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Book 5: Chapter 38 - Hesitation (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-03-27 06:33:31 +0000 UTCThe desert tribes are not a monolith but rather a tapestry of diverse peoples, locked in near-constant conflict both among themselves and with outsiders. Small slights can fester over generations, igniting feuds that often escalate into full-blown internecine wars. These disputes may stem from a host of causes—access to the scarce, fiercely guarded desert wells, tangled alliances, or the myriad other reasons born of longstanding rivalries.
- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.
I went up to the “top decks” and gazed at the evening sky, where grief was painted in its colors—shades of mourning and fleeting life. Almost as if in sympathy, rain began to fall with perfect dramatic timing.
Despite our sacrifices, five fortress ships remained. The flagship loomed as the greatest threat, for it housed the great eagles—the enemy’s wings of aerial assault.
Casalel’s group had been the last bit of real resistance; the remaining defenders were little more than sport. The elves, treacherous scum, had broken the rules of parley and honor, attacking us without warning. In doing so, they had doomed whatever innocence was left on this vessel. That was what history would remember of this day.
Once my initial rush of glee subsided, I felt only a touch of sadness. Still, not all was grim: my Hammers skill advanced to the next tier—Advanced Hammers—and because my Lucerne was a hybrid weapon, I earned another point in Advanced Polearms.
I checked my Status and smiled. Wanting to match the elves’ speed and agility, I had allocated all my new attribute points to Dexterity almost as soon as I had gained the level. My free skill point went to Improved Mana Regeneration as I had decided long ago. I could have chosen something more immediately useful, but I was playing the long game and could afford to invest in additional Mana. It gave me more options and boosted my effective Health when I factored in healing spells—and that effective Health had grown even larger with my latest surge in power.
My armor, however, had taken a beating. I knew Kipikarui the smith would have plenty of work restoring it. I considered upgrading to Mithril, though I doubted many could work the God-metal. My heavy armor was reliable, and its hefty weight served me well. Plus, it added a punishing mass to my blows, perfectly pairing with my ever-increasing Strength.
“First Tamkar?” Haidar, my second-in-command, asked hesitantly. “What are your orders?”
He sported a fancy elven helmet and a new blade at his hip. The mismatched gear made him look like a sort of high level bandit.
“Where is Cordelia?” I asked, surveying the devastation we had wrought on the fortress-ship.
“Cordelia, sir?”
“The red-haired Aranthian—the beautiful one,” I clarified.
“I believe she’s with the ‘uncivilized desert dogs,’ trying to stop them from drinking themselves senseless, raping the chattel, and burning everything down,” he replied rather harshly.
“Come now,” I said with a wan smile. “That’s no way to speak of our allies. Without the desert tribes, you’d be blood on the sands. They worship the Goddess, just as you do, and they’re men—true men. Barbarians, yes, but their faith in the Goddess will guide their savagery in a productive direction.”
“I hear they prefer boys to women,” he snorted. “Buggers the lot of them. But perhaps there’s some truth in what you say, sir,” he grudgingly admitted.
“Perhaps,” I said. “But as for my orders: night will fall soon, and hopefully this rain will persist. If not, Larynda will make sure it does. The eagles can’t attack us in this rain, so we’ll withdraw. Collect every weapon you can on the decks—break them down if you have to—and bring them to the city. The artificers will study them and find a way to turn them against their former owners.”
“And the desert warriors?” Haidar asked.
“End their revelry. It’s time for business,” I said. “If they resist, tell them these are my orders and that the gates of paradise will be closed to anyone who goes against the Goddess’s will.”
“By your will, First Tamkar.”
I could get used to this leadership business. There was a certain satisfaction in making others do as you commanded. Being a leader also changed the genre of the game entirely to one of tactics and strategy. A sort of palate cleanser to the dark role-playing game I had been forced to play so far.
***
My word alone seemed enough to fuse the remaining seven thousand of Al-Lazar with the nomads of the Deep Desert. Greed and necessity propelled them into a cooperative frenzy, stripping the fortress-ship of everything valuable. Exotic trinkets, artifacts, and stolen coin piled high, while the surviving elves—chattel now—were corralled into ragged lines with what little dignity they had left.
And one fifth of all that was taken belonged to me and me alone.
Under the cold gaze of the Desert Moon and the lights of Zajasite, we then marched, burdened by the spoils of war. Despite the help of the lesser Guardians, massive desert worms pressed into service as pack beasts, our progress remained agonizingly slow. Armies do not move lightly, no matter how urgent the cause, and by the time we reached the gates of Al-Lazar, dawn was already staining the horizon in fresh reds and gold.
Our fast riders had gone ahead, warning the city of our approach and commanding them to make ready. The nomads traveled behind me like a near-limitless horde. With their numbers, raw manpower incarnate, we might have the strength to avoid a drawn-out siege; something that would have bored me to tears. The desert tribes set up camp on the expansive grounds of the Holder Houses and in the city’s larger parks, and small villagers were born of a makeshift sprawl of tents. I was glad to leave Cordelia in charge, too weary to deal with them myself. She was a reminder of a life I wanted to forget.
Their presence would shock Al-Lazar’s citizens, no doubt. Friction between the city-dwellers and the desert tribes was inevitable, yet I’d made Corderlia hammer into the barbarians, paraphrased verses from the holy texts about turning the other cheek. They believed, for now, that tolerance was the Goddess’s commandment. The tribesmen would show restraint. I only hoped the people of Al-Lazar would have hearts big enough to see their new allies as part of the city’s salvation.
Meanwhile, the lesser Guardians and their riders slunk beneath the dunes outside the city’s walls, coiled like living traps waiting to be sprung.
