(108) Respect, Fear

“Well, what’s that gotta do with me?” Eirene complained, her arms crossed in front of her.

“What does a battle have to do with you? Nothing, which is why you are not present,” Ramose explained with a sigh.

The two stood before the door to her study, the former refusing to enter thus far.

“Yeah, what’s the battle got to do with me when I’d be deep underground beneath the city?” she asked.

“Eirene, you cannot be fiddling with enchantments while our lady actively uses them. At best, you would be in the way,” Ramose said, his hand on his forehead.

“I ain’t gotta fiddle with nothin’ while she’s working. I should be there, though, right? I only just fixed up the mechanism to allow her to power it with her own mana. Why, it could just…stop working all of a sudden—” Eirene started.

“Please, Eirene. This was decided by Nephthys herself. No matter how rigorously you debate me, it is she you must convince,” he said.

“That’s what I’m saying! Just take me back there, and I’m sure I can convince her of the wisdom in letting her artificer look at the ancient—” she said, waving her arms vigorously.

Ramose’s eyes glazed over, and Eirene stopped her tirade, recognizing someone focused on internal communication. The two stood silently for several seconds before Ramose’s eyes returned to normal and he fixed them on her. Eirene’s expression grew serious.

“I am needed elsewhere. We will have to discuss this another time,” he said curtly.

“What about Hannibal?” she replied.

“He is occupied in Promise City,” Ramose explained. He sighed, his wings spreading slightly, a whirlwind of black feathers beginning to surround him. “This is what my lady warned against. We are few in number and already stretched thin.”

The whirlwind thickened momentarily before dispersing, leaving no trace of its passing. Ramose had vanished along with the feathers.

Eirene shook her head and turned toward her door, but she stopped, her foot in the air, as it opened unexpectedly before her.

“The shit were you doin’ in there? Unlocked doesn’t mean ‘come on in’,” she blurted.

Horemheb floated before her, the openings of his robe trailing wisps of black smoke. He held up one handless arm, the black smoke gripping what seemed a metal nail.

“An etcher, and one of my better ones. You want me to enchant something?” Eirene asked, confused.

————————————

“Return, Hannibal. Your part is finished,” Nephthys ordered.

“Right away, my lady,” Hannibal responded, his voice nearly vibrating the inside of her skull even through telepathy.

Nephthys stood in darkness, her hand on a faintly glowing panel, which pulsed blue in a regular cadence. The glow traveled up from the panel, cascading through the antenna and into the ceiling. She saw none of this, however. Her gaze was distant, and her eyes were closed.

In her mind’s eye were the wall and the demons lining it. Beyond were the rows of Sardvend forces, and if she concentrated, she could even see the disconcertment darkening their faces.

Hannibal had gone just a tad overboard, but it should be fine. The Titan path was all about resilience, right?

A row of mounted knights began to advance, and Nephthys resisted the urge to chuckle. True, knights who specialized as cavalry, obtaining classes for that purpose and leveling with their mounts, were fearsome opponents, a terror on the battlefield.

But this was not an open battlefield. Unless they were planning to charge into the wall, they would be useless.

Yes, Sardvend had truly and thoroughly underestimated the resistance they would encounter. That said, she could not really fault any of them for it. Were it not for Nemesis’ presence, they would likely have guessed correctly about the rebel Radaar’s force projection. 

Granted, Nephthys also did not know the full scope of the withered husk’s plans. Perhaps the Praxic occupying Jace’s body would have amassed a powerful force of…what…undead?

Nephthys' mood fell as she watched. The knights split their formation, creating a tunnel that the levies began to file through.

[Farmer 31]

[Hauler 55]

[Seamstress 48]

These were clearly non-combatants. They possessed classes that players could not even get in Prelude. One could learn skills for farming, enchanting, or any number of crafts, but blatantly-civilian classes were inaccessible, restricted to NPCs only.

A scowl crawled across her face as she watched them approach, holding their spears clumsily before them. What was the goal here? They surely did not expect the civilians to break down the gate by themselves…right?

Nephthys grimaced, allowing the levies to pass through her shield unhindered. They reached within a hundred feet of the gate and looked around at each other, clearly unsure of what to do. 

A flurry of activity drew her attention back to the main army, and she watched their ranks firm as they marched forward. They seemed possessed of some strange confidence all of a sudden, despite watching the Titan, their trump card, get clobbered.

A flash of white-hot rage burned in Nephthys' chest as she realized their plan. Their mages must have sensed the magic barrier, which made the army cautious. That is why they sent the levies first. They were testing the barrier’s function. They did not know whether it would merely repel intruders or kill them outright, but they were fine risking the civilians’ lives just to know.

“Hannibal,” Nephthys ordered.

“Yes, my lady. Mine will handle the opener,” he replied.

“First, we make them respect,” she agreed.

A contingent of knights broke away from the main force, spreading out until they were dozens of feet apart from each other. They drove their mounts at a hurried pace toward the gate, each clutching a satchel in place of a lance.

What were those? Scrolls to cast spells? Some sort of enchanted artifact? Magic bombs? It did not matter.

