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| ===Chapter 15 - To Save Is To Kill=== | | ===Chapter 16 - In the Name of the Black Dragon=== |
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| For centuries, southern mages have mocked the Hyperborean's Runic Magic as obsolete compared to Aura Magic.
| | ( under work ) |
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| Runic Magic had its advantages, sure. It allowed for the storage of ether from pre-cast spells through the use of runestones. Many rock minerals' crystal lattices had a low ether diffusion rate, making it possible to maintain hoards of prepared spells. This allowed anyone who knew the trigger conditions to activate Runic Magic in bulk -- an absolute quantitative advantage which the Hyperboreans exploited at every opportunity.
| | Pascal sighed again as he put down the action report and leaned back in his cabin's workdesk chair. |
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| However, Runic Magic's inability to spontaneously cast and its need for a physical carrier drastically limited its use. For example, there was simply no northern equivalent of the ''Ether Seeker'' multipurpose counterspell, nor could Hyperboreans weave layered defensive wards at different distances. Their inability to apply both defensive and antimagic spells at the same time without the opposing magical interference always left them vulnerable to Weichsel's superbly coordinated volleys.
| | It was his third time reading over the report in reflection. In fact, he had already sent its contents to Weichsel's General Staff an hour ago. |
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| But the manipulation of ether was as much a science as alchemy or metallurgy. Runic Magic would evolve with time just like any other technology in demand.
| | The real problem was that he simply didn't know what else to do. |
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| Hyperborean mages on the Frontier had recently developed the newest form of Runic Magic: spell runes which were limited by neither their location nor contact activation. These new runes had rudimentary awareness of their surroundings. They could move freely across any two-dimensional surface. They could even work in groups and follow complex instructions, such as "band together and discharge in a coordinated volley against hostile attacks."
| | The Knights Phantom had set up camp after the battle to rest, recover, and reorganize. Most of the officers were celebrating with their own units, or paying respects to the dead, or just plain sleeping. |
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| In essence, they were self-operated, ''automated'' spells that no longer required a human operator.
| | Problem was: Pascal couldn't sleep. He was far past the 'drowsy' stage of fatigue. |
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| The proud Hyperborean mages of the newest generation called them "Living Runes".
| | He also didn't belong to a unit, or even a 'past unit'. He was one of the few command staff personnel the came along for the battle, and unlike the others he had come straight from the academy. |
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| The deafening thunder from the other side of Skywhale Polarlys left a buzz in Asgeirr Vintersvend's ears. But he paid it no mind as his cool Admiral Winter facade finally cracked open a broad, vengeful smirk:
| | That shouldn't be a problem since there were plenty of cadets from the academy right? Well, of the people he actually ''talked'' to... |
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| "Where is your Holy Father now?"
| | Parzifal was still working in the makeshift 'hospital'. |
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| | Reynald, Ariadne, and Gerd were all recovering there from heavy injuries -- severe enough that the healers allowed no visitors so the wounded could receive undisturbed rest. |
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| | Kaede had gone there to help, at least until she herself passed out. Lack of rest plus being drained for blood really wasn't a good combination. Pascal might have been tempted to go yell at Parzifal for that, had he not seen first hand of the casualties they took. |
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| <nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>
| | Nearly forty percent of the Phantoms' order of battle had been killed or seriously wounded. The ''Ghost Riders'' had been hit the hardest, down to less than twenty percent of their effective combat force. Their only blessing was the survival of Colonel von Hammerstein. The grievously injured commander had stayed conscious long enough to drift down and cushion his landing, where he was later found by Weichsel's rescue teams. |
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| "KAYETEN! I NEED A VOLLEY!"
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| Reynald accompanied his shout with a ''Telepathy'' burst. He doubted Kayeten could hear any better than his own ringing ears, and the recent magical discharge would surely distort his ungrounded telepathy. But even one syllable getting through might catch the Lieutenant's attention.
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| Surely enough, those faded-green eyes turned towards him with a confused look.
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| Reynald followed it with set of hand signals in glowing red: single raised finger, then extended palm, then two fingers pointing at the skywhale von Hammerstein and Ariadne charged towards.
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| It was a painstaking way of relaying a simple message, but it was also necessary. Communications were the lifeblood of any military unit. Without coordination, even the best of effort would fall apart like sand.
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| The extremely bland-looking Lieutenant replied with a single nod, before raising his glove and chanting the opening to his spell. | |
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| He always began with ''Phalanx'' -- the key word of a spellstorm mage.
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| Dozens upon dozens of emerald lights sprang into existence, surrounding the Lieutenant like a glittering shroud. It was a humbling display of magic prowess that always left Reynald wondering how someone his own age could empower ''that many'' shots at once. But for now, he was just glad to have the charging spell barrage on his side.
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| Reynald then waved his light lance to gather the attention of his squad before pointing it at the Colonel's flag ahead.
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| The doomed charge of the 1st Platoon had left them no more than two hundred paces away from the skywhale. The fireball that consumed dozens wasn't just intimidating, but also provided 'cover' for the unit to move even closer. Furthermore, the defenders would take time to prepare another attack like that.
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| Most commanders -- Reynald himself included -- would have been too stunned by their own losses. But von Hammerstein? His courage not only rallied the wills of his men, but also exploited an opportunity brought in blood and lives.
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| ''One day, I'll be able to lead just like him,'' Reynald thought. ''But for now...''
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| "FOLLOW ME! CHARGE!"
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| It didn't matter that his squadmates were probably all deaf at the moment.
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| Correct protocols were simply too important to forgo at times like these.
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| Reynald watched through admiring eyes as Colonel von Hammerstein rushed through three more lightning bolts, then charged his swordstaff blade into the chest of one Northmen officer on the skywhale's back. His gryphon tried to dig its claws into a nearby archer, but only struck wards and knocked the man away.
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| At that same moment, over a hundred rays from Kayeten and his 3rd Platoon raced in from behind. They rained onto the area surrounding the Colonel's landing, leaving him the lone visible figure in a sea of explosive mayhem.
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| Damage from a scattered elemental barrage was minimal against warded troops. The true purpose had been to suppress foes and buy time. Nevertheless Reynald knew that the inspiring image had just been engraved into his memory, especially when von Hammerstein somehow speared the flagpole of his Black Dragon banner onto the skywhale's armored back.
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| That was a tarnish that the Northmen would not permit.
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| A sergeant thirty paces away gestured his men to attack through the lingering smoke. But before they could switch bows for swords and axes, Ariadne had dove into their group, pierced through the leader's wards, and skewered his torso with the lance form of her Manteuffel Sword.
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| Shrinking her weapon to its 'normal' size, she pulled the twin-bladed sword out of the corpse and hacked towards a nearby archer. But with the penetration spell on her weapon gone, she barely even crack through his outermost spellshield.
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| ''Use the--''
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| Reynald didn't even finish his thought when Ariadne drew a siphon with her other hand. Swinging it around from the left, she sent out a wave of liquid fire that instantly torched every surrounding foe.
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| Well... all except one. The last archer-turned-axeman was on the wrong side of her mount. So Ariadne urged Edelweiss to plow straight into him before trampling him underfoot. His wards and armor would ensure that his ribs stayed intact, but the hard impact would still stun him for a few precious seconds.
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| The white pegasus then broke into a gallop across the skywhale's back. Its rider, dressed in black-on-burning-red and billowing long pink tresses behind her, immolated entire squads with bursts of hellish flames.
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| The sight was inspirational, even if her accuracy was terrible.
