-Callen-
With the formalities handled, Viscount Nox led us into what functioned as the war room. In actuality it was a decently large table covered in various reports. I don’t know why, but I was expecting a map and maybe some tokens spread across it. However, with the key reports prominently arranged, it was better at conveying the local situation than any kind of national perspective. Still, I suppose the local situation was the same as the national one, considering Karia and company had ripped through the much smaller elven assault forces on her way here. Unless a new detachment of elves was sent to assault the controlled regions, this city was now the focal point of conflict. Looking around the room, something immediately stood out among those present: Baron Meccas wasn’t in the room despite his maid and sword being in the camp.
“Lord Nox, I’ve seen Lord Meccas’s people in the camp as well as his personal weapon. Is he resting or injured?” The question makes Lord Nox pause a bit, but the regretful twist in his expression answers the question before his words do.
“He gave his life holding the line in his domain. They kept the elven main force in place since the beginning of the invasion. Regretfully his last will as conveyed by his subordinates and the arrival of the elves means he has fallen in battle.” Straightening his back and focusing back on the issue at hand, he continued speaking. “My men think the elven army numbers within the range of one to two hundred men, almost all between level ninety and one hundred and twenty. Our forces are relatively intact, but we’ve only driven the elves back once. I suspect they will adapt to our defensive strategy in subsequent assaults. We also have no idea what the peak strength range among the elves is, as even in the assault on Meccas they haven’t directly participated.” I couldn’t help but swallow nervously at the sheer numbers. Looking down at the reports listing the local strength, I found that with all the conscripts in the city, Lord Nox only added around fifteen knights to our force, a third of whom were mages specialized in controlling water. The rest were a mix of local specialists and Nox’s knights.
“I believe I’m familiar with your defense, but regardless, report on how you’ve been resisting such an overwhelming force.” Karia rubbed her chin in thought while scowling.
“The elves launched their first assault the previous day. Without the treeline for cover and with ample time to prepare, we launched bait into the river, drawing one of the deep dwellers up to feed. Our mages controlled the wave sweep into the fields around the city, washing away the vanguard. The mud leftover from the flood hampered the movements of the following elves, making them vulnerable to concentrated fire. We haven’t been able to confirm any kills despite our best efforts, but with the terrain in our favor, the elves withdrew.” I nodded as the report came to an end. The room was silent while everyone reflected on the information present. Without a doubt the only reason none of the elves “died” was because they couldn’t. The defensive strategy itself seemed to prove itself a resounding success. With that in mind, the tactics used would be worthless without easy access to the great river and a sufficiently high wall.
Despite that victory, the numbers still settled a vague existential dread on me. Karia came north with a majority of the central region's knights, and the central region had the most knights of any region via its convenient training ground. The elven army’s size was somewhere in the range of double to quadruple ours even after our previous victories. If I did nothing but break the mana veils, I would completely burn out of mana before taking out even a fraction of the total force. The only scenario in which I might be able to wipe out the elves is if I gathered the lost bits of every elf involved in the invasion and hugged them all at the same time while using a concentrated Mana Zone. I glanced over at the queen to see how she was taking the information. Her face lacked the utter surety that had previously characterized her every action.
“Where is Duke Harlanou?” While asking her question, she signaled a servant to bring her a quill and ink.
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“We’ve updated the Duke at every step; however, as of late, our messengers have been turned back at the gates. However, disturbing rumors have made their way back from civilians who have fled his city.” I stared wide-eyed in confusion at that statement. People were fleeing from the most secure city in the entire North, not just for the strength of its guards but also geographically, and they were running towards a city on the frontlines against foreign invasion. Lord Nox continued on as everyone’s attention sharpened. “Rumors vary widely; however, most agree on two subjects. First, an armed force of paladins entered the mansion, never to return, and second is the mass abduction of civilians in the city. The scum and lowlives seem to be rallying in support of the duke using coercion to keep the civilians under control, but a few desperate runaways tell of the screams of those taken echoing from the manor in the dead of the night when the city is quiet.”
