Funatic
patreon
The Gamer Chapter 1188 – Liberation Campaign 2 – Small Group Action
🕑 Added 2022-03-31 17:18:13 +0000 UTC
If there was any advantage to John being so slow compared to the haremettes, then it was that many of them could scout the city before he arrived. In the process, they filled the gaps in the party’s knowledge about the layout and names of the world’s Archduchies, the borders of the Kingdoms, and the location of various landmarks. The map in his head let him track where they were. The red path was group one, the largest part of the harem. The blue line roughly described where Aclysia would move along. That one was up for spontaneous redrawing as the Gamer was neither sure how safe that route would be nor how far east they should go.
The main group was only running at the moment, currently making their way across the destroyed bridge by whatever means were at hand. Meanwhile, the majority of John’s mental capacity lay with the advance of Aclysia and his Extension.
A line of sight to their target was finally confirmed. Before long, Aclysia saw what the Mandala Sphere could see, and the Ironborn leading the migration were able to see them approach as well. Fast as she was, there were still several minutes between a confirmed line of sight in the life-drained plains of the aptly named Greyplain Archduchy.
The sun was setting, drenching the landscape in a red tint. Only the nature of the Ironborn’s physical form would keep it from being the only crimson spilled during the closing hours of the short day.
A row of the metal aristocrats of this world formed at the rear of the caravan. The Gamer used Observe through the Mandala Sphere. ‘Twenty Lords, eight Barons, two Dukes, one Archduke. Highest level is 246. Tear them apart, Aclysia.’
‘As you desire, Master.’ The weaponized maid brandished the smallest of her three arms: Salver. The dagger lay in her hand as she continued charging ahead. The forms of the Ironborn, ranging from simple cast iron to the elaborately decorated, bronze Adonis of an Archduke, emitted magical power. All of them channelled whatever they could.
A barrage of attacks was aimed at Aclysia. Fire, acid, ice, electricity, rocks, arcane, all of that and many other kinds of spells flew right at and then through her. Reality Fracture made her intangible for three seconds, letting her pass through the first wave of attacks without any harm taken. Aclysia whirled out of the way of a delayed projectile and threw Salver at one of the Ironborn. Propelled by her Strength, the mithril weapon cut right through the cast iron heart.
In the place of the dagger, Aclysia conjured Eclys. The katana shimmered with the same silvery-white as the dagger had. A strand of Nathalia’s hair, attached to the handle, fluttered in the draft of her movement.
A second time, Aclysia turned intangible, the second wave of attacks about to hit her. The many coloured projectiles made it difficult to see – until she had charged through and emerged in front of the line of Ironborn. Before the Lords in front of her could react, the weaponized maid slashed through them. The intangible blade passed through without effect. Then Aclysia shifted out of Reality Fracture and unleashed the Delayed Cut. While her blade was replaced with Aclysia’s third and final weapon, three Ironborn dropped down, their cores cleanly cut through in one horizontal line. A well-delivered Servant Strike.
The weight of Tiemarath had once incapacitated Aclysia. Now she could wield the supermassive claymore in one hand, easefully using it to create a slicing shockwave that blasted away the uncoordinated spells now coming her way.
Tiemarath was a weapon elegant in its destructive purpose. The long grip led into a guard that was practically useless for defence. Thick, the area only existed to properly secure the massive blade that extended from it. The majority of it was black, a slab of blackened Mithril that extended upwards until the straight spine of the one-edged blade came to a point. Diagonally, the silvery-white edge slanted, until it hit the main edge of the weapon in a jagged corner. The weapon looked every bit like it belonged in a video game, being taller than Aclysia was. Especially once it started glowing red.
“Obstacles to my Master’s design, lower your head and accept execution,” Aclysia demanded, her diligent voice twisted into a merciless cold. The only response she got was the charging of one of the Ironborn Barons. Scourge activated fully, pulling Aclysia’s lifeforce from her, diminishing her Mental Stats but doubling her Physical Stats in return. Making a mockery of the weapon’s size and weight, she lifted it above her head and brought it down before the Baron had executed his charge. The gold-decorated Ironborn was cut in twain.
A second one tried to use that opportunity to sneak up on the dragon maid, but she effortlessly turned around and dragged her weapon through them. The width of Tiemarath made it so the two halves were stuck to the blade for long enough that they were tossed to the side, rather than fall down on her.
