The screaming Drake hacked at the hand, but his sword passed through the long, spectral arm. It was semi-transparent, like a shadow come to life. Vess aimed an arrow and blasted it apart.

“Magic works! Get back! Get back!”

Velden bellowed, and Vess backed up—until he felt a cold touch on his leg. Something pulled him down hard, and he felt one boot trying to sink into the ground. He looked down and screamed.

“Help! Help—”

He pointed his wand wildly as more hands reached up. They were everywhere! In a circle nearly thirty feet wide, hands slowly reached up and tried to pull down every [Soldier] in sight.

It was not the most dangerous spell ever. In fact, the hands moved about as fast as a zombie’s, a slow grab. But when they grabbed you?

“My leg! My—”

A Gnoll was screaming as he tried to pull free—and he looked up as an Antinium ran him through with a sword. The hands were strong. Vess’ leg hurt, and someone broke a leg before they pulled free.

They were trying to drag them into the earth. Was something down there? Vess aimed his wand, shot an Antinium through the face, and backed up.

He was levelling up. Now he could throw over a hundred [Light Arrows] per battle, and his squad, Big Yam, were the one of the most successful in the Alliance.

Aside from the mercenaries. Where were they? Watching again? Vess took down another Antinium and then saw the third strange one.

He had armor like the other two, and a club in one hand, a shield in the other. But he pointed a finger at Vess as the [Magic User] whirled. Vess shot an arrow and hit the Antinium on the cheek. It tore chitin, but the Antinium pointed at Vess…

And shot an arrow back.

An odd arrow, a twisting crackle with an eerie, crimson glow, hit Vess in the chest. The Drake stumbled, gasping, and felt at his chest.

“Vess!”

It had gone through his armor. Velden whirled and put up his shield. Two more arrows struck it, and Vess thought the magic went through the shield. Velden grunted.

“What was…? Back up! Back up!”

The Alliance was retreating. Velden, the newly-minted [Sergeant], ran back with Vess, but the Drake was still firing [Light Arrows].

“We have to hold them. Get ready for another charge!”

Vess felt hot. He nodded and then stumbled as he turned. He was sweating. What had that Antinium said when he used that…he didn’t have a wand. What was…?

“Vess? What’s wrong?”

“[Sergeant]?”

One of Big Yam looked at Velden. The Drake was…wobbling. Velden, the [Veteran Sergeant], looked at Vess.

“I think we got hit with something. I’m…”

He was pouring sweat. Vess leaned over.

“I don’t feel well, Velden. I…”

The Antinium had said something. Vess recalled it as he saw Velden slowly collapse, and Big Yam explode into chaos as the squad fell back. Another Gnoll who’d been struck was so bleary on her feet she stumbled forwards until her friends yanked her back. What was wrong with them?

Lulv, [Spearmaster]

“[Arrow of Fever]. Are you sure that’s what the Antinium said?”

Spearmaster Lulv stood well back from the Drake boy with the wand, upwind, listening with his keen hearing. The fever wasn’t contagious, or so it seemed.

It had broken merely an hour after the Drakes and Gnolls had collapsed, but that Antinium had fired nearly three dozen off. The arrows went through ordinary armor, and they made those struck feverish.

“I have never heard of that spell in my life.”

Sokkel, Manus’ representative, muttered in Lulv’s ear. The [Spearmaster] growled back.

“Neither have I. Three Antinium. Do you have marks on them?”

“Yes. Each one’s got amulets and rings, though. Our [Archers] took potshots…nothing. The one that was screaming insults even has a diffraction barrier.”

“Huh. They’re definitely on the list, then. Speaking of [Archers]…I have to investigate that, later.”

“Captain Yulre?”

Someone was calling Lulv’s fake name. He grunted and saw an officer of Luldem approaching.

“Sir?”

The Drake wasn’t as insulting as Hectval’s officers could be, but he was smiling a bit too-wide.

“I trust our consultant and your troops heard that? More…irregularities.”

His tone lingered on the word. This entire war was one big irregularity to the Alliance. Liscor didn’t go for surrendering nearly as much. They fielded Antinium. They were out for blood.

Lulv nodded.

“Yes, sir. My forces are considering the issue.”

“Ah. Then you’ll be deploying with us the next battle?”

Lulv kept his face blank as the officer looked at him.

“We are debating our best plan of attack.”

“I see. I see. But you will be fighting with us? In some capacity? High Command would look askance, given the circumstances, if we didn’t have—”

Sokkel interrupted before Lulv could snap.

“I can relay your question to High Command, [Captain]. I will be apprising them of my thoughts. Rest assured, Mercenary Captain Yulre will be engaged in the best position for his forces.”

The Luldem [Captain] looked at Lulv and then smiled helplessly at Sokkel.

“Yes, sir.”

He walked away, and Sokkel leaned over.

“Idiots. They don’t like [Mercenaries], but they come to us whenever they run into trouble.”

“Hrr. Can’t blame them. I’ll let you know where I want to go.”

Sokkel nodded. Lulv didn’t miss the frustrated look Luldem’s [Captain] and the other officers gave him as he strode off.

He was an annoyance, he knew. Lulv was turning the Alliance’s battles around by his presence, but he did not fight in the most advantageous spots for the Alliance. He only engaged the Antinium in numbers, and when, twice, a commander had tried to order him to follow their orders, Lulv had ignored it, and then, faced with court martial, offered to quit.

Wytel’s Blades, as his unit was posing as, was too valuable, so High Command put up with it. That was standard [Mercenary] stuff, and Lulv felt this could pass as standard. The problem came when he heard about the [Slaver].

——

“No [Slave]-trading. Where did that bastard come from?”

He snapped at Sokkel. The [Strategist] had reported to him the instant he’d heard. Sokkel grimaced.

“Liscor’s lines. He made the offer to them first—then came over here. The Alliance went for it. He’s promising a lot of gold, and he wants Antinium.”

“I bet he does. The answer’s no.”

Sokkel hesitated.

“That’s going to be a real problem, Lulv. I can lean as hard as I can…”

The [Spearmaster] put his arms together.

“Liscor will never quit the field if their people are ransomed as slaves. We don’t know if the Queens can see through each Soldier and Worker’s eyes. If one is Twisted Antinium…and Manus doesn’t hold with it. Tell them my company walks off the field if they engage this [Slaver]. I don’t care if they have an agreement.”

The very idea made him want to spit. Of course, that didn’t help relations at all, but did Lulv care?

No. He was considering, after a month of fighting…giving up.

Not because Manus had lost too many troops. They’d kept their casualties almost non-existent, playing each battle safe. They killed enough Antinium to make anyone happy.

But are we doing any damage? Manus’ Security Council had had a theory when they sent Lulv into battle.

Those Antinium were Free Antinium specialists in some ways. Non-replenishable. Capable of levelling. Well, Lulv had seen some levels, but the Antinium had sent thousands of reinforcements.

And either they’re just regular Soldiers and Workers we’re killing or…

Or…Lulv had a dangerous thought. But it would be inconceivable to Manus’ understanding of the Antinium thus far. He hadn’t witnessed any direct evidence to suggest these Antinium were all leveling. But he had spotted more unique Antinium than he cared to count.

Belgrade the [Strategist]. Tersk and Dekass, Armored Prognugators. That damned, flag-waving Antinium. Now, three unknown classes. More Prognugators than any battle save for the first ones at the start of the First Antinium Wars had ever contained.

Lulv had to eliminate a few, but each one had artifacts, and he had let his [Archers] try and snipe them again and again, only to fail. Truthfully, Lulv had already known he needed to risk his forces and had been choosing which one to take out; the others might flee back to their Hive. That was when these three new Antinium popped up.

However, Manus’ forces hadn’t suffered from any of these individuals directly. Hectval’s Alliance did. None of the unique Antinium got near Manus or were dangerous enough to make Lulv nervous.

What did bother him was the [Sniper].

——

Manus had taken less than ten casualties in every engagement. Less than five in most. However, it seemed like they took one or two more than necessary. Lulv could have seen less than three deaths on average.

The same for the Alliance’s officers. Manus had statistics on battles and the average death counts for front and backline officers, and this war had a higher-than-average ratio. You could blame that on Antinium and a [Strategist] and 4th Company.

But arrow-related deaths?

“Standard arrow. Liscorian local fletching. No enchantments, nothing beyond steel arrowhead. Which is good-quality. Not every Drake city affords steel.”

One of his officers showed Lulv a bloody arrow pulled from a dead [Soldier]. It was grim, but Lulv inspected it carefully with gloves, looking for tricks to the arrow, as a [Mage] and [Alchemist] went over it.

“Looks regular to me.”

“Us as well. No telling what bow it came from, but they’re not always straight.”

Lulv nodded. The conclusion was clear, at least to him.

“We have a [Sniper]. Why isn’t it dead?”

He had spotted one a dozen battles ago, and Manus had met [Snipers] before. Oldblood Drakes, Gnoll [Hunters], Human [Rogues], it was a common tradition to inspire fear and yield high-value kills.

Yet, for some reason, this one kept coming back. One of the officers who had experience growled.

“I could swear it was a Worker, sir.”

“And you let one kill two of your men and just ran back?”

The Gnoll flushed as Lulv looked at him.

“No, sir! I ordered volleys on the target and magic the instant I saw it! I could swear I hit it…it must have healed up.”

“Me too. I didn’t let it walk away. I thought I killed it.”

Another officer opined. Lulv scratched at his chin.

“Always from range, though. I suspect some kind of survival Skill. It needs a close-range kill. It’s not Bird the Hunter…”

They had looked and the Prognugator wasn’t present. Moreover, Lulv suspected that Antinium would have shown itself. He shook his head with a growl.

“I will personally keep an eye out. Let’s focus on those odd Antinium. I want at least one dead. And given that Belgrade is on the right wing…here’s my list of targets.”

He was bending over a map with his officers. He’d seen enough. Lulv still had that odd sinking feeling in his stomach that told him he was missing something, but he was preparing to go in. That was when Sokkel burst into his tent.

“Lulv!”

“Code names and stay clear of the camp! You’re an attaché, you idiot!”

Lulv roared, whirling on the [Strategist]. Sokkel came to a stop, but he was vibrating. Lulv felt a moment of apprehension. Something about the way Sokkel looked…

He could sense new twists and turns in the war like any veteran. Lulv straightened, hand on his spear.

“What?”

Sokkel was panting. He’d run to get here.

“The Antinium have more reinforcements! Two hundred just came in.”

“So?”

Someone asked the dumb question. Lulv just waited. Sokkel looked at him, wide-eyed.

“They’re all Painted Antinium. They’re moving onto the left flank, and it looks like they’re bound for the next battle with the Alliance.”

The [Spearmaster] held very still. Then…after one long moment, he began to grin.

“At last.”

Crusader 51, [Crusader]

It had all gone so well. Until the Painted Antinium arrived.

There was something in Theophilus’ speeches that called to Crusader 51. After that day, the [Cleric] spoke differently. No longer did he speak just of Heaven or the good things in the world. He began to define…

Hell.

“Hell is a place of suffering. There are no cats there. No dogs. Hell is…a wet place. Underwater. Hell is water and Crelers. And they eat paste. No, they don’t eat at all!”

He described a horrifying world of water where the bad people went. Where they would pay for killing [Crusaders].

And Crusader 51 listened and leveled.

[Crusader Level 17!]

By the time the Painted Antinium arrived, Crusader 51 and Squad 5 had stopped dying as much. Manus had gone…silent.

And Theophilus, Jerimy, and Zimrah were the icons around which the [Crusaders] fought. Not just because they had a place to send their foes.

Because…each one mattered.

Zimrah healed. She was so kind. Jerimy sat with them and gave his food until they made him eat, and he fought side-by-side with the others.

Theophilus was their voice. He condemned Hectval to wrath and suffering and named the dead. The sermons went from one minute to an hour each morning.

It was not that the nightmares ceased. However, Crusader 51 felt hope. Even Crusader 57 broke the curse of the zweihander. Crusader 51 hated him, because Crusader 57 cursed him and shoved people, but he survived battle after battle—probably because he was so mean.

The only mad person was Dekass. He lined up the poor Workers again and shouted at them. Crusader 51 recognized them.

‘B-Squad’ was their nickname. Crusader 51 recognized Archer B12 from Calruz’s training as the Worker lined up with the other Workers, their heads cast down. Dekass paced back and forth in front of them.

“Your numbers do not add up to your casualty lists! One of you is absent. I see it. I count your ranks in battle, and there is one missing. Is it mutiny? Desertion? We have rebellion in the ranks! Who is it? Who!? You? You?”

He pointed four arms at different Workers until Calruz stomped over to tell him to knock it off. Aside from that, even Tersk went around more and more, sometimes offering spare rations or listening to the sermons.

Then the Painted Antinium arrived.

——

The first indication of their appearance in camp was a sound. Crusader 51 was gambling with his squad. He put five pillbugs down and let Shelly roll the dice, watching the [Cheater]’s hands carefully.

All of them stopped and raised their heads when they heard it.

Click.

It was a unified sound. The snapping of two hundred mandibles at once. Crusader 51 looked up…and heard cheering.

The Painted Antinium marched into camp, and no less than Commander Olesm himself came to greet them. He looked for Yellow Splatters, or Purple Smile, but the Painted Worker who presented himself was neither.

“I am Starfold, Commander Olesm. In light of the new developments, the Free Queen, Pawn, and Xrn collectively agreed to send our forces to the front. We will fight and defeat Hectval. For Erin.”

He spoke. Starfold had a carefully-painted back and shoulders, like he was wearing a night-blue cloak of velvet, mixed blue and dark and painted with bright silver stars. It was the most advanced Painted Antinium that Crusader 51 had ever seen.

They were getting better at it. The Painted Antinium had armor, weapons, although some eschewed them to use their fists. Crusader 51’s mandibles softly clicked as he saw Starfold had a spear. An enchanted spear.

It was about the lowest grade imaginable, but it was enchanted. More of the Painted Antinium had such weapons and they didn’t stand in squads, but something more akin to how Free Antinium fought in the Hive. They were all so…animated.

Some waved at the Liscorian [Soldiers], who waved back, laughing. Others were peering at the [Crusaders], who’d all turned to see them. One was reading a book while he walked. The Painted Antinium marched into the camp as Olesm welcomed them, placing them under Tersk’s command. They walked over, introducing themselves to the other [Squads], offering gifts from home. Garry’s bread, some shaking hands, the Workers speaking freely.

Squad 5 hated them on sight. At first, they didn’t even realize they disliked the Painted Antinium because that was so foreign. But the longer Crusader 51 watched them, the more he realized how wrong they were.

They talked. The first time he saw it, a Painted Soldier walked up, and his arms flashed, his stubby fingers tracing a quick smile over his chest before a hand pointed at the dice cup. Four arms meant he could communicate multiple things at once, so he greeted them, asked if they were playing dice, and could he join?

The [Crusaders] looked dumbly at him. They had never known you could speak if you were a Soldier. Yet this Painted Antinium, Overstone, had learned how to.

“Mrsha-speak. We must teach you all how to do it. Here. Garry’s bread and some Ashfire honey. There is not much. The bee colony vanished, although one of our jobs is to resupply each week with sugar water. We get no honey, though.”

Starfold himself sat with Squad 5, talking easily with Theophilus and Zimrah, who sometimes came to calm Crusader 57 down. The [Cleric] eyed Crusader 51 and the silent Squad 5 playing dice with Overstone as he replied.

“I did not know this was a function of the Painted Antinium.”

Starfold smiled, and Overstone brought out something as he lost his game, and the pillbugs he’d been loaned were swept away by Shelly. He produced copper coins and offered them around. How much are these worth?

“We take jobs. Silveran employs some of us. This job was paid for by Mrsha herself. However, when we heard of the tragic battles on the front and Pawn asked who would fight, we all volunteered.”

The tragic battles? Crusader 51 looked at Starfold as Theophilus clicked his mandibles.

“Pawn is well, then.”

“Yes. He sends word for you to visit if you are able, Theophilus. We will help you end this war as quickly as possible.”

Squad 5’s heads rose as one, and they looked at each other. Overstone watched them politely, but funnily enough, the Painted Antinium could not understand the [Crusaders].

Since they wore helmets, their natural ability to sort of sense things was muted, and Squad 5 had a different sort of link. But they were alike in this.

End the war quickly? The Painted Antinium rose as Tersk demanded they show him how good they were. Crusader 51 watched as the Painted Antinium rose—and outperformed every battalion.

——

“Incoming attack. Left.”

The Painted Antinium pivoted as one to meet a charge from Drisshia. They barely needed Starfold’s verbal words; they signaled each other with sign-language, and they were so in-tune that they moved together.

But any squad who’d fought long enough could do that. The difference was…when the angry Drakes in armor came at them, the Painted Antinium opened up.

“[Long Uppercut]!”

A Drake went over as a Worker threw a punch. One of the Soldiers threw a javelin and called it back. A third calmly blocked a sword slash with gauntleted arms; the impact left no mark on the steel.

They had levels. Some were higher than Crusader 51’s level. Not [Crusaders], these, but regular [Soldiers], [Warriors]—even a few [Skirmishers] copying Ksmvr of Chandrar.

Because they watched television.

The Painted Antinium sent Drisshia packing. A wounded Painted Antinium was nearly run through, but five Painted Antinium jumped on the Drake trying to finish him off. Crusader 51 watched as the Painted Antinium lent their voices to the fleeing Drakes.

“Run! You must suffer for what you have done!”

“Flee to Hectval! Cowards!”

What made it worse was that they had morale through the roof, fought in perfect sync beyond even the regular [Crusaders], were beautiful in their colors…and had levels beyond all but the best [Crusaders], and they weren’t doing it on purpose.

They didn’t know they came across to the rest of the crusade as…arrogant. Perhaps the Painted Antinium realized they weren’t liked, so they went around sharing their possessions, even gifting them the last of the provisions they brought. They didn’t realize why that made it worse.

Nor…nor were they ready. Crusader 51 hated Starfold and his people. He hated them, simply because of what he knew was coming. The Painted Antinium were not fools. They knew death. They had come here ready to risk their lives.

But they did not know what waited for them. It was one battle. When they struck—Crusader 51 had the same nightmare as the first day.

——

A howl went up from Hectval’s lines. The Painted Antinium looked up, and a figure emerged past the wavering front line of ordinary Drakes and Gnolls.

A figure in black armor. The Painted Antinium rotated, pivoting to face him, and Theophilus shouted.

“Manus! Sound the alarm! [Archers]!”

“Bring that Gnoll down!”

Starfold pointed, and Painted Antinium [Archers] loosed arrows at the Gnoll. Two curved, and one split into two arrows, but the Gnoll knocked them down.

Was he grinning? Crusader 51 looked up as the two [Clerics] and the [Priest] pivoted. Tersk was roaring.

“Fall back, Zimrah, Theophilus, Jerimy! Olesm, volley on my front lines now! Starfold, hold! Hold!”

The Painted Antinium heard him, and they formed a line. The [Spearmaster] howled as he raced forwards, and four hundred of Manus’ [Soldiers] breached the Alliance’s line like a wave of shadows. They charged straight into the Painted Antinium as the skies opened up.

“Antinium! Break formation! Break formation! They’re in the sky—”

Maksie came screaming down from the heavens. The Scout Leader pointed up—and Crusader 51 saw a flash of light.

[Valmira’s Comet] hit the ground with an explosion. Crusader 51 lowered his sword as he saw more bombardment spells coming out of the sky. The [Spearmaster] charged Starfold, ducked an arrow that would have gone through his brain, and whirled.

“There. Kill that Antinium.”

A Worker with a bow on the cliffs lowered it. He whirled—and four Oldblood Drakes shot out of their hiding place higher up. They landed. The Worker drew a dagger—a Drake ran him through, and the corpse froze and fell off the cliff.

It happened so fast. One second the Gnoll was pointing, then Overstone raised a mace crackling with sparks and two more Soldiers leapt for him. Tersk had told them how to kill high-level enemies. Hold them. Drag them down and keep them from swinging their arms.

Lulv twisted, and his spear flashed up. Overstone fell down with a hole in his head, and the other two Soldiers dropped. The [Spearmaster] raised his spear.

“[Spear Art—]”

“No!”

An Antinium threw themself forwards. One of the [Acolytes]. Crusader 51 lifted his sword, and Squad 5 charged forwards, breaking out of line.

Lulv grinned. He ran the Worker through and then pointed.

“Target down. Now!”

A [Mage] ran past him as the Painted Antinium, stunned, fought with Manus’ [Soldiers]…and lost. A crackling bolt of [Chain Lightning] flashed down as Commander Olesm pointed at the sky. It struck their back lines. Another struck Battalion 4.

“Wyverns! Kill those [Mages]! Kill those—”

The [Mage] pointed down at the fallen Worker.

“[Acid Orb].”

A glowing orb engulfed the remains. Just in case. The [Spearmaster] whirled. Tersk was bellowing.

“Move formations apart! Battalion 1, split by squad! Battalion—”

He raised his shield as Lulv tossed a javelin, which exploded. One of Tersk’s amulets flashed. Five more arrows swerved out of the way. He blocked a second javelin, and his enchanted shield dented.

Lulv leapt. Olesm was riding at him—until a [Fireball] engulfed him. The Drake was flung from the saddle, saved only by Hedault’s charm. When Crusader 51 could see, Tersk was lying down. Lulv tried to behead him, but a dozen arrows made him dodge away.

“Target down, not necessarily dead.”

“Fight! Fight!”

He leapt, and Crusader 51 looked up. A grinning Gnoll soared through the sky as the Painted Antinium began to fall back. Manus’ [Soldiers] were falling too, but the Painted Antinium…

They were dying. Starfold raised his spear, and Spearmaster Lulv calmly deflected it. He landed. Looked around and spotted a second Antinium. The entire division was falling back, but Crusader 51 saw the Gnoll raise his spear—

And throw it.

“Target down. Two, three out of four? [Sniper]?”

“Dead, sir.”

“Good. Fall back. Hit those Painted Antinium.”

The [Soldiers] retreated, calmly disengaging as [Archers] with enchanted arrows aimed them at the Painted Antinium. Crusader 51 looked around and saw one of the former [Acolytes] left, kneeling, staring at the dead. The Painted Antinium fell back, dragging Zimrah away.

The next day, the Painted Antinium, less than sixty of them, left. And Crusader 51 lost hope.

Lulv, [Spearmaster]

“How good are they?”

The [Spearmaster] asked one of his officers as he watched the Painted Antinium’s first battle. His forces didn’t participate.

They watched the Alliance getting battered. Lulv was looking for important targets, but he didn’t see ‘Yellow Splatters’ or ‘Pawn’ in the mess.

“Sir. They remind me of Oteslia’s Wildfriend Scouts.”

One of his officers answered. It was an appraisal that few would ever give, especially a Drake from a Walled City. Normally, the line was that Antinium were rabble; dangerous, but more like beasts.

Lulv would have kicked whoever said that off a cliff. That comparison wasn’t an insult, either.

Scouting elites were dangerous and scary.

“Wildfriend? I remember them. Give me a comparison.”

The Drake shrugged, chewing on her lip.

“They’re…unified. See how they react so fast? Makes me feel like they have eyes in the back of their heads. Every damn bird is an eye for the Wildfriends. Let’s say less mobility, more numbers, and more toughness. But that kind of feeling.”

“Huh.”

She had just said they were as good as one of the veteran scouting groups from a Walled City. Lulv took it and agreed.

“They’re decent warriors. I want bombardment spells.”

——

Manus’ [Soldiers] watched as the Alliance sent a first assault in, and the Painted Antinium tore them up. The Luldem officer was screaming insults at Lulv, and he ignored him.

First wave tires them out. The hidden [Mages] were preparing to strike. When Lulv went through the enemy lines, he was grinning.

The Painted Antinium were the Free Hive’s best. Manus’ [Soldiers] came after him, roaring, their blood up.

You are warriors! We acknowledge you!

The first bombardment spells hit the Antinium lines as Manus went in. Bombardments, using the Alliance as a screen—

We know you’re good. So we’ll fight you with everything we have.

Two dozen [Soldiers] under Lulv’s command went down as the Painted Antinium threw their Skills against his. That damn [Sniper] died. Lulv threw himself into the fighting, ran through Tersk.

Killed two of those strange Antinium. The Painted Antinium didn’t seem to realize why they were losing. They were strong, high-level…

Manus just had more levels, more gear, and more numbers. This was what Lulv had come for. Send me more Painted Antinium! They were a threat if you could field a thousand. Or ten thousand. A hundred and forty less walked the world.

Next time, he hoped they’d field all they had.

Olesm, [Leader]

He survived the [Fireball]. Tersk lived.

Theophilus was dead. Jerimy was dead. A hundred and forty of the Painted Antinium were dead and just as many of the regular ones. The rest were leaving, and Olesm couldn’t blame them.

It was something Tersk said, as he lay on the bed. He was wounded still.

“I am poisoned. I will live. I cannot command. Dekass will command. They are weaker. Weaker…you cannot let Artur or Zimrah near the front. They will die. He came for me. It hurts.”

He was mumbling as Olesm trudged into the tent. Tersk stared up at the ceiling, but he turned his head to Olesm.

“Weaker? How?”

“I do not know. Maybe I thought they were stronger.”

Tersk was holding the hole in his abdomen. Olesm just looked at him.

“Get some rest, Tersk. You did…all you could.”

Morale in the army was as low as it had ever been. That was the problem with hope. The Painted Antinium’s arrival had been turned into a resounding defeat.

Damn Manus. Olesm punched the nearest post and had to go back to the [Healer]. Was there no hope? Was there…

Zimrah was sitting in the [Healer]’s tent. When she saw Olesm clutching his split claw, she tried to heal him.

But her Skill or whatever it was didn’t work.

“Why was it them and not me?”

The [Priest] looked at Olesm. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry.”

