Chapter 65

  The summation of the two different schools of thought which the Allied Systems Marine Corps and the Army respectively subscribed to were both exaggerated to the point of becoming running jokes, but at the same time they were rooted in some facts. The Marines’ approach to problem-solving was something along the lines of “all you need is a marine and his rifle. If one’s not enough, send two. If two’s not enough, send three,” and so on ad infinitum, or until there were no more marines to send. This was something demons like Riaret and many others would easily agree with while swapping out the “marine and his rifle” part to “demon and her halberd”. Well, I wasn’t a marine; I had spent the last eighteen years in the Army, and I generally agreed with the army way of thinking, which claimed that “most problems could be solved with artillery, and if that didn’t work, just ask the Navy for an orbital bombardment.” Unfortunately, the nearest Navy ship was a long way from here — probably longer than I could even imagine — and that had left me with very few options, and the best of those options was building something to approximate artillery as closely as it was possible under the circumstances.

  As I looked at the assembled demons in front of the western gate — hundreds of crafters — I hoped they’d be as enthusiastic as their colleagues in Garoshek had been. To them EXP wasn’t as much of a concern as it was for soldiers and other fighters. To them, building my catapults would be a chance to advance their crafting skills by working on something they had not worked on before.

  The process was the same as it had been in Garoshek: I asked the crowd to organise themselves by professions, and soon I had groups of woodworkers, metalworkers, ropemakers and flameslime producers. This time I also had groups of builders, leather and fabric makers, and I had a small collection of bonders to boot. The quiet presence of my high-level squad standing behind me, not to mention Riaret and a few of her captains, seemed to have helped speed things up, and in five minutes I had the hastily elected representatives of each group standing in front of me. This time I didn’t bother with introductions — it was unlikely I’d remember all the names anyway — and I got straight to the point. I brought out from my storage the large and chunky catapult parts I had and laid them out on the ground in front of the crafter representatives, then brought out the design documents and beckoned Rathar to come forward — if the crafters in Garoshek had made any adjustments, his counterpart, Zeneth, who had stayed with Reinos, would relay those changes so they could be incorporated into the project.

  Reinos had reported that the three catapults they had built in Garoshek worked well, could throw a large jar of flameslime as far as 450 metres, and with a bit of practice the crews had been able to achieve a good level of accuracy. It was encouraging, and I felt confident that the first artillery unit of the Fourth Ring would have a tremendous effect on the battlefield — whether or not warrior-types like Riaret approved of it.

  As I had expected, after examining the designs and the existing parts, the group representatives managed to whip up their professional enthusiasm, just as the ones in Garoshek had, and I smiled as I listened to their heated debates and discussions about manufacturing parts, increasing torsion spring efficiency and different ways to go about assembling the catapults. Rathar quickly became the centre of attention as he relayed notes and changes to the designs, and I was pleased as the crafters promised they’d have the first five catapults ready for testing in three days, and if they worked as intended, another twenty in another three days. Orroth had no shortage of manpower — or demonpower — and their resource and raw material situation was better than Garoshek’s due to the much larger indoor Wilds they had here. So, I dismissed the crafters, promising them that they’d have access to whatever they needed, and of course some EXP as payment for their efforts. I really hoped my yearly personal allowance could take it.

  Twenty-five catapults in six days; with this I had the timeline for our breakout and evacuation of Orroth. Reinos and his army would arrive in about four days, so they’d have to take up positions near the Path, but far enough to remain undetected by the besieging forces until we were ready. The 70,000 strong minotaur army that had been dispatched to hunt us down, was still three or four days away from Garoshek — according to the Kralsen Hive Mind — which meant at least nine days from here if they didn’t stop anywhere to resupply or to rest. Not a lot of time, not at all. My plans needed to be discussed and refined, so I’d have to start holding strategy meetings with Riaret and Reinos starting today. I also needed to get in touch with Tarashak and give him and Flamey new instructions; while they weren’t in a position to do anything to help with our breakout from Orroth, or even with capturing the gate to the Third, they could very well be the trump cards I needed when dealing with the minotaur king later. I hoped Flamey would be able to speed up her tunnel project and have a way out of Scaragar as soon as possible. Oh, how I missed that cute, little, creative rascal. Best daughter ever, even if adopted.