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| ''What is she even trying to hit...?''
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| Reynald took a closer look before he realized that Ariadne worried over more than just the Northmen troops. There were glowing, palm-sized lights that collected into groups as they somehow moved across the skywhale's back.
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| He wasn't sure what they were. But they looked far too similar to the magical anomalies that unleashed that devastating lightning barrage.
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| This time, Ariadne was taking no chances with them. Her flame jet reached out to torch anything that approached. Whenever it met one of those firefly-like swarms, the flames surged as though they met a patch of oil.
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| But regardless of how brave or skilled she was, Ariadne was still only one person. She had plowed deep into a defensive formation by herself, and there were simply far too many foes...
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| A dispelling arrow shattered the last of her spellshields before bouncing off her spaulders. But the bodkin head that followed buried into her breastplate near her thin shoulders. The force of the impact sent Ariadne reeling and almost off her mount, yet the willful girl not only held steady but even reached up for the lodged arrow.
| | It would take years for the elite Knights Phantom to recover back to full strength. |
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| Reynald then winced as he watched Ariadne break off the shaft without hesitation before tossing it aside.
| | Combined with all the other battles and skirmishes fought during the peninsular campaign, Pascal wasn't surprised that the healers had ran out of Samaran blood. |
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| For a brief moment, he had to remind himself this was his best friend's girl to not fall in love himself.
| | The victory they earned was a pyhrric one. But that didn't make it any less total. Both Skagen's skywhales and their drake force had been utterly destroyed, denying the Northmen of their mobile strike force. With Admiral Winter dead, the stormcaller mages already detected a warm front moving in from the south. Soon, the snow-covered fields would turn to wintry slush, unmaneuverable to the northern skis and sleds. Once General von Blumenthal's land cavalry destroyed the beached Skagen North Sea Fleet tomorrow morning, the entire Skagen army would be trapped in Weichsel without supplies. |
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| He traced the attack back to an officer who directed another squad of archers for coordinated volleys. With not a second to waste, the redhead shouted "''Phantom Charge''". The ether of his mount ripped away to form a blazing spectral charger, which rammed straight into those archers and exploded in scorching fury.
| | Sure, they weren't far from the border. But with superior Weichsel cavalry harrying them from all sides, their retreat would be painstakingly slow. |
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| Losing his steed left Reynald plummeting through the skies. But with less than fifty paces to go, he also didn't care.
| | Meanwhile, King Leopold had already lead the main Weichsel army out of Nordkreuz. They were marching east to finish the job: the annihilation of Skagen's Confederate Army of the Home Isles. |
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| "''Aura Burst! Shift Impulse!''" He tossed aside the cumbersome lance and drew his trusty dual kukris.
| | The Greater Jarldom of Skagen still had more forces in their overseas frontier realms. But these units would take months to return, if they could be spared from their duties on the frontier at all. If the King could destroy Skagen's home army, he would ruin Skagen's capacity to wage war on the Hyperion continent for decades to come. This would give Weichsel absolute and undisputed superiority in any peace negotiations which followed. |
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| With another thought and a rush of ether, Reynald transmuted his entire body into an arcing bolt of lightning. He slammed straight into the archer group that had been trying to shoot his best friend's fiancée before re-materializing, imprinting one last chilling smirk into their startled eyes.
| | But would the King settle for merely a white peace -- a return to the status quo -- so Weichsel could free its hand to join Rhin-Lotharingie's war against the Caliphate? |
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| "''Catalyst Dispel Burst!''"
| | Pascal rather doubted that. |
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| A wave of antimagic blasted away from Reynald in all directions, ripping away wards even as he leaped back into the air. The short redhead then spun his body like an axle shaft, slashing away at all sides with twin whirlwind blades. | | A decisive victory would encourage Weichsel to press towards its ultimate goal in the north: the annexation of the Skagen Peninsula. |
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| His first rotation hardly cut through their chainmail. Most soldiers thought bigger weapons were better for a reason, after all.
| | With two of the three peninsular Jarls already killed in battle, it was possible that Skagen's Assembly of Jarls might actually agree after a catastrophic loss. |
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| But the second rotation rose higher to more vulnerable parts, and those viciously curved kukri blades easily tore out five throats. | | But even in the best case scenario of a swift peace, the people in these newly conquered lands belonged to both a different culture and religion. Their integration would require pacification, which needed the presence of considerable military might -- forces that would no longer to sent to Rhin-Lotharingie aid. |
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| | ''I had not thought this far when I initially proposed the peninsular campaign,'' Pascal reflected. |
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| | He had been too focused on achieving military objectives, without considering the broader political implications. |
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| <nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>
| | At times like these, Pascal had to admit that in spite of all his genius, he was still a long way off from becoming a true general. |
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| | ...Let alone a renowned Marshal like his father. |
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| For a moment, Gerd watched with uncertainty as Reynald's reconnaissance squad charged in after their commander. Against an airborne behemoth crawling with enemies, the courage of a mere dozen seemed an almost suicidal move.
| | Pascal wished he could talk to Sylviane right now. She had considerable more political experience than he did, thanks to years of working under Emperor Geoffroi in the Lotharin court. But her armigers had called her away on urgent business -- something about an emergency message from home. |
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| But it wasn't that which raised his concern. | | ''I might be the fiancé of their Crown Princess. But in the eyes of most Lotharins, I am still just a foreigner and outsider,'' Pascal sighed as he pondered over this sad and lonely truth. |
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| Reynald didn't carry a siphon because they had no idea how the rimefire alchemicals might react to his lightning leaps. But the same restriction didn't apply to the rest of his command.
| | Leaning his head back from the chair, Pascal brought his right hand up to rub his temple. |
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| Engaging hostiles without support in order to probe for weaknesses was one of the duties of scouts. Therefore recon units always drew the best and brightest troopers from any company. In fact, Reynald's men had more of those inferno siphons than Gerd's entire platoon.
| | He couldn't wait for night to come and bring some rest for his fatigue-clouded mind. |
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| The secrecy surrounding the creation of rimefire meant that Weichsel had never been able to replicate it. Yet that never stopped them from using what they captured in battle to devastating effect. The eleven other men and women who landed on the second skywhale were still horribly outnumbered. However, firepower was a real force balancer, and none of siphoneers hesitated to turn the skywhale's back into a death pyre.
| | That was before he heard two knocks on the door, followed by a familiar voice: |
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| Gerd was still too deafened to hear any screaming from those burned alive. But the skywhale's painful thrashing was a clear indication of the damage they were inflicting.
| | "Pascal? Are you in?" came the soft soprano of Cecylia von Falkenhausen. |
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| Meanwhile, Kayeten and his dispersed 3rd Platoon charged the third skywhale from multiple angles, covered by several suppressive volleys coordinated by his ''Phalanx'' spells. Nevertheless, dozens of lightning bolts reached out from the leviathan as though it were a thunderous porcupine. Casualties mounted as a third of the platoon went down in quick succession. But their sacrifice allowed the rest to land and begin a bitter struggle for battlefield control.
| | "Yes! Be right there!" Pascal called back as he stood up and rushed towards the door. |
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| ''They're all putting their lives on the line to do their best, yet I...''
| | He really was thankful that Kaede allowed him to semi-reconcile with Ariadne, which brought Cecylia back to everyday speaking terms again. |
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| Gerd and his platoon had orders to clear the defenses of another skywhale: the first in that staggered row of four.
| | "You are back in Weichsel already?" Pascal cheerfully asked as he opened the thick wooden door... and promptly froze. |
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| ''I can't be the only coward to fall behind!''