He had to know how many they’d lost. Dekass was counting the Antinium when Olesm walked towards him, claw bandaged rather than healed.

“Squad 5! Muster! One, two…nine. Who’s missing?”

He looked around. Crusader 53 was gone. Crusader 51 was shaking as he stood in line. Olesm found Dekass.

“Commander Dekass. Tersk is unable to fight. I need you to count casualties…but you are a marked target. Please remember that. Keep Zimrah away from the fighting. I’m sending Artur to Belgrade’s side to be protected.”

Dekass turned. The Armored Prognugator looked at Olesm and nodded.

“I am not afraid to die, Commander. I will attempt to survive. But someone must lead the Antinium. We are bound to die, it seems. I request placing Tersk with the wounded in your camp. He has leveled over the course of this war. One of us will return to the Armored Hive.”

He turned back to counting. Olesm looked at Dekass. It was the most he’d ever felt for the Armored Prognugator. Not a hint of running after what he’d seen? Then he realized Dekass was counting each squad out loud. He normally did it just by looking.

“Come to my tent later. We’ll figure out how to stop this. And have a drink.”

Dekass paused, but Olesm walked onwards. He walked past B-Squad, down a Worker, silent, past the Painted Antinium who looked at that battlefield where their beautiful colors meant nothing. Starfold sat there as Olesm passed by.

“It is more horrifying. Did our levels, our identity mean nothing after all?”

Olesm turned. He addressed the Painted Antinium curtly. With all the pain in the world, but as a [Leader]. As…a [Commander].

“No. It matters. You are all Individuals. You level. You have classes and Skills, and you are each one of you a treasure of the Antinium.”

The Painted Antinium looked at the Drake. Olesm nodded over his shoulder bitterly.

“The problem is that you ran into people just like you. And they’ve been alive twenty, thirty, forty times as long as you.”

Starfold listened, then bowed his head.

“War is unfair.”

Olesm walked on. Yes, it was. The Antinium realized it at last. And still, some fought. That night, Dekass reported the first and only Antinium desertion in the history of warfare.

Crusader 51, [Bug Collector]

He ran away. He put his sword down around the blanket he’d been issued and was going to go to the latrine when he saw Squad 5 looking at him.

Crusader 51 froze. He knew they knew, and so he waited for them to shout for Dekass or grab him. But none of them did.

They were not the original Squad 5. He was the last one. Crusader 51 saw Crusader 57 spit at him.

“Go. gO, cOWard.”

That hurt. But he didn’t raise the zweihander. Crusader 51 felt a tugging at him, to stay, to fight with them. But Crusader 53 was dead.

And he was just…tired of it. So he walked away. No one stopped him. Antinium did not desert. He walked past their sentries, who frowned at him, calling out as they saw him walk into the darkness, with his rations on his shoulder. He’d left his armor behind, too.

——

Every step he took, Crusader 51 longed to go back. He thought of Squad 5, who would get replacements, but not him. He thought of Crusader 53. He’d seen the Antinium trip and fall, but not who killed him.

Crusader 51 just walked on, eating his rations, and then collecting edibles that Tersk and Dekass had identified. He walked and he walked, towards the ridgeline where the army had first passed through.

It wasn’t far. They hadn’t advanced that much, so after less than a day—a day of walking, and that was how far they’d come in a month—Crusader 51 stopped.

He had found a spot perfectly, from memory. He sat down and looked about. There was water nearby, a spring, and some food could be scavenged.

He sat down in front of a little anthill, and big, black ants spilled forth, biting at his legs, then deciding he wasn’t a threat and going about their business. Crusader 51 placed a bit of stale sandwich in front of the hole and watched them swarm over it.

[Bug Collector Level 8!]

[Skill – Bugfriend obtained!]

——

The little ants were one small hive in a world of dangers. Like anteaters. The first time Crusader 51 saw it, he’d gone for water. He came back, and the armadillo-thing was licking up ants with its sticky tongue, dozens at a time as they helplessly scurried about.

Like Manus. Crusader 51 kicked it so hard it went flying over a cliff. He sat back down, and the ants calmed. They needed water, too, so he brought them handfuls and watched them lap it up.

They could use a pond or something. Something to gather rainwater. He dug a hole greater than their entire colony to the side, and the ants…seemed to watch him.

[Bug Collector Level 9!]

[Skill – Vague Directive (Ants) obtained!]

——

By the end of the third day, Crusader 51 realized there was a queen in the Hive. He gave her orders.

The ant hive was intelligent enough to gather food, resources, defend their eggs and larvae, but they had no vision. They came out in a rush.

He made them into squads. Sent them exploring, organized a fighting group that rested rather than move about.

[Vague Directive] worked to also let them stop doing things he could do. Like expanding the potential area of their hive by breaking up the dirt with his hands. Crusader 51 killed an anteater and spared their hive the need to find food for two whole days. His big levelup came when rain fell, and he realized their hive was at the mercy of the water table and spent all day digging a drainage system as water rained down around him.

[Conditions Met: Bug Collector → Ant Farmer Class!]

[Ant Farmer Level 10!]

[Skill – Minor Telepathy (Ants) obtained!]

[Skill – Doubled Collection (Ants) obtained!]

…What was an [Ant Farmer]? Crusader 51 didn’t know, but it was honest work. He felt like the Skills were a bit…off, though.

For instance, he doubled the collection of the anthill. But what would a hypothetical farmer of ants want? Well, if they produced something, he could take it.

Instead, what they collected was other insects, plant matter. And they pulled nearly twice as much of it as Crusader 51 doubled their ant farm. In fact…was the queen pregnant? She always was, but was there something…special about this one?

The first ant with wings was born, and Crusader 51 stared as a new queen emerged—and promptly started trying to fight the first one to the death. He separated the impending bloodbath, and, bewildered, the ant colony split into two colonies…side by side.

They kept trying to fight each other, the silly things! He made them work together. Two hives were better than one! His real relief came when he leveled up again shortly after his ants killed a roaming Rockgnaw Goat, a relative of the feared Eater Goat. It wasn’t ready for thousands of big ants to swarm him—or one of the pit traps Crusader 51 had begun to have his ants dig all over.

[Ant Farmer Level 12!]

[Skill – Abler Bodied Animals (Ants) obtained!]

Yep, there was definitely something odd about his Skills. He felt like the notifications sort of…hesitated. Then added the (Ants) bit.

Sometimes, Crusader 51 thought back to his command. He felt like he could feel them, but that was probably just the sensation of being linked to three hives by now. They were simpler creatures than he.

However, his Skills were empowering them. By two weeks, Crusader 51 was Level 16, and his ants could drag a Corusdeer to their lair.

The local wildlife objected, naturally.

——

The ant-war made Crusader 51 sick. He walked away from stomping large centipedes, snakes, and watched the smaller Black Tide cover their foes, who’d joined up to stop the ant hegemony.

Was this what I wrought? Crusader 51 looked at his tribute, a pile of skinned snakes. Four queens directed their hives, letting their foes enter into kill-zones, as squads of bigger soldier-ants scurried out and the worker-ants retreated.

They were…getting bigger. He had [Larger Livestock], but perhaps these ants were evolving? Crusader 51 had seen them feasting on two slimes, even the mana cores, and other magical animals had fallen prey to them.

The ruler of the anthills sat, fed. The ants hadn’t learned how to start a fire yet, but they were getting close. They could do almost anything, pile up bits of wood, transport huge objects…

Just not create enough friction for a fire. He didn’t mind. He could lie on his back all day and never have to do anything again. But since he was restless, and the visions kept coming…he dug, and fought, and dreamed of them.

He could see Crusader 57 fighting, in his mind. Hear the Worker shouting insults. Squad 5 was still out there. They took losses, but they kept going onwards. Commander Olesm had gotten unexpected reinforcements.

Crusader 51 had been declared dead, and Squad 5 had refused to tell Dekass where he went. So the Prognugator and Olesm had given up on him since no one else had deserted.

Did he know that, or was it just a dream?

[Minor Telepathy (Ants)].

——

He was an Antinium. Had someone made a stupid mistake? Crusader 51 felt like these…dreams…were too real.

Zimrah had changed. She tried to fill Theophilus’ role, but she wept. The Painted Antinium were gone. The Crusade was in jeopardy.

Crusader 53 was alive.

——

No. No, he was imagining it. Just like he imagined Manus redoubling their assault, trying to cut off Dekass, kill the Painted Antinium. They hadn’t even managed to escape. Manus had attacked them as they retreated, and there were only thirty left.

Just his imagination. Just like he imagined a Crusader 53, sitting while Drakes in Luldem’s uniforms argued what to do with him and someone offered him a tin of jellied raspberry.

[Minor Telepathy (Ants)].

——

Stop it! Stop it! Crusader 51 sat amid a world of little ants, who created effigies of him. The queens scuttled around, and he heard the tiny thoughts of rebellion.

Why do we have to feed this giant ant? They were definitely getting smarter. Crusader 51 watched as the ant collective now spanned a thousand feet—under ground, at least. Lesser ant colonies joined the swarm, red ants, black ants, blue ants, yellow ants…there were a lot of insect-kind!

Aphids. They were tending to aphids. Crusader 51 had decided they needed a permanent food source, so the ants were tending to different plants.

Squad 5 was under siege. Manus was coming. Zimrah fought, ignoring Dekass’ orders and the Painted Antinium had received a group from Liscor via the door. It wasn’t enough.

Crusader 51 looked at his ant hive when the first rebellions began. A hive of ants poured over him, biting, tearing at him as a queen battled with the others for full control. One would rule all kinds of ants!

…The ants couldn’t hurt Crusader 51. He looked down, picked up the ant queen. The other ants, even her hive, scattered.

The Titan has declared wrath upon them! A queen was no match for the hand of __! Flee! Flee!

He looked at the terrified little queen. He could squish her. She would probably keep trying to usurp the others. All this death…all he had to do was…

Crusader 51 flicked her, and she went flying into the distance. Perhaps to start another colony; some of her hive went with her. Crusader 51 went back to listening for his people.

Faith. He hated Hectval. He believed in Heaven. Crusader 51 killed a Corusdeer with his bare hands. It tried to scorch him, antlers igniting, but he was so strong he tore the antlers off the head and snapped the neck.

He believed that Theophilus, Jerimy, and Zimrah had power. He believed in Heaven.

He also believed he would die.

The ants of sixteen hives scurried about as Crusader 51 put the deer down, and they cleared a space and then swarmed it. He did not tell them to leave any for him.

There. That was enough food for now. He’d completed his little bypass, and a spring ran close enough to the ant hives for them to collect water. Enough for them to grow, thrive, and create an ecological disaster.

But that was all. Food for a day, and Crusader 51 rose. He dusted off his hands, patted a queen on the head, and walked off. The ant hives watched him go.

A lonely colossus, heading back to the world of the titans. Crusader 51 followed the thoughts in his mind. Until they were louder. He walked, then jogged, then ran. He had left Squad 5, Battalion 1 behind. Left his friend, Crusader 53.

But deep down, he had always known he would never be able to leave while they were there. His people needed him.

What could one ant do? Crusader 51 prayed. He had never prayed before, not truly. As he ran, as he found the camp, snatched up a familiar sword as bewildered [Soldiers] looked at him, as he charged forwards, he prayed.

Not for Heaven. Not for the condemnation of his foes. Certainly not for the forgiveness of sins. He prayed for something else.

And the world answered him.

Lulv, [Spearmaster]

The Painted Antinium were gathered up on the hill as the [Spearmaster] watched the last push begin. The [Strategist]—no, the [Commander]—had done his best.

He had placed Dekass and that other Worker behind their lines. However, he couldn’t hide them. Manus had struck their camp. Olesm had managed to threaten the skies—even down a Wyvern, damn him.

But the Painted Antinium died. Forty, counting the reinforcements, were making a final stand. No [Fireball] targets unfortunately; [Mages] were blowing every spell out of the air.

Lulv himself was watching his forces press in. He was waiting for a final trick, a teleportation spell. That was how he saw the Antinium.

“No class. Just like the others.”

One of his [Mages] pointed it out as it charged into Hectval’s lines from the side. Lulv turned his head. He frowned.

“I know that one.”

The other Drakes and Gnolls looked around. Lulv had thought it was dead, but there was no mistake.

Of all the Antinium fighting, even the squad rallied around the Minotaur with the axe, none of them were that…graceful with a sword.

It was no [Blade Dancer], but the sword parried a Drake, slipped through a gap, and sliced through bone. A single Soldier. No Painted Antinium.

“Mark it. Kill it.”

A dozen [Archers] pivoted and one gasped. Lulv turned and snarled.

“The [Sniper]!”

An arrow protruded from a chest. It was all chest-shots now. Lulv roared, searching around for it.

“Kill it and this time burn it to make sure it’s dead!”

A kill-team raced off, and Lulv turned back to see the Soldier swing his sword and chop a Drake in half.

“Strong.”

One of the officers muttered. He had a blade from Manus’ armories. Even so…was that [Greater Strength]? Lulv would never know; something about these Antinium meant you couldn’t read their classes.

“Alright, kill it. Loose!”

Eleven arrows shot at the Antinum. It was good; it ducked, but three curved and struck it. Deep wounds along the chest and stomach. It staggered…and seemed to look up at Lulv.

The [Spearmaster] saw the [Archers] nocked another arrow. He almost felt bad for it. A good warrior. But that was all. He was a Level 43 [Spearmaster]. It was probably Level 20 at best, a Painted Antinium-quality [Soldier].

If it had two dozen years…or just ten…? That was his job, to make sure they never got them. Especially the ones like that Worker trying to heal and failing.

The Alliance’s [Soldiers] charged, surrounding the Soldier and fouling Manus’ shots, the idiots. Lulv watched. One stabbed the Soldier in the side. He beheaded the Drake, whirled the sword up, stabbed a Gnoll through the chest, swept it through a spear, brought it down on a helmet—his shield deflecting a maul and axe.

“Dead gods, that one’s not bad.”

“Yep. If you have a [Guaranteed Shot]—loose!”

Carefully, two arrows flew. Leg hit, shoulder. The Soldier was bleeding, now. Staggering as the Alliance’s [Soldiers] hung back.

Yet it continued. Lulv had seen that, too. Heroes who kept fighting even when stabbed through the heart.

“Get me a javelin.”

He was going to end its suffering. Lulv grabbed the javelin impatiently and turned. He drew back—the Soldier looked up at him, and the [Spearmaster] threw.

The spear had such velocity that it punched through the Antinium’s left shoulder. It had partially dodged.

“Good shot, Commander.”

Lulv grunted as the Soldier fell back, pinned. An [Archer] took aim and stopped as a [Pikeman] lifted a spear to run the Soldier through. Lulv kept watching it as it lay, dying. He watched as it looked up, raised its mandibles…

And tore the javelin out of the stone. The pike struck the armor and glanced off. The Soldier rose, beheaded his opponent, and Lulv’s eyes widened.

“Counter-levelling.”

The Soldier raised his sword and slashed. A brilliant arc of metal struck every [Soldier] in front of him, ten feet across.

Had it passed out? Lulv turned.

“Javelin!”

It flew into his paws, and he took aim again. Consolidation? It had to be. But—it was one class—a handful of levels—

Lulv threw.

“[Impact Spear]!”

The javelin flew down, with enough force to splinter plate mail. The Soldier turned. It raised a shield and blocked the javelin. The sound was like thunder. Lulv looked down and saw it raise a sword. He didn’t know what it said—but then he felt something on his fur. Lulv looked up.

“What—?”

The clouded skies overhead split. A beam of light shone down. The kneeling Worker, the Painted Antinium, the regular [Crusaders] gazed up.

The Alliance’s forces threw their claws up and shouted. It was blinding! Lulv himself shielded his gaze.

“Light tactics! Special Antinium! I’m going in!”

He hefted his spear, blinking spots from his eyes, and saw the Soldier on the battlefield. He was impossible to miss, now.

Crusader 51

Did his armor shine like it was some precious metal? Was it his Skill? Was he taller?

He stood alone as the Painted Antinium and Soldiers and Workers began to fall back. No one had given the order, but they all heard…a voice. Even through their helmets.

Zimrah rose slowly, looking at him as the Antinium turned. He was still wounded. The new class had cured none of his wounds.

“Let me heal you! Please!”

Dekass dragged her back. He was staring at Crusader 51. How did they all know his name?

“Run. We must retreat. He will hold them off.”

Manus’ [Soldiers] surrounded him. The Antinium whirled his sword through a helmet. He was so strong. He punched with his shield and shattered a skull.

Their magical weapons rose. One [Soldier] darted around Crusader 51 and aimed a sword straight at his unguarded back. The tip of the claymore met his armor.

Magic met faith. The weapon skidded off the armor, and Crusader 51 lifted his sword again.

Skywards. The pillar of light shone down around him. He lifted his blade higher, and it seemed like the light itself coalesced around his sword. Drakes and Gnolls looked up as a giant blade, far larger than Crusader 57’s zweihander, formed.

[Holy Blade: Sword of Judgment].

It crashed among their ranks, and even Manus wavered. How many Skills did he have? From one class consolidation? Even for counter-levelling—

——

They couldn’t hear it. The Soldier laughed. He knew his people were running. Listening to him. One of them whispered. Dekass.

“A Unitasis Network. You must live. Tell us how. How…?”

Yet they were all fleeing. Crusader 51 stood alone, and the enemy lines tried to force past him, chase after their quarry. They ran into a barrier made out of swords, glowing blades.

How?

He kept hearing it, between the blades striking his armor. As arrows rained down around him. Crusader 51 lifted his head as he heard a familiar howl. He turned to greet the [Spearmaster].

[Crusader Level 24—]

[Crusader Level 25—]

The [Spearmaster] struck him like a bolt of furry lightning. Faster. Crusader 51 whirled his blade. He was no master of thousand battles. Just one war.

He saw the Gnoll duck, spear sliding sideways. His thrust dented Crusader 51’s armor, and the Gnoll cursed as the shield clipped one side of his helmet. He rolled, and the shining blade split the [Soldiers] above him. Up, the spear exploded, stabbing Crusader 51, cutting off his upper right arm.

Lulv leaned out of the way of the blade, and Crusader 51 smashed his jaw with the hilt of his sword.

The [Spearmaster] grimly planted a dagger in Crusader 51’s neck, and the poisoned blade ate into the [Crusader]’s life. Still, Crusader 51 stood. He turned away from Lulv.

A sword obliterated Manus’ front ranks. [Soldiers] backed away from the gigantic blade and Lulv cried out.

“[Spear Art: Fangs of the Dire Wolf]!”

The first fang destroyed Crusader 51’s chestplate. The second ran him through. The [Crusader] raised his sword, a spear through his beating heart, and Lulv caught it. The Gnoll’s arm trembled as the [Crusader] tried to bring it down.

“What are you? Where is that power coming from? Kill the Painted Antinium! Don’t let them get away!”

Manus was hammering on the golden barriers. Crusader 51 tried to bite Lulv in the face and the Gnoll jerked his head back. The [Crusader] was laughing. One Soldier watched as Manus’ army lost their quarry.

If one can do that—he saw Lulv break away and felt an emptiness as the spear yanked out of his breast. The [Spearmaster] whirled. He raised the spear to throw. Sighting on Dekass’ back.

Crusader 51 reached for him, but two dozen [Soldiers] grabbed him. He fought, but they held him down, stabbing. Crawling over him. Sacrificing themselves against a high-level warrior.

One look. Lulv turned a snarling face to the [Crusader] and saw the Antinium smile. Strength beyond fairness? No. Well, maybe. It occurred to Crusader 51 he’d been onto something. Perhaps someone hadn’t thought things through?

But this was fair. This was just…a miracle.

If you believed, if you were willing to sacrifice everything and you were the right one—he could do it. The [Crusader] tilted his head back and listened.

[Conditions Met: Crusader → Templar Class!]

[Templar Level 25!]

[My Noble Virtue: Sacrifice declared.]

The world turned white. Lulv went blind. Everyone saw nothing…and everything.

He saw the first glimpse of a cloudy sky, the light peeking around a cloud, revealing the sun, brighter than—

When the light cleared, the Antinium were gone. The [Templar] lay, body ruined. Arms folded, at peace. Lulv, arm shaking, lowered his spear. He saw someone raise a hand to destroy the body and caught the arm.

“No. No…don’t touch it. We have to know. We have to…”

He looked around, rattled. For the first time in this conflict…

Spearmaster Lulv felt afraid. He had witnessed something he had no name for. Something different from magic. If he could have named it, it would be—

Faith.

Two and a quarter months since the army marched upon Hectval, the city felt different. A month was a long time. A year was a long time.

To Selys, it felt like it had flashed by in some senses. Dragged on after Erin’s death. But the war…

Liscor was changing. Not a day went by when she didn’t hear of some new enterprise like Liscor Hunted, or receive news from her friends across the world. The Meeting of Tribes, the King of Destruction not dying, Wistram, Ailendamus versus the Dawn Concordat…those were worldwide events. Everyone watched the news and learned, well, to stop worrying.

It had seemed, when the television news stories first came out, that when a war happened or a battle was broadcast, it was going on right next to you. Then you realized—it was Chandrar or Terandria. You’d never go there, most likely, and the repercussions were abstract.

At the same time, you got invested. In a very real sense, as Drassi put it—the audience of television learned how to be an audience.

Compared to that, some things were close to home. And that was Liscor’s war with Hectval. Not the army. The army had left their home. Compared to that, Hectval was a real threat. One that Liscorians felt more than a vague animosity towards.

However, time changed how people felt. The first shock of casualties coming in, hearing rumors of the carnage on the front…Selys had heard howling every time someone brought the casualty lists. She had seen people gathered around the [Criers], and later seen the lists appended to boards in the plaza because no [City Crier] wanted to deliver the news themselves.

She still saw it two months in, but the war had taken a different kind of space in people’s heads. These days she heard people arguing about it.

“Enlist? Are you mad? Do you want to end up with one less leg? Mom’ll hit you if you even say it.”

A pair of brother and sister Drakes were arguing fiercely. Selys turned her head as Drassi slurped Imani’s next incarnation of boba tea. The two friends listened in. The younger brother, perhaps eighteen, looked adamant.

“There’s a signing bonus. I’m not Antinium. I’ll survive and level up and then become a Bronze-rank.”

“A Bronze-rank? I’m telling Mother. You’re cracked in the head. You want to go into the dungeon? That’s suicide unless you’re Silver—no, Gold-rank. You’d be safer in the army!”

“Aha! So you admit signing up as a [Soldier] is safer.”

The younger brother looked victorious, as if he’d scored a profound victory in their debate. His older sister stepped on his tail. Unlike Humans and Gnolls, who learned how to pinch ears, the yelping Drake’s weak spot was his tail.

“You’re not doing it. If you really want levels, go sign up as an adventurer or [Guard]! Even Celum would be safer. I’m not waiting around one of the announcement boards to see your name on a list. Those poor Ants—what happens when they stop fighting?”

Those poor Ants. Selys watched the younger brother keep arguing as he backed away from the stompy boots threatening his tail. You’d have never, never heard that a year ago. Maybe ‘poor Senior Guardsman Klbkch’ in context with ‘did you hear what that idiot Relc just did?’, but never that.

Drassi commented out of the corner of her mouth as the two siblings left.

“I hear it’s going better. I think. Hectval is moving back.”

“Hm? When did you hear that?”

Selys looked up and saw her childhood friend, Drassi, finally stop sucking fruit-boba up a straw. Instantly, Drassi began talking, and the absence of sound had been an irregularity in Drassi-world.

Drassi Tewing talked like Selys breathed. It wasn’t even just that she wanted to, sometimes it seemed like she had to. Yet the Drake was as bubbly as her light yellow scales most of the time. Friendly—and cuttingly honest, which people were surprised by.

Drassi didn’t lie. However, the former [Barmaid] turned [Bartender] who’d also been a [Secretary]—and failed out of a lot of her jobs until meeting Erin—had a more professional look nowadays.

In fact, she even had an Amulet of Disguise on her that made her less noticeable. Drassi was the [Honest Reporter] of Wistram News Network; she often wore less of a dress than something like the business casual being pioneered by Lady Magnolia Reinhart and a few [Ladies], who’d begun vying with the other [Seamstresses] to occupy the market.

You could buy fashion from Invrisil that had that particular Earth-style vibe to the clothing, although only Selys knew it as coming from there. Something with less frills and adornments—the ‘modern’ style of Earth that went for that kind of simplistic design with few main colors.

Selys preferred more variety, but it was popular enough to have tags, like a ‘Sitil’-tag—after Lady Wuvren Sitil.

Funnily, there was also a new line of sports-wear that apparently came from House Ulta. Selys had looked into clothing herself, but she didn’t have an ‘in’ with anyone she wanted to work with. She’d been trying to get Bezale, the Minotauress, to give her a contact.

All of that was Liscor, but the war was the kind of thing people talked about. Selys and Drassi, in their bi-weekly meetups at the Drunken Gnoll, often exchanged news. Olesm sometimes sent news back to the Council, and Selys heard drips and drabs from Elirr and Tekshia, which she relayed to Drassi.

However, the irony was that Drassi didn’t cover Liscor’s war with the Hectval Alliance. Selys looked at her friend.

“How d’you know about the state of Hectval? Is Wistram News Network going to report it after all?”

The [Reporter] shook her head, stretching out her claws.

“Nope. I just talk with some of the wounded. I saw a group of [Soldiers] on leave—they told me.”

“They’re on leave? They can come back through the door?”

Drassi nodded, chomping on a spring-roll, baked until it was just crunchy but not hard, filled with a more meat-based filling for Drakes and Gnolls.

“Two lucky squads per week. Olesm must have talked the Council into allowing it. It’s a fair mana drain, but it seems like he thinks it’s good for morale, and the [Soldiers] loved it. Lottery. And no, Wistram refuses to let me cover it.”