I was beyond exhausted. Even the thrill of slaughter had lost its edge. The only thing I wanted was a bed and a few hours of dreamless sleep.
When we finally filed through Al-Lazar’s gates, there was no festival, no cheering crowd—only the stern faces of guards atop the walls and heavily armored infantry of Beast Kin at the ready. Despite their recent unpopularity, Al-Lazar still employed a few Beast Kin mercenaries. Savage creatures, if you asked me, and they would have been far more useful at yesterday’s battle, where their brutality might have been tested against the enemy.
Leaving word on where to find us, Larynda and I returned to the Begonia’s Shade. More than ever, that place felt like a personal refuge—a “save point,” if you will—where I could reset myself. Blood and viscera clung stubbornly to our armor, and we wore the hollow looks of the thoroughly spent. The proprietress, Naira was there to greet us, offering no questions because our faces told all. The owner of the Begonia’s Shade took control like a well-trained officer, barking orders at the staff to see to our needs. A stab of guilt filled me as my hands brushed the weapon that her daughter had become.
Amid the bustle, I managed to make a request an armorer to tend to my battered gear. I could already sense more battles on the horizon, and it wouldn’t do to face them unprepared. My mind drifted to my blackened armor, so often a source of confidence and intimidation, now marred by dents and the scars of battle. There were stories that could be told there.
The bathhouse had seen improvements since last I was here: its tiles shone a deeper cerulean, and the taps looked as if they were made from real gold. The servants, Elenora’s daughter among them, guided me in, their eyes wide with the million questions they dared not ask. My stern glare silenced their curiosity, and one offered only a respectful, “This way, samasa.”
They struggled to help me out of my armor. Then, they set to work washing the blood and stench from my skin. The water spiraled down the drain in swirling reds and browns. I stood naked, unashamed. My body was unscarred, eternal, a living testament to the powers that guided me—though part of me sometimes wondered if my existence was nothing more than a cruel illusion in a game. Not so long ago, I would have felt some need for modesty, but life in this world and my own surrender to my mental fatigue had burned away my desire for privacy. The attendants themselves were young and desirable, yet I looked upon them not with lust but with cold calculation: How many experience points would I gain if I crushed their throats right here?
Probably not much.
That unsettling thought faded as they shifted to harsher soaps, scrubbing until my skin felt raw but blessedly clean. No amount of soap could erase the memories of slaughter, but there was relief in sloughing off the physical grime. When it was over, the women led me to a warm side room where I collapsed onto a massage table. Their hands kneaded out the aches and pains I had not even noticed, and somewhere in that timeless haze, I drifted into sleep.
They woke me gently, guiding me toward my prepared chambers with grateful smiles. The smell of soap clung to my skin, mingling with a faint trace of their perfumes. A small recompense for saving the city, I thought bitterly. Al-Lazar, and this world, owed me far more than this, and yet—like so many times before—everyone expected everything while giving little in return. Women, society, the world at large… all the same.
Still, thanks to my high Advanced Rest skill, even that brief nap restored my Health, Mana, and Stamina. It felt like more proof that this was all just a meaningless game, a fleeting notion I shoved aside once again. Down that road lay a black pit of nihilism.
I chose to take my meal in solitude, seeking comfort in the quiet. But that quiet did not last; a faint knock sounded on the door, hesitant but insistent. I tried ignoring it, but eventually, my patience wore thin.
“Come in,” I called, resigned.
The door opened, and in walked Larynda, her still-damp hair clinging to her cheeks. I had to remind myself that she was half-elven, no matter the cosmetic surgeries she had undergone.
“What is it?” My tone was sharper than I intended.
She eyed me warily. “Well, if you don’t want company, I can come back another time,” she offered. A trace of vulnerability clung to her words.
“No, it’s fine. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
She pulled up a chair and settled across from me. The aroma of food drew her attention, and she speared a dumpling without asking. Larynda always had a special relationship with food, one that thankfully did not manifest in extra pounds on her frame.
She chewed slowly, swallowed, and finally spoke. “I just can’t do this anymore,” she blurted.
“Then don’t,” I replied curtly. “You never had to. This was a choice you chose yourself.”
“That’s it?” she challenged. “That’s all you have to say?”
“That’s it,” I repeated. “Unlike you, I have no choice. Did you not see what happened on that ship? You were there when we breached the vessel and slaughtered those who opposed us.”
“I had to…” she began.
“As did I,” I cut in, letting my anger show. “The choice isn’t mine to make. If I don’t act, these monsters will unleash horrors on Al-Lazar a hundred times worse. The city, the people… they depend on me. You depend on me.”
She flinched as though struck. “I—”
“But I… I have no one,” I continued, my voice cool despite the fury beneath. “Enkidu is gone, and Elwin might as well be. You saw the slaughter. Was it pleasant for you to cut them down? Did you enjoy that blood bath? No. But it had to be done. Sometimes a small evil is necessary to prevent a greater one.”
Her lips trembled. “But—”
“No ‘but.’ Go back to your room and think on what I said. If these walls fall, it’ll be because you abandoned your duty.”
“It’s not that!” she cried, her voice breaking. “It’s getting harder! The magic is calling to me, pulling me in! You… you don’t understand, Gil!”
She rose, tears brimming, and stormed out, slamming the door with a resounding crack. I let her go without another word, though my chest tightened. Of course I understood. The call of magic was insidious and dark, a siren song that promised power at the cost of corruption. I had felt it too and had willingly let it shape me for the sake of survival.
Couldn’t she see that I was the true victim here? I was the main character in a blood-soaked tragedy, marching on because someone had to. Because everyone else relied on me. Because in the end, there was no other choice.
No, that was I lie. I did so because I wanted to.