| | The dhampir girl with scarlet-crossed eyes was just the first of six people who stood outside, all of them wearing figure-concealing gray cloaks bearing the Black Dragon crest. |
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| It was tempting, so tempting to simply order another charge. But Gerd knew that his circumstances were different. Unlike Reynald, distance wasn't in his favor. Without Kayeten's ability, Gerd couldn't scatter his men -- it disrupted their coordinated warding and left them vulnerable to the runic arrow volleys. But if he kept the platoon together, he didn't see how they could charge across several hundred paces before being torn asunder by another lightning barrage.
| | "Sorry, official business," Cecylia noted as she gave him an apologetic smile. |
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| To send his men into the jaws of meaningless death wouldn't be 'courageous'. It would be stupidity instead, born out of cowardice of a different sort.
| | "Can we talk inside?" said the middle-aged man standing right behind her. |
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| ''What would he do?'' | | Pascal's eyebrows shot up. This was certainly a very unusual encounter. Besides, he thought Cecylia was still supposed to be in Skagen, doing intelligence work. |
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| Gerd eyed von Hammerstein's smoke obscured flag. The Black Dragon banner already flew in tatters from the arrows and spellfire that filled the air. But it still called out to the heart of any Weichsen -- signaling for them to rally there, to fight on!
| | Never breaking eye contact or changing his puzzled expression, Pascal slowly turned his hand to point his turquoise casting ring at Cecylia. Meanwhile his other hand summoned four defensive runes. But a subtle scan of her magic aura held a matching checksum with his memory. The unique ether signature was definitely Cecylia's, not some fake modified by polymorph or illusion magic. |
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| The answer should have been obvious from the start.
| | He didn't detect any enchantment magic either. Sure, minor spell auras could be concealed. But any spell capable of overwhelming and dominating a dhampir's mind would be powerful indeed. |
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| The Colonel, Ariadne, and Reynald had given him the perfect cover.
| | "Come on in," Pascal replied at last as he lead them inside the cabin. |
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| ''...Those Northmen won't be able to hit me without striking their own!''
| | With seven people inside, it was a little cramped, especially when six of them reached out to take off their cloaks, revealing the uniforms underneath. |
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| Gerd spurred his phantom steed in action. He raised his swordstaff high above and waved it in a 'follow me' signal. His mount then galloped towards the same skywhale that Ariadne and Reynald fought on.
| | ...The pitch-black uniform of the King's Black Eagles, all six of them. |
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| As he drew close to the beast, he banked his steed sharply and rode across the leviathan's upper side as though it was a tilted road. Glancing back, he grinned as most of his men managed to follow suit. The caracole was a well-practiced maneuver, even if it wasn't normally used in this manner.
| | Pascal had a bad feeling about this. It wasn't natural for the Black Eagles to operate in open groups unless the King was nearby. |
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| "''Idio...--ont!''" he heard a fuzzy telepathic burst from his second-in-command.
| | The middle-aged man -- who wore a fierce scowl and had blond hair tied back in a 'manly' ponytail -- then began without waiting for the resident's invitation: |
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| Gerd turned around just in time to see ten Västergötlanders adventurers charging down to meet them in close combat.
| | "I am Major Kempinski, leader of field operations for the Black Eagles' State Security section," the man revealed his Black Eagle crest-badge, as though offering Pascal to scan it for any sign of magical deception. |
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| ''You sorry bastards...'' | | But Pascal simply nodded. Cecylia's presence was good enough for him. If he couldn't trust a Falkenhausen, who had been faultlessly loyal to the Crown of Weichsel for generations, then there would be no man in the world whom he could rely on. |
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| Raising his swordstaff high with both hands, Gerd unleashed all of his pent up fury through a bellowing roar that popped whatever what blocking his ears. His foes seemed to hesitate even before his blade smashed into them, shattering a blocking polearm and sending five screaming into the open skies with a single bowling bash.
| | "Is this cabin warded from outside spying?" |
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| Searing pain erupted across his left thigh as some halberd cut deep into it. Gerd shifted his legs to make sure he could still feel them...
| | "Of course," Pascal answered. ''Who does he think I am, incompetent?'' |
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| ''Just a flesh wound then.''
| | "Then-- I have been charged to bring you a personal note from His Majesty the King, along with conclusive findings of recent investigations into the death of Field Marshal Karl August von Moltewitz," the Major continued. |
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| Trusting his platoon finish off those remaining, Gerd urged his mount to keep going. Being close to the edge left them within reach of the skywhales' tendrils, and Gerd spun his swordstaff to cleave a path through the mass of tentacles that attempted to grapple on. His men cut their way across in the least possible time. Soon their steeds left the skywhale behind, galloping across the air towards an even bigger leviathan -- the one assigned to his platoon.
| | At the words 'His Majesty the King', Pascal immediately stood to full attention and gave a responsive salute. |
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| ''Well Reynald, I'm certainly picking on someone my own size this time...''
| | "Hail the Black Dragon," he swore his allegiance before receiving the offered scroll-case. |
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| The faint, chuckling smile Gerd cracked at his own joke did wonders to boost confidence, especially as he waved his swordstaff once more before pointing it towards the looming armored beast.
| | ''What about father? Is there something else other than him being killed by Imperial Mantis Blades?'' |
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| "FOLLOW ME!"
| | Question rolled nonstop across Pascal's mind as he unfurled the two sheets of parchment and began reading. |
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| With another skywhale behind them, there would be no arrow volleys, no thunderous barrage. The Northmen would just have to fight it out in an honorable close quarters melee.
| | It began with pleasantries, congratulations for the victory, all the polite terms you expect a King to use when addressing an important subject. |
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| Well, sort of...
| | ...Right before the hammer struck: |
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| As Gerd reached back to pull out the siphon attached to his backpack, he couldn't help appreciate the irony of the situation. The Northmen had always accused Weichsel of 'cheating'; surely, even they couldn't make such a claim now.
| | ''...We have since discovered irrefutable evidence that the assassination of the Marshal had been supported by none other than our foremost cavalry commander -- General Neithard Mittemeyer von Manteuffel -- in a most blatant act of high treason...'' |
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| ''We found this in the fields of Nordkapp. Now we're returning it!''
| | Pascal felt his lungs halt mid-breathe. His eyes stared back as though threatening to pop out from their sockets. |
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| | At that moment, facing the black, ironclad words on cold parchment, he could have sworn his heart stopped. |
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| | It had been frozen in doubtful disbelief, then reignited as he read on, by icy flames of burning rage. |
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| <nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>
| | ''...The Black Eagles have discovered documents traceable back to the von Manteuffel household which provided detailed information on patrols as well as false identification to the Mantis Blade assassins. Furthermore, through several raids on Imperial intelligence contacts within Weichsel, we have unraveled evidence of direct contact between the von Manteuffel household and two elite mercenary units which were involved in the assassinate as hired collaborators. Although initially thought to be the work of a mere spy within the von Manteuffel household staff, thorough divination testing has confirmed that these documents have been personally handled by the General...'' |
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| | ''But... why?'' |
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| | It was a question of denial. Pascal knew exactly why: in the wake of his father's death, von Manteuffel had already pulled ahead as the main contender for the next Field Marshal of Weichsel. |
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| Ariadne gritted her teeth as she continued her fiery assault.