Selys frowned.

“Still? Even with Manus…?”

Drassi looked around sourly and lowered her voice. She tapped a ring on her finger, and Selys blinked as Drassi activated a silence spell. Palt, trotting by, gave them a wounded glance…which was probably because he wanted to listen in. Selys massaged one earhole; it felt like it was filled with cotton.

“Sorry, Selys. Work. Anyways. I talked with Grand Magus Eldavin. He told me there’s no shot. It’s…Antinium. And when he says that it’s worth my job—it’s not like Relz or Noass. Speaking of which, something big is going down in Wistram soon. Eldavin has a big announcement in our television segment next week. No one knows what it’s about, and Noass and Relz are kicking a fuss up.”

She sighed.

“I hate them.”

Selys made a face. She didn’t care for either Drake herself.

“If they’re so bad…”

Drassi waved a claw, trying to swallow another spring roll in a single bite.

“I don’t hate hate them, but they’re just so snooty sometimes. Noass is actually a bit worse than Relz, but neither one’s evil. They just say the same thing Wistram does, though. Antinium bad. I wish I could introduce them to Garry or Pawn, but they won’t go to Liscor after the Rock Crabs incident.”

The famous one where both nearly got eaten by a Rock Crab on Liscor Hunted’s inauguration? Selys smirked. Then she stirred her cup of tea. Palt trotted past them, looking worried. Drassi lowered the [Silence] spell, and both heard Imani kicking up a fuss.

“What? What? Palt, get in here! Palt—”

“Yes, my unshod darling?”

The two Drakes waited as Palt vanished inside the inn. Drassi nodded after a while, apropos of nothing.

“Yeah. Poor Antinium.”

Olesm had decided to tell Liscorians how many Antinium died in battle. The numbers…well. A few years ago, maybe Liscorians would have felt vaguely shocked or bad, but now that Antinium had names, colors…if you dwelled on it, it made you ask some hard questions.

Some people wouldn’t dwell on it. Some did. Selys worried about Olesm and felt vaguely sick about the Antinium—when she focused on them. What would Erin have done? At the same time—she hoped Olesm got to one of those cities and knocked in a wall or two. They were the reason her first real Human friend was dead.

She turned her head as Imani burst out of her kitchen, and Palt caught her in a clatter of hooves. She was waving something that had just arrived via City Runner bulk delivery by way of Pallass, addressed to her. She shouted one word, and Selys’ instincts told her it mattered.

“Coffee! Coffee!”

Drassi and Selys turned, and Selys began looking for another investment opportunity. That was all they said about the war as Drassi walked headfirst into an addictive drug perfectly suited for her personality. Neither one thought of Hectval’s war until the commendation began to be posted in the plazas, and the Council appended their own statement to Commander Olesm’s address. When Selys did read it, later, it was simple, and made her think of them again.

Olesm, [Commander]

The war continued. The day after he saw a single Antinium holding off Manus’ finest, [Commander] Olesm Swifttail of Liscor debriefed Dekass, Zimrah, and every other officer who had witnessed Crusader 51’s last stand.

The Prognugator could not explain how a single Soldier—the Antinium’s one deserter—had come back and saved the Antinium. The Painted Antinium, who Manus had gone as far as to attack in camp, and even smash the mana stone to the portal door to stop from retreating, lived, thanks to him.

Olesm did not know Crusader 51’s story. He had never met or talked to that particular Soldier. However, he could not shake the image of the Soldier raising a sword made of light high overhead, standing against Lulv.

No Antinium could, he was sure. That morning, Olesm watched as Zimrah began the sermons that had ended with Theophilus.

Other people were listening in. Scout Leader Maksie, Dekass, even non-antinium [Soldiers] who’d been at the battle.

Ah, oops. One correction there—it wasn’t Scout Leader Maksie, but [Scouting Lieutenant] Maksie. Everyone called her by her generic title, but Olesm tried to use her class now and then. It was a source of pride for her. Olesm had personally granted Maksie the class.

One class. One officer class, unlike [Squad Leader], which was technically a civilian class. Maksie didn’t get it because she was 4th Company. She had made a fairly public break from her command.

She had gotten it from Olesm. The [Commander] had a new Skill.

[Officer Under Arms]. He had chosen Maksie for the honor after debating the others. Frankly, Olesm thought it eased her public rift with her 4th Company friends, especially because they were her family. In return, it brought her closer to the civilian-army. And the Antinium.

Right now, Olesm knew the Painted Antinium would be returning to the Free Hive with a letter from Dekass to the Free Queen, detailing the extraordinary…tragic…events of yesterday.

The problem with Olesm was that he was changing. Instead of feeling just sorrow and grief, he almost felt relief. Hope.

Instead of hundreds, a single Soldier had died. Olesm mourned Crusader 51, but he felt inspired as well. And that made him a monster, he knew. But that brave Soldier had saved his comrades from a massacre.

A single Soldier had died. So Olesm sent something of his own back with Dekass’ letter and the Painted Antinium. He had proposed it to Dekass, and so the Prognugator had written a short…commendation.

A public commendation from the commanding officer of the Antinium, Dekass of the Armored Hive, for the Antinium known as Crusader 51, Squad 5, Battalion 1. Olesm asked Lism to post it along with the casualty reports.

Dekass of the Armored Antinium wrote a posthumous commendation of Crusader 51 for valor in the face of overwhelming odds, engaging an enemy [Spearmaster] in a single duel, single-handedly saving hundreds of lives, if not thousands, slaying at least thirty of the enemy, and noted his dereliction of duty in flat terms. So flat that it was more effective than any flowery statements.

To Dekass’ own report, Olesm attached a simple missive to Liscor’s Council, the army, and the citizens of Liscor citing Crusader 51 as one of the most valorous soldiers under his command.

Such an impersonal, inadequate response for someone who had done so much. And the war continued.

Olesm drank his hot tea as he watched Zimrah preaching, repeating Crusader 51’s name. He was tired, but waiting for the Council’s response to one of his requests. It was another thing Olesm had thought of. Oh—it wasn’t a big secret. He had attached a note to Lism and the Council after his commendation and the rest of his report:

Councilmembers, in light of Crusader 51’s heroism, I would like to request the Council allot a budget to increase the squads on weekly break rotation to 3, instead of 2. I understand this means sixty [Soldiers] will be using the door’s mana, but given the circumstances, I would like to mandate one Antinium squad be given a break in the city with the other two non-Antinium squads.

Anticipating problems, I would welcome the Free Antinium’s willingness to coordinate any squad on break. However, I believe the other two squads on break may volunteer to lead around the Antinium [Soldiers]. I hope I can count on your support for this initiative.

He believed they’d okay it by nightfall. Another piece of tinder for the fire in the Antinium’s hearts. It wasn’t Erin’s kindness that made Olesm do it. It was good for them. It was kind. But that wasn’t why he did it.

The Drake was so caught up in listening to Zimrah and thinking of when to announce the lottery for vacation that he didn’t hear the [Soldier] at first.

“Commander Olesm, sir. Visitor for you.”

Olesm’s mood of awed contemplation turned into sourness instantly. His claw tightened on his cup of tea, and he didn’t look back to his tent.

“I will kill that [Slaver] if I see him. Not right now, Artur.”

The [Banner Leader], the nosiest Antinium who listened into all conversations, had become the camp’s unofficial [Messenger].

The Antinium holding his flag clicked his mandibles together in confusion, but he didn’t immediately leave.

“That is not who…”

A voice split the air, bright and cheery and completely foreign to Olesm.

“Yayde Re~! Is that Olesm of Liscor I see? Ah, greetings! Could we exchange words?”

The curious, warbling call made Olesm turn. He saw a peculiarly-armored Drake riding towards him, along with eighteen more on horseback. Their flag was…Olesm squinted at them.

He saw a curious Drake waving at him. Curious because he—she?—had oddly-patterned armor all over their head and neck, the most complete helmet that Olesm had ever witnessed, and shoulder guards.

It looked akin to a [Knight]’s helmet, but it was practically skin-tight, form-adhering, and it was stylized to mimic a Dragon’s head, giving the Drake and all eighteen [Soldiers] an odd, predatory look. The helmet even had tiny, tiny holes for their neck-spines to poke out of, and a few Drakes had even coated their neck-spines with iron barbs. If they turned their heads, you were in danger of being stabbed.

The helmet melded into the shoulder and neck-guards, forming a protective layer of metal or stone—some of the Drakes wore what looked like stone armor—all the way down to their shoulders. Like the upper part of a cloak or mantle fused into their helmet.

It was the most sophisticated armor Olesm had seen: scale armor, interlinking, smoothly-moving plates, which were not fun for [Armorers] to make; they preferred pieces, just like how obnoxious chainmail was because of all the links interwoven together.

The complex head-and-shoulders piece abruptly ended at the shoulderblades, and was replaced by the most dull, painted…iron armor that Olesm had seen.

The Drake officer waving at him had a sword at her waist, and she was riding a pony, not a stallion. Her other bodyguards had hatchets, simple longswords, spears…and a pickaxe? Olesm squinted at the odd mismatch.

“What are they…? Artur, who are they?”

“I do not know, sir. They identify themselves as emissaries of the Drake city of Yolden.”

“Yolden…?”

The name vaguely rang a bell. Olesm started towards the [Soldiers]. They were hardly unwatched; Liscor’s army had two squads eying them.

With a bit of confusion. As Olesm neared, he saw a second oddity. These Drakes—and they were all Drakes, all nineteen—all had the same, complex helmet-shoulderguard.

And iron armor. Or leather. Their officer had what looked like a steel sword, although it was carefully sheathed, but Olesm didn’t even think they carried steel weapons. Oh—and he realized that, instead of bows, they had slings hanging by their sides and an overfull, bulging bag of ammunition.

Rocks. Only their commander, who was goggling at Olesm, had a bow, and it looked like an heirloom. She leaned over her saddle, then got down hurriedly.

“Yayde Re! Hello! Doine! It’s an Antinium! Hold your weapons, everyone! Commander Olesm, I’m from Yolden! [Captain] Voita, of the 22nd Command of the Yoldenite Army! Could I have a word?”

She was the most unusual Drake that Olesm had ever met. From her strange, yodeling cry, to an accent that seemed to be half-shouting at him, to her odd phrasing and armor…Olesm saw her gawking at Artur as he approached.

“Captain Voita? The Yoldenite army?”

Now Olesm recalled. Yolden. He had studied a map of the area. Wasn’t Yolden another Drake city in this region? Even higher up in elevation than Hectval.

Were they going to fight too? He felt a sinking feeling, but surely if so, they wouldn’t have announced themselves? And this Captain Voita and her squad were staring at the Antinium in a kind of horrified fascination…but fascination as opposed to simple horror.

Many Drakes would attack or flee. Olesm thought quickly.

“Artur, go find Wing Commander Embria if she’s near our camp. Tell her to report at once. Greetings, Captain Voita. I apologize. You’ve caught me at a poor time. We just finished a battle, and I’m—scatterbrained.”

“Ah, that mess back with all the flashin’ lights? We saw it from afar. Put our tails over our heads, so it did. Not that it wasn’t encouraging. Sent the Drishy-Luly-Heckies packing, did you? That’s the Commander Olesm I came here to see! And your Liscorian army looks sharp as Metal Dragonbreath! I hope you and I can talk. Greetings from Yolden! The Township Councils all send their regards, and I’m acting as representative.”

Olesm knew Drassi. He had experienced a wall of words hitting his head, and he had learned how to wade through a chatterbox’s offensive wave of dialogue. However, everything Voita said made his mind wrestle for a bit.

Voita’s helmet revealed her face; it was oddly lax in a face-guard, but heavily armored upwards. Not even a chin-guard…and she knew him.

“You have me at a disadvantage, Captain Voita. I’m afraid I don’t know Yolden’s…Township? But your squad is welcome into Liscor’s camp. You’re welcome to keep mounted, but we can see to it you get some feed for your horses or a break if you’re staying longer.”

“Oh! Don’t mind if we do!”

What looked like Voita’s second in command instantly dismounted, and the entire squad was on their feet and stretching before Olesm could blink.

“Got any good feed? Captain, where do we park?”

“Wherever the Commander wants you! I was hoping we could talk privately. Some of it’s command-level talk, sir.”

“Er—”

Olesm looked around, and every officer in range tried to duck. His claw found a [Tactician].

“Merraw, feed, food, and maybe room around one of the fires for the Yoldenites. I will see Captain Voita in my tent. Send up some refreshments. Captain Voita, would you like to follow one of my [Soldiers] there? I apologize. I will be with you in five, ten minutes at most.”

She nodded understandingly.

“That’s very kind of you, Commander Olesm. Don’t mind if I do. My girls and boys won’t be any trouble or I’ll make ‘em go back home without their helmets!”

She laughed as if that were a real threat and followed a Gnoll up the hill. Olesm rubbed at his head.

This was going to be weird.

——

Wing Commander Embria didn’t keep a superior officer waiting. She galloped back, and, to Olesm’s surprise, he saw Artur riding a horse after her.

“I got your message, Commander. What’s this about another city?”

She looked vaguely worried. Olesm gestured at the squad of Yoldenites talking with some [Soldiers] from Liscor all dining on some rations.

“We have…an officer from Yolden who wants to meet me. I thought you might know who they were. What am I dealing with?”

Embria frowned.

“A who from where?”

She knew most cities in this region, having campaigned across Izril. Olesm repeated the city.

“Yolden. You don’t know about them?”

“I don’t know…every city. Yolden. Yolden…Wikir! Vell! Get over here! On the double!”

Both [Captains] raced over as Embria barked a command. Artur had dismounted and was feeding his horse an apple, patting it as the two [Captains] rode in. It was a mark of the times that Artur stood with them instead of either Gnoll or Drake giving him the stink-eye. Vell stood away from Artur, but that was it.

“Yolden…Yolden…it rings a bell, yes? But where? Vell?”

“Aren’t they the ones who make great helmets? What’s the saying?”

Vell snapped her claws, frowning. Artur came over.

“I will take your horse, Captain Wikir? Unless you will ride back?”

“Oh. Thank you…Artur.”

The Gnoll distractedly handed him the reins. Vell did likewise, and Artur came back as she blinked.

“That’s it! Commander Embria, remember? Whenever we go by here, High Command always makes some unlucky bastards like 6th ride up to Yolden and commission some gear.”

“Right…and what’s the saying?”

“You can’t kill a Yoldenite from above.”

Vell began it, and Wikir and Embria finished the sentence. Olesm raised his brows.

“So this is a famous city?”

“Nope.”

All three officers shook their heads instantly as Artur looked from face to face. Vell glanced at the Yoldenites.

“Look at that. Iron and leather armor, and that’s a command squad. Slings.”

“Nothing wrong with a good sling. You can knock on someone’s head with one.”

Wikir growled, amused. Vell glanced at him.

“Okay, want to trade your shortbow for one? We could take that lot with our eyes closed. Even the Ants would dice them two-to-one.”

“I believe we would, yes, Captain Vell.”

Vell jumped, then nodded at Artur.

“Er…right. See? Even our banner-guy could probably out-lead an officer in their army. This is a real border-city, Commander Olesm. Poor weapons, low-level…”

“Why are they here?”

Vell gave Olesm a blank look.

“Maybe they want to trade for gear? Or they’re worried we’ll come at them? I don’t think they’re on Hectval’s side.”

Wikir growled.

“Definitely not. Hectval’s not unified with all the cities. Hrr. I can’t tell you anything more, Commander. Liscor’s army doesn’t fight Yolden or other border cities…no profit. We’re hired for bigger battles. All I can tell you is that they have a weird city.”

“How weird? Commander Embria?”

The [Wing Commander] frowned.

“Something about towns…that’s all I’ve got. Should we socialize?”

“Please. I’ll send Artur for you if I need you, Embria. Be polite. No insults—no disparaging their armor, Vell.”

“Sir! I would never, to their faces. Oh, and when’s the lottery for…?”

Wikir elbowed them, and Olesm headed towards his tent. He distinctly heard Artur whispering to Vell and Wikir.

“It will be today. Commander Olesm will do a raffle of another two squads, but a third will be Antinium. Oh, and we are having a squash-based bread today because a shipment of squash was passed through the door…”

“I hate squash.”

“Vell, do you enjoy any vegetable at all?”

——

Olesm got a surprise when he entered his tent. He had his tent bodyguard ready…it had occurred to him this might be an ambush. But what he found instead of an attack was Captain Voita helping herself to the food he’d requested.

Oh, and she’d found a bottle that wasn’t meant for this moment and poured herself a cup.

“Yayde Re~. Lovely tent and army you have, Commander Olesm. And it’s an honor to meet you again. I didn’t want to spill over in front of my people, but I’d love one of those autographs I hear people talking about on the scrying orbs.”

“From me? Excuse me, Captain Voita…I’m glad you’ve settled in.”

She had pulled the chair out and loaded up a plate. The Drake looked at Olesm, then hesitated.

“Sorry, is this not good manners?”

Voita looked so worried that Olesm lied.

“…No, no. I meant that seriously.”

“Ah, good, good! I didn’t want to make a bad impression. They sent me because I volunteered—not that we have more than [Negotiators]! Plus, it was dangerous, even with our colors. The Heckies are jumpy as can be. You really rattled their heads.”

She seemed quite pleased by that. Olesm sat down.

“I think I need to start from the beginning. I confess—I don’t know much about Yolden, Captain Voita, so tell me if I make any mistakes. You came to meet me. You know me. An autograph? I don’t think I’ve done anything particularly noteworthy.”

She laughed, then looked at him incredulously.

“No? I saw you on the television—well, I also remember when everyone was talking about you. During the Goblin Lord’s advance, remember? Yolden was sending everyone to watch the Big Wall in case the Goblins came up in the mountains…and then we heard you shouted at Pallass! Pallass! ‘I outrank you!’ I loved it.”

Olesm turned scarlet as he realized she was referring to the very first time he’d been on the news outside of maybe chess. When he’d demanded aid from Pallass and other cities to hold Liscor’s walls.

“That was…a long time ago.”

“Only a year. Mind you, I never thought I’d meet you, what with Liscor being past the Bloodfields. Then we heard Liscor’d opened a road, and the towns debated sending someone—but Hectval got there first. Next we heard, you were cracking the Drisshia-Luldem-Hectval Alliance up. One versus three! We had to send someone, but the towns argued so much it took this long for them to send me. We’re here to talk about an alliance. I should’ve led with that.”

Olesm’s mind spun.

“You’re opposed to the Hectval—the Alliance as well?”

Voita gave Olesm a look over her food, which she was inspecting as if it were new and foreign to her, especially the squash.

“We hate ‘em. Hectval-Luldem-Drisshia? The Alliance members are the three biggest bullies around. ‘Course we came to you if it looked like we could team up and get even. You think you’re the only ones who hate them? We’ve hated them for years.”

Voita had reminded Olesm a lot of Drassi, an odd Drassi, but now the first bit of real Drake entered her tone as her tail curled up and she glared. Olesm sat back as his heart began to beat.

He hadn’t considered it, but the first officer, Voita, made him realize how blind he’d been. On a larger strategic scale than combat. Other Drake cities had obviously heard about Hectval’s war with Liscor. It just hadn’t occurred to Olesm to look for allies.

Liscor was so uniquely cut off that allies or enemies were a foreign concept to them. Now, Olesm’s world opened. Voita was only too happy to explain where she was from.

“You can’t see us from here, but we’re higher than Hectval. Truthfully, we’re closest to Drisshia, and they’re the city we feud with. All the time. They own the iron mines. You saw their heavies? Steel. It makes fighting them really hard. Not that Liscor’s behind! I saw your [Soldiers]. All of ‘em have steel?”

She gave Olesm an impressed look. He shook his head.

“That’s…standard gear for Liscor’s Watch. Leather too, but we bought up all our equipment, and the Antinium provided their own.”

“Huh. Where from?”

He was stumped.

“Celum, Liscor, Esthelm—Esthelm is a mining city. Invrisil, Pallass…”

She appeared frankly envious.

“We have to buy from Drisshia. Or hope a [Merchant] decides ours is a good trade route or sends a caravan out. They’ve got the monopoly. Hectval’s got their bows, Luldem has their magic…Yolden’s not the biggest tail around. I don’t know if you noticed.”

Olesm very carefully kept his face straight.

“Your [Soldiers] looked quite professional.”

Voita gave Olesm a toothy smile that told him she knew he was being nice.

“Doine, Commander Olesm, no need to be polite. We’ve lost enough battles with the Alliance to know we’re behind. Not that they get over the Big Wall.”

“Tell me about that. Big Wall? Is Yolden a…town?”

She shook her head.

“No, it’s a city—sort of. Big Wall’s the curtain wall around our towns. See? One big wall—we hold off foes there. And Yolden’s around Yodemite. That’s the name of the enchanted mountain. Throws off some magical stones…nothing like Salazsar. Ever heard of pumice?”

Olesm stared. Yolden was a city that, among its pastures and wide, wide land area, was more like a rural collection of widely-spaced towns behind a single, long curtain wall. They were nestled with their backs to a sometimes-unpredictable mountain filled with lighter stones.

Pumice, which was a stone so light it floated on water. Olesm had to see that. He saw a stone that was pale beige, so weak it was crumbly, with tiny airholes, come out of Voita’s pouch. She handed it over with a faint blush.

“It’s good for taking off dead scales. Put it in a cup. See?”

“Is it…magical?”

Olesm watched as the rock bobbed in some water. Voita shook her head.

“We wish! Just light. We’ve got it all lying about. Something about old Yodemite makes some stones float…there’s decent mining up there, but stones fall down all the time. You can get brained by one, and even pumice hitting from high enough caves in your skull. So we wear this. See?”

She tapped her odd headpiece, and Olesm realized why the helmets were so elaborate. It was a perfect shoulder and head-guard to ward off pieces of stone falling from above. Even children apparently had them, and the only times you took them off were indoors.

“This is…fascinating. So the Alliance isn’t friendly to Yolden.”

She snorted.

“Friendly? We’ve paid tribute to them…the Townships have to send a lot of our sheepies. No one likes them, but who can beat three cities all teamed up and close together? We’ve tried. Yolden joins up with Naughtl, and even Fillen, but we don’t trust them all the time…we hold our own. Then Liscor appeared, and we thought—we have to reach out, Antinium or not.”

Olesm glanced at Voita’s face. She had a big smile, perhaps because this was all so exciting to her, and an oddly metallic sheen to her scales, which were almost grey-orange. Metallic orange.

“You’ll forgive me if I’m skeptical, Captain Voita, but yours would be the only city I’ve ever met that didn’t treat the Antinium as a greater threat than anything.”

“Oh, the Black Tide? We know they’re nasty…but we hate the Heckies more. That was the big argument, see? However, Yolden didn’t suffer siege in the Antinium Wars, either one. We sent our girls and guys out, and some didn’t come back, but the Antinium never made it to us. They focused on Luldem! Hah!”

Ah, there was the pettiness. Olesm relaxed and offered Voita more of his Amentus wine. She was remarkably free with his things. It seemed Yolden was the kind of place where anything left out was fair game—so they hid anything they didn’t want guests to touch. Which was everything.

Drakes with a twist. Voita explained Yolden’s history in the Antinium Wars.

“They never came up this far. Yolden hasn’t ever seen an Antinium. We have a few heads mounted as souvenirs…er…”

She trailed off. Olesm gave her a steady look.

“I see. But the Antinium aren’t as much of a threat as the ‘Heckies’. Is this a formal offer or just an inquiry to see what we’re like, Captain Voita? I am pleased to talk to you, but I trust you’ll represent your entire city. Or do you not have that authority?”

Uneasily, she sat up and, though flustered, spoke professionally.

“No, sir! I can speak for the Township. However, I will need them to vote on agreement. But we’re prepared to vote fast. Frankly, sir, no one wants to lose the chance to get back what’s ours. I’m with 22nd Command; each town has their own force, and I’m from the last one.”

“Twenty-two towns? Go on.”

Olesm had learned the fine art of negotiation from Maviola and, to some extent, Chaldion as well. He was friendly…up to a point. But Voita deferred to him, which meant he had all his cards in his claw…and some of hers.

It seemed like Yolden really wanted a friend. And they really didn’t want to bleed much.

“See, we could hit Drisshia’s mines. Tie up some of their forces. They’ve got a big, fat one they’re practically leaving open. If your army ties up their forces…”

“Yolden gets to take a mine, and we bleed for it. I’m not interested in giving Yolden free real estate, Captain Voita. Why should my [Soldiers], who’ve been fighting and dying for two months, distract Drisshia long enough for Yolden to swoop in? If we take Drisshia’s mines, I’d rather collapse them or take control ourselves.”

She blanched.

“What? Collapse them? Take control?”

“Why not?”

“Well…we fight over them! We could really use the iron.”

Olesm smiled and looked past Voita at a map of the region.

“So will Yolden fight Liscor?”

“No—Commander, we’ve gotten on the wrong foot. Clearly! Doine, we’re not proposing Liscor do all the work!”

“That sounds like what you just offered me. Let’s try again. Why hasn’t Yolden already attacked? My guess is that you don’t care to antagonize Drisshia in case this war ends and they turn on you.”

Voita nodded uneasily, trying to stay ahead of the conversation. Olesm knew what it must be like. She wanted him to like her, and she had to report back to her Township. He knew what it was like to be a young officer who suddenly ran into a grandmaster chess player or suddenly had to deal with the threat of war.

Now that he was on the other side of it, he felt vaguely bad for her…and did exactly what would have given him cold sweats, putting her tail over the fire.

“What can Yolden offer me? I mean real forces, Captain Voita. Enforced by a magical contract. I have to report back to Liscor’s Council as well, but I am [Strategist] for Liscor. Let’s say Yolden wants those mines. How much are they willing to pay to keep them?”

“In…a share of the ore? Gold?”