  The several hundred crafters dispersed, led away by their respective representatives to start working without delay, taking the plans and catapult parts with them. By the look of it the project was in good hands. I wanted to turn to Riaret to ask her to find us a quiet room or hall where we could sit down with her captains and start planning, when I noticed a single fire-demon, a crafter, who instead of leaving — or moving at all — was standing in place with his eyes fixed on me. I wasn’t sure what that was about, so I was inclined to just ignore it, but by the look on the faces of my squad members as well as that of Riaret, it seemed they all knew this particular crafter.

  ‘Fragnok, you old piece of swarm-food!’ Riaret growled at the crafter. ‘What in the stinky undergarments of the Hellguide do you want now?’

  ***

  I took another look at the crafter, whose name was apparently Fragnok. Unlike any other demon I’d seen so far, I could tell this one was old. He was as tall as most, slightly over two metres, but he kind of looked smaller due to his posture as he was leaning on his staff or perhaps walking cane — it was hard to tell with all the ornaments on that stick. His face was wrinkly and his shortish hair had strands of white — another novel thing I hadn’t seen before — and while he was quite well dressed compared to soldiers or other crafters, he just exuded that feeling of old age. And … Fragnok? Really? Was this the same Fragnok, the famous bonder, my squad had been talking about before we had entered the city? Everyone else had taken my non-demon status in stride — probably because they had seen Riaret was okay with it — so why was this Fragnok fellow just standing there, staring at me like I was the most suspicious Surface World creature ever to grace Hell with his presence?

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  ‘Did you not hear me?’ Riaret demanded as he took a step closer to the old demon.

  It was really as if he hadn’t even heard the general; I seemed to be his sole focus, and he kept staring at me without saying a word.

  ‘Fragnok, was it?’ I addressed the demon. ‘Is there a reason you’re staring at me? Besides me being human?’

  He didn’t say anything, and the general didn’t take kindly to that.

  ‘I strongly suggest that when the ruling demon lord of the Ring asks you a question, you answer!’ Riaret hissed at the man, sounding like she took the lack of discipline and immediate response on the old guy’s part as a personal offence.

  ‘Interesting. Very interesting,’ the old demon finally spoke, stepping closer to me as if to examine me.

  He looked me up and down, grinning one moment, grimacing the next, humming like an old gravity generator on a pirate ship.

  It was a rather bold attitude to take for a crafter hovering around level 18. Well, he was technically a civilian and not a part of any army, so I was reluctant to just snap at him and demand the kind of behaviour and discipline Riaret obviously wanted to see. But at the same time, I didn’t want to come across as too soft or too forgiving in front of the general either.

  ‘If you have nothing to add to my catapult project, then don’t waste my time and leave now! I have a war and a campaign to conduct. Good day!’ I said, hoping I got the balance right, and I turned to leave.

  It wasn’t a lie; I had stuff to do, and if this guy just wanted to take a closer look at a human, then I really didn’t have the time to spare; plans needed to be discussed, and preparations needed to be made. And the damn cat was stirring in my storage, I could feel it; that jolt was coming, and I tried to retreat before he’d jump out of my chest and cause a scene. Which was exactly what he did: just before I could take another step away from the crafter, or do anything else, the cat was out of the bag.

  Mickey solidified as he landed on the ground, and without even looking around or at least getting a sniff of the air, he was in front of the old crafter. Fragnok froze as he stood, and the cat was staring up at him as if expecting something of the guy. From the corner of my eye, I could see my squad backing away from the cat, and on my other side I could see Riaret visibly struggling to keep herself from rushing to Mickey to pet him. She must have been a weird one by demon standards.