| | ...And it was questionable if his ambitions ended even there. |
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| Her head felt light due to her bleeding wounds. After the first arrow that left an entire arm numb, she took two more hits as she made her way through what must have been nearly a hundred defenders. ''Mental Clarity'' spells did wonders in reducing the pain that clouded her mind, but even magic had its limits.
| | Hence why von Manteuffel seeded his own protégés in all the important command positions of the operation. |
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| It really was a bad week for her to take wounds. Her periods had always left her a bit anemic. Ariadne didn't like to admit it, but moments like these really left her envious of her male companions in the unit.
| | Perhaps it even explained von Manteuffel's 'blunder' at the Battle of Nordkapp which almost had Pascal killed. |
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| ''Price of the wiser sex I guess,'' she sneered as her siphon sprayed into yet another squad of Västergötlanders. | | "You ''fucking'' traitorous bastard..." Pascal finally spat out. |
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| One could always tell them apart since unlike the Skagen archers, the adventurers wore no uniforms. Even their arms and armor varied hugely. For the first time today, Ariadne had to dodge a throwing axe that swooshed by her head -- close enough that she undoubtedly lost a few hairs.
| | ''Father knew you were too ambitious to be politically reliable. But he had always respected, RESPECTED you, because you were a brilliant tactician whom he had thought shared in the belief of a strong Weichsel independent from Imperial influences. But you, you MURDEROUS PIECE OF SHIT!'' |
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| Even with her injuries, her horsemanship and reflex were still better than most. Two of Reynald's men had managed to catch up with her earlier. Neither of them lasted more than a minute in front.
| | Pascal hadn't even noticed as his breathing grew into heaving pants, or his shoulders shaking under barely-contained explosive rage. |
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| Ariadne already grew accustomed to the still-fuzzy but terrible screams she heard from those burnt alive. In fact, Parzifal would be horrified to know that in her current bloodstained mood, they were music to her ears.
| | "I take it... that you are here to arrest that traitorous son of a bitch?" he heard the low, unfeeling, and alien words leave his own mouth. |
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| ''They're all heathens, murderers, and if one lets them -- rapists too.''
| | "You have my deepest condolences for the Marshal," Major Kempinski replied. "But please stay calm and continue reading, Major von Moltewitz." |
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| These were not her fellow countrymen. They were ''the enemy''. They killed her friends and threatened her family, which made them no better than rabid beasts in need of putting down.
| | Swallowing any further words of impatience, Pascal begrudgingly returned his gaze to the parchment. Royal communique was always wordy and effluent. He wished the King would get to whatever was the next point already. |
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| Urging her wounded pegasus forward, Ariadne drove towards what had been the priority goal of the 1st Platoon. There was only one squad left between her and the skywhale's blowhole.
| | Then, there it is: |
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| She never hesitated to press the trigger as she closed into range, not even as ice crystals began layering over the armor protecting the defenders' expanding girth.
| | ''...It is my heartfelt desire that you be given an opportunity to personally avenge this betrayal by assisting in von Manteuffel's immediate arrest, before his own agents may hear of his unveiled treason and prompt him into launching a military coup d'etat. The Black Eagles charged with delivering this message are assigned to your command for this task. Please exercise initiative with caution, my young friend, as von Manteuffel's long career of service has earned him countless loyal supporters within every military camp. Should he resist arrest by any means, you have my permission for his immediate execution. The Weichsel army cannot risk a major disturbance in this crucial stage of the war.'' |
|
| |
|
| For the first time, Ariadne watched as several opponents took blasts of rimefire without even flinching. She had heard the story from Kaede about a similar encounter; but at the time, she was certain the familiar girl simply had an exaggerated experience from her first battle.
| | Other than the words 'my young friend', Pascal found himself in complete agreement with the King's every sentiment. If von Manteuffel found out about his impending arrest, his could launch a military coup in desperation which would inflict immeasurable damage to Weichsel's war efforts. |
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| |
|
| Barely slowed by the immolating flames, four huge Västergötlanders charged her with polearms and swords. One of them actually tossed his zweihander at her, and she barely ducked down in time to avoid being decapitated by the large, spinning blade.
| | All of this pointed towards one fact -- the sooner it happened, the better. |
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| |
|
| Ariadne then leveled her siphon again and held the trigger down, spraying liquid fire straight into three faces that stopped them dead in their tracks. But the burning fluid never reached the fourth. The siphon had ran out of pressure -- or so she hoped, because the alternative was that it was out of fuel.
| | With eyes intent on his mission, Pascal stood straight to face Major Kempinski at last. |
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| |
|
| But even pressure took time for the animated pump to build back up -- seconds that she simply didn't have.
| | "I accept His Majesty's mission with obedience and gratitude," he replied in with steely determination. "However, Neithard von Manteuffel is one of Weichsel's highest ranking commanders. May I ask if you bear His Majesty's sword to represent his royal authority?" |
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| |
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| "''Spellshield Fortress!''"
| | The Black Eagles officer then shook his head without any change in expression: |
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| |
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| Ariadne brought her main defensive ward back to full strength for the fifth time as she guided Edelweiss to leap away. But she had already moved in too close to evade, and her opponent's massive glaive smashed into her pegasus head on.
| | "His Majesty said that his sword cannot be spared on the eve of battle. We must make do with the orders of the King." |
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| |
|
| Multiple runic spells discharged in quick succession as tiny pebbles popped off the polearm's shaft. Her fresh spellshields shattered under an antimagic burst right before a glowing, heated sword cut through Edelweiss' barding to discharge a surge of painful electric shocks.
| | Pascal pursed his lips at that. |
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| |
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| The pegasus collapsed under her almost instantly, hurling her forward through the air.
| | As one of the highest offices in Weichsel, a general can only be promoted or removed with the personal consent of the King. With His Majesty's orders in hand, Pascal could certainly arrest a general -- that was a temporary measure, after all. But to execute, to ''permanently'' remove a general, that required more substantial authority. It was an established tradition of Weichsel to ensure that no forged orders or foreign subterfuge could do irreparable harm to the nation's interests. |
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| |
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| Ariadne was certain she had just lost her first familiar.
| | But then, these were special circumstances. It certainly would be unreasonable to deny the King his personal sword while he was in command of an army. |
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| Still trembling from the aftershocks, she broke her tumbling fall by catching one of the ropes covering the skywhale's back. By the time she managed to draw her sword again and stand shakily back up, the burning figure was already looming before her once more.
| | "We will just have to make do then," Pascal admitted. "With the King's personal letter and his Black Eagles at hand, there should not be any problems. If anything, the best time to strike would be now and immediately. Most of the camp is either celebrating or resting, with only perimeter watch on battle alert. Last I heard, von Manteuffel himself was overseeing the celebrations. Our biggest danger is that a considerable number of knights from the ''Phantom Gale'' -- his old unit -- will be there." |
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| |
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| There was just no time to bring her sword back up, even assuming she still had the strength to parry an attack that nearly beheaded her mount in one swipe.
| | "Then we have no time to lose," the Major replied. "There is always the possibility that one of his loyalists sighted our approach here and may raise suspicions." |
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| |
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| She would still try. But even as time slowed to a crawl before her impending death, Ariadne knew that this time, she had thrown her dice against fate and lost.
| | "In that case, we will gather Colonel von Mackensen and whomever he has at hand -- he is a diehard Crown Royalist -- and then head over to the dining cabins," Pascal finalized, having already taken his first step towards the door. |
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| ''I'm sorry Parzifal...'' | | ''...And I hope that traitor does resist, because I will gladly send him to hell myself!'' |
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| <nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki> | | <nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki> |
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| "NO!"