Voita looked uneasy. Olesm gave her an incredulous stare.

“No, I mean how many [Soldiers] are they willing to spare? How many for a mine? Because if you want Liscor to back you after the war is done, I want at least a thousand.”

“A thousand—?”

“Convince me. How many [Soldiers] does Yolden have? What’s your distribution of forces?”

The poor [Captain] gave Olesm the standing number of Yolden’s army for free and realized halfway through him grilling her about their locations that she really should have held onto that. Olesm really did feel bad for her, so he signed her an autograph card. Then asked if she’d ever wanted to visit Pallass.

Embria, [Wing Commander]

“Ancestors, he’s hanging her out to dry.”

Wing Commander Embria was listening to the conversation in Olesm’s tent. He could have warded it, but he hadn’t, instead letting her listen in. She shifted, and the other person listening in nodded.

“Commander Olesm is quite unkind. He has Captain Voita on the back foot. He should press the charge. Unless that is not how you win verbal wars?”

Artur, the [Banner Leader], stood with his banner, almost invisible. He was conspicuous as a Worker standing behind a pole of wood, but he was so still that you forgot he was there. Embria hesitated. She looked at the Antinium and replied.

“I…er…she might back out, but I’ve seen the army negotiate. They tend to hang anyone trying to cheat us out to dry. You have to; small-time cities can be as bad as big ones.”

Artur nodded reasonably.

“In that case, I am glad he is being so mean.”

Mean? Embria listened. Olesm was offering Voita a chance to look at his Kaalblade.

“Steel? Liscor has steel. We also have access to two major cities, Human and Drake. Would you accept a gift? I have a fine, enchanted dagger. Perhaps you could show it to the Township as a symbol of relations…? Oh, and you should have one meal before you go. Liscor has its own delicacies.”

It was surprisingly mean. Embria had always thought of Olesm as somewhat of a nice guy. The war was making her rethink that.

She was actually a bit surprised Artur thought this was all fine. Embria frowned at him.

“You’re Artur, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Wing Commander Embria.”

“I thought Antinium liked being nice? I never saw those Workers and Soldiers at The Wandering Inn so much as curse. I thought you’d be all for hugs and kisses.”

Artur craned his head as Olesm poked his own head out of the tent to order a pizza—and Liscor’s own diplomatic core and Council to get in on this.

“If Yolden does not commit its forces, more of our [Soldiers] will die. So he should press her as hard as he can.”

“You mean, Antinium Soldiers?”

Artur gave Embria a look. She blinked because it could only be described as…withering.

“I mean, Liscor’s [Soldiers]. Do not be an idiot, Wing Commander. Sir.”

He gave her a three-handed salute, one hand holding onto his flag. Wing Commander Embria’s mouth worked.

“Sorry.”

——

The Antinium were changing. Wing Commander Embria didn’t speak much to Artur; she was busy meeting Captain Voita and watching Olesm impress upon her and her squad just how much she wanted to make this alliance work.

“We need to talk to the other cities, Wing Commander. I suggest [Message] spells rather than sending runners. I’ll put the Council on it. Stupid of me not to think of it.”

“Yes, sir. I mean—no, sir. I can pull 4th Company and see if they can glean any tidbits about which cities are trustworthy or useful.”

“Do that. Oh, and Wing Commander? I have a lottery for you to bring back to Bepol’s troops. Tell him I want him to take his rally point in the next two days or I’ll have his tail.”

Perhaps it was the directness. Olesm didn’t try to coddle people’s feelings. He could, and he had soothed Bepol’s ego at the start. However, these days he had a carrot and stick in either claw, and he’d smack you with both if he had to. Or feed you the stick.

That was how Embria had experienced command in Liscor’s regular army. She returned to her command with Wikir and Vell, and found three members of 4th Company were in trouble. And that Division Leader Bepol had personally come to sort out an altercation in her absence.

“They started it!”

Bepol glared but let Wing Commander Embria sort out Igessi’s squad. The Wing Commander saw Wikir walk down the row of [Soldiers], smacking them.

“You idiots. We’re 4th Company. You’re starting brawls with the army?”

“Not us, Wing Commander! They started it!”

“Oh, and someone wants to pick a fight with 4th Company. Who did?”

Vell raised a boot to kick a surprisingly battered-looking [Corporal], and the Gnoll burst out.

“The Ants! They jumped us!”

Embria unfolded her arms.

“What?”

Bepol had two Antinium squads of ten placed among their ranks. Ostensibly to let Liscor’s [Soldiers] see them fight alongside them. Unofficially? Embria guessed it was a kind of reward for a lucky squad.

They didn’t get minced up with the rest of the poor bastards by Manus. Although Embria had heard a single Soldier somehow held off Manus and saved the Painted Antinium. That had to be a rumor, but she wasn’t heartbroken that they got away.

There was definitely a change in the Antinium. The [Corporal] looked uneasy.

“We were just talking, and one of them heaved over and punched Samul’s lights out! We nearly stabbed them, but they fought with their fists, and Commander Bepol himself stopped it.”

“Antinium punched you? Why? Did you provoke them?”

Vell was incredulous. The [Corporal] visibly hesitated.

“N-no? We were just, uh, talking…”

Embria’s eyes narrowed. Another [Soldier] confessed.

“We might have been saying something about the…casualties? Like how the Painted Antinium weren’t as good as everyone said? Then—bam!”

Wikir hesitated, looking at Embria. The Drake growled.

“So you badmouthed them, and you were surprised when one of their own decided to knock your face in? Corporal, if someone said the Gnolls on Chandrar deserved what they got, what would you do?”

The Gnoll [Corporal] protested.

“Yes, Wing Commander, I’d give them the Liscorian handshake, but they’re Ants.”

Embria hesitated.

“I know. But…don’t do it again. Just don’t. And if any of 4th Company starts a fight that gets to Commander Olesm, I’ll let him kick you all into the latrine. Besides.”

Besides…Vell had her arms folded, but Wikir finished it.

“They’re getting chewed up and spat out, no? Stow it.”

Vell blinked. She looked from Wikir to Embria. The Wing Commander slowly nodded.

“Exactly. So shut the hell up and get ready to join the latrine diggers.”

——

Odd, odd, odd. Embria didn’t like it. Not the Antinium punching out anyone who bad-mouthed them. Or them getting more dangerous.

She didn’t like…knowing Artur’s name. Or feeling embarrassed when she said something stupid. She hated to admit it, but she had a vague uncertainty in the back of her head. She resisted it…like she would have resisted Olesm giving her an Antinium squad to command.

But part of her feared that her hatred of the Antinium? The dislike of them being in the army? She feared that one day, she’d wake up, or blink, and the reason would unravel like a piece of thread.

And if she thought like that…perhaps it was already undone. But the truth would come out later. Embria did not have to wait long for results after Yolden’s forces encountered Liscor. Manus kept coming at the Antinium lines, but with noticeable hesitancy after the mystery of Crusader 51. And elsewhere?

The stalled warfront slowly began to break as a second new force entered the mix.

Vess, [Arcane Warrior]

When he reached his class consolidation, Vess was Level 20. He’d reached Level 20 during the war, and Big Yam threw him a celebration.

“Prodigy! We have a real prodigy here!”

Velden crowed, and Vess grinned as they dumped a mug of beer over his head. This was allowed; the High Command had let Big Yam celebrate.

It was rare for someone to hit Level 20 so fast. Even in war! Vess heard people commenting about it.

“Another Zel. That’s what it is. You know how he got to that level? Before the damn Ants were fighting against us and the world was upside-down…”

His smile vanished, and Velden looked around with a glare.

“Hey. Shut up. Don’t go ruining the night with that. I don’t want to hear their name.”

Antinium. They haunted Vess’ dreams. Not just the sight of them in their armor, or the voices that sometimes called out to him. Everything.

Click. The way their mandibles clicked. They way they would swing all four arms when you only had two, how they refused to die. Even with the [Mercenaries] attacking them.

Everyone ‘knew’ they were from Manus. No one said it, but everyone knew. Yet there was no confirmation, and Vess wondered why a giant army of tens of thousands didn’t help beat Liscor. Velden couldn’t guess, only that Manus didn’t want to start another Antinium War. But they needed it.

They were…

Losing.

——

An [Arcane Warrior] like Vess could channel magic through the sword he carried. He created a temporary enchantment—[Stored Shock]—and electrocuted anyone who clashed swords with him. He could throw multiple [Light Arrows] out of his wand and reinforce his shield.

Big Yam was now a veteran squad who could hit the soup and come out in more or less one piece. That meant, ironically, they were safer. They didn’t eat the horrific [Instantaneous Barrage] Skill that all of the Alliance had learned to fear.

Nor were they facing Liscor’s right wing. Some of Hectval’s forces rotated into Big Yam’s when they went to the center to help push against Liscor there. Luldem’s squad found themselves sharing tents with hollow-eyed [Soldiers] who jumped at every shadow.

“They’re in the ground. They’re in the ground.”

One of the Drakes whispered at Velden. She rocked back and forth, holding her tail like a child.

“They were in this cave. One second we thought we were safe—then we realized they’d squeezed into cracks in the wall. They waited for us, then crept out and…and the traps! There’s bear traps all over. You take one step and you lose a leg. And while you’re bleeding out—”

“Shut up. Don’t demoralize everyone with that shit!”

The [Sergeants], Velden and a traumatized Drake, were whispering in a corner. It made Vess’ scales grow cold. The other [Sergeant] from Hectval laughed, a touch hysterically.

“Look at you lot from Luldem! You don’t know what we’ve seen!”

“You think we’re having fun with the Antinium here? Guess you don’t know about the immortal sniper. Even Manus can’t get rid of it.”

The Hectval [Soldiers] looked up.

“The what?”

There was a killer haunting the Alliance. It appeared across the battleground—mostly on the left and middle, but almost always around the Antinium’s deployment. Nor did this [Archer] stick to battles, though every officer now kept their heads low, abandoning easy markers like plumes or badges to show their rank.

“[Sentries] end up dead with an arrow in their neck. Sometimes just one. Or a [Sergeant] gets shot mid-charge. Or…”

“And Manus doesn’t stop them?”

Someone laughed.

“Manus? They’re the ones who get shot at the most! I hear their commander’s hopping mad. They keep killing the sniper—or so they say. The next day? Someone else gets shot.”

“I hear they found the Antinium—a Worker—hacked it up, burned the pieces, and watched it all night. Then one of the crew guarding the pieces got an arrow straight through the back.”

Vess shuddered. This was one of the things that there was no way to fight against. The Alliance was fighting Liscor because, if they lost, so High Command assured the [Soldiers], the Antinium would slaughter their cities. They fought because the Antinium were allied with Liscor, those bastards.

However, morale was at an all-time low. The right wing had apparently near-daily mutinies. The immortal Antinium sniper was one of the legends keeping [Soldiers] up at night and scanning for a sight of a bow and a Worker.

But there were also…tangible things to fear.

Like…

The Minotaur.

——

Vess saw him appear in a battle the day after that. He charged down the slope as Liscor’s army came after him, ahead of the others.

A giant Minotaur—Vess aimed his wand, and eight [Light Arrows] bounced off the Minotaur’s hide. Arrows broke against his skin and armor. He raised an axe and roared.

“Beriad of the Free Antinium! Death before dishonor! Charge!”

Behind him, thirty Antinium streamed towards Drisshia’s [Soldiers]. This was no ordinary grouping. The Minotaur had begun going into battle with allies. Worse? They fought like he did.

He rammed forwards, head lowered, one huge arm raised. An axe as wide as Vess’ chest rose and came down towards a [Soldier] holding a shield.

The Gnoll’s will broke, and she tried to dodge—the axe fell, and no one survived that. The Minotaur pivoted, and the axe slammed into another [Soldier]. He kicked someone, shattering a leg, and that axe rose.

No defending. No hesitation or dodging. Stab me. Attack me. Challenge me! The Minotaur’s eyes were red, and he roared.

A blow for a blow.

The Antinium behind him all carried two-handed weapons. Battleaxes, greatswords, mauls…they charged in, trading a swing for a swing.

Beriad?

That was what they called themselves. Or he called them.

——

The Minotaur appeared in another battle before the lines met. Both sides were trading magic and missiles, and Vess saw the Minotaur holding the axe up as his squad waited on the front lines. Then, as they waited for the order to charge, he heard a strange sound.

Thud. Thud, thud, THUD.

A rhythmic boom. A heavy echo that ran through the ground. Vess looked up—and saw the Minotaur and Antinium, hundreds of them, stomping in unison.

A rhythm. The Minotaur was leading them. The Antinium struck the ground with their feet as one. They kept their weapons up, shields raised—yet this was a way to make sound, even while keeping their guard up.

The Alliance jeered and shouted curses, screaming at the Antinium, but the organized sound made their voices falter. The Minotaur was staring at them. And the Antinium…

Challenge. Me.

The Minotaur walked in front of the stomping line of Antinium. They looked…angry. Fierce. There was something more in their insectile stare that made Vess shudder.

It hadn’t been there at the start of the war. Before, they had been…angry? Now—now. Vess thought they wanted to kill him.

It was his doing. The Minotaur turned his back to the Alliance’s lines. He walked forward, ignoring an arrow that cracked on the back of his head. The bits of wood splintered off the Minotaur’s horns, and he brushed a piece away from one ear.

The scars. He had as many scars on his back as his front. His fur rippled as his muscled arm rose. The axe rose into the sky, and the light was harsh.

Hot. The Minotaur’s fur stood out with sweat. His voice was a bellow, as if you had given a bull words. It shook as he addressed the Antinium.

Not in the throes of madness, though. There was something grave about the way he addressed them, as they stomped their feet, helmets raised, peeking out at him from behind their shields.

No mindless berserker. No raging bull-man. He spoke to them like a warrior.

“Antinium of the Free Hive! When a warrior of the House of Minos is judged worthy, in character, in might of arms, they are given leave to depart our shores. It is not just strength or the ability to kill that marks a true warrior.”

He walked down their lines. A bolt of lightning flashed across the ground, and every piece of him lit up. The [Minotaur] staggered. Turned his head.

Snorted. And went on.

“Those are the Beriad. It means, to our people, in our tongue—away. Away from home. They will fight and die from our shores. But they are of our home, and they will never forget.”

He aimed his axe at the Antinium as their stomping slowed.

“You are Beriad! You have left your Hive! If you die on these soils, or wherever you fall—you are true warriors. You are the Beriad of the Free Antinium. Give them no reprieve. Fear no end. You will not find your equals ahead of you. They stand at your backs. Now—”

He turned and aimed his axe ahead.

“For the honor of Hammerad and Liscor! Charge!”

The Minotaur’s feet churned the ground as he took off. Again, he lit up as a bolt of lightning struck him. A howling [Battle Mage] threw fire, engulfing the Minotaur, and the [Archers] focused on him as if he were magnetic. Bring him down! Bring him—

A howling Minotaur, mouth opened like a crimson red furnace, pounded towards the Alliance’s front. Behind him came the Antinium. Vess’ claw shook on his wand.

He wouldn’t die. He saw the first [Soldiers] begin to break and run. Too late. Too late.

The axe came down like the slowest bolt of lightning in the world and shook the earth.

——

When they took the Antinium prisoner, Big Yam was close to breaking themselves.

The Painted Antinium had entered the war. Painted Antinium. Who spoke. Who used Skills! Who—

Died.

Manus had gone through their ranks like a hot poker through a block of butter. Vess thought he’d seen that [Spearmaster] fight before, but it was nothing compared to the whirlwind the Gnoll turned into.

And the spells! Something was in the skies! [Mages]? Maybe…he saw Tier 4 spells hitting the ground. Tier 5 spells tearing the Antinium apart.

“Thank the Ancestors.”

Velden whispered. Big Yam looked up and saw Liscor fall back in disarray. Thank the Ancestors indeed. When Vess saw that, he thought they could win.

And he also wondered why Manus didn’t fight harder. Why those ‘[Mercenaries]’ didn’t fight every battle.

Vess didn’t know. His squad picked through the battlefield, taking some Liscor [Soldiers] captive.

No Antinium. No one even bothered; they never surrendered. You had to kill them dead. Instead, Big Yam occupied themselves with a grisly task they had fought for:

Looting the dead for weapons and gear.

Not just for themselves. Vess had pocketed a dagger with a jewel on it and tried to fence it with the [Quartermaster]. He’d gotten fifteen lashes for that, so Velden had helped him send it home with some ‘gifts’ to his family. It was good coin.

And an enchanted blade or weapon could save you. So even the Antinium were fair game, though you’d only get a steel weapon—that was still better than most could afford outside the army.

Vess had heard these Painted Antinium had enchanted gear, so he was rolling over bodies and staring at green blood. He heard someone from his squad exclaim.

“Hey. Hey, that Antinium who was shouting is over there. The one with robes on its armor. Look.”

Vess looked up and saw the Antinium who the [Spearmaster] had personally killed lying on the ground. Another Antinium was right next to it. Both had died in an odd posture.

One was propped against the other, mandibles still open, a hole through its chest—multiple holes, Vess realized. Green blood had stained the white robes and run down the steel armor.

The second Antinium, a burly Soldier with only two arms, had died…strangely. It knelt, two arms cradling the Worker, supporting it. Green blood painted its armor, and it had a mace lying next to it.

Dented, worthless. Vess walked forwards, staring at the glowing club in the Worker’s hand. He wondered how the Soldier had died. Then, as he reached out for the club, he saw something.

Did that mandible just move? Vess froze and stared at the Soldier. He’d definitely seen it…twitch. Then he saw, ever-so-slightly, the shoulders rise and fall.

It was breathing. It was—

“Ancestors! It’s alive!”

The [Arcane Warrior] shouted in horror. He leapt backwards, and Big Yam stumbled away, bringing their weapons up. Vess aimed his wand at the Soldier’s head and realized—it hadn’t moved.

It had raised the dented helmet slowly. The two arms on its left side were still holding the Worker, but the Soldier turned to stare at him. It didn’t attack.

“Blast it, Vess! Shoot it—”

One of the [Archers] was circling for an angle, and Vess lifted his wand. He hesitated. Was the Soldier mortally wounded? It looked like it had taken some damage, but it wasn’t attacking. It was…

“Hold on! Hold on!”

Velden roared. He yanked the bow down, and Big Yam turned to him. The [Sergeant] looked at the Antinium Soldier.

“It’s…take it prisoner.”

Big Yam stared at him incredulously. Yet the Drake looked at Vess and then turned.

“Someone get rope! Alert High Command! Tell them—tell them we’ve got an Antinium prisoner! The first one! Ever!”

Big Yam hesitated, but Velden was their [Sergeant]. Vess hissed at him.

“Are you mad, Velden? It’ll attack!”

He thought Velden had lost it, but then the Drake [Veteran] turned and whispered back.

“It could be our ticket out of the next battle if we’re guarding it!”

Vess saw the desperate gleam in Velden’s eyes. He realized this wasn’t about intel or novelty, just Velden trying to keep them alive another battle. Even so…

The Soldier was looking at him. Vess aimed his wand straight between its eyes. At his level and this range, he could blow a hole through its head. Velden watched Vess.

He wouldn’t stop the [Arcane Warrior]. Nor would Big Yam, none of whom wanted to touch the thing. They could run it through. Vess hesitated and saw the Soldier waiting. Waiting…

Vess lowered the wand and backed up. Ropes came, and Big Yam looped them around the Soldier, binding and rebinding it—then yanked it off its feet. The instant the Soldier was down, they resecured it, and began kicking it until Velden told them to leave it alive.

Vess didn’t join in. Nor had he killed the Soldier. Not because he bought into Velden’s plan to get them out of the fighting.

Simply because he didn’t kill unarmed soldiers. And he might have been persuaded there was no such thing with Antinium…but a realization had shocked Vess more than anything else.

The Soldier had been holding the Worker’s body. As if he were mourning him.

That was how Crusader 53 entered into Big Yam’s custody. And the end of the war—at least, for Vess—arrived.

Lulv, [Spearmaster]

A question ran through the Gnoll’s mind again and again.

Are we making a terrible mistake?

Not just in the Security Council’s supposition about the nature of the Antinium. Lulv had already doubted that.

He was a loyal son of Manus. Born and raised in the walls. He’d lived through the Antinium Wars, and he remembered when Nagas and the North were the enemies to fear. Lulv knew almost all of Manus’ dirty operations and dark secrets.

And their hope. Rafaema wasn’t just a Dragon for Luciva and Drakes. Lulv wanted her to become the Dragonspeaker of Manus. The leader who would treat Gnolls and Drakes fairly. For—while Manus made no distinction between the two as [Soldiers]—it was a Drake city.

Rafaema…he and Makhir believed she would change Izril for the better. However, the future grew more uncertain with each passing year.

What was that Antinium’s class?

No one knew. Some had speculated they had no class, but Lulv had seen that shining sword rise overhead, not magic, nor any ability the Antinium could feasibly create.

A hidden class. Perhaps it was some anti-appraisal gear. That was what Sokkel thought.

On an entire army? No. So the question that echoed in Lulv’s mind was—among other things—

Who was Squad 5?

Who was—who had been—Crusader 51?

——

It was that unease that followed him. Oddities in battle.

“The sniper’s back. We killed a Worker. We chopped it up, burned the body. Either it’s an entire unit or…there’s something about the arrows.”

Lulv met with his officers and inspected another one. Practically shrapnel.

“It went through the armor, [Spearmaster]. Back plate. [Hardening] enchantment—Grade II. Didn’t go through the front; didn’t have to. The shrapnel kept going and shredded the insides. The force behind it…it’s the same [Archer].”

“Then it’s something we’re not seeing. Body doubles. A Skill, a class…get a research team on it and put the [Mages] on [Detect Life] spells.”

“All the time, sir? They’ll reveal their position. And Strategist Olesm has advanced his class. [Delegate Skill]. That damn Drake scout can use his [Instantaneous Barrage] Skill. Our Wyverns are under threat.”

Sokkel protested. Lulv growled.

“Do it. You have authorization to take her out.”

“Yes, sir.”

A balancing act. Lulv was an aggressive [Spearmaster]. He had earned his class not by killing other [Spearmasters]—though he had done that—but originally by receiving the level just by virtue of his sheer ability in battle.

He practiced a Manus-style spear school that favored high mobility, rapid attacks, and thrusting stabs. However, a [Spearmaster] could adapt. Had to adapt.

If we crush Liscor, we weaken our frontline, and at this point, the city must stand. Manus had originally written it off as a casualty of the Third Antinium War given the Free Antinium’s Hive.

Now? Liscor was a liability and an asset. It provided unparalleled viewpoints into the Antinium—yet they were clearly benefiting from the relationship. At the same time, Tyrion Veltras’ near-conquest of the city proved it needed to be in Drake control.

And…well, Lulv’s vote went to making Liscor an asset rather than weakening it, because it had Gnolls on the Council. It could be a model.

Hectval was part of a trio of cities that didn’t add anything to the region. They forced Gnoll tribes out of their radius of influence, made war on Drake cities they could defeat. If Lulv had a side, it was Liscor.

The Antinium were the complication. So Lulv had stayed away from ordering Olesm sniped. If they could even manage it; he had magical protections. The world needed a [Strategist] of his level.

He was just…too good at his job. And at the same time, Liscor’s army was feeding Manus information as well.

“I have the full report. It took some doing to wrangle out of the Cyclops’ grip, but someone must have pushed Pallass hard. Sir.”

“Read it to me.”

Lulv snapped. Sokkel summarized the report for the [Spearmaster].

“Crusader 51. Squad 5, Battalion 1. A deserter who fled for about three weeks. The first Antinium deserter ever registered, apparently. Commander Olesm did not pursue him…let’s see. One of the original volunteers. Apparently gifted with the sword enough to have Calruz of Hammerad teach him personally. Uh…uh…mentions of the Antinium having that unique class. Nothing more.”

“Crusader 51. Where did the intel come from?”

“A ‘Division Leader’ Bepol. Pallass’ officer. Enlisted and commanding their center wing. He’s not happy about you, [Spearmaster]. It looks like he’s requested multiple times for Pallass to pull Manus out.”

Multiple agents of Walled Cities were in Liscor’s army, Lulv had no doubt. Manus got whatever the other Walled Cities deigned to share; since this involved the Antinium, even the Cyclops, Chaldion, was more open. Sokkel grinned as he paged through the document.

“I think there’s a note appended to us. Bastard wrote, ‘I hope Manus enjoyed that last battle. I have no idea how Crusader 51 did that, but say hello to the next one.’”

That was so striking for…anyone to say from a Walled City. Lulv still ground his teeth together.

“Crusader 51. If you had to rate those Skills and that class consolidation, what would you put it as, Sokkel?”

The Drake hesitated.

“It was highly subjective, and we didn’t know the entire level or class—”

“Give me a straight answer. Don’t dance. Answer.”

“…[Paladin]. Or if we’re putting it into classes we field? Eh…[Arcane Spear]. Rare, high-value class. Incredible abilities defensively.”

Lulv nodded. He saw the other officers look uneasy. The Antinium had a high-value class beyond [Soldier]? That was what you didn’t want to see in the enemy. And the most striking thing of all?

The Antinium thought so, too.

Free Queen, [Ant Queen]

Dekass’ commendation of Crusader 51 struck Liscor one way. His private summary of Crusader 51’s abilities and ability to hold off Manus’ finest hit the Queens of the Antinium like an explosion.

“Squad 5. Crusader 51. Is there anything interesting about this Antinium that you knew of, Pawn? Garry?”

Both Workers summoned to stand before the Free Queen shook their heads. Garry very nervously, for the Free Queen was not alone. Pawn answered for both of them.

“No, my Queen. He was a [Crusader]. He was…very brave. I believe he had some talent with the sword.”

“To what extent would ‘talent’ qualify? Inferior to the Custodium. Quantify that ability; does it have any bearing on this [Crusader] class?”