  ‘Ah, so this is where that desire for a bond is coming from. The other soul.’ Fragnok finally gathered his wits after a couple of seconds. Then he looked at me and asked, “I know what you are, Lord, but what is this creature?’

  Oh, surely not! Could it be? I knew the guy was one of those crafters whom they called “bonders” — this had been explained to me by my squad members, especially in relation to Fragnok. Bonders had the somewhat rare skills to call into existence a simple proto-soul, slam it into a weapon, and then create a bond between said weapon and a demon. This usually enabled the user to imbue a weapon with Hell Mana, making it sharper and more durable. As warriors levelled their weapon related skills, they could even achieve useful magical effects: extra power to their strikes, searing hot blades, flaming or exploding arrows, and so on. What you could do with your weapon depended on its proto-soul, the bond, and of course the amount of Hell Mana available to you. But Mickey wasn’t a weapon. Frankly, I had no idea what he was beyond “cat”. So, surely Fragnok couldn’t have been talking about him.

  ‘It’s a cat,’ I told the old demon. ‘What bond are you talking about?’

  ‘Hm. A cat,’ he mused, rubbing his chin while trying to bend down to get a better look at the animal while clinging to his walking cane.

  ‘What bond? And what is it you want?’ I asked again. The guy was just staring at Mickey, and the cat seemed all too happy to just keep staring back at him. Until I lost my patience and snapped at the old demon. ‘Do you always ignore those who are asking you questions?’

  ‘Either that, or he talks back like he’s a general himself,’ Riaret said, sneering at Fragnok.

  And we both got ignored. While I understood that seeing a human and a cat were quite the terrifying novelty for most demons, I was beginning to get a little annoyed.

  ‘Mickey, get back into storage and let’s go!’ I instructed the cat, knowing full well the result would be the cat not doing anything or something completely different, and I turned to leave.

  ‘Wait!’ Fragnok called out.

  ‘Meow,’ Mickey also called out.

  ‘What?’ Riaret snapped again angrily, probably at Fragnok.

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘Lord, you are a creature of the Surface World, are you not? The same as the Blessed, whom they also called “heroes”, are you not?’ he asked and he didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Bonders have known since those times that it’s not only between a demon and his weapon, but between a demon and a creature that a bond could be made. The stories say the Blessed had bonds with living things they called familiars. Most creatures in the ring don’t have souls, but this “cat” does, and through my skill I hear it crying for a bond. I feel it reaching out; tendrils of soul seeking a connection, to create something the Blessed called a “familiar’s bond”. Do you not feel it?’

  ‘Ah, maybe?’ I said, having absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

  Well, maybe I had a little bit of an idea of what he was talking about. I knew bonds; I had one with my sword, Burning Darkness, one he had made himself. Should I believe Fragnok that a cat wanted to do the same? Did I need that at all? And now that I thought about it, the sword had been awfully quiet this whole time. As someone who could create and handle his own bonds, was it possible for Burning Darkness to not notice what a local crafter had noticed?

  ‘Anything to say about this, esteemed Hellfire Blade?’ I whispered to my sword.

  ‘Ah, you’ve figured things out, haven’t you?’ Burning Darkness replied reluctantly.

  ‘Another bond? And such a high-level one?’ Fragnok’s eyes widened just as I was exchanging the words with my sword.

  Could this guy really sense all the bonds in the vicinity? Must have had some high-level skills, and by the look of it he was getting excited. Way too excited. I turned to Riaret.

  ‘Listen, it seems this is something I’ll need to deal with.’

  ‘How long is this stupidity going to take?’ she asked, not taking her eyes off Mickey.

  ‘I’m not sure. Not long.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll be waiting for you in my room. And Hyde, don’t take too long, we have a lot to discuss if we want your plans to work,’ she said and then she walked away, leaving me with my squad and the crazed bonder, Fragnok. I sighed and I turned back to the old demon to hear the details about what he thought Mickey — or his little cat-soul — wanted.

  every 3 days. This is partly due to dealing with some family stuff, and partly because I've been a bit slow writing and need to catch up to have a healthier backlog of chapters.