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| Kaede impulsively screamed as she watched Edelweiss collapse and toss Ariadne into the air.
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| Her lip was already bleeding from when she bit down in anxiety. For minutes Kaede felt helpless as she watched one Weichsel trooper after another go down, desperately trying to think of some way to alter the situation.
| |
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| |
| Tactically speaking, the ''Ghost Riders'' were making progress. Despite being terribly outnumbered, they drove the defenders back through momentum, firepower, and sheer determination.
| |
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| All of that achieved by paying a bloody toll in lives.
| |
|
| |
| But this life wasn't just anyone. Ariadne was special to Kaede -- a figure of admiration, a gracious friend, perhaps even more had circumstances been different.
| |
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| |
| In the chaos of being tossed into this new world, the beautiful girl that exemplified nobility with her every step was the first to lend Kaede a helping hand. Kaede would never ever forget that awestruck moment when angelic lady congratulated her for thrashing Pascal while offering her some much-needed food.
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| ''I am not letting her die!''
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| Kaede drew an arrow and notched it onto her bow.
| |
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| The distance was around 800 meters (875yd).
| |
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| The altitude was about a 50 meter (55yd) drop.
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|
| |
| Even with one of these runic arrows Pascal finally made for her after the last battle, this would be an ambitious shot.
| |
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| |
| The arrowhead carried a ''Catalyst Dispel'' rune for ward penetration. The shaft's rear held a tiny quartz crystal with the ''Stormblessed'' spell to earn the wind's favor.
| |
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| Her biggest opponent was the sheer range and the inevitable effects of gravity.
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| Kaede dislodged the arrow just enough to press its head into a rune on her left forearm. Perhaps too hard as it broke fabric and skin with a stinging pain, but she didn't care.
| |
|
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| She had began requesting an ''Air Glide'' spell ever since plummeting off the roof during her encounter with the Mantis Blades. Just as the spell slowed the descent of falling individuals, it would drastically reduce the vertical drop of her arrow over long-distance flight.
| |
|
| |
| Readjusting her aim once more, Kaede focused on the icy Northman through the bodkin tip.
| |
|
| |
| ''She is not dying. YOU ARE!!''
| |
|
| |
| Unlike during the Battle of Nordkapp, this was no reactive self-defense. For the first time, her mind was filled with a firm determination to ''kill''.
| |
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| |
| With her fingers' release, Kaede traced the arrow's flight through the air. The Hyperion rotary fletching sent it into a mild spin as it traversed the distance over what felt like minutes in agonizingly slow motion.
| |
|
| |
| Her drop estimates had hit the mark. Her aim was dead on. But...
| |
|
| |
| Kaede felt her heart plummet as it struck the Northman's spaulder -- smooth, plated steel that deflected the shot with ease...
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| Right into the unprotected top of his neck.
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| Ariadne barely had the time to spin aside as the still burning corpse collapsed towards her before rolling down and off the skywhale's side.
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| |
| "Oh thank you god," Kaede finally let out the breath she had been inadvertently holding.
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| Nothing short of a miracle could have explained that.
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| She was grateful. She was proud.
| |
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| She was concerned but happy, joyous even, as Ariadne scanned in her direction.
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| Their eyes never met, but even from afar Kaede could feel a sense of gratitude -- even if it was probably just a prayer to the Holy Father.
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| As Kaede watched Ariadne recollect herself and press on with a lamed leg, a quote she had once heard made its way through her thoughts.
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| 'Fighting to protect another was an ideal. Killing to protect another was war.'
| |
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| |
| For the second time, Kaede's hands have been bloodied by reaping the life of another.
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| This time, she didn't feel any remorse at all.
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| <nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>
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| Pascal watched through his familiar's sight with near disbelief at what had just happened. It was harder to estimate since Kaede's sense of scale was so different, but he was fairly certain she just scored a bullseye across over a kilopace of distance.
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| |
| The arrows he made for her certainly deserved some credit. Furthermore, Kaede's own elation proved that this had been a fairly lucky hit. Nevertheless, the feat went beyond impressive. Even targeting precision spells at a thousand paces was difficult, and ether shots were self-guided.
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| ''I should check what the records are for long-distance shooting,'' Pascal made a note to himself.
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| Perhaps Sylviane knew. Since unlike him, she was a noble from Rhin-Lotharingie, and therefore actually knew how to handle a bow. But these days, Pascal had to actually work to preserve his image of a know-it-all in front of her.
| |
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| |
| For the first time in hours, Pascal allowed his lips to break into a thin smile. It was a proud smile tinged by envy. Prideful because Kaede was ''his'' familiar; envious because she had managed something that he could not.
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| No commander worthy of the title could watch his battle plan unfold and simply stay at ease. Pascal had sat there, seeing one squad after another charge into the bloody meat grinder, desperately wishing that he could be there to help.
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| But every soldier had a duty, a station that must not be abandoned. Battles were not fought by mere courage but through coordination and control. Charged with the command staff brought along for this engagement, it was Pascal's job to facilitate communications -- even if it left him feeling helplessly watching as his comrades met disaster and death.
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| |
| Refocusing on the task at hand, Pascal sent out another order by telepathy. He could feel Kaede's concern as she watched Ariadne's staggering image from afar. But as the person responsible for calling up the next attack, Pascal needed a view of the bigger picture:
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| "<u>Kaede, status report on the other skywhales.</u>"
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| For a brief moment their empathic link soured into one of annoyance, but she nevertheless complied.
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| "<u>Well Gerd is making a mess of things on the first whale,</u>" Kaede shifted her sight to give him a visual of the bodies being flung off that airborne leviathan. "<u>Kay... uh, they're having more trouble with the third. Although that whale rolled partially onto its side -- probably because of the rimefire burns -- so the Northmen are having just as hard a time.</u>"
| |
|
| |
| And of course, nobody was attacking the fourth skywhale. In fact, part of Kayeten's trouble came from archers aboard the last target. But the initial blow had left the ''Ghost Riders'' too depleted to tackle that goal. Under the circumstances, it was impressive they even achieved this much.
| |
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| ''Less than a third of their combat strength left...'' Pascal estimated von Hammerstein's men through Kaede's visual sweeps. With their initial momentum depleted and the defenders in greater numbers, it would not be long before they start losing ground.
| |
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| ''It is finally time then.''
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| Pascal then turned to the signal officer who kept a link with the ''Falcon Force'' company:
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| "Launch the last wave! Inform Colonel von Mackensen that target four is not cleared. I repeat, the target four is not cleared. Be careful of the enemy's new mass lightning weapon. Spread out and commit extra strength from multiple attack vectors to ensure that it is sunk!"
| |
|
| |
| As one of the only Weichsel mages available skilled with runic magic, item enchantment, ''and'' had a sufficient understanding of advanced alchemy, Pascal had made nearly half of those special munitions they carried. After watching the countless sacrifices his countrymen took to clear the way, he was more anxious than anyone to see it work.
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| The Northmen had played their trump card. It was Weichsel's turn.
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| <nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>
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| Focusing her eyes across the distance, Kaede notched another arrow into place as she drew her bow into firing stance. A rather dramatic officer on skywhale two was rallying the defenders for a coordinated counterattack -- one that would surely drive the five remaining Phantoms off their whale.
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| ''No. You're not.''
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| The distance was even closer this time. She had already made the shot once. She could surely do it again.
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| It took another handful of seconds before the officer collapsed with a mouthful of blood. The hit had been a body shot this time, right through the lung.