An authoritative voice. The Free Queen clicked her mandibles irritably; the Grand Queen was listening in. However, the Grand Queen was being permitted to listen in, and that was the Free Queen’s [Crusader] who had proved his value.

Her [Crusader]. Her Antinium were dying. It bothered the Free Queen more and more. She missed Bird, too. She stuffed her face with a triple-stuffed pizza as Pawn tried to explain, but another Queen cut him off.

“It would appear that Klbkchhezeim’s statements about the Free Antinium’s potential were not exaggerated at all. Although I had supreme confidence in his words, the proof is undeniable. Even if it is one among five thousand—that is a far more acceptable gain than even Prognugator-based creation.”

The Silent Queen was fascinated by everything and demanded constant updates. The Free Queen liked her, as a fellow student of Bessachidia, the last great Shaper Queen she had known. Even if the Silent Queen thought she was superior.

“Purely random. One instance is not a statistic but an outlier.”

“Except that a [Banner Leader] has been created. And the existence of the Painted Antinium. The loss of this Crusader 51 is unfortunate.”

The Armored Queen’s dolorous tones sounded next, and the huffing Grand Queen fell silent. What she didn’t say, what they were all realizing, was that the Free Antinium were passing even the Free Queen’s wildest boasts.

“The benefit is undeniable. I still weigh it as too costly considering Xrn’s injuries. Is she well, Free Queen?”

The Grand Queen managed at last, and the Free Queen clicked her mandibles with the other Queens. She could not deny that, but she resented the fact that the Grand Queen made it a point of comparison at all.

“She is…stable, Grand Queen. I believe she will speak to you privately.”

Stable. The Grand Queen instantly changed the subject, but the other two Queens seemed less focused on her, and more on Pawn, the report.

Crusader 51, Squad 5. The Free Queen had not known his name, but it was being read through all of Liscor. She wondered…

“Pawn. What would be appropriate for the commendation of this [Crusader]? I do not know how a military commendation is to be received.”

She muted the Grand Queen as she spoke to Pawn. The Antinium looked up.

“He is dead, my Queen. I would love to honor him, but I have nothing but his name to write on the Memory Wall. Perhaps though…”

He hesitated, and looked at Garry.

“Dekass did write, um, a request. Could Crusader 51 possibly be…returned? Via the Rite of Anastases?”

The Grand Queen had heard that. She stopped speaking, and the Free Queen’s feelers moved slightly. All four Queens moved their antennae, and the Silent Queen answered.

“Individual Pawn of the Antinium. Given the nature of your…rank, you are privy to Antinium secrets. This is one which you will not divulge. However, in the interest of preserving the Free Antinium’s war strength, is it acceptable to tell him, Grand Queen…?”

“Granted.”

She answered shortly. The Silent Queen rubbed her top-most feelers together.

“The Rite of Anastases is a highly intensive process a Queen may undertake. It is costly in far more resources than are acceptable for all but Prognugators or fellow Queens…”

“Not that we could repair their bodies.”

“No. But it was considered—”

“Silence.”

That was straying too close to where the Twisted Queen’s radical thinking had gone to. The risks…but having a mobile, small body? The Free Queen saw Pawn and Garry look from Queen to Queen.

The Silent Queen hurried on.

“…It requires more than simply one or more Queen’s efforts, however. The Drakes are not aware that to preserve a life, the Antinium who perishes must be within the authority of a Queen. Within the range of a Unitasis Network or…close to a Prognugator trained in linking with a Queen.”

Pawn digested that. His antennae drooped.

“Oh. Then Crusader 51 and the others were lost. I wondered if…”

He glanced at the Free Queen.

“Could Dekass and Tersk not have done it? They were on the front—”

“Their helmets block their abilities. It is a choice made to safeguard each Armored Antinium. I may adjust their helmets. Hither to this moment…I had not considered the need.”

The Armored Queen murmured. The Free Queen looked down at Pawn and Garry. So now they knew. The Rite of Anastases was not easy to perform…nor could it be done remotely, not without a link.

If Bird died far from the Hive, he would never come back. But she had told him that. And he went.

As for Crusader 51? He was dead. The Free Queen spoke briefly.

“I will ensure Squad 5 is accorded more safety if possible. It may be there is something unique about them.”

That had no basis in anything other than the correlation. But to Antinium minds—it made sense. If there was even the remotest possibility of any of Squad 5 having a fraction of Crusader 51’s abilities…the Armored Queen spoke.

“Their numbers have been thinned. My Listeners report oddities in the war front as well. Apparently, a new Drake city has entered the battle. And…what is the status of Squad 5, Free Queen?”

The Silent Queen was watching her. The Free Queen responded, a touch irritated.

“I have remanded their leadership to Prognugator Dekass, Armored Queen. And Commander Olesm. You would do better to inquire directly.”

“Just so. But you will send more reinforcements to the Antinium division?”

The Free Queen hesitated. She rubbed her mandibles together, like gritting one’s teeth.

“It…may be difficult. The losses are such that my Hive is struggling to replenish their numbers. However, I will make all arrangements necessary.”

The Grand Queen spoke, a touch smugly.

“I will send more resources to prepare further repopulation and expansion of your Hive, Free Queen. It seems your pact with Liscor and advancement into your Free Antinium’s leveling capabilities has stymied your Hive’s capabilities in other ways.”

The Free Queen twitched. She held very still as Pawn and Garry opened their mandibles wide, and one of Garry’s helpers scuttled further back into the kitchen. Deferred Sustenance, the Free Queen’s pet Rock Crab, snapped its pincers angrily from its hutch.

Slowly, deliberately, the Free Queen looked at the Grand Queen and inclined her head in a Drake fashion.

“You are eminently correct, my Queen. Garry, I would like to eat a triple-stack vanilla cake. With strawberry frosting. Prepare it for me. And a little cake for Deferred Sustenance.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

The Queens watched as the Free Queen calmly, and with all the poise of a [Lady] tripping her rival on the way down the stairs at the yearly ball, picked up the largest barrel of boba tea ever made and took a long sip from the straw.

Eugh. Garry was a good [Chef], but he really was sort of a baking-specialist. The fruit boba did indeed grow a bit manky if you let it sit. It really needed something firmer.

Gelatin. She wondered if the Antinium’s own gel-based creations would go well in it. Probably not. Food was such a non-Antinium thing.

Vess, [Arcane Warrior]

The Antinium prisoner was quickly a source of attention in the Alliance. Half the [Soldiers] wanted to kill it instantly, which meant Velden’s crazy plan worked.

Big Yam were put on guard-duty, which meant they had to feed the Soldier, keep it safe, and were pulled off the front. In some ways, that was more stressful than fighting.

“Is it going to eat?”

The Antinium had a cracked mandible, and it looked beat up. Big Yam had not been gentle with it, and it was covered in chains and rope. Which meant it had to be fed.

The longest spoon in the world contained a wobbling bit of jellied pasta and sauce. Not pasta and sauce.

Gelatin pasta and sauce. It wobbled like the screaming soul and faith in cuisine of many [Chefs] who saw it.

They just didn’t appreciate good gelatin. Luldem’s squad watched as the Soldier looked at it, then, quite nimbly, took a portion in its mandibles, flipped its head up, and let it slide into it’s real ‘mouth’, which gobbled it down.

“I’m going to be sick.”

One of the squad muttered, but Vess couldn’t look away. Antinium actually had two mouths! Their mandibles and that opening in their face. Horrific…but it ate the gelatin pasta with every sign of enjoyment.

“Stupid thing. We should feed it dirt.”

“And let it keel over? Shut the hell up, Coloz. Are you fighting them or sitting on your tail?”

Velden watched, a hand on his halberd, as Vess gingerly fed the Soldier more.

“What’re we going to do with it?”

“Dunno. Maybe trade it for one of our prisoners? Interrogate it, probably. I hear the mercenaries are interested. But they’re just sending one of their officers. High Command says it’s looking for someone to interrogate it, too.”

Vess looked up. That wasn’t encouraging. Then again, this was no officer so it made sense. If they’d gotten the Antinium who spoke, maybe.

He kept watching it. Once they’d pulled it away from the Worker, the Soldier had begun to fight. A bit. It had struggled, trying to break free, and bit at a few boots when the kicking started.

Now? It just sat there. It looked like it was…waiting.

To die? Vess knew they were monsters, mindless things that swarmed over the enemy. The Black Tide, one of Rhir’s dooms.

It just didn’t gel with the idea of the Soldier holding his comrade. It was something Vess had seen the Alliance’s [Soldiers] do. Holding someone bleeding out, calling for a potion, trying to stem the bleeding that poison or magic refused to let potions work on.

When he’d mentioned it to Velden, the [Sergeant] had just cuffed him.

“Don’t go imagining things, Vess. It probably just lost its direction or something. I hear they do that.”

Why…then why did they have voices? Why did he think they were glaring at him across the battlefield? Why had that Worker cursed them to…hell? Rhir’s hell?

Vess didn’t know, but he realized this Antinium was important soon enough.

——

“What is your unit? Unit. U-n-i-t? This thing’s stupid, [Sergeant].”

The Soldier stared blankly at one of Big Yam, trying to interrogate it ahead of the others. Velden snorted.

“And you’re some [Interrogator]? Soldiers don’t have units, you lizard-brained idiot.”

“Oh…”

Big Yam was sitting around, relieved not to be in the soup. Apparently…it was ugly. The Antinium had taken a hell of a beating, that strange Antinium that had saved the last of the Painted Antinium or not.

However, another group had just entered the war, and everyone was talking about it.

“Yoldenites. Those idiots with helmets for brains are on Liscor’s side!”

Some of the Luldem veterans were swearing a blue streak. The Drisshians—the closest city to Yolden—were livid.

“Why is Yolden with Liscor?”

Vess had met a few of them, when they weren’t at war. Velden shrugged.

“Who knows? They’ve always been weird. They don’t have a proper city, they do that stupid call—‘Yaydee Ray’ or whatever. And they’ll help themselves to anything while walking about in their stupid helmets. Inbred idiots.”

Vess had the distinct impression the Soldier was listening to them. So they didn’t have to feed it, they’d instead chained the Soldier’s legs, torso, and neck. It could move its two arms on its left side and move about. Well, about three feet given how many different chains were on it.

It didn’t blink, and the antennae waved, but not much else moved. The Soldier didn’t have pupils, but Vess still thought it was looking at him. He shuddered.

“What’re they doing, the Yoldenites?”

——

“Yayde Re~! Hey Heckies! Have a taste of this!”

The odd warning call was something Yoldenites said to each other from afar. It was like saying ‘hello’, or simply, ‘I’m here’.

Three hundred Yoldenites on ponies all shouted it down at the Alliance—then began whirling slings and tossing stones down at the Drakes and Gnolls. The instant the Alliance pivoted to attack them, the Yoldenites were retreating, showering their pursuers with stones.

They were obnoxious enemies and had adapted their tactics to battle Drisshia’s heavy infantry. Worse—the Yoldenites put the same helmets on their ponies and turned it into full-body armor—from the top. They would cheerfully engage in any ranged warfare with their enemies, and as the saying went—you couldn’t kill a Yoldenite from above.

Some people uncharitably called them ‘mountain Lizards’ after the cheerfully obnoxious Lizardfolk of Baleros. The difference between Yolden and Lizardfolk was…Yoldenites were still Drakes.

They were unused to the intensity of the battle between Hectval and Liscor. The first time they saw a Hectval line of crossbows open up on them, the Yoldenites experienced fairly significant casualties. They also tried to take a group of Luldem [Soldiers] prisoner and ended up in a close-quarters fight as the enraged [Soldiers] refused to give up until half their number were down.

In response, the Yoldenites waited until the Alliance was marching down a pass and then collapsed an entire shelf onto them, burying over a hundred and fifty [Soldiers] alive.

——

Over two thousand entered Liscor’s war, mostly as skirmishers harassing the Alliance or appearing to flank their foes from hilltops, where their slings did the most damage. They were hardly the hammer, but they were distracting and, most of all, demoralizing. Apparently, they were threatening one of Drisshia’s mines, and their city wanted to pull back and fight Yolden, which prompted accusations that Drisshia was abandoning the real battle where the most deaths were occuring.

Vess and Velden were discussing the issue when the Soldier’s rock pinged off one of Big Yam’s helmets. It missed the Drake’s eye, and the [Soldier] recoiled, shielding his face.

“You damn—”

Instantly, the squad began hurling everything in sight back at it. Velden had to yank people back, and the Soldier, covered in dirt and bleeding from multiple scratches, was re-chained at once.

“It tried to hit Dosel in the eye! You saw that! We have to kill it.”

“Just wait. The longer it takes to find someone to interrogate it, the more we sit around. Chain it back up.”

Velden panted, but Vess felt his scales crawl. There was something…cheerfully malicious about the Soldier. It seemed like it was hungry now, because it snapped its mandibles and turned its head to stare at the food tin.

“I’m going to—”

Dosel got up, and Velden grabbed his shoulder. Vess rose and picked up the tin and the spoon. He approached the Soldier.

“You. What’s your name?”

The Soldier stiffened. Vess offered it another spoon of gelatin pasta.

“You get food if you tell us something. What’s your name? Otherwise you can eat dirt.”

Did they eat dirt? Vess watched as the Soldier’s antennae waved wildly. Then he saw it try to wiggle.

“Vess—careful—”

The [Arcane Warrior] reached for his wand, but to his surprise, he saw the Soldier’s bound hands move.

It had stumpy ‘fingers’ more like stubs. They turned into terrifying, sharp fists, and could probably tear through dirt like miniature shovels. However, the Soldier slowly moved his arms and opened one hand completely—and raised three fingers on the other.

Five. And three.

Only Vess saw it. He frowned.

“…Thirty-five?”

The Soldier’s antennae waved frantically and he shook his head. Vess tried again.

“Eight? Three and five. No? The other way around? Fifty-three?”

The Soldier went still. Then he nodded.

Fifty-three. Big Yam looked at each other, and Velden exclaimed.

“What kind of a name is that? Do they just give Antinium numbers?”

“I thought they didn’t have names.”

53 stared at Vess and opened and closed its mandibles. Vess offered it a spoon, and Dosel slapped it away. The gelatin pasta went into the dirt.

“Don’t give it anything.”

“Aw, come on. I was interrogating—”

“Wait for the interrogators. Don’t feed it. We’re chopping its head off anyways. You hear that? Come on. I can’t stand to look at it.”

Vess backed away, and he saw the Soldier staring at the tin of food. However, the squad was riled up, so Vess closed it and walked back. He saw 53 wiggle…then fall over. Happily, the Antinium began to eat the bit of food off the ground.

“Look at it. It doesn’t even think. I bet it doesn’t even know it’s going to die.”

Vess doubted that. He thought the Soldier knew exactly that it was going to die. That was why it had thrown the rock. Still, that one morsel of information didn’t mean much. 53? It was just a number.

What he didn’t expect was what that number did. Big Yam had custody of 53 for just over three weeks of blessed inaction while High Command sourced an ‘expert’. However, everything changed after one big battle. And 53’s name took on another, unexpected meaning.

——

“Officer approaching!”

Big Yam snapped to attention as a Drake strode into their camp. He actually beat one of the grim-faced Drakes from Hectval.

“Consultant Sokkel. We already have someone in place to deal with this…captive Antinium. I thought you said that it wasn’t of interest to you?”

One of Luldem’s officers was walking with the [Strategist] that apparently gave orders even to High Command. Vess saw the Drake snap back.

“That was the case this morning. Now I want to speak with it. Opinions change. Captain Yulre will want to speak with this Antinium too, once he returns from his engagement.”

Big Yam listened as Sokkel approached the Antinium. He peered at it, frowned around, and then cursed.

“…Or not. I thought you said you identified this thing as 53? Fifty-three…who was that?”

“Sir! Corporal Vess, Big Yam squad! Luldem command, sir!”

Velden barked, and Vess stepped forwards nervously. The [Strategist] eyed him, and one of the [Majors] huffed.

“We have an [Interrogator] ready to…glean any facts about the enemy front, [Strategist] Sokkel. Believe me, we’ll be thorough.”

He meant torture. Vess looked uncertainly at Velden, and Sokkel’s brows rose. He looked at the [Major], at the Soldier, and rolled his eyes.

“An interrogator. Ancestors save me. You, Corporal. How did you learn this Antinium’s designation?”

The Soldier was eying Sokkel. It had heard about the [Interrogator], but it still hadn’t moved. Vess gulped.

“I, uh, offered to feed it if it told me its name, sir.”

“You asked its name.”

Sokkel’s voice was flat. He looked at Vess like the younger Drake was an idiot. The [Major] glared, mostly because the [Strategist] was ignoring him.

The mercenaries and Sokkel were not well-loved in the Alliance, for all they won battles. They were elitist, kept to themselves, and, Vess was sure, looked down on the Alliance. So Vess bristled.

“I was just hunting for information, sir. I got its name. It was holding up fingers. It even nods and shakes its head.”

“Fingers…interesting. And it can nod or shake its head?”

Sokkel rubbed at his chin. He still regarded Big Yam as if they were a load of idiots.

“You see? There’s valuable intelligence to be had. Our [Interrogators]…”

Sokkel interrupted the [Major] briskly.

“Call them off. Captain Yulre will arrive as soon as he can, and we’ll take the prisoner.”

“You can’t do that! It is the Alliance’s prisoner. We will share any intelligence—”

“How? By torturing the Antinium with hot pokers? Giving it [Detect Truth] spells? Refusing to feed it? Asking it its name? You’ve never dealt with Antinium as prisoners, have you?”

The [Strategist] was so contemptuous that all the others looked at him. He shook his head slowly.

“The Walled Cities captured countless Antinium during both Antinium Wars. They refused to talk under extreme duress. This one…”

He glanced at 53, and the Soldier clicked at him. Sokkel raised his brows.

“This might be different. That’s on us for not considering it.”

“Ah, so you admit you were wrong. Gratifying to hear for once! Our vaunted [Strategist] can make a mistake.”

The [Major] snapped back, clearly at the end of whatever issue he had with Sokkel himself. Sokkel’s flat glare made him back up.

“Yes, well. Courageous as your squad was for capturing the Antinium Soldier, [Major]…I very much doubt any other unit from a city would try that. Much less try to interrogate an Antinium Soldier. They can’t talk. They’re physically incapable of it.”

Vess’ mouth opened. The [Major] hesitated.

“…Oh.”

The look Sokkel gave him as he strode off to head off the [Interrogator] made Vess convinced that the [Strategist] had better not walk around Luldem’s camps at night, especially Big Yam, or he’d find out just how much they appreciated his attitude.

However, all this meant that 53 was now even more valuable, and the angry [Major] told Velden to guard him and wait…for the Gnoll [Spearmaster].

Apparently, he was on another battlefield, so it would be tomorrow when he arrived. Big Yam grumbled, but secretly, everyone probably hoped they’d have to guard the Soldier all the time. It beat fighting for sure.

“I’ll feed it.”

Vess announced after they had enjoyed their supper.

“It won’t die if it misses a meal…oh, fine.”

Grumpily, some of the squad watched as he approached. This time, Vess just pushed the tin over and saw the Soldier roll over and begin awkwardly eating out of the tin.

“What’s important about 53? Why did that [Strategist] kick up a fuss? You can’t answer, huh? Why are the Antinium fighting in Liscor’s war? Why are they attacking us?”

Vess squatted by the Soldier, and 53 looked up at him. His antennae waved vaguely, then he went back to picking out bits of sausage.

“You started this war! Why are you—”

Vess wanted to kick the Soldier and knew it would be like kicking a rock. The [Arcane Warrior] balled his claws into fists. He saw the Soldier look up from the tin and click at him.

Just once. The Soldier did it again as Vess jumped.

“Think it’s swearing at you? Go ahead and kick it; we won’t tell.”

Vess ignored that. He glared at 53.

“You bastards did this. If not for you, we’d all be at home.”

Click, click. The Soldier did it twice, snapping its mandibles together. And then he shook his head, deliberately, side to side. Vess…hesitated.

“What?”

53 just stared up at him. But the double-click sounded…deliberate. And he’d just…Vess hesitated, glanced over his shoulder. No one was listening.

“This is Liscor’s fault. You attacked first.”

53 shook his head back and forth repeatedly. Vess kept blinking at him.

“Is that…no? Did Hectval start it?”

Click. And he nodded his head once.

The Drake’s eyes widened. He looked towards Velden—then hesitated. The [Sergeant] and Big Yam weren’t very willing to investigate the Antinium. So he lowered his voice and went on.

“Wait. Liscor started it…maybe Hectval argued, but Liscor marched their army into Hectval’s lands first. Right?”

A shake of the head, impatient. The mandibles clicked twice. Was that code for ‘no’?

“Hectval started it.”

Click. Nod.

“Are you actually saying yes? Does one click mean yes?”

Click. Nod again.

“Uh…uh…your name is 53?”

Click.

“The sky is green.”

The Soldier turned his head up, stared at the orange glow among the High Passes and setting sun, and clicked twice. He seemed to enjoy that, more than shaking or nodding his head. Perhaps it was easier, trussed up as he was.

He also had a different kind of neck, so perhaps nodding or shaking his head was harder. Either way, Vess began…well, arguing with it. Interrogating it. Playing a game.

“Hectval did something?”

Click.

“But I heard…is that why the Antinium fought? Or is it because of something else?”

A long stare. Which question am I answering, stupid?

“Is what Hectval did the reason the Antinium fought?”

Click.

“What’d they do?”

Stare. 53 buried his face in his tin of food. Vess grew angry.

“What am I saying? You’re not people. You probably just fought because your Queen made you. You don’t know—”

Click-click. The muffled sound within the tin made Vess stop. Still munching on the gelatin, Crusader 53 looked up.

“No way.”

Vess breathed, and someone else murmured.

“Indeed. This is the most valuable find so far. And here I thought this wretched war wouldn’t have me send anything back to the Emir. A dead [Innkeeper], children guarded…but this is fascinating.”

Vess jumped, whirled, and saw a Drake standing there, with a bevy of Stitch-folk with collars around their necks and cloth armor staring at 53. The Antinium Soldier went still, gazed at Cubol the [Slaver], and then went back to eating. Big Yam got to their feet.

——

“I would like to buy that Soldier. I will pay you now for it.”

His name was Cubol. He was from Roshal. He sold [Slaves].

Vess had never met a [Slaver]. He’d heard some people owned [Slaves], but it was a super-wealthy thing. He wasn’t really comfortable with the idea.

However, he’d seen Cubol in camp and heard they were supposed to take prisoners for that—until High Command changed their minds.

It had caused a huge fuss, actually. A lot of [Soldiers] had been for it—and some vocally against. Cubol had left—or so Vess had thought.

This was his first time meeting the Drake, and Cubol was rich. He had a ring on every claw-finger, silk garments, and an odd tattoo of scales on his right claw. When he smiled, it seldom reached his eyes.

When the smile did touch his eyes, it was because they were filled with true, avid interest. Like someone staring at a valuable object.

That was the smile he had for 53. However, he wanted the Soldier now.

“I understand a commanding officer is going to look at him tomorrow, sir. You’ll have to go to him.”

“Ah, the ‘Mercenary Captain’, Yulre.”

Cubol’s smile turned into a frown, and one of the bodyguards, who was a [Slave], spat.

“I don’t believe he will be amenable…no indeed. I would prefer to take 53 now, [Sergeant] Velden. I will pay you handsomely.”

The [Veteran Sergeant] hesitated. He looked around, but none of Luldem’s officers were nearby.

“You’d have to speak to our [Major], Slaver…”

“No, no. Sergeant, I don’t believe you and your squad heard me. I would like to purchase the prisoner you have…now. And when the Gnoll comes, he will not find me. Or the Antinium. And I am prepared to compensate you all for this issue.”

That was when the bag of gold coins came out, and all of Big Yam caught on to what was happening. A handful of gold coins spilled into Cubol’s claw.

Fat gold coins. With Roshal’s insignia on them, the scales—but they weren’t balanced. They were weighted on one end, and there was a bag and…hand…on either scale.

But the gold was real. Vess knew that some currencies had different standards. These looked like they were a bit bigger than your average gold coin.

Velden gulped.

“I…think you are trying to bribe a [Soldier] of the Luldem-Drisshia-Hectval Alliance, sir.”

“I very much think I am. Before you do anything drastic, [Sergeant], let me do something.”

Eight gold coins, more pay than Vess would earn in the entire war, even as a [Corporal]—Vess and Velden and half the squad combined even at veteran pay, even for all of the fighting—fell into Velden’s claw. The Drake nearly tried to offer it back, but Cubol closed his claw around it.

“That isn’t a bribe, Sergeant. That is a gift. A gift such as Roshal tends to give out freely. That is a gift. Now—let us talk what I would pay for. And pay very dearly for, at that.”

He could retire on that. He could retire or give his family…he could quit this war tomorrow.

Vess’ mouth was open. Cubol looked around, and Big Yam all focused on him like a beam of light.

“Enough for everyone here, I might add. Or should I regretfully turn myself in to your [Major] for discussions?”

“I…”

“Velden.”

Vess whispered, but the [Sergeant] was hypnotized by the gold coins in his claw. He was not a bad [Sergeant]. He took care of Vess, taught him…

But that gold was like a magic of its own. The [Sergeant] put the coins into his pouch and looked around, a strange gleam in his eyes.

A Skill? Or was it just Cubol?

“Someone go make sure no officer’s on patrol. Why don’t we sit down? Less noticeable that way. We can’t just give up a prisoner, sir. That’d be obvious.”

Cubol sat down. Vess wanted to grab Velden, but Big Yam slowly spread out, hiding the [Slaver]’s entourage, the same gleam in their eyes as Velden.