Two more attacks descended on Aclysia, both of the Dukes attempting to do what their lessers could not. One had their attack blocked by Tiemarath’s Swordmind, the weapon moving on its own to protect its wielder. The other found himself absolutely overwhelmed not only by Aclysia’s superior Agility, but the further boost of True Block.
That he was a melee fighter who could be blocked by grabbing his face was to his detriment. “Die,” Aclysia said, black dragon claws crushing the Duke’s face into a grabbable clump. In two brutal movements, the first maid smashed one Ironborn into the other and then chopped through both of them with Tiemarath. Little puffs of mist accompanied each of Aclysia’s exhales, the cold inside her clashing with the heat rising from the life-absorbing blade.
By now the Ironborn had realized that they were completely outmatched. They refused to attack, only kept their battle formation. There was a sole exception to this. The Archduke was slowly stepping backwards, until he hit an obstacle.
The Gamer could not deny that he enjoyed it when the Ironborn whirled around like a panicked cat. “Where do you think you’re going?” Jack asked, while two Chains of Babylon shot out of magical anchors in the air around him. One connected to the left wrist, the other to the right thigh. The chains pulled taut, forcing the Archduke into a disgraceful position.
“Invader,” the Archduke hissed, while Aclysia made short work of the remaining Lords and Barons in the background. Halfway between dragon and maid, she was, much like her weapon, an elegant display of brutality. Her feminine curves were covered by the beautiful maid uniform, while her arms and legs were covered in black scales, ended in claws, and her slit pupils dashed predatorily between her enemies.
“Call me what you want,” Jack stated dismissively. With a roar, the Ironborn ripped himself free from one of the Mana Chains. A click of Jack’s tongue and a dismissive gesture later, three more had taken its place, each pulling a limb at a different angle. “What did Arkeidos order you to do?” the Gamer demanded to know. He got no answer.
Aclysia stomped over. Each step she took was more relaxed, as the red glow around Tiemarath diminished and the scales retreated back into her skin. “I hope this battle was approvingly violent,” she commented and bowed her head slightly.
Despite the situation, the Gamer could not help but laugh. “You’re scary, Aclysia,” he told her. “I love you, but you can be really scary.” Her head lowered a bit further, hanging in a disappointed manner. “You did good,” he told her, to cheer her up. “I did tell you to tear them apart and you did, without causing them any suffering.” Staring mercilessly down at the Archduke, Jack added, “Not that it would be undue.”
“Want my help?” Nia asked.
Jack looked over his shoulder, almost face to face with the pariah. In this case, her sudden appearance did manage to catch him off-guard. Not enough that he’d jump, just enough to leave him speechless for a second. The Archduke’s reaction was a lot more intense.
“What… is that?!” he almost screeched as the pariah’s aura enveloped all of them.
“I’ll extract what is useful,” the pariah stated, not bothering to look at the helplessly squirming Ironborn. Her presence intensified, only waning for a moment when Jack gave her a kiss. She smiled softly. “Keep going with your plan.”
“I will,” the Gamer nodded and left her to it. She would take care of the Archduke and the people. In the meantime, all John had to do was to give a suddenly angry looking Aclysia a strong hug and a kiss of her own. “You did good,” he whispered into her ear. “I trust you, that’s why this mission is just you and me.”
“I love you, my John,” Aclysia swooned so sweetly, it definitely did not belong among the pile of shredded Ironborn they were standing in. A crazily loving maid cared little for time and place, however, only that she got as much attention as the other women around when she did the work to earn it.
Jack morphed back into the Mandala Sphere. Then, he and Aclysia were back on the move, distancing themselves quickly from the caravan. Sad truth was that many of them would doubtlessly die on the way back. The Gamer had no idea how much Mettle they had been supplied with. General tendency of the Iron Domain was: not enough. Best they could do was await who survived the trip back with solid food and pure water.
‘At least we will have enough time to fix the bridge,’ John thought, overseeing Gnome reshaping the segments that had collapsed. At least in part. John did not need the entire bridge intact, just enough that the people could migrate back and the volunteer force could set over if they so desired. It took about two hours out of their timetable, but it was work that had to be done.
Afterwards they advanced straight towards the northern Cardinal Bastion, as planned. Word travelled slowly in the Iron Domain, so he wasn’t concerned that delays would cause rapid reaction by his enemies. Scrying magic would have thrown a wrench in that. So far, John had neither spotted nor felt anyone spying on his position. If he had to guess, this was a school of magic generally neglected in this environment. The only rivals the Ironborn had were other Ironborn and their hierarchy was absolute, reinforced by an undefeatable entity. Subterfuge was of little use to them.