A tense silence settled on the room as Viscount Nox finished his report. I clenched my fist, maybe in anger, but definitely in frustration. Karia was our one edge against the elves, but it was already apparent that the combined efforts of multiple elders could contain her. Ideally the Duke should be in a similar range of strength as Karia and would’ve been vital in evening out the odds. However, with the description given, it was clear something was very wrong with the duke. Karia started drafting letters and asking follow-up questions while I reflected on the duke’s circumstances. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots. Lexia ate my arm, and later criminals flocked to her command. Lexia got a vial of my blood and hid in the duke's manor for our short visit to the city. Paladins hunting Lexia arrived in the manor but were butchered by a force so overwhelming none could escape to warn the outside. Somehow that vial of blood made its way to the duke, and now he was corrupted or possessed, whichever it was that the blood did.
“Lord Nox, the last time I was in the city there was a hostage situation in which I traded a vial of blood. Recently I’ve learned just how important such a material is, and I fear that it may have ended in the Duke's hands. There’s a reason paladins came north, and it was to hunt the girl who got that blood.” Apparently I failed to convey the message I intended to him because Lord Nox looked at me clearly puzzled. However, Karia’s head snapped over to me with incredible intensity as I made my statement. The intensity she radiated seemed to freeze the entire room.
High Priest Norold
Norold froze outside the door of the Pope’s office. The sickening feeling that had always been dismissed as a taint from hunting demons as an inquisitor overlapped with the twisted evil of a pure-blooded demon. Peeking in, he saw all he needed to see: the pope sat scolding a demoness before ranting against the queen's sudden visit. Norold turned from the door, running with a mix of shoddy stealth and haste. A lifetime of hunting demons didn’t prepare him for having to sneak away. The sudden stop to the ranting of the pope behind him was all the confirmation Norold needed that he had been noticed. Still, the presence of the demon didn’t seem eager to pursue, instead taking on a defensive stance.
Norold froze before the stairs leading to the main lobby. If the demon wasn’t pursuing him, it meant the pope intended to have the guards below arrest him. Without hesitation, Norold moved over to one of the windows and flashed forward, slamming into it at full speed. He felt his shoulder pop as the mastercraft window resisted the impact but also felt and heard it shatter, letting him dive into a freefall from the central tower. Norold closed his eyes briefly, enjoying the feeling of the air whizzing by before opening them again with the aged sharpness of a veteran paladin.
He spread his arms and turned his chaotic freefall into a controlled plunge. Carefully angling himself, he twisted around the central tower to hide himself from any viewers looking out the shattered window. He rode the wind, bringing himself back to the tower. Unconcerned about reaching terminal velocity, he scanned everything below him, charting out his route of escape. Decisively he slammed his fist into the tower with incredible force and was sent flying away from the tower.
In a blur of motion, he landed on a distant platform, grabbing the edge with all he had. The magic of the platform stopped him from sliding over the edge, but the fall itself still pressed against him. The feeling of his old ribs cracking lasted moments as he bounced from the impact. Norold caught himself on his elbows as he coughed up blood. Slowly he pushed himself back onto his feet, unsteady for a moment before steadying as a fierce light of conviction entered his eyes. He looked up at the tower filled with the heavy weight of the task he now faced. Countless others had faced the pope and disappeared; originally, Norold had dismissed it as political resistance to the changing culture in the Citadel. Now he acknowledged it as a hidden war in which it was now his turn to fight.
Looking to the side, he noticed a stunned sister of the faith frozen between concern and shock. Giving a friendly if slightly bloody smile, he gently patted the lady’s arm.
“It’s crazy what kind of things happen on these platforms sometimes, isn’t it?” He turned his gaze back to the tower, sharp and ready. “Lord, I ask you to give me the strength and wisdom to do what must be done.” As he spoke, he felt the cracks in his ribs and the ache in his back vanish.