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| Kaede surveyed the battlefield again as she put down her bow. Her shot had bought the assault troops some more time, but the simple fact was that they had utterly exhausted their strength. The Skagen defense units had rallied on all three skywhales, and by now they were pushing back Weichsel's Phantoms through weight of numbers.
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| The situation was especially bad on skywhale two where only a mere handful of attackers remained, each fighting desperately just to stay alive. Even as Kaede scanned for a target of opportunity, another volley of arrows rushed in and killed the last figure who fought by Reynald's side.
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| ''They can't hold on any longer!''
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| Kaede pulled out another arrow and notched it. It didn't matter any more if her target was just some grunt at the head of a charge. She no longer had the time to spot only 'critical' targets. Time was now of the essence, and any individual foe she fell might buy her friends another second to survive.
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| Her fingers reached for another shot the instant the previous shaft took flight.
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| ''Faster...''
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| Speed shooting simply wasn't something Japanese archery managed well, especially not when she originally practiced it as a meditative exercise.
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| Kaede felt her impatience simmering even as she took aim again. Her composure was working overtime to suppress the rising anxiety from penetrating her mind and degrading her focus.
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| But a single frontline experience did not make her a veteran of war. She simply wasn't trained as a soldier. The calm she required to make accurate shots was losing ground far too quickly.
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| "Crap," she muttered as the third arrow missed.
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| She had lost it -- her focus, her concentration, that feeling of oneness with her shots as they soared out to murder and kill.
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| "<u>Where are those damn reinforcements!</u>" Kaede lashed out at Pascal as she watched von Hammerstein take another spear stab to his shoulder before tumbling down the whales' side, his life or death now unknown.
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| A northern swordsman had at last reached the tattered Black Dragon banner and hacked it apart.
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| "<u>They should be...!</u>"
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| Pascal didn't even finish when Kaede noticed it.
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| The shining armor of gyphons rushing down from the dark clouds came as though a beam of divine light.
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| Deliverance had finally, ''finally'' arrived.
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| Unlike the 'fateful five minutes of Midway', the decisive moment of Nordkreuz was not brought to reality by coincidence, but through the willful sacrifice of countless brave lives.
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| The last Phantom company that had been lurking above the cloud cover dove down at a steep angle. Their dispersal was perfect, with two squads each sent against the first three skywhales, and their four best -- Recon and 1st Platoon -- concentrated on the last.
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| A cascade of thunder reached out from the fourth, untouched whale. At least a third of the assault wave there went down in an instant. But with most defenders distracted and the Phantoms in scattered formations, enough of them nevertheless made it through.
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| The ''Falcon Force'' company came in behind massive dispel volleys, hammering any remaining wards near each skywhale's nose. Then, just before they sped past, every knight hurled in their modified javelin.
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| Accuracy was poor, but quantity held a quality of its own. Out of two dozen or so javelins sent against each blowhole, at least one always made it through.
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| The javelins Kaede watched Pascal modify carried tiny compartments with reagent payloads on the shaft. Impact triggered two different runes inscribed into the weapon: an electric surge that blasted forward to paralyze the skywhale's nasal muscles, and a transmutation barrier that covered the air intake. The alchemy spell would combine the abundant airborne nitrogen with its payload to create hydrogen cyanide -- Prussic Acid.
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| Nothing visible seemed to happen at first, other than stronger wailing from the whales. Then, as the half minute mark finally passed, geysers of flame erupted from one skywhale after another as delayed action ''Fireball'' runes activated to ignite the poisonous gas that already spread into their lungs.
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| The result was almost painful to watch.
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| The gargantuan beasts buckled, tossed, rolled, and performed every physical motion imaginable in their agonizing death throes. Holding formation and altitude was impossible as they flailed through the air, shedding men and equipment as they went.
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| The battle raged on as falling northern mages activated levitation runes to stay airborne and retaliate. But these were mostly infantry or shipboard operators. With their organization shattered, they posed only a minor threat to the air combat specialized Knights Phantom.
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| Dozens of drakes in the distance abandoned their own battle and turned to their motherships' aid. Yet the Phantoms and Armigers they fought had no intention of letting them go. Their attempt to disengage had cost them dearly, and what had been a contested battle in Skagen's favor soon turned in Weichsel's way.
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| By the time the first skywhale began to plummet, the battle was already turning into a slaughter. The Northmen elite neither routed nor surrendered. Those that stayed airborne fought back in penny packets, and the organized Phantom squads that remained butchered them without mercy.
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| <nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>
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| After ensuring that his company leaders -- both heavily injured -- made it off the falling skywhale, Reynald had summoned a new phantom steed to look for his men in the aerial chaos.
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| So far, he had only found one.
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| One, or two including him, out of his original squad of twelve.
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| His hopes weren't high either. His squad had done their duty. But in turn they had been decimated in the assault.
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| "I think they're holding out over there," the surviving corporal -- half-crippled due to a broken right arm -- called over to him.
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| Tracing the man's gaze, Reynald found himself staring at a tilted, sinking whale. The beast itself was probably dead, judging by the lack of movement and the smoke rising from its nose. But it was falling too slowly for there not be to any magic involved.
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| To effectively place a spell, even a simple ''Air Glide'', across a monster that size was no easy feat. Furthermore, there seemed to be a barrier of wind covering the hangar bay entrance in the front.
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|
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| ''Admiral Winter,'' Reynald instantly thought. He couldn't be sure, but he certainly couldn't refute the possibility.
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|
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| ...That was until he watched a squad of Knights Phantom charge in to clear this last stronghold. The wind barrier spat out a horde of runestones in response, and the massed lightning that followed tore the riders apart.
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| The thunderous barrage certain caught people's attention. Spell rays began flying at the entrance in the dozens. But the explosive barrage never made it past the wind. The barrier somehow triggered the spells as though solid matter. Even antimagic blasts only reduced the hurricane gales for the briefest of moments.
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| "Stay here," Reynald ordered his last squadmate as he urged his steed into a gallop.
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| He was exhausted, sure. He had done his job, true again.
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| Heck, he deserved a medal already, if he were to say himself.
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|
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| ''...But I'll be damned if I simply sat there and watched while more of my comrades died!''
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| The Knights Phantom needed an opening, and Reynald could give them that.
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|
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| "''Barrier Armor Surge,''" he boosted his own wards for a maximized but low-duration burst effect. A ''Smiting Catalyst Dispel'' enchanted his weapons next.
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| Pulling up towards the skywhale, Reynald watched as another handful of stones flung out of the winds. With a clench of his fists, the short redhead once more transformed into a bolt of lightning. He arced around the incoming runes and rematerialized right before hitting the gale barrier that bulged outwards from the hangar entrance. Better safe than sorry, since he had no idea how the magical wind might affect his lightning form.
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| Unfortunately, he had underestimated its physical effects instead.
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| "GAHHH!"
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| Passing through the barrier felt more like leaping through a shredder. Reynald fell into the hanger and smacked hard on the steel floor. His uniform lay in tatters and bloody gashes sent searing pain across his entire body. Had it not been for his arcane and steel armor, he probably would have been torn to pieces.
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| After finally rolling to a stop, Reynald looked up with blood-covered eyes that dyed his world a crimson red. The Northmen warriors had been guarding close to the entrance, but three of them rushed over even as he gurgled up blood.
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| Then, he spotted his goal: a decorated naval officer standing near a bulwark, with palms outstretched toward the entrances on both sides and glowing runestone tablets hovering just beyond reach.