‘I have every advantage,’ the Gamer told himself. ‘I have a higher number of elite individuals. Eliana is… unreliably stronger than Arkeidos, but stronger nonetheless. Almost the most important is that our ability to communicate and gather information is much better. I just got to play to those strengths and choke Arkeidos out. His intellect and power are the only real obstacles here.’
_____________________________________________________________________
The Gamer used the Creator Puppet to read Nia’s report. His original body and Extension were too busy running to take the time and tap answers into a console. Not that there was a lot to converse about. Ultimately, the Archduke had not known what Arkeidos wanted the people relocated for. Their ultimate destination would have been the Archduchy of Dusktil, the westernmost province of the mainland.
John: Could be an elaborate ruse to pull our attention west or mean there is something terrible happening there.
Nia: I think the latter.
Nia: I am looking through the Greyfort now.
Nia: I will contact you again when I find something.
John: Please do.
Nia: <3
John: Love you too.
The Creator Puppet dismissed the console and turned his attention back to the work at hand. Primarily, he was observing Medelnick, as he inspected Mettle under a simple lens. It was one of a series of practically or actually mundane tools that he managed to take with him on his person. “Does that lens even do anything for you?” the Gamer wondered, looking at the green-tinted glasses that sat at the centre of the metal constructs that acted as the Apothecary’s eyes.
“It bundles light,” Medelnick responded aggressively. Whether he was schooling John or just reprimanding for the distraction, his tone was entirely inappropriate. As much as John wanted to grab the man and shake him until he decided to speak in a way John’s pride demanded, Medelnick could get away with his choice of words and tone. His competency made him too valuable to John.
Medelnick pulled a stack of paper out of the slender box he had carried inside his lab coat and shuffled through it. Eventually, he took one of them and dripped some of the Mettle onto it. The noxious green seeped into the paper and formed a translucent drop at the bottom. Medelnick made note of that and moved onto a series of other experiments.
After about an hour of observing that, the Gamer dared to present another question. “Any progress?”
“It is a fascinating liquid,” Medelnick responded, still bothered but at least willing to talk about his work. “The lifeforce bound in it is unleashed on contact with organic material. In the process, it unleashes mild necromantic energies, causing tissue damage and, if ingested rapidly, a drug-like high. It keeps people alive. If used on plants, it would make them bear poisonous fruits. Very effective method to keep people desperate.”
“Alright, but can you reverse the effect?” the Creator Puppet wanted to know. What he needed from Medelnick most of all was a way to turn Mettle back into the vitality robbed from the soil to make it. They could not manually restore every bit of land to a fertile status where it could sustain more than patches of grass. In order to feed all those remained after the rebellion was over, they would have to effectively grow and spread the seeds they had brought with them.
“I’d need a proper laboratory to research that,” Medelnick responded. “I could improvise many of the tools by reforging the bodies of the Ironborn. However, I will need a power source.”
The Creator Puppet rubbed his forehead and pondered. An obvious power source was available. Not too far from their current location was a Mettle plant, left intact because they needed the drug to feed the people in the interim. Taking out one of the cores would work. ‘They’re doomed to suffer in the service of my design whether they are Medelnick’s power source or produce Mettle,’ the Gamer deemed, bitter as the thought made him.
Alternative solutions rushed through his mind. He could provide the mana himself? No, there were no mana batteries around, so whatever was the power source needed to be available consistently. The soldiers would not have the necessary output. An Ironborn core could be used instead, but John would need to come back and deliver it. Plus, the only difference between the cores of Ironborn and the cores inside the Mettle plants was that John knew the former deserved some payback. All he knew about the latter was that they had fallen out of favour with Arkeidos. That could have many reasons, including many that were not worthy of John’s forgiveness.
‘I’m just trying to rationalize,’ he caught himself. ‘Truth is, it’s just more convenient to use one from the Mettle plant. Sadly, convenience is something I require right now. Whoever was inside the core, they’ll suffer either way. I wish it wasn’t directly by my decision, but the world is as it is.’ “I’ll get you a power source,” the Creator Puppet promised. “Prepare everything else.”
Comments
I know she doesn't want to assist in this war, but goddamn just the idea of Nathalia going full dragon mode goddess of destruction on the Eternal Fortress gives me chills.
){kind=link}