It reminded Vess of his Hoarding years. He felt his own claw shaking. Gold. I’ve never seen so much—

He wasn’t a hatchling! He was a [Soldier] who had signed up to make money and fight the enemy. Vess clenched his claw, fighting with himself—and he realized he was the only one. Some [Soldiers] looked apprehensive, but Cubol?

Maybe it was a Skill. Vess was the lone magic-user. Maybe it was a charm spell? He would be resistant to that. His head snapped up, and he stared at the Drake’s claws.

But he couldn’t prove anything; he wasn’t good enough to identify what the Drake was doing.

“I don’t suggest you lose your command, [Sergeant]. I very much doubt I could compensate all of Luldem’s finest for the disgrace…but accidents happen. If, say, this Gnoll were to come tomorrow and find a Soldier in your command—tragically dead—he would be very upset. But if it were to have attacked you all, and you had to defend yourselves—”

“Velden, you can’t be thinking of this. We’ll be in so much trouble. The officers aren’t idiots—”

“Vess, shut up. I’m talking here.”

The [Sergeant] snapped at Vess. Cubol glanced over at Vess, and the Drake saw the [Slaver] smile.

“No, no. I realize I am asking a lot. Let me just…”

He leaned over and counted his coins. A flashing gemstone fell into his lap as he spilled more coins out.

“Gold is such a heavy thing to carry. But I find the value of certain objects is worth more. One must exchange them, but you can hide such things more easily. The worth of this opal, for instance…a hundred and fourteen gold coins.”

Big Yam stared at the shining gemstones with a core of glittering magic in each. Vess was transfixed as well—and he never realized that some of Big Yam were looking at him out of the corner of their eyes.

Cubol kept talking, and Vess realized too late that they should have called for a [Major] the moment he appeared. The moment he sat down, it had been too late. He realized the danger they were in as soon as Velden began asking where they might find a Soldier’s body, and someone got up.

He realized he was in danger far too late.

Crusader 53, [Maceman]

Crusader 53 was a Level 18 [Maceman]. And a Level 15 [Crusader]. There was a difference.

He liked to hit things.

It was not that he did not have wrath for Hectval, did not believe in Heaven, or did not weary at the horrors of war.

But he also liked to hit things.

Crusader 51 was different. He had liked bugs. He had been sad. Crusader 53 was also sad. Theophilus was dead. Jerimy was dead.

Hectval had to pay.

However, Crusader 53 had stayed with his squad. He had to. They needed him, someone who could hit people trying to kill them. Even angry little 57 and the others. Crusader 51 drew away because they died.

Crusader 53 tried to hug them with his two arms so they wouldn’t leave him again.

Now, he was going to die.

He knew it. It didn’t matter if it was ‘Vess’, the Drake with the wand, or this Cubol, or whomever was coming to interrogate him. He was dead.

It was fine. Crusader 53 had outlived everyone. Everyone except 51, and he was gone, now. He had seen Theophilus and the Painted Antinium and Jerimy die and…gone. 53 had seen something break.

——

He watched as the [Slaver] turned the squad. Convinced them to sell him. And kill Vess. Crusader 53 would have warned Vess if he had but words, but the younger Drake didn’t see it coming.

His [Sergeant] was no Calruz. Perhaps the older Drake might have stopped it, but the [Slaver] was smart. He had nearly convinced Big Yam, but for Vess, and he offered Velden a drink.

The Drake began getting drowsy at once. Maybe…some of the other [Soldiers] saw the powder one of Cubol’s bodyguards put into the cup for Velden.

But they never stopped him. They watched Vess as the [Arcane Warrior] shook Velden’s shoulder.

“I believe the [Sergeant] is tired. Do we have an accord?”

The [Slaver] rose, and Big Yam looked up. Vess rose too, a claw on his wand.

“You’ve poisoned him. You’re using some kind of charm on your ring. I’m not blind. I can see it. Everyone—”

He flicked his wand out and aimed it at Cubol, pointing the tip straight between the Drake’s eyes. The [Slaver] didn’t flinch. He just smiled, and someone clicked.

Crusader 53 saw Vess glance at him—then twist as one of his squadmates grabbed at his arm.

“What are you—no!”

A flash of magic. Just one flash—and he was down. Pinned. Cubol nodded and stood up.

“I understand this is very difficult for you all. If you don’t object—I will have one of my people bear this terrible burden.”

Big Yam were panting as one of his bodyguards unsheathed a sword. Vess began to scream, but someone had his jaw clamped shut.

Crusader 53 watched all of this.

You are are all bound for Hell. Theophilus was right.

He couldn’t move. He didn’t have [Faith is My Strength]. They had said the Painted Antinium had come…and been killed.

It was all so bitter. Cubol was watching him, not even paying attention to the screaming [Arcane Warrior] as the [Slave] strode over, blade poised. The Drake was smiling at the Antinium.

“I have so many questions to ask. The Emir will too. He may regard you as one of the finest…no, we’ll see.”

Crusader 53 smiled back. Wherever he went, whatever they did…he had no fear.

Heaven waited. And if he had his beloved mace, he would hit Cubol harder than anything had ever been hit before.

Vess looked up, and Crusader 53 saw his eyes go wide. A muffled sound escaped his lips, but his fellow [Soldiers] had lost their minds. This war had damaged them. They didn’t know why they were fighting, 53 realized. They had nothing to dream of but death.

He felt sorry for them. The Stitch-man raised his sword.

Someone clicked softly as the sword plunged down.

Crusader 53 looked up. Hm?

Who had said that?

The [Slaver], Cubol, looked around in the sudden silence. He turned and saw the [Slave] frozen, sword mid-stab.

“Goliepe, what are you…?”

The Drake trailed off as he saw the red, sticky strings and the…gap…in the Stitch-man’s torso. The warrior looked down with everyone as a thin, red line appeared, and a strange opening separated his chest and ribs from the lower half of his body.

The lower half dropped soundlessly. Everyone’s eyes locked onto the red blood as the legs of the [Slave] turned to cloth. Vess’ eyes were wide with incomprehension.

What was—?

Something was there. Something had just snapped the Stitch-man in two. No—it was a perfect cut.

Two things whispered now, blood trailing off the delicate blades. A pair of arms uncrossed, and something shimmered.

Like the colors a rainbow made off a bubble of soap. That was what the entire Antinium’s body looked like. It shimmered—and the faint outline of a scuttling, camouflaged Antinium, perfectly melded with the landscape, scuttled sideways.

Only the moving flecks of blood gave it away. Its chitin morphed so perfectly it was like a chameleon.

Natural invisibility.

The Silent Antinium clicked, and Big Yam’s shout of horror never came. A second pair of scythe-arms whispered, and the giant cross between mantis and ant swept a second deathly pair of scythe-arms together. It materialized behind another [Slave], and a third cut one of the Drakes on sentry duty apart.

Vess looked up as a Drake went down, split from shoulder to hip by a blade sharper than any sword he had ever seen. Cubol reacted faster than anyone else.

“Silent Antinium! Guard me! Sound the alarm! Sound—”

He ran left as Big Yam exploded into screams. Confusion! The [Slaver] leapt left as a wall of fire bloomed around him. He was reaching for a scroll at his belt—

When he slammed into something. The Drake bounced off and realized, as several shapes scuttled around him—

They were all around them. The confused screaming of Big Yam alerted the camp, but no one knew what was happening. A [Major] stumbled out of his tent.

“What’s going on? Where are the sentries? Night officer! Where’s…?”

No one knew.

Least of all Crusader 53. He recoiled as a giant, foreign insect materialized and scuttled over to him. He stared up.

What are you? What are you? Aaah! Aaaaah!

Only when a scythe-arm delicately descended and cut one of his chains free did he realize—

He was being rescued. And Vess?

Lulv, [Spearmaster]

The Gnoll knew something was wrong when Luldem’s forces didn’t challenge him. This was one of their permanent outposts well behind the front. He raised his paw, and the force of Manus’ [Soldiers] who’d ridden through the night slowed.

“No sentries. I smell blood. Guards up. Message High Command and Sokkel. Get me two Wyverns overhead.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Gnoll realized it was over before he got within a thousand paces of the camp. He could smell the blood.

He saw the carnage, and someone swore too-loudly in the quiet dawn.

Insects were everywhere. Not Antinium…but it had been them. Buzzing little creatures…

“So many fucking ants. Small ones, I mean. Damn it.”

Someone cursed as the Manus squad slowly advanced around Lulv. His hair was standing on end.

Slaughtered where they stood. This wasn’t a battle. This had been a one-sided ambush. He thought he knew…it was when he saw the razor-clean cuts that he was certain.

“Movement!”

Everyone snapped up, and Lulv whirled his spear—lowering when he saw a Drake wandering towards them.

“They came out of nowhere. They…they wanted 53.”

Vess stumbled across the ground, looking blank and white as a sheet. The [Arcane Warrior] didn’t have his wand or sword. He just walked around, past the dead bodies. Everyone had been slaughtered.

They’d left the Drake as a message. Classic tactics from the last war.

“Silent Antinium.”

Lulv saw Vess look blankly at them.

“They—they were invisible. The [Slaver] was going to buy 53. Then my squad tried to kill me. Sir?”

He was babbling. Lulv growled. He understood enough from that, though.

That damn—

“They took the Soldier? Where? Where was the [Slaver]?”

“There. There…”

Vess pointed aimlessly back to a hill. Lulv cursed. He turned his head. Then he hesitated as he looked around at his squad.

“Tell Sokkel…we’ve got Silent Antinium. Tell him the Dragonspeaker’s going to breathe frost out of both ends over this.”

One of the [Soldiers] lifted a paw to her ear where a little earring speaking-stone was pinned. Her eyes locked onto Lulv—

And she ducked the swing of the Silent Antinium’s scythe-arms. Lulv stabbed the one next to him.

“Ambush! Move!”

Dragonspeaker Luciva breathed lightning, not frost. Forewarned, Manus’ squad exploded into action. They whirled—and the Silent Antinium materialized.

Dozens of them. Lulv speared another one, deflecting a slash from one arm. Their arms were equivalent to enchanted blades! But—brittle—

“Spear art! Run! Don’t stop! Engage your emergency spells! Run!”

Lulv shouted. Vess was screaming. He curled up as the Silent Antinium, who had been waiting to ambush him, swarmed the [Soldiers]. Lulv’s spear howled as the Gnoll stabbed left, right—

But he had to run. A cut almost took off one arm. Six [Soldiers] were already dead. He wanted to grab the Drake boy—but there was no time.

Manus’ squad broke free, running as two Wyverns dropped out of cover. Spells blasted the landscape, but the Silent Antinium were already retreating. And they had learned how to foil [Detect Life] spells. Lulv barked into his speaking stone amid the confusion of voices.

“The Silent Antinium have entered Liscor’s war! All forces, watch for ambushes! Get me a line to Manus.”

His worst fears were coming true. More high-value targets had entered the war…but more than that?

It meant the Antinium thought there was something worth fighting for. Lulv realized it later.

They’d attacked this camp not because it was a priority, but to rescue a single Soldier.

Then he began to sweat.

Olesm, [Commander]

The return of Crusader 53 came on a day when Olesm’s senses as a [Commander], a [Strategist], hummed.

“Artur. Get Dekass. I need a word.”

He was looking around his camp. Olesm made a sign to one of his [Tacticians], and the Gnoll went pale. She silently began to raise the alarm—but over what?

It was just a feeling. Dekass reported in quickly.

“Yes, Commander Olesm?”

“Is anything…off today, Dekass?”

There was just the slightest pause. Olesm would have first guessed it had something to do with Captain Voita and the Yoldenites who had joined his forces, but his instincts said Dekass.

“No, sir.”

“Hm. I’m inspecting your camp. Anything eventful happen?”

“Our reinforcements have arrived as requested, sir. Four hundred and eighty-two, to replenish the losses.”

The bad battle after the Painted Antinium had been nearly wiped out had apparently taxed even Liscor’s Free Hive. Olesm was surprised that they’d mustered the numbers and gotten them here so quickly.

Then he was suspicious as he strode into the Antinium division. New Soldiers and Workers were filing into camp, being arranged into squads. Groups like Squad 5, who needed to replace Crusader 51, 53, and a few others welcomed the Antinium…sort of.

“Sit dOwN. You’re wearing your pack wrong, stupid.”

Crusader 57 roughly yanked a new Worker down and slapped their armor—but the other Antinium were doing the same. It was a thing [Soldiers] did, teaching the new ones.

Dekass reported to Olesm in person.

“Is something wrong, sir?”

Commander Olesm Swifttail glanced at Dekass. That settled it.

“Dekass, you lie as well as Mrsha. What’s…”

And then he saw it. Olesm’s eyes narrowed to points, he recoiled, swore, and looked at Dekass. The Armored Prognugator stared back at him as innocently as possible.

“Yes, Commander?”

It would have fooled the Alliance—maybe. Or your average Liscorian. But even the regular [Soldiers] had realized it. Olesm? He studied the Workers and Soldiers.

They had armor. They were clearly new, clearly the next to fight in the Antinium division. However…their armor didn’t seem patched up. Their gear was noticeably different, not a mismatch of weapons to arm them.

These weren’t Free Antinium. They were Armored Antinium.

Indeed, the [Crusaders] mixing with the Armored Antinium realized it too, and there was a shock as Workers and Soldiers, almost mindlessly obeying orders, ran into the personality of the [Crusaders]. Olesm looked at Dekass. The Prognugator innocently adjusted his helmet.

“I would like to report that a missing Soldier has also appeared, Commander Olesm. Crusader 53 has miraculously escaped imprisonment. He is unable to give a report on how this happened.”

“Crusader 53? From where?”

“A Luldem camp behind enemy lines.”

Olesm’s eyes narrowed.

“He just…happened to escape an enemy camp, made his way here, and report to you?”

“Yes, sir. Please ignore all other reports or commentary on strange occurrences on the battlefield.”

The Drake and Antinium locked gazes until Dekass was fiddling with a helmet strap. Olesm smiled brightly.

“Take me to him.”

“Sir? That is not necessary. He is a Soldier. He cannot speak. Artur, do not—Artur?”

Olesm strode over to Squad 5. The new Crusader 51 sat, not sure why they were all staring so at him. In fact…Crusader 57 was snapping.

“You are not Crusader 51. He is dead. You. Pick another name.”

The Soldier froze. He was Armored Antinium. Name? Name? Did they just ask?

nAMe? hE wAs—

A hand slapped his helmet. The Soldier froze.

“hEY, mORoN. ShUt uP. Pick a name and deal with it.”

The Aberration hissed at him. Totally confused, the Soldier looked up as a Drake strode over.

Enemy? He began to rise, remembered his orders, and sat still.

“Crusader 53?”

A Soldier with two arms and a cheerful, brand-spanking-new enchanted mace raised two hands. Crusader 53 stood and saluted Olesm. The [Commander] eyed him as Dekass ran after him.

“Crusader 53 is very tired. He must rest. Nothing is wrong. You saw nothing, Crusader 53. Nothing, as you single-handedly vanquished an entire enemy camp and came here.”

Olesm ignored Dekass. He looked Crusader 53 up and down.

“It’s good to see you, soldier. I’m glad you survived imprisonment. I am going to recommend your squad for a vacation. Crusader 51…was a hero.”

Everyone nodded. Crusader 53 nodded as well, slowly. He lowered his hands and his head. Olesm looked at the others.

“He was. And I will make sure his sacrifice means something. The war is changing. Yolden’s on our side. It also seems we won’t lack for reinforcements, will we, Dekass?”

He pointedly gazed over his shoulder. Dekass hesitated.

“I can neither confirm nor deny the veracity of that statement, sir. Incidentally—and this is related to nothing—how well does Mrsha lie?”

“Poorly. Crusader 53? Just one question. Nod or shake your head. Do we have Silent Antinium?”

The [Crusader] nodded happily. Olesm sighed.

“I knew it.”

Dekass was trying to figure out how to lie his way out of this one, and then the Armored Prognugator seemed to give up. He tapped Olesm on the shoulder.

“Would now be a good time to tell you about our prisoner, sir? I believe the Silent…er, the not-Silent Antinium took him as food rations or because Crusader 53 said so.”

And that was how Olesm met Vess, shivering, waiting for death.

“I don’t want to fight. Please. Sir! I just want to go home.”

A young Drake looked up as the [Commander] eyed a patch of air, swatted at it, and recoiled. A Drake not much older than him, but somehow far older at the same time, knelt. He looked at Vess, and there was little kind about his gaze.

But his claw was gentle as he reached out and touched Vess.

“I know. Don’t worry. I’m going to send you home.”

Vess, [Arcane Warrior]

In the days after that, the war went on. The mercenaries under Captain Yulre received reinforcements, and the Alliance learned to fear the darkness, or even daylight when they weren’t fighting, as much as the battles.

It was coming to…an end. Or, at least, that front was. There was no front that stretched across three wings now. Instead, the Alliance was pulling back its lines because the right had been completely overrun, and Liscor had built a giant dirt-and-stone fortress where they could sally from.

Vess didn’t see any of it. He just heard these things, because the Drake [Commander] of Liscor’s armed forces, Olesm Swifttail, was as good as his word.

Vess went home.

Not immediately. Not right away. He actually spent one week in Olesm’s camp, even visited Liscor with Squad 5 and other Antinium and [Soldiers] on break.

Not with them, mind you; he was a prisoner. Yet Olesm took Vess on a tour of the camps, parts of Liscor. He had a long talk with Vess and nearly eighty other prisoners he gathered up.

Mostly young men and women. Gnolls from Hectval were figured among that number, and Olesm told them they were going to their cities.

“I’ve made a deal with your High Command. You don’t appear on the front lines again. You go home…and tell them what you saw here.”

That was how they left Lookout Lookout Hill, which was developing a new name as the bloody front of Liscor’s war with the Alliance. Vess had no idea of the battles between Liscor’s [Negotiators] or Olesm fighting for this result.

He thought it was kindness. It had certainly felt that way. Kindness and…

——

Luldem’s gates opened up to fanfare. Vess hadn’t expected that. People turned, some dusty from harvesting gickel roots, having hurried into the gates.

Gickel, the big farms of it, and the heavy amount of livestock, for Luldem’s gelatin. Vess smelled the thick, heavy odor like faintly edible chalk that clung to the roots before they were cleaned, dried, and ground up for the gelatin.

The air was so soft. The sky never looked so…beautiful.

And tragic. He would never forget Big Yam or Velden. The [Sergeant] had died in his sleep, a single stab wound in his heart.

He couldn’t forgive the Antinium for that. However…it was not them that Vess was angriest about.

“Our brave heroes from the front! Vess, a [Corporal] and [Arcane Warrior]!”

The Councilmembers singled him out because of his class. He saw them, adorned in their customary outfits of poofy clothing. Thick, like a comforting bowl of gelatin soup you had to work at to even get a slice of.

His Council was so unlike Liscor’s. He shook the claws of each Councilmember, and his family was crying and waving at him.

And Vess? He looked at Councilmember Saiyl and wondered if he knew that Hectval had assassinated an [Innkeeper] after they’d been kicked out of Liscor.

Or did they know?

Vess was burning to tell someone. He had to. This war—the Council had to call on the Watch to stop people from mobbing him, begging to know if they’d seen their loved ones. He wanted to shout it.

This war could end tomorrow if Luldem stopped backing Hectval. Vess realized that the Council might know, but no one else even knew that two more Antinium Hives were in the war. They had no idea that the front was a bloodbath—all they heard was what the army told them.

“I’m…tired.”

That was all Vess said to begin with. He kept staring up at the sky. And he wondered if the Antinium thought it was beautiful too. That was what the one who talked claimed. And why would he lie?

Relc, [Trusted Sergeant]

After three months, after he visited the inn and had a meal with his best bud, Klbkch, Relc Grasstongue heard about the war.

Or, to be more precise, the war found him.

“Guardsman…is that Senior Guardsman Relc? Hey! Hey!”

Relc turned as he and Klbkch were walking down the street. They weren’t on duty, but habits never changed.

“Huh?”

A Drake was waving at him. A Drake in a squad.

Relc recognized it instantly. It was the walk. They moved together, unconsciously, just like they’d fought and died and bled together. They looked around Liscor like children, taking everything in again.

And like people who’d just realized everything bled and died. However, the smiles were real. A Drake whom Relc had never met before grinned at him.

“Jordes. Squad Leader Jordes, Significant Beavers.”

Klbkch tilted his head, and someone laughed.

“We’re not in the army, Jordes!”

“Oh—right.”

“I get it. Nice squad name.”

This was not his army, but he knew it. They even talked like…Klbkch murmured.

“Ah, the war front. I must inquire about it too.”

Significant Beavers were on vacation. They’d drawn a lucky straw…which might have been less lucky since they were escorting a wide-eyed squad of Antinium with them.

Buying souvenirs, showing them around the city. It was the most striking thing Relc had seen. Squad 5 had minders and…

“You can return from the front? You lucky bastards!”

He feigned a punch at Jordes’ arm, and the Drake grinned.

“Perks of the magic door. I’m glad. It’s been…soup.”

“Soup?”

Relc nodded at Klbkch. Another [Soldier] term. The Antinium was inspecting Squad 5 and Significant Beavers, and they were inspecting him. None carried their weapons aside from maybe daggers…aside from the Worker with a zweihander on one shoulder.

“That’s right. It’s good to see you, Senior Guardsman. Are you going to join up? I thought you left the city.”

“I did. I came back. I should…you should tell me about it. Listen, I was just catching up with Klbkch here, but you’re on the front? Do you know Wing Commander Embria?”

“4th Company? Of course! Wait, isn’t she…?”

Relc was more and more interested in talking with Significant Beavers, but, as always, the infamous Relc-Klbkch duo were causing trouble.

In this case, it was Senior Guardsman Klbkch who started it. He pointed at Crusader 57.

“Carrying that weapon openly is an act of aggression if not an adventurer or civilian moving about to a set purpose such as transport. Worker, you will stow that blade now.”

“FuCK yOu, Klbkch.”

Crusader 57 raised his middle finger instantly. Relc’s blood chilled at the sudden, familiar, warbling tones.

Klbkch drew his swords so fast that Relc barely saw them. He would have diced Crusader 57—except that all of Squad 5 drew their weapons too. A friendly Crusader 53 raised a mace, and Klbkch looked at them incredulously.

“What?”

Relc grabbed Klbkch’s shoulder.

“Easy. Easy, Klb. They’re off-duty and jumpy. I pity the [Muggers] who go after a [Soldier] on break.”

Significant Beavers had moved just as fast, forming a defensive wall. Klbkch spluttered.

“But that is an Aberration—how have Dekass and Tersk allowed this?”

“nyEh.”

Crusader 57 offered Klbkch more rude hand-gestures. Klbkch looked at Relc as Jordes rapidly tried to de-escalate.

“Commander Olesm knows about it. Feisty guy, but he’s just—mad. You should see him fighting!”

“I’m better than you, Jordes. I’m not Aberration. I’m different. Aberrations are weak. Pick a damn name. Right, Toni?”

Crusader 51—Toni—shuddered as Crusader 57 punched his shoulder. Klbkch looked from face to face.

“I require another drink. And I must speak with Pawn. Now. Relc, our meal was enjoyable, but this?”

“I got you, Klb, buddy. Catch me later.”

The Antinium nodded and began striding off. Crusader 57 shouted after him.

“That’s right. rUN. You—”

At this point, Squad 5 grabbed him before he could get himself stabbed. And Relc found himself hearing about the war from the [Soldiers].

——

“Damn. Manus.”

Jordes nodded as they all ate in an Antinium-friendly restaurant. All of Squad 5 were savoring their bowls of experimental beef udon. It wasn’t ‘right’, but Imani was doing her best.

The Drunken Gnoll. They were at the Drunken Gnoll. She had also stayed away from wheat for their udon.

Relc had barely touched his bowl. He felt sick. Manus’ elites led by…

“A [Spearmaster]? Are you sure? Is Embria alright?”

Jordes was speaking to Relc in confidence. The [Sergeant] shuddered.

“Know a ‘Lulv’?”

“…Fuck. What about Embria?”

“She hasn’t clashed with him—much. They stay away from each other, but she got chewed up in the first few engagements. Actually…it’s almost always the Antinium that get it. Poor guys. Squad 5 had this Soldier who…well, let’s start from the beginning.”

Relc listened to a familiar tale—only everything was different. But the bones were every war he’d ever known. Jordes kept eying him, and a Human who was flirting with the Gnoll [Servers] and striking out, Satel, looked at him.

“Are you going to enlist, Senior Guardsman? We could use a [Spearmaster]. Right guys—”

Utel kicked him under the table, and Relc stopped with a fork full of noodles.

“…No. I’m done with war. Sorry, guys.”

He waited for…condemnation? Insults? Joking, pressing that would turn ugly? Relc saw Significant Beavers glance at each other, and Satel shrugged.

“Damn. That’s fair.”

They weren’t Liscor’s army. Relc exhaled and looked at the Antinium, Gnolls, Drakes, Humans…and saw Liscor’s army. Their real army. The Drake smiled, felt at his belt pouch, and looked about.

He would not go there. Not where nightmares and death waited for him. Some part of him was always there, with 4th Company. With the men and women he had fought beside.

Yet he had left. They’d have to figure that one out too, some day. But that was an older [Soldier]’s war. Right now?

“Listen, you lucky bastards. My buddy Klbkch is coming, and when he does, you’d better pat yourselves on the asses because drinks and food are on me!”

They cheered. That was the greatest and most glorious gift any [Soldier] could get. Senior Guardsman Relc turned to Jordes.

“And in return, you can take a letter and see Embria gets it, right?”

“Yes, sir!”

The [Trusted Sergeant of the Watch] smiled. Huh. That weird chess-guy Olesm had turned out a pretty good army. In fact, he’d heard of a Crusader 51 on people’s lips.

Heroes.

It had been a long time since Liscor’s people had known the names of the [Soldiers] who fought and died for them. When had been the last time?