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| For a brief moment, Reynald's gaze connected with those anguished eyes. Like him, this man had seen too much blood today, watched too many of his kinsmen die.
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| But there was no sympathy in their brief exchange.
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| His instincts knew only one fact: this was the man he must kill.
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| ''Winter your way out of this...!''
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| Reynald tossed the Bladestorm Kukri held in his left hand. He had 'received' the ether-storing kukri from the Mantis Blades' attack back at the academy. The weapon had perfect momentum conservation and also duplicated two copies of itself with every bounce.
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|
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| But his arm had been badly hurt. His aim was off. The spinning blade merely ripped through the old man's billowing cloak after slashing through layered wards.
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|
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| Though Reynald had been prepared for that as well.
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| ''Armor Screen.''
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|
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| What normally operated as a defensive ward curved around the Admiral like a protective bubble, enclosing the space against the steel bulwark. Within it the bouncing kukri, having already discharged its antimagic spell, quickly began to multiply.
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|
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| Reynald never found out if the Admiral lacked the right prepared spell to deal with the unusual threat or if he simply didn't react fast enough. But within seconds, the exponentially-growing swarm of blades had cut the old man to pieces.
| |
|
| |
| Which left three armed and now outraged Northmen surrounding Reynald.
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|
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| ''Too bad I... won't get the medal for this...''
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|
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| Lying face-up on the floor, Reynald cough up more blood as he glanced over. Not at the swords about to end his life, but the fading winds that once protected the entrance.
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|
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| ''...At least I can tell the Holy Father that I did my job.''
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|
| |
| Exhausted enough to sleep for an eternity, he finally allowed himself to close his eyes.
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|
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| But there was no sharp escalation of pain. No ending of consciousness.
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|
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| Instead he heard cries of agony above him, accompanied by a screech.
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| ...The wail of a gryphon.
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| Reynald opened his eyes once more and there it was -- an armored gryphon of Weichsel standing next to him, with a middle-aged man bearing a Colonel's insignia riding on top.
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|
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| As another spatter of blood flew across the air, the Colonel who wore a tall, bearskin hat with skulls and crossbones finally glanced down at him.
| |
|
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| "Rest easy son. You did us proud."
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|
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| Reynald spat out the blood in his mouth at he stared blankly at Colonel von Mackensen, commander of the ''Falcon Force.''
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|
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| "I-I'm not dead yet."
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| <noinclude>
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| {| border="1" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="margin: 1em 1em 1em 0; background: #f9f9f9; border: 1px #aaaaaa solid; padding: 0.2em; border-collapse: collapse;"
| |
| |-
| |
| | Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_14|Chapter 14]]
| |
| | Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| |
| | Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_16|Chapter 16]]
| |
| |-
| |
| |}
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| </noinclude>
| |
Chapter 16 - In the Name of the Black Dragon
( under work )
Pascal sighed again as he put down the action report and leaned back in his cabin's workdesk chair.
It was his third time reading over the report in reflection. In fact, he had already sent its contents to Weichsel's General Staff an hour ago.
The real problem was that he simply didn't know what else to do.
The Knights Phantom had set up camp after the battle to rest, recover, and reorganize. Most of the officers were celebrating with their own units, or paying respects to the dead, or just plain sleeping.
Problem was: Pascal couldn't sleep. He was far past the 'drowsy' stage of fatigue.
He also didn't belong to a unit, or even a 'past unit'. He was one of the few command staff personnel the came along for the battle, and unlike the others he had come straight from the academy.
That shouldn't be a problem since there were plenty of cadets from the academy right? Well, of the people he actually talked to...
Parzifal was still working in the makeshift 'hospital'.
Reynald, Ariadne, and Gerd were all recovering there from heavy injuries -- severe enough that the healers allowed no visitors so the wounded could receive undisturbed rest.
Kaede had gone there to help, at least until she herself passed out. Lack of rest plus being drained for blood really wasn't a good combination. Pascal might have been tempted to go yell at Parzifal for that, had he not seen first hand of the casualties they took.
Nearly forty percent of the Phantoms' order of battle had been killed or seriously wounded. The Ghost Riders had been hit the hardest, down to less than twenty percent of their effective combat force. Their only blessing was the survival of Colonel von Hammerstein. The grievously injured commander had stayed conscious long enough to drift down and cushion his landing, where he was later found by Weichsel's rescue teams.
It would take years for the elite Knights Phantom to recover back to full strength.
Combined with all the other battles and skirmishes fought during the peninsular campaign, Pascal wasn't surprised that the healers had ran out of Samaran blood.
The victory they earned was a pyhrric one. But that didn't make it any less total. Both Skagen's skywhales and their drake force had been utterly destroyed, denying the Northmen of their mobile strike force. With Admiral Winter dead, the stormcaller mages already detected a warm front moving in from the south. Soon, the snow-covered fields would turn to wintry slush, unmaneuverable to the northern skis and sleds. Once General von Blumenthal's land cavalry destroyed the beached Skagen North Sea Fleet tomorrow morning, the entire Skagen army would be trapped in Weichsel without supplies.
Sure, they weren't far from the border. But with superior Weichsel cavalry harrying them from all sides, their retreat would be painstakingly slow.
Meanwhile, King Leopold had already lead the main Weichsel army out of Nordkreuz. They were marching east to finish the job: the annihilation of Skagen's Confederate Army of the Home Isles.
The Greater Jarldom of Skagen still had more forces in their overseas frontier realms. But these units would take months to return, if they could be spared from their duties on the frontier at all. If the King could destroy Skagen's home army, he would ruin Skagen's capacity to wage war on the Hyperion continent for decades to come. This would give Weichsel absolute and undisputed superiority in any peace negotiations which followed.
But would the King settle for merely a white peace -- a return to the status quo -- so Weichsel could free its hand to join Rhin-Lotharingie's war against the Caliphate?
Pascal rather doubted that.
A decisive victory would encourage Weichsel to press towards its ultimate goal in the north: the annexation of the Skagen Peninsula.
With two of the three peninsular Jarls already killed in battle, it was possible that Skagen's Assembly of Jarls might actually agree after a catastrophic loss.
But even in the best case scenario of a swift peace, the people in these newly conquered lands belonged to both a different culture and religion. Their integration would require pacification, which needed the presence of considerable military might -- forces that would no longer to sent to Rhin-Lotharingie aid.
I had not thought this far when I initially proposed the peninsular campaign, Pascal reflected.
He had been too focused on achieving military objectives, without considering the broader political implications.
At times like these, Pascal had to admit that in spite of all his genius, he was still a long way off from becoming a true general.
...Let alone a renowned Marshal like his father.
Pascal wished he could talk to Sylviane right now. She had considerable more political experience than he did, thanks to years of working under Emperor Geoffroi in the Lotharin court. But her armigers had called her away on urgent business -- something about an emergency message from home.
I might be the fiancé of their Crown Princess. But in the eyes of most Lotharins, I am still just a foreigner and outsider, Pascal sighed as he pondered over this sad and lonely truth.
Leaning his head back from the chair, Pascal brought his right hand up to rub his temple.
He couldn't wait for night to come and bring some rest for his fatigue-clouded mind.
That was before he heard two knocks on the door, followed by a familiar voice:
"Pascal? Are you in?" came the soft soprano of Cecylia von Falkenhausen.
"Yes! Be right there!" Pascal called back as he stood up and rushed towards the door.
He really was thankful that Kaede allowed him to semi-reconcile with Ariadne, which brought Cecylia back to everyday speaking terms again.