With a flick of her mental hand, the barrier manifested fully, repelling the knights, mounts and all, flinging them several feet backward. Some skidded backward, keeping their feet, while others were sent flying from their horses, clutching the satchels as if they were their own children.

The main column halted its advance, and the knights struggled to remount, backing off further from the barrier.

One blowhard at the back of the army, trailing well behind everyone else, seemed to shout, waving his arms wildly, and a knight next to him with an elaborately decorated helmet withdrew a small horn from a bag, which he blew.

The knights at the head of the column all turned and unanimously retreated, the signal obviously holding some significance to them. 

The satchel knights all hurried their mounts in retreat before shifting in their saddles, sitting backward and throwing the satchels toward the barrier. They launched them surprisingly well, and Nephthys had the brief idle thought about how jealous quarterbacks would be back home.

Suddenly, mana rushed from the army in great streams reaching toward the satchels. Nephthys could see them, could trace them to their origins, knights spread throughout the army in robes and clothing rather than plate armor.

Time moved so slowly to her that she had time to break down the mechanics of what was happening, witnessing the magic crash into the satchels, penetrate them, and burn away all save small crystals. It then reached into the crystals, flooding them with mana, which rebounded, shattering them and releasing a tremendous amount of stored energy.

These crystals were magic storage mediums used in Vadenlaud, she knew. They were far less efficient than crashglass, but that was mostly a concern for long-term storage. They could still hold a tremendous amount of energy, and this instance seemed particularly destructive.

Whatever spell had been used to release the energy in the crystals had not impressed any will upon it, causing explosions of unbound mana. It manifested as lightning, fire, ice, and almost any physical phenomenon imaginable.

Wasteful, she thought.

All the deadly magic phenomena smashed their rage against the barrier, attempting to freeze it, to burn it, to shock it, and to rip it to shreds. Nephthys felt the barrier’s draw on her own mana deepening, but it was…not much. It was like… technically, she would lose water when she sweated, but did she really feel her total water stores dropping? Not really. It was such a small amount at any one time.

The shield was covered by smoke, the entire section of wall obscured from sight. The army was watching with barely restrained anticipation, and the blowhard in the back seemed particularly keen on himself, practically glowing after witnessing the apparent destruction.

“Loose,” Hannibal commanded.

Arrows, regular and aflame, pierced through the cloud of smoke, rocketing toward the army, still halted in its retreat. Spells of fire, ice, earth, and any element one could think of followed. The destruction was immediate, the army unprepared to defend.

Explosions rocked the force, sending knights and soldiers alike airborne. Clouds of poisonous gas choked, fires burned, lightning scorched, and ice froze the Sardvend forces. Hannibal had outdone himself with the variety. He had been thorough, selling a convincing impression that these were all guards of various skills and specialties gathered to defend their city, rather than a horde of his own demons.

Nephthys’ breath caught in her throat, and her chest tightened. Several of the stricken rose from the ground and stumbled in retreat with the army, but there were many knights and soldiers who did not. She had given an order that killed many people once again.

She shifted her gaze to the civilians, who cowered against the wall, pressing themselves against it as if it were their refuge from both armies, and her chest loosened slightly. The weight of her order was lessened by the memory of the opposing army using these people as sacrificial pawns.

“Fear not,” Hannibal called, his voice echoing down from the wall to the civilians. “We will not harm non-combatants. Do not take up arms against us, and you will have nothing to fear from us. 

“Remain in the barrier, and you will have nothing to fear from them, either,” he said, motioning toward the army, which was in full retreat, with his head.

The Sardvend forces fell back to what must have been a full mile away, gathering their scattered contingents together and working to assess the damage they had sustained. 

By Nephthys’ estimate, it was not severe. The attack, while powerful and intimidating, had been but a single volley, meant only to project competence to the other army.

While the goal was to make Sardvend respect Radaar as a force to be reckoned with, there were still at least a hundred dead, many of those being knights. These were losses that, while certainly not army-breaking, were significant, especially considering Sardvend had come here expecting a full and overwhelming victory.

Returning home with dozens of dead nobles would already be a devastating blow.

“My lady, forgive me for interrupting,” Ramose suddenly said, speaking directly into her mind.

“What is it?” Nephthys asked.

She was alarmed not only by Ramose contacting her while he knew she was occupied, but also by the strain in his mental voice.

“We have a situation…I am afraid I will need Hannibal’s aid,” he explained.

Nephthys resisted the urge to ask for more details, recognizing the urgency in his voice. He knew what he was doing.

“How serious?”

“My lady, it would not be an exaggeration to say that Chicolua’s survival depends on it.”

“Hannibal,” Nephthys prompted.

“I will go. I believe my role here is at an end, anyway,” he answered.

Nephthys nodded, though no one could see her. She felt Hannibal’s presence vanish from the city, and she was surprised to find her chest tightening once again, though for a different reason.

The reality that she was orchestrating a battle against real people suddenly pressed down on her, and she shook her head hard to free herself from it. Having Hannibal’s confidence and expertise to lean on had been a subconscious comfort she had not realized she was imbibing.

Recentering herself, she focused on the task at hand. The Sardvend army was reforming, and judging from their structure, it was time for the final stage.

“First, we make them respect. Then, we make them fear,” she said.

“Your turn, Bernard.”