“Sserys, maybe. Or Zel.”

Relc rested his chin in his claws. Jordes glanced at him sidelong.

“I forgot you knew them, sir.”

“Senior Guardsman or Relc the Awesome, Jordes. I’m out of the army.”

“Right…well, I’m not calling you that. But if you had any tips—4th Company remembers that time, but an expert from the old days—any tricks to tell?”

Relc thought about it as Klbkch entered the inn, spotted Crusader 57, and the two began Medusa-ing each other across the room. Tricks like how to keep your socks clean? Or formations? He realized there was one thing that he could teach the army. Relc looked around.

“Relc? Is that Relc? I saw you coming in, but all the Gnolls were here and—”

Selys burst into the inn. Relc grinned. Jordes raised his brows.

“Gnolls?”

He didn’t know about Cellidel. Which reminded Relc.

“Actually, you’re in luck, Jordes. You can bring more than just a letter back to Embria. We had an escort on the way to Liscor. Which means the other two might be reaching your lines about now.”

The Drakes’ eyes went round, and a cheer rose from Jordes as the [Soldiers] looked at him. But Relc was waving Selys over.

“Hey, Selys. [Trusted Sergeant of the Watch] Relc here. Klb’s back and there are off-duty [Soldiers] here. Want to pay for our dinners? I could—but you’re still rich, right? And one more thing. I just realized there’s something we can do. We could organize it.”

Selys put her claws on her hips, gazing exasperatedly and fondly at Relc. Then she blinked.

“Relc. You have an idea? Organize? What happened to you?”

The Senior Guardsman just laughed as Klbkch turned and poked an invisible Centaur trying to listen into everything. Eavesdropping was a crime.

“To me? I have no idea!”

Embria, [Wing Commander]

She learned her father was back when she got his letter and a gift from him.

“For me?”

Wing Commander Embria got the package from a very disheveled Drake Sergeant who had run it through the door personally. She unwrapped it to find a long letter from Relc…on top of an entire basket of odd-smelling fruits.

“What are these?”

“Prelons. I don’t know what they are. Er, I’m headed back to the city if that’s alright, Wing Commander. Everything alright here?”

Embria looked up, distracted, wanting to tear open the letter, and made a face.

“More or less. Have you heard? We have reinforcements. From the—from our army down south.”

Jordes looked around and heard the commotion.

“Fancy that! That’s a relief, eh?”

Embria didn’t immediately nod.

6th and 9th Companies of Liscor’s army had ridden in last night. Apparently another company had escorted Relc’s citizens home, and would have to do some riding to get up through the hills to this part.

Embria should have been celebrating with all of 4th, but it was strangely…subdued. More [Soldiers] meant this would feel like home, right?

So why…?

——

6th Company were an all-mounted unit. The Bull Bastards. 9th Company, and the wayward 11th who’d escorted Relc, were like 4th Company, infantry-based.

9th was just called ‘Arrowstorm’—a group specializing in long-ranged archery. Ironically, 6th Company’s leader was female, Wing Commander Narkr. Wing Commander Xith of 9th was older than both Embria and Narkr by far.

The instant they saw Embria, their eyes lit up.

“So there’s the idiot who couldn’t handle one dungeon and needed to call in for backup! How dare you not defeat Tyrion Veltras and all the Humans yourself?”

Narkr, a Gnoll with two scars on her cheeks, loved to say things deadpan. Rumor was she’d taken the scar on one cheek and inflicted the other herself. Embria was fairly sure that was just a rumor, though.

“Wing Commander, what Narkr means is that we’re here to back you up. Sorry it took so long. None of us have long-distance mobility Skills, and Pallass wouldn’t let us skip four hundred miles.”

“Mana concerns or something.”

Xith and Narkr shook Embria’s claw as she smiled at them.

“I know Narkr was to blame. She probably kept you all waiting on her. 6th? Did they have to send me the slowest cavalry unit? 9th and 11th will move faster than them!”

It was true 6th was one of the slower groups, specializing in heavy charges, so Narkr threw a punch, and Embria deflected it.

“Still not a [Spearmaster]?”

“Still unmarried?”

“Alright, alright. I’m glad I don’t have to lead you two and you can hold your tails.”

Xith interrupted. The Drake looked at the other two Wing Commanders. As they were all of a rank, Xith would have priority command despite 4th being lower in number. Seniority. However, in practice, Wing Commanders were supposed to be able to work together.

“They didn’t send anyone higher? No [Majors]? I didn’t expect our [Strategists]…none of our field [Tacticians]?”

They were eating in Embria’s tent as Xith replied.

“Seeing as how this force is being led by a [Strategist], the brass decided to send proper leadership. When they heard he sensibly expanded 4th, they told us to just take over a wing. Not sure if we’re ruffling any scales, but you can tell us how green this lot is.”

“11th makes four companies. Enough to send Hectval packing. If Manus is in it—well, that’s ugly. But once we wrap this up, we’ll help you patrol, maybe even get another fighting force into line. Take the pressure off the Council so they stop enlisting bugs as [Soldiers]. I saw them coming in. Don’t know how you did it alone, Embria, but we’ve got your tail.”

And there it was. Embria realized why she felt vaguely uneasy. Xith almost went to spit before he checked the floor.

“Ants. Are they getting munched up by Manus? I hope so—how’s this ‘Commander’ Olesm? And how badly are the civvies getting destroyed?”

Embria looked at them. She saw two familiar friends from the army. Narkr and Xith weren’t the closest, but Embria appreciated Narkr’s dry humor, and Xith always spoke highly of Relc in private.

And…they were partly strangers. As both companies had ridden in, they’d glared daggers at the Antinium and come in like 4th Company had when they first arrived at Liscor.

Like they expected to take charge and set all things right. Embria recalled the numerous rude awakenings Zevara had given her.

What happened next? Well, Embria had a vision of her saying something—and remembered Maksie standing to attention as Olesm removed her from command.

She thought of her father, who 4th Company still didn’t speak to. She didn’t want that. Instead…Embria poured a full mug for each and pushed it over.

“Ah, well. It’s actually [Commander] Olesm. He got the class. Maksie’s actually a [Scouting Lieutenant].”

“What? That lucky…that’ll rattle up command. So he’s not all hot air?”

“Nope. [Instantaneous Barrage] is his best Skill. Nasty. Oh, and you’ll meet Bepol and Ramia, [Division Leaders]. Pretty sharp given it’s civilian-based classing. I bet you we’ll all be roving, though you’ll definitely take more [Soldiers] under command. Oh—and on the right, there’s [Combined Arms Strategist] Belgrade.”

Narkr choked on her drink of a flat Liscorian ale.

“They put a fucking Ant in charge of our right wing? How has no one mutinied? Or are they running off each day?”

Embria offered Xith a mug, smiled, and looked at them. Here it came.

“You’d have to ask them. But I’d watch yourselves. They call themselves Belgrade’s Ants, all of his command. And Narkr, Xith—tell 6th and 9th to watch their tongues. Because if there’s a brawl, Commander Olesm’ll send your forces back or discharge them from the ranks.”

Both Drake and Gnoll stopped drinking.

“You can’t be serious. Is that what you have to deal with, Embria? We can make a stand—”

The Wing Commander took a breath and looked as seriously as possible at them. If it were her, talking to her—how could she convince them?

Rattle them. Say it as if they were on the same side and she was reluctantly…

“I hate to say it, but he could discharge all three of our companies and 11th and still win the war. The army’s stacking up. They’re real [Soldiers], you two, and you should be careful.”

Xith and Narkr looked at her like she was insane. But Embria kept talking. She had to show them. The easiest thing to do was let them see the first battles with Olesm and compare that to the army. Even if they said—probably still accurately—that Olesm wasn’t as good as their [Strategists], a [Soldier] had to face facts. And Embria poured them a drink and told them…what they needed to hear before they could realize the truth.

[Wing Commander Level 29!]

Embria shot up in her bed, sweating and gasping. More terrified of that one level up than anything else. She waited for a Skill or—

[Combined Arms Wing Commander]. Or [Buggy Wing Commander].

It didn’t come. But would it? She lay in her bed. She thought…

Then came Relc Grasstongue’s little bit of brilliance, and she was proud of her father. After three days, Squad 5, Significant Beavers, and the other squads on break returned to the army.

They brought gifts.

Ishkr, [Head Waiter]

“Gifts? Of course. It’s so intelligent. Relc thought of it, yes? Relc?”

The Gnoll heard the idea from Drassi. The inn was so quiet and seldom-visited that he was one of the last to know.

It was a simple idea, and people laughed—as much at the idea as goofy old Relc had thought of it as…well. Embarrassment.

It was such a good idea, and so simple. Relc hadn’t thought it up from nothing. He had just pulled it from the past. Tradition and perhaps…Ishkr looked around the inn.

From here.

“It has to be small. You can’t address it to one group; you can send something to a relative, but otherwise just something small for the door.”

“What would be appropriate?”

The Gnoll saw Drassi pause, fiddling with a neck-spine ring—she was about to go on her television shift, but she’d come up to let him know when and where it would be expected.

“Relc said something edible usually works. You can send potions, books, anything else—but food is always welcome. I’m sending a song crystal. He says something like that would really lift spirits.”

“Hrr. I could send acid flies.”

“What, as weapons? Oh. Do you have any?”

Ishkr shuddered.

“I maintained Erin’s traps. The Antinium come to collect them, sometimes.”

Drassi hesitated. She’d just had breakfast, but the [Gossip] had to know.

“…How many?”

“I have begun filling barrels with them when they pile up. Sometimes a few survive.”

The Drake went pale.

“Ishkr, you are a credit to your class. I don’t know how you…”

She trailed off, looking around the inn. Ishkr looked at Drassi and spoke.

“She’ll be back.”

The Drake turned to him. She met Ishkr’s gaze and smiled, relieved.

“Of course.”

The Gnoll said nothing more. Drassi had to run, and he had to think of a gift. Besides, those words could mean anything.

It was just…a feeling. Perhaps it was only his imagination.

Or, perhaps, it had something to do with a little Goblin appearing in his inn. A Cave Goblin, who handed him a little note.

Soon.

He didn’t voice any suspicions to even Drassi. Ishkr just waited, wishing Silveran were here to do floorboard crack cleaning. He thought of a gift to send to the army. He thought of the Antinium, who had come to this inn to pledge to go to war.

“Oh.”

The [Head Waiter] hesitated. He walked past the cupboards of preserved food, and he did roll out a barrel of acid flies. Anything to get rid of them. Apparently some acid flies survived the explosion of acid, and he had the horrible suspicion it rustled sometimes.

Then he went to fetch something else. Ishkr vanished for a little bit and came back with a very strange gift. One that Commander Olesm himself came to receive.

The Drake gave Ishkr an odd look, like someone who noticed Erin’s silent help for the first time. He realized that no one Erin employed could ever be normal.

Drassi was just louder.

“Do you think it will help?”

“I…think it’s a [Strategist]-level move, Ishkr.”

“Hrr. Too bad I don’t have the class.”

And that was it. Ishkr went back to the inn, sat down, and unfolded the note. He kept checking the windows. He had a hunch…because he had free time, in between cleaning the inn, to keep up on worldwide affairs.

Because he had heard about a certain kidnapping, as yet unresolved. He watched the skies. And he waited.

Keep the Potion of Regeneration close. If a blind man or someone else with officer classes comes, let them in. We are coming too.

The inn’s first Goblin was frustratingly short on details, and she asked a lot, but for her…Ishkr made a special reservation.

Service with a smile.

Olesm, [Commander]

Ishkr’s gift went to the Antinium lines. Commander Olesm personally handed it over, and a group of Soldiers clustered around it.

But they shared it. Significant Beavers—other [Soldiers] went to stare. What a silent genius, that Gnoll was.

It was a classic Erin Solstice move. Perhaps that was why it was so fitting that it would be tonight.

Olesm Swifttail was surprised that he didn’t have to kick 6th and 9th company off a few cliffs. He suspected Wing Commander Embria had something to do with that.

“We’re getting movement all along our left flank. I think Manus is coming.”

Scout Leader Maksie had begun to pick up their movements by now. Olesm just nodded.

“Sounds good.”

He didn’t say anything like, ‘it’s time’, or ‘just wait’, because that was the most idiotic thing you could say into a tapped line.

Nor did he inform Bepol or Ramia or even Belgrade of a change. He gave routine orders that might have made them think twice…but the proof of the pudding was in the surprise. Olesm sent a note via Liscor’s door, but aside from that, it was all here, in the army. Ishkr’s gift was a welcome surprise, but the rest?

It was all just them.

Antinium of Liscor’s Army, 1st Division

It was the best and only gift they’d ever received, most of them. A [Crusader] peeled an orange, sharing pieces around. An Armored Antinium gobbled down the peel because the bitter was oh, so tasty!

[Crusaders] of the Free Antinium, Armored Soldiers and Workers—and the Silent Antinium infiltrators.

They weren’t supposed to show themselves, as the Silent Antinium could not be part of Liscor’s war. However, the strangeness infecting the crusade had already done something to them.

A fat bag of barley spilled out next to Crusader 442. He hesitated, orange half-peeled.

That wasn’t a gift. He looked around and saw a faint outline of a familiar mantis-Antinium.

Only, this one he knew.

[Thief]! The rest of Squad 4, Battalion 6, edged over covertly. Fluffy Lancers had encountered this particular Silent Antinium before.

It—she? They were all she’s—was notable not because they often saw her, but because of one detail.

She’d lost a single scythe-arm. Those didn’t grow back, and the Silent Queen did not invest in regrowth gels since the scythe-arms weren’t regrowable via the same restorative gels a lucky Worker or Soldier could get. The Silent Queen considered that the Silent Antinium would not live long enough to justify that kind of investment of resources.

Therefore, this Silent Soldier had half the fighting potential of others. That was possibly why Thief had developed her habit.

Instead of killing sentries or ambushing patrols, she kept stealing food from the Alliance. She would scuttle back, and, in exchange, Fluffy Lancers would quietly boil it up or cook it, and she got to eat the food.

Now, Crusader 442 offered her an orange as she greedily devoured it piece by piece. Thief, the Silent Antinium, was one of several oddities.

——

“…And rise as a [Crusader].”

Zimrah, the last [Priest], had leveled up today. She no longer smiled as she inducted an Armored Antinium into their ranks. It was a choice—but many of their Hive wanted it.

She spoke sermons, she healed, and her faith was strong. But the Worker did not walk around with the same conviction as before. Theophilus and Jerimy were dead. Pawn had offered to let her return with the Painted Antinium. He had not expected her to take the offer, nor could Zimrah.

How could she go back?

There was something here. The army was alive. The army…there were things Olesm didn’t know and accepted about the Antinium command. He saw what was important, for all he could be so terribly cruel.

Yet look at them.

Zimrah saw…tragedy and glory. She saw gifts, kindness, anger in Crusader 57, confidence, selfishness in Shelly, a desire to be loved in Kevin. She saw bravery and wrath.

These were not all good things. But for the first time—they were Antinium things.

——

Manus was coming tonight. Artur had gone around the camp, telling everyone to get ready. It looked like a night attack on their camps, maybe. A fully-backed army.

“Drisshia’s heavies. Manus will sneak through them. Do not die. That is an order.”

He passed by multiple squads, and some Workers offered him parts of their gifts, but Artur declined. The flag flew behind him. He would fight with them.

[Raise the Standard]. The [Banner Leader] had leveled up. Those who lived—got stronger. If you lived.

Manus was higher-level still. So they won. It was a thing any Antinium who lived long enough understood as a reality of war. Manus had done this longer. Manus had enchanted gear.

It wasn’t fair. But they had more than just faith and Heaven to help them face it.

“From days of war and wrath we ran

Exiled from every land

Searching for our honor lost

And found the House of Minos’ sands.”

A song rose over the ranks of the Antinium, and some turned to listen. A Minotaur with one arm sat with the Beriad, the self-named group who followed him into battle.

It was Workers who sang, in unison, and never had Antinium sung like that before, together. Even Bird could not have dreamed of that.

Or maybe he could. Bird was silly.

However, the singing broke off as the Minotaur lifted a hand.

“That’s how we sing it. But this is your song. It would not be the House of Minos’ sands. Er…what rhymes with sand?”

“Land?”

“That’s line two.”

The Workers and Minotaur sat together, trying to compose new lyrics. This was good. These were good things.

It would not stop Manus from killing them, but it would let them go to their deaths as brave as brave could be. If Calruz gave it to them, that was well.

However…another squad sat together, calmly waving their antennae at one another.

Hectval, not Manus, weighed on their minds despite the impending battle. They were an odd group. Not one battle had passed recently without one of their number dying.

Or at least, that’s what the casualty reports said. Despite them being an archery group, they had a higher-than-average casualty rating, which Dekass had noted.

Archer B12 sat with the others, one of the originals from the first volunteers. They were still around, like Crusader 53, the old guard. However, he was currently engaged in waving all four hands around as all of Squad B sat in a circle.

Come on, come on…

Four hands per Antinium. Ten Antinium per squad. Twenty games of rock-paper-knife. It took a long time for a winner to be found, but that was fine. Antinium sat out, and then it was B12 versus Crusader 995.

He won. B12 went still as the other [Archer] lowered his hands. All of Squad B gathered around B12. Slowly, he rose, feeling calm.

Ah. At last.

A [Sniper] was dead among the enemy lines. It had been found—blasted from above by a Wyvern hiding in the sky. Manus hated that [Sniper]. It had killed so many of them, so many officers. So many [Soldiers]—even shot a Wyvern through the eye, though the Wyvern hadn’t died.

They had orders now, to try and capture the enemy. Manus just had one thing wrong in their speculations as to how it continued, though.

It wasn’t a [Sniper].

Archer B12 rose and went around Squad B, shaking hands with all of them. Good luck. Good luck.

Goodbye.

They saw him off as he collected his bow, arrows, and trooped out of the camp. Archer B12 was ready. At last…

At last, it’s my turn.

Since Manus was coming, he found a good spot to set up and meet them. They were not Hectval, but they were on his list. Just like Bird had said.

An arrow for all of them. All of them. B12 took a little nap, and the class was waiting for him.

Just as promised.

——

The Antinium division was ready when the enemy appeared. Drisshia heralded their arrival with banging drums. They knew they couldn’t sneak up on Liscor.

So they didn’t.

“Yayde Re! Up and at them! Let’s kill some Drisshies!”

Captain Voita rode down the line of the Yoldenites, and they cheered, many having traded their gear up for plundered armor and weapons. Bepol was moving his lines up to engage Drisshia’s.

But everyone was waiting for Manus. They would attack from within Drisshia’s lines. As the enemy army moved closer through the darkness, someone swore.

“Selphid’s tits. There’s a lot of ‘em out there. I think those ‘reinforcements’ from Manus might have…doubled their numbers. Embria, you seeing this? I see multiple, multiple shadows in the clouds.”

Xith was reporting to the other officers via a speaking stone. Commander Olesm replied.

“We’re aware they reinforced, Wing Commander. Keep your squad back. Hit any Wyverns you can, but save those three Skills for my command.”

“Yes, sir.”

Wing Commander Embria listened to Xith, and the 9th Company’s leader sounded a bit leery—but he obeyed. Confidence went downhill just like crap, and Olesm sounded like he was in charge, so he was.

6th was waiting on the wings, but Narkr was watching Embria as 4th Company slowed, taking their position in Bepol’s lines.

Coincidentally, they were close to the Antinium.

“Hey! Who ate my chocolate? I know it was one of you Antinium bastards! I put it down, and you stole it! Chocolate. They said it came special from Imani’s kitchen, and there was one bag in the entire damn city! Who was it?”

Captain Vell of 2nd Squad was throwing a huge fit. The Antinium lines didn’t move. Then a familiar voice called out.

“Eat grass, Vell.”

“Who said that? Was it you, Crusader 57?”

4th Company sniggered, even Vell’s own squad.

“Order in the ranks! Are you children? Is that Significant Beavers? Good to see you. Want to join 4th?”

Wikir snapped. Significant Beavers waved at 4th Company and their expanded lines.

“No thanks! I hate heights!”

Embria saw 6th Company muttering and pointing at the madness of 4th. It hadn’t turned into outright disputes…yet. But, oh, the irony was that Maksie had come back to have a drink with them last night, and 6th and 9th were rumbling at 4th, who were angry that they were being called bug-kissing traitors when they—

“What’s that over there? Oi. Quiet.”

Wing Commander Embria saw something odd as Drisshia drew nearer. 4th Company instantly went silent, and she went to check it out.

Both armies were coming into arrow range, and shields went up. Soon they’d fight and die.

Something was up. She had noticed Olesm was here personally. She suspected he had a plan…but she had deliberately kept that to herself. Trust in the [Commander], after all. Fool the enemy.

She rode closer, breaking from 4th’s position. The others let her pass, and she rode straight into the Antinium lines. As an officer.

“What are you doing? Get into formation!”

She snapped at an Antinium squad who had not stayed in their columns and rows, but were clustered together, a prime target.

“Do you want to eat a [Fireball]? Spread out!”

Dekass had made his command immune to lightning, so whenever Antinium got hit by a [Lightning Bolt] spell, everyone called it ‘free mana’.

“They’re coming! Ancestors! Manus is in front! Six—eight hundred [Soldiers]! Get ready!”

Maksie was screaming into their linked stones. Embria whirled and heard one of the Workers speak.

“We have received a gift. Tonight is the night. We will die or they will. He walks among us. Wing Commander, do you want some?”

The Drake whirled back to him. Then she heard a roar go up across the Antinium ranks. She saw Spearmaster Lulv charging, and her scales prickled.

What was this? Why were they coming in so hot?

Then she saw him, standing amid a cluster of Antinum slowly emerging from the center. It seemed Olesm hadn’t disguised them well enough after all, or they had a mole. Embria looked up and whispered.

“Pawn.”

——

Lulv pointed at the Worker and the Painted Antinium around him. Yellow Splatters—he didn’t recognize any other high-value targets, but that was enough.

“[Mark Target]. Bring it down, no matter what!”

This was the battle. The instant he had heard Olesm had requested Pawn’s presence on the battlefield, he had known.

The Drake [Strategist] might have had a plan, but Lulv had one of his own, and it was simple: kill Pawn.

If Manus’ theories had any weight—the Free Antinium would collapse if that one died. At the very least, he was a leader on par with the others.

Pawn, Garry, Belgrade, Anand, Bird.

He had come with the best of the Painted Antinium, Lulv had no doubt. But that Worker had made one mistake:

This was a war.

Eight hundred of Manus’ [Soldiers] tore down the hill after the [Spearmaster]. Lulv raised his spear.

“[Intimidation: Spear of a Thousand Graves]!”

Manus’ [Soldiers] roared as the Gnoll leapt into the dark sky. They had seen him a hundred times. The Antinium didn’t flinch and lifted their blades.

The first ranks of Manus’ lines went through them without slowing.

——

Death. Those poor [Soldiers]. Embria whirled her spear up. The Antinium surged forwards.

“Protect Pawn! Hold your ground! Crab Battalion—advance!”

Dekass roared. The broken Battalion 3 charged. They had returned. Not one single Antinium had lived in the original five hundred.

Yet it was Crab Battalion who met Manus. They had inherited their name. Embria was about to ride towards her command when she saw the squad of Antinium unveiling their gift.

Ishkr’s gift.

She stopped, and one turned to her.

“You are Wing Commander Embria, aren’t you? Do you want some? We are going.”

“You don’t have orders for that.”

A figure moved through the darkness, and something glittered as it rose. Embria looked up and saw a familiar flag glowing in the night. Arrows swerved around her as a Worker lifted it higher, staring at what they held.

Artur. He turned to face Embria.

“I order it. Squad 2, Battalion 6. Prepare to charge. There is no strategy in it. But we will break their lines or fall.”

They were going for Pawn. Embria hesitated, looking down. She could hear Manus’ [Soldiers] shouting, roaring—but there was something different this time. They sounded—determined.

——

[Lineholders]. [War Veterans]. [Vanguards].

Manus’ [Soldiers] had been replenished, their numbers doubled. The new lot were ready to slaughter the Antinium. It was the group that had fought them these last two months who held them back. Told them something like what Embria had said.

These are not the Antinium you know.

Now, one of their [Captains] was waiting to get to the front. The Antinium were fighting, trying to stop Lulv as he advanced on that Worker and the Painted Antinium. Yet—

The Workers and Soldiers were waiting for Manus as their lines closed. The ones behind the engaged front ranks? The [Captain] muttered.

“What was that, sir?”

A [Soldier] looked at him. The [Captain] said it again. The Drake hesitated and reached for his speaking stone.

“Strategist Sokkel, sir. Report.”

“What?”

The [Strategist] snapped. The [Captain] hesitated. He said it again.

“…They looked like [Soldiers].”

“What? Have you taken leave of your senses? Get off the—”

Sokkel was bawling the [Captain] off until he realized what that meant. The Manus [Captain] didn’t know how to explain it.

They looked like [Soldiers]. They were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, fixated. Not pushing forwards, waiting. One of them held their mace grimly, and another was aiming his zweihander.

If I die, I will take you with me. They had always been Antinium. Lulv hadn’t taken anyone who mocked the Antinium’s ability to kill. Manus had taken them seriously. We know you are warriors.

These were [Soldiers]. There was a difference. The Antinium squad charged as some of their own fell back. Fell back to preserve their lives. Not a mindless attack until they died, like Dekass had first ordered.

——

“Squad 5, charge!”

They charged. Crusader 53’s mace met an enchanted shield, and the Drake holding it buckled.

Faith. Pawn was among them. He could not die. Squad 5 fought like lions. Too bad they were fighting Manticores.

“You iDiOt—”

Crusader 57 went down as Crusader 51—no, Toni—slipped, and a [Soldier] tried to run him through. The Worker charged into the way of the partisan spear. He fell back, and the Gnoll tried to tear the spear upwards.