"You are back in Weichsel already?" Pascal cheerfully asked as he opened the thick wooden door... and promptly froze.
The dhampir girl with scarlet-crossed eyes was just the first of six people who stood outside, all of them wearing figure-concealing gray cloaks bearing the Black Dragon crest.
"Sorry, official business," Cecylia noted as she gave him an apologetic smile.
"Can we talk inside?" said the middle-aged man standing right behind her.
Pascal's eyebrows shot up. This was certainly a very unusual encounter. Besides, he thought Cecylia was still supposed to be in Skagen, doing intelligence work.
Never breaking eye contact or changing his puzzled expression, Pascal slowly turned his hand to point his turquoise casting ring at Cecylia. Meanwhile his other hand summoned four defensive runes. But a subtle scan of her magic aura held a matching checksum with his memory. The unique ether signature was definitely Cecylia's, not some fake modified by polymorph or illusion magic.
He didn't detect any enchantment magic either. Sure, minor spell auras could be concealed. But any spell capable of overwhelming and dominating a dhampir's mind would be powerful indeed.
"Come on in," Pascal replied at last as he lead them inside the cabin.
With seven people inside, it was a little cramped, especially when six of them reached out to take off their cloaks, revealing the uniforms underneath.
...The pitch-black uniform of the King's Black Eagles, all six of them.
Pascal had a bad feeling about this. It wasn't natural for the Black Eagles to operate in open groups unless the King was nearby.
The middle-aged man -- who wore a fierce scowl and had blond hair tied back in a 'manly' ponytail -- then began without waiting for the resident's invitation:
"I am Major Kempinski, leader of field operations for the Black Eagles' State Security section," the man revealed his Black Eagle crest-badge, as though offering Pascal to scan it for any sign of magical deception.
But Pascal simply nodded. Cecylia's presence was good enough for him. If he couldn't trust a Falkenhausen, who had been faultlessly loyal to the Crown of Weichsel for generations, then there would be no man in the world whom he could rely on.
"Is this cabin warded from outside spying?"
"Of course," Pascal answered. Who does he think I am, incompetent?
"Then-- I have been charged to bring you a personal note from His Majesty the King, along with conclusive findings of recent investigations into the death of Field Marshal Karl August von Moltewitz," the Major continued.
At the words 'His Majesty the King', Pascal immediately stood to full attention and gave a responsive salute.
"Hail the Black Dragon," he swore his allegiance before receiving the offered scroll-case.
What about father? Is there something else other than him being killed by Imperial Mantis Blades?
Question rolled nonstop across Pascal's mind as he unfurled the two sheets of parchment and began reading.
It began with pleasantries, congratulations for the victory, all the polite terms you expect a King to use when addressing an important subject.
...Right before the hammer struck:
...We have since discovered irrefutable evidence that the assassination of the Marshal had been supported by none other than our foremost cavalry commander -- General Neithard Mittemeyer von Manteuffel -- in a most blatant act of high treason...
Pascal felt his lungs halt mid-breathe. His eyes stared back as though threatening to pop out from their sockets.
At that moment, facing the black, ironclad words on cold parchment, he could have sworn his heart stopped.
It had been frozen in doubtful disbelief, then reignited as he read on, by icy flames of burning rage.
...The Black Eagles have discovered documents traceable back to the von Manteuffel household which provided detailed information on patrols as well as false identification to the Mantis Blade assassins. Furthermore, through several raids on Imperial intelligence contacts within Weichsel, we have unraveled evidence of direct contact between the von Manteuffel household and two elite mercenary units which were involved in the assassinate as hired collaborators. Although initially thought to be the work of a mere spy within the von Manteuffel household staff, thorough divination testing has confirmed that these documents have been personally handled by the General...
But... why?
It was a question of denial. Pascal knew exactly why: in the wake of his father's death, von Manteuffel had already pulled ahead as the main contender for the next Field Marshal of Weichsel.
...And it was questionable if his ambitions ended even there.
Hence why von Manteuffel seeded his own protégés in all the important command positions of the operation.
Perhaps it even explained von Manteuffel's 'blunder' at the Battle of Nordkapp which almost had Pascal killed.
"You fucking traitorous bastard..." Pascal finally spat out.
Father knew you were too ambitious to be politically reliable. But he had always respected, RESPECTED you, because you were a brilliant tactician whom he had thought shared in the belief of a strong Weichsel independent from Imperial influences. But you, you MURDEROUS PIECE OF SHIT!
Pascal hadn't even noticed as his breathing grew into heaving pants, or his shoulders shaking under barely-contained explosive rage.
"I take it... that you are here to arrest that traitorous son of a bitch?" he heard the low, unfeeling, and alien words leave his own mouth.
"You have my deepest condolences for the Marshal," Major Kempinski replied. "But please stay calm and continue reading, Major von Moltewitz."
Swallowing any further words of impatience, Pascal begrudgingly returned his gaze to the parchment. Royal communique was always wordy and effluent. He wished the King would get to whatever was the next point already.
Then, there it is:
...It is my heartfelt desire that you be given an opportunity to personally avenge this betrayal by assisting in von Manteuffel's immediate arrest, before his own agents may hear of his unveiled treason and prompt him into launching a military coup d'etat. The Black Eagles charged with delivering this message are assigned to your command for this task. Please exercise initiative with caution, my young friend, as von Manteuffel's long career of service has earned him countless loyal supporters within every military camp. Should he resist arrest by any means, you have my permission for his immediate execution. The Weichsel army cannot risk a major disturbance in this crucial stage of the war.
Other than the words 'my young friend', Pascal found himself in complete agreement with the King's every sentiment. If von Manteuffel found out about his impending arrest, his could launch a military coup in desperation which would inflict immeasurable damage to Weichsel's war efforts.
All of this pointed towards one fact -- the sooner it happened, the better.
With eyes intent on his mission, Pascal stood straight to face Major Kempinski at last.
"I accept His Majesty's mission with obedience and gratitude," he replied in with steely determination. "However, Neithard von Manteuffel is one of Weichsel's highest ranking commanders. May I ask if you bear His Majesty's sword to represent his royal authority?"
The Black Eagles officer then shook his head without any change in expression:
"His Majesty said that his sword cannot be spared on the eve of battle. We must make do with the orders of the King."
Pascal pursed his lips at that.
As one of the highest offices in Weichsel, a general can only be promoted or removed with the personal consent of the King. With His Majesty's orders in hand, Pascal could certainly arrest a general -- that was a temporary measure, after all. But to execute, to permanently remove a general, that required more substantial authority. It was an established tradition of Weichsel to ensure that no forged orders or foreign subterfuge could do irreparable harm to the nation's interests.
But then, these were special circumstances. It certainly would be unreasonable to deny the King his personal sword while he was in command of an army.
"We will just have to make do then," Pascal admitted. "With the King's personal letter and his Black Eagles at hand, there should not be any problems. If anything, the best time to strike would be now and immediately. Most of the camp is either celebrating or resting, with only perimeter watch on battle alert. Last I heard, von Manteuffel himself was overseeing the celebrations. Our biggest danger is that a considerable number of knights from the Phantom Gale -- his old unit -- will be there."
"Then we have no time to lose," the Major replied. "There is always the possibility that one of his loyalists sighted our approach here and may raise suspicions."
"In that case, we will gather Colonel von Mackensen and whomever he has at hand -- he is a diehard Crown Royalist -- and then head over to the dining cabins," Pascal finalized, having already taken his first step towards the door.
...And I hope that traitor does resist, because I will gladly send him to hell myself!
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