Crusader 53 hit him on the head. The Gnoll’s head imploded. The [Soldiers] of Manus reacted as the mace crushed an enchanted helmet.

“High-level [Soldier]! Watch it!”

The Soldier whirled his mace up. It flashed, and a [Captain] turned pale.

“Oh shit. Mace arts. Take—”

A Soldier with two arms and battered steel armor lifted the mace up and rotated. Like a spinning top. The mace swung around—and then it was as big as a battering ram. A cluster of [Soldiers] vanished as it hit them like a gong.

“High-level Antinium! Mark it! Mark—”

The [Captain]’s last words were choked off by a crunch. Crusader 53’s mace smashed through the squad, scattering those who survived like pins.

[Mace Art: Big Hammer].

But he was marked.

——

“This is Aerial Team 1. We’re heading down.”

[Mages] on Wyverns. Dozens of them this time. Lulv roared amidst the sound of fighting.

“Watch out! That Antinium Worker is doing something. Watch for that [Scout]!”

“Taken care of, sir.”

The [Battle Mage] had a lock on Maksie, who was circling, trying to unleash Olesm’s Skill and dodge. He took aim, moving as the [Wyvern Rider] angled her beast in a dive.

“[Bound Spell: Hundredfold Light Arrow Volley]. [Piercing Missiles]. [Homing—]. Hey, we’re going too fast! Pull up.”

The [Mage] snapped at the [Wyvern Rider]. Instead of replying, the Drake lolled her head at him. And he realized there was an arrow through her goggles.

“[Sniper]!”

——

Archer B12 lowered his bow. He drew another arrow, put it to the string, and loosed it. A second Wyvern went down.

“We killed you!”

A scream from above. He looked up and saw an Oldblood Drake coming down at him. The Worker drew a dagger in one hand and loosed a third arrow. It went through a chest.

He wasn’t as fast as Bird. A falling Drake [Mage] shouted.

“There it is! [Sniper] marked!”

More Drakes were flying at him. B12 loosed an arrow from point-blank range at an open mouth.

Ice froze his body, but the Drake died before the breath attack could fully engulf him. The cloud of mist rose overhead as the body fell back, covering him.

The Worker ran out of the cloud and loosed an arrow through a second flier.

“How is it doing that? What level is it?”

“[Appraisal]!”

The [Mage] pointed at Archer B12. The Drake’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected to see anything, but the class—

Worker B12 saw three Drakes go down as a shower of arrows covered his position. He looked down and saw B-Team loosing arrows at his pursuers! He raised his bow, sighted on Lulv, and loosed.

The Gnoll tried to parry the arrow with the haft of his spear and grunted. It was—heavy! He still managed it.

“Kill that [Sniper]!”

“Sir! I have identification on the class!”

The [Mage] was screaming. Archer B12’s first arrow burnt away on the magic shield. The second cracked it. The Drake tried to take cover, but he kept screaming.

“It’s not a [Sniper]! Class is [Avenger]! Say again—[Av—”

The arrow went through his enchanted robes and out the other side. Lulv’s head snapped up.

What?

[Skill – Arrows: Combined Weight of Our Wrath]

[Legacy – Long-ranged Shot received!]

[Legacy – Pinpoint Arrows received!]

[Legacy—

One after the other. With each one that died, the arrows were heavier.

Never shall we forgive Hectval. Bird was right. They had all been at that inn, and the Drakes had taken it from them.

It didn’t matter if he died. B12 stood there, ignoring the arrows striking down around him. Die. We will never stop until we’re all dead. And we pass on the weight of this class to the next one.

——

Advanced classes. Lulv felt his skin under his fur crawling. He looked up.

Pawn. The [Priest] was watching him. But he was one of two targets shielded by the Painted Antinium. The [Mages] were preparing to destroy the entire Antinium force if they had to. If they failed, Lulv would do it for them. And he would make sure these two died.

An [Avenger] only had strength if there was someone to continue the class.

Yet the other [Priest] was raising her hands higher. Pawn held his censer.

Zimrah was bare-handed. Lulv had seen her before as well. He recognized the odd words. The chanting.

“You, Hectval, you, our enemies, are doomed to Hell. There is no salvation for you. You could have lived long—you could have lived in peace. You choose this.”

There was something different in the way she spoke. Theophilus had raged at them. But Zimrah’s voice…it was sorrowful.

“Look at what you have done. We seek Heaven, and you killed the sky. You have lost everything. You were given all that we dream of, and this is what you do? You are damned. Damned for Hell.”

Sokkel calmly pointed a finger at her.

“[Highlight Target].”

Zimrah lit up, and Painted Antinium bearing shields moved in front of her. The [Priest] wasn’t done. Nor did she hide behind Pawn and Yellow Splatters, who moved to shield her. Both Antinium were looking at her. Zimrah’s voice grew louder.

“Do you think I fear death? I will never suffer in Heaven’s grace. You? YOU? YOU ARE BOUND FOR HELL. GO THERE.”

A trembling finger rose. She shrieked, and Lulv’s ears burned. Zimrah aimed a finger straight back, across Manus’ lines.

Straight at Sokkel. The Drake [Strategist] blinked as she screamed.

“[Marked For Hell].”

What? Lulv whirled around. Pawn and Yellow Splatters recoiled. But Sokkel just stumbled. He looked down. Something red, a mark, was inscribed on his chest. He brushed at it with one claw.

“Just a marker. I’m fine, [Spearmaster]. I’m—”

He stumbled again. Then clutched the arrow that B12 had punched through his armor. The Drake choked on his words. He clutched the arrow through his heart.

Then he began to scream. Lulv had been trained not to take his eyes off the enemy. But he couldn’t look away.

A void opened under Sokkel. Something reached up. It dragged him down, and he vanished, burning, his body twisting into wisps of agonized, terrified smoke.

“What was—”

A babble broke out around Manus’ lines. The [Mages] had no idea what they had just seen. But then that [Priest] pointed again.

“You.”

A Gnoll clawed at her chest as a mark burned onto her. Lulv shouted into his stone.

“Get that [Soldier] out of there! Protective spells! All of them! Now! Kill that Antinium! Priority target!”

“HELL WAITS FOR YOU ALL.”

Zimrah screamed as Pawn grabbed her arm. The [Hellspeaker Priest] was shaking as she tried to use her Skill again, and the marked [Soldier] was covered by a line of shields.

Manus’ lines redoubled their fighting. They were prepared to die. But that?

That Worker had to die. Lulv snarled.

“[Mages]! Unleash!”

The skies lit up. Pawn looked up as dozens of Tier 4 and Tier 5 spells came screaming down.

——

It was not about Pawn. He didn’t recognize them. These [Crusaders]…Zimrah. They were changed.

His Crusade battled Manus around him. Pawn watched Antinium die.

“I sent them to this fate.”

One of his hands touched his heart, for a second, then lifted the censer once more. He had sent them. And he would have sent them again. Because Hectval would not stop.

It hurt too much to see. He had been forbidden to walk the battlefield, and he had obeyed Xrn and the Free Queen because he was afraid.

Afraid that he would die and never see Erin again. Leave the Antinium without first building Heaven on earth.

Simply afraid of dying. Afraid he was needed—

And most of all, afraid of who he might become. Hatred and wonder warred in Pawn’s chest, and both of them were him.

He had seen the depths of madness and a glorious warrior before. To his right, Calruz stood, roaring as he fought, swinging his axe down at Manus’ [Soldiers] as Antinium sang. To his left, Zimrah was still screaming, the most hopeful of his [Acolytes] condemning the living to something else.

Why fire? What hands were those? They were not Antinium hands. They were clawed and—

Pawn saw a glowing Worker emerge from the air. Then another. They leapt forwards, grappling, trying to slow that Gnoll. He slew them so fast Pawn barely blinked.

He was not meant for this battlefield. He knew that. His faith fell before steel, and it was a bitter realization. But he had not come here to win this battle alone.

The [Priest of Wrath and Sky] tightened his grip on his censer. Two hands were clasped together in prayer, and Yellow Splatters was watching Lulv.

Olesm had command of them. He had only asked for Pawn to come for one reason. There was something Olesm couldn’t defeat. So Pawn bowed his head in prayer as comets and fire rained down. He lifted his arms and looked up.

“…[I Walked Under Heaven’s Sky]. You cannot break us that easily.”

To combat Manus’ flying [Mages], Olesm had requested Xrn take the field.

He had gotten Pawn. For all her magic, there were things he could do that the [Thaumaturge] had never dreamed of. The [Priest] looked up and smiled.

The night changed to day.

Pawn thought he heard someone singing to him.

——

Across the battlefield, Antinium slowed in their fighting and gazed upwards in awe. Lulv threw up his paws as the sky turned blue. Daylight filtered down for one moment—then it hung in the air like the lights of the sky.

Sky-blue radiance mixed with the night. It threw the struggling armies into darkness.

“What is that? What is…? Where are my spells?”

They were gone. Confused [Mages] threw more spells, and they vanished into the glorious vision of the sky.

“What level of Skill is that?”

It made no sense! No ordinary spell could do that! Lulv snarled. He stabbed, his spear flurrying through bodies. He’d do it himself. That Skill didn’t stop his spear.

Pawn knew it too. He was retreating, his job done. Lulv felt it instinctively.

If he beat magic…Lulv could still kill him. Yet the Worker had one more trick. The Worker pointed, and Lulv twisted, but though he ducked the pointing finger—the Skill still hit him.

“[Bane of Luck].”

What? A luck-based—

Lulv struck the ground, and his feet slipped on a patch of mud. His boots were enchanted to stick—it must have just been the perfect angle for him to slip. He caught himself—and a Soldier charged into him. Two hands caught his spear, the other two began to punch at him.

“Die.”

Lulv headbutted Yellow Splatters, trying to wrestle his spear away. They slammed backwards—the [Spearmaster] was higher-level and far quicker. He reached for his dagger to stab the Soldier and felt the kiss of pain on his back.

“Spearmaster! I’m so—”

One of his [Soldiers] had run him through from behind when Lulv and the Antinium went crashing backwards! The Gnoll howled in fury.

“Advance and kill those Workers! Now!”

He looked left and right, but the charge had stalled out. Manus had slowed down? Then he heard desperate shouts from the officers filling Sokkel’s spot.

“Liscor’s 6th on the left! Intercepting! 11th is hitting us—kill that Worker!”

“4th Company, approaching! [Spearmaster]! Watch out! Something’s wrong!”

Lulv looked up—and the bright light of blue skies and dream of heaven over the battlefield grew brighter still.

——

Embria looked down as Ishkr’s gift flared to life. Artur lifted his banner higher, and the squads of Antinium around him turned.

“We will charge into the enemy. Have no fear. Look.”

The Worker pointed at something one of the [Crusaders] held. It was…something from The Wandering Inn. Embria recognized it.

It had first arrived as a simple little thing. A neatly shuttered contraption made of wood, carefully filled to the brim with as much fuel as possible.

Mere tinder. It was there to keep the spark burning. The fire glowing.

She looked down and saw Glory. That fleeting, bright pink flame, like the very essence of the feeling it contained. Something that would never last would come to [Soldiers] and the brave and linger in memory.

Bright. The lantern burned as the squad holding it gathered around.

But it had not remained as a lantern. It had caught fire. Perhaps Ishkr had packed it with too much fuel. Or perhaps—the Gnoll had known it would ignite.

It covered the Soldier who held it. And it was burning on more than just the lanterns. The Workers and Soldiers had tossed everything onto the blaze.

Now, it burned amidst the Antinium, and more squads looked at it. Artur approached, flag waving.

He did not, as Embria thought, lower it and set his flag on fire. That would be a waste of a good flag. However, the Worker looked at her.

“Squads. You will charge with me. Formation.”

Antinium were gathering around. And as Embria watched—she saw them lifting their blades.

A Soldier dipped his spear’s head into the fire, and it clung to the tip. A trio of Soldiers placed their blades into the fire, and they burned with Glory.

“Wing Commander Embria?”

4th Company was moving. The Drake looked down. The Worker helping hold the burning brazier aloft stared at her.

Offering it to…

“Oh, Ancestor’s tits.”

Wing Commander Embria raised her spear. She looked at it, as 6th and 9th Companies began to sortie. She knew her own command was watching her. Perhaps Xith and Narkr didn’t see—but Embria would never deny this moment.

She lowered her spear, and a Soldier raised a hatchet laid into the fire. The Antinium raising their blade touched it to hers. Just for a moment. Embria looked around as a company burning with magical flames looked at her. She raised her spear into the sky—then whirled her mount.

Artur charged. And 4th Company rode into Manus’ lines. Following a Drake whose spear burned with pink fire.

Did it do anything? Perhaps not. Glory wasn’t much of an effective weapon. But she held it. The Antinium following Artur raced into battle carrying the dream of every [Soldier]. Fighting, the flames flickering on their blades.

Burning out. Fading.

So brilliant before they died.

Embria raised her spear, fighting to reach Lulv. The Gnoll deflected her first strike, and second. He whirled his spear, taking her on, running her through the leg, slashing one of Yellow Splatters’ hands off.

He would not fall. And she did not have the skill to bring him down alone. Yet still—

The [Spear of Glory] fought, her class burning bright.

——

Manus was slowing down. Lulv looked right and left. It was more than Liscor’s companies coming to their defense. He sensed it.

The Antinium had too many levels.

A [Crusader] raised his [Reinforced Shield]. [Battering Charge]. He slammed into a Drake, angling his sword. [Quick Stab]!

Three Skills? Those weren’t even all of them! A squad was holding down one of Manus’, refusing to give ground.

Who? Who was responsible for this? Lulv looked around and saw a Drake sitting on a horse. He howled, pointing at the high-level Antinium [Crusader] forcing some of his people back.

“Mark that target!”

The shield-bearing Antinium went down. But another stepped up. And then—it happened.

——

At last. Olesm held the Kaalblade in his claw, but he had seen how you died.

He had been forced to watch. Feed the Antinium to Manus.

He had done it. Erin would never forgive him. Olesm had watched the Antinium march back, the wounded, the survivors.

And he sent them into battle again. While they burned out—

He saved the sparks.

Erin’s fire raced through part of the army. Olesm’s heart squeezed as he saw Ishkr’s gift. But Maviola’s legacy burned brighter still.

“High-level Antinium—mark target!”

“We have a [Scattershot] on our position. Marking squad for—”

Manus’ babble was perfectly audible through the pilfered speaking stone Olesm was holding. How stupid of them. Did they think Olesm couldn’t tap their lines? He looked at the squads they were marking.

It wasn’t just one Antinium or two. It seemed like dozens of [Crusaders] were suddenly manifesting high-level Skills.

Because they were. Olesm looked down and saw one of Bepol’s two Antinium squads on the front. Survivors.

Members of squads who’d been nearly wiped out. Veterans he rotated into back lines or safer engagements. Out of Manus’ crosshairs.

Because they couldn’t read the [Crusader]’s levels any more than Olesm could. Now, the Antinium who had waited so long ran straight into Manus’ ranks. Olesm lifted a claw.

“Now.”

The Level 21 [Commander] used his new Skill.

“[Our Suffering We Returned Twofold]. Antinium! Push Manus back.”

His voice boomed across the battlefield. He saw Lulv look at him. Olesm saw the first showers of arrows coming from Manus’ side and stepped back.

“Shields up.”

He took cover as he watched. This time—there was no [Lady] of fire to break Hectval’s lines. There was no need for it.

The [Crusaders] began to burn.

——

“Kill them all. No quarter until they’re all dead. Not one step back.”

Lulv was prepared to die on this battlefield. He’d run that Drake with the spear through and cut her stomach. The Soldier, Yellow Splatters, was moving back with Pawn under guard.

They all had to die. Even if Lulv died—he saw what Olesm had done.

“Counter-levelling. Not one escapes. Do you understand?”

“Affirmative, sir!”

Even if he sacrificed half of his command—the Antinium’s grand experiment here would fail. That was what Lulv believed.

Then he saw something strange.

A Worker stood in his squad, fighting with those pink, flaming blades. [Crusaders] died around him. Manus’ [Soldiers] went down too, but they pressed on.

The Worker was stumbling. Wounded. He raised his shield as a Drake came for him. The last Worker in his squad looked around.

Then his eyes flashed. Lulv’s spear twitched as he saw the Worker raise his shield and the [Pike Expert] trying to run him through recoiled in a blaze of light.

“What?”

When Lulv saw him again, the Worker was a foot taller. Soldiers did a double-take as a giant Worker swung a sword, hatchet, and pair of shields, knocking down Manus’ [Soldiers].

The [Templar] lifted his sword to the sky and seemed really disappointed when a giant blade didn’t erase everything in front of him. However, he charged.

“Death.”

He ran into Lulv. The Gnoll took a heavy blow on his spear and then rammed it through the chestplate. He saw the Antinium fighting and twisted the spear.

No more of you! Not one remains! The Gnoll howled at the strange sky overhead.

Then he saw another strange Antinium appear. And another.

——

First it was one. They all remembered him.

Crusader 51 had been the first. Another [Crusader] reached the limit of his class. More. I call for more.

They had leveled. They had suffered. They believed.

Their classes began to change. The [Spearmaster] tried to kill them. Manus marked targets. But this time—there were too many of them.

“Hold the line! We fight alone.”

A Soldier strode forwards. He was not taller, but he spoke, and in such tones!

[My Noble Virtue: Speech].

Another Worker had grown like the one Lulv had killed. He pushed back a fighting Armored Antinium, running at the Manus [Soldiers] who backed up, visibly disturbed.

[My Noble Virtue: Stature].

A third [Templar] stood upon a bluff, fighting under a dome of light. It seemed like those around him could not die.

[My Noble Virtue: Protection].

——

The [Templar] of the Free Antinium began to advance. Lulv, snarling, looked left and right and realized—

They had flanked Manus. Liscor’s companies were cycle-charging their sides, and Olesm had neutralized the [Mage] spells from above. They had to descend and risk being shot or circle helplessly.

“Yayde Re!”

And there were Yoldenites, skirmishing with the Drisshians. Wait. Drisshia was pulling out!

“They’re fleeing! Spearmaster, we can’t stop their flight! Liscor’s right wing just overran their center! Spearmaster!”

They were—everywhere. Lulv’s spear killed everything he saw. But there were so many. Shining warriors. Sudden healing. That [Priest] aiming that mark of Hell at them.

Lulv went still in the fighting. He looked around and saw it all clearly.

A moment of calm ran over him. The fight drained out of him. He raised his speaking stone and calmly, in a relaxed tone of voice, even, breathed.

“Retreat. Retreat in good order.”

All the officers were silent a moment, then the order went down the lines.

“Sir? What’s our rally point?”

Someone asked after a moment. Lulv knew they knew. But he said it.

“Manus. We’re going home. We’ve lost this war.”

He stepped back, and the Antinium advance slowed as Olesm saw the retreat and halted the fighting. To preserve his forces. Lulv looked up at him and raised his spear.

Well done. The Drake offered him a rude gesture in return.

Lulv, [Spearmaster]

The Hectval Alliance objected to his pulling out of the front. Lulv ignored it. He was faced with speculation, officers trying to make sense of it all.

He ignored that, too.

The [Soldiers] of Manus were silent as they just…quit the front. Spearmaster Lulv walked with them, his spear on his shoulder. They would walk back to Manus. Or ride…Lulv was sure he’d need to catch a Wyvern flight to report directly.

However, he needed to walk with them. He had led them there. When the [Spearmaster] did speak, it was to all of them.

“I will make a verbal report, of course. But in my writing, which I think will be sealed to only the High Command of each Walled City—edited for the other ones, perhaps—I will write this.”

The soldiers and officers looked up and listened as the Gnoll spoke.

“To Dragonspeaker Luciva. I, Spearmaster Lulv, held my command in the fighting as long as I deemed the risks appropriate. In hindsight, I believe we engaged with the Antinium force too long. We have made three significant errors in our thinking.”

He counted on his paws. Three.

“Firstly. We do not understand the new classes the Antinium possess. They do not just ‘level’ as we do. They are capable of using a new type of Skill which is neither magic nor strictly a warrior’s Skills. I do not know its nature, but it is a highly powerful class and abilities I have never encountered before.”

More than just intimidation or [Fear] spells. Something about the way they talked…Lulv stared at his first finger. The most terrifying Skill he had seen on that battlefield had not been Crusader 51’s Skills.

It had been that Skill that Sokkel died to. Did it kill something more than his life? Lulv feared it. And he was sure that the other [Soldiers] feared it, too.

“Second, we have underestimated Liscor’s ability to work with the Antinium. They are not merely tolerant of the Antinium or see them as an asset. They are actively supporting and fighting alongside Workers and Soldiers. As…fellow [Soldiers].”

Manus’ forces stirred, but no one voiced any dissent as Lulv went on.

“Which brings me to my last point. Before thoughts about debilitating Liscor’s command or taking drastic measures against the city…I, Spearmaster Lulv, believe it is more beneficial to attempt to subvert the loyalty of the Free Hive. To study and learn what the Antinium are doing concretely. If necessary, to make radical steps to ensure that the Free Antinium do not join the rest of the Hives in a possible Third Antinium War. I suggest Manus employ every diplomatic angle we can.”

Dead silence. Everyone listened as Lulv went on, as if he stood in front of the Dragonspeaker. When he did—he would say the exact same thing.

“Failing that, my only other recourse is to ask if there is a…secret failsafe. Something beyond even the Security Council’s knowledge. A hidden Tier 8 spell. If we have one, I suggest we use it. If we do not, we must reconsider everything about the Antinium. Because I will swear on my class—the Antinium are either capable of this as a species, or their class enables it. I thought I could kill them all, but their greatest asset is not their new classes, abilities, or potential alone. In battle, they were counter-leveling without needing to sleep. If we learn how to do the same, Manus will benefit to no end. Otherwise? I mark the Free Antinium as the greatest threat in any Hive, including the Grand Queen’s.”

Spearmaster Lulv stopped. He looked around and waited.

“Thoughts? Objections?”

No one had any. So he lowered his spear, saluted the other [Soldiers], and went to make his report.

Olesm, [Strategist]-[Commander]

[Conditions Met: Strategist → Eleleu Strategos Class!]

[Class Consolidation: Commander removed.]

[Eleleu Strategos Level 35!]

[Skill – War Cry: Eleleu obtained!]

[Skill – Battlefield: Galuc’s Tunnel obtained!]

[Skill – Army: Charred Spellcasting obtained!]

[Spell – Army: [Firebolt] obtained!]

Olesm woke up, listened to his Skills, and then rolled out of bed. He wrote a response back to the Council, who wanted all kinds of confirmations after his late report. Then Olesm went to brush his teeth, comb his neck spines, have a cup of ‘coffee’ from Liscor, and remembered.

“Damn. Gelatin. Maybe we can get some.”

And the war continued.

Oh, not in the same way. Manus was gone. Olesm had double and triple-checked, and he would keep his guard up, but he thought they were actually gone.

They’d seen a real defeat. After hitting Liscor for three months, Liscor had been able to hit back. If Olesm had needed to, he would have called in Belgrade and really hammered them. But the [Crusaders] were enough.

Yet the war wasn’t over.

The Alliance was gone. They’d retreated practically back to their cities. Now, Lism informed Olesm, they were negotiating for a cease-fire. Olesm wrote back, repeating his words in his bleary state so he was sure he had them all down.

“Liscor’s Council is free to handle its end. However, please bear in mind that the army will continue its advance, and we can discuss a siege of the cities. The Alliance’s terms…should be no less than exceptionally generous. Also, please, we must keep our promises to the Yoldenites. A continuation of this war may see a fracture between Luldem, Hectval, and Drisshia.”

Even if the war ended, Olesm suspected Liscor’s army would need to patrol the Yoldenites’ territory, especially if they wanted to figure out how to create a trade route.

He realized then that the army wouldn’t disband when the war ended. What happened when Hectval made alliances with other cities, or someone else attacked? He would be the [Commander]—no, the [Strategos]—of Liscor unless their main army came back.

Olesm sat there, blinking in the morning’s light, and realized he was the leader of Liscor’s army. He stared into the cup, took a sip of the coffee, and shuddered.

“Gah. That’s terribly bitter. Artur? Do we have anything to put in this? Maybe milk. How’s morale? Break out double rations for breakfast and pull me up a roster. We’re rotating everyone who just fought into Liscor on vacation. I don’t care if we’re marching them down instead of the door, everyone over the next month. Tell Belgrade I want to speak with him—and ask Embria if she consolidated her class. Oh, and Captain Voita after her…”

He got back to work. Olesm continued his war right up until he got word of the gigantic battles in the Gnoll Plains. Then he was racing, racing his entire army back to Liscor.

But that…was a bit later.

Author’s Note: Three chapters. 100,000 words. That’s a novella. Novel?

I don’t know book terms. Someone kept writing denouement and I sort of knew what it meant but I was too lazy to look it up.

Writing is odd. I wasn’t lying when I said I planned one chapter for all of this. Yes, I added more when I realized I had three chapters instead of one, but my brain can organize character arcs, details, a rough sense of narrative…

And I cannot tell how many words it is. Or how long a mile is. Or whether Niers is a foot or six inches tall. He’s six inches. I thought my hand was a foot long for some reason.

However, I am happy with this arc. It is a different genre. Much like the Wistram heist—it’s good to try and write in other styles. I doubt I ever want to try a mystery. I cannot solve any of them in books. I read Detective Conan and after 1000+ chapters, I never guess who did the murder or how they did it. Ever.

But I will keep improving! I hope to put out the edited chapter next, but we will see. Another arc down…let’s see if I can keep quality up as energy wanes. It was good that you voted for Hectval first; the first chapters after a break are almost always my strongest. Thanks for reading and look out for the Antinium! Especially if you live in Hectval. They’re probably not going anywhere.