Battleforged
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Chapter 352 - New Hires!
🕑 Added 2023-10-06 03:00:01 +0000 UTC(Note. Some mild POV shift changes here and there that I generally cover under 'Eric is now vaguely psionic, and sometimes he can pick up on other people's fears and feelings' - So we keep true to closed third person, while still occasionally seeing Eric from another's point of view.)
Eric snapped back to himself in a heartbeat as camp sirens blared, gasping for breath even as he fought not to cry out when the massive surge of potency that had earned him two instant levels, not to mention another level as a cultivator after fighting way above his weight class, instantly healed critical damage from a blow that could so easily have killed him. A blow tapping into transcendent cold that he realized he now understood in all its frigid beauty and deadly versatility.
He shook his head and swallowed the lump in his throat even as he collected all the corpses in the blink of an eye before spinning around, his tactical interface map suddenly blinking with a flood of reds now invading his realm.
He didn’t even bother worrying about where he’d put his character points. Because as much as he both loved and admired his daughter, as much as he most definitely appreciated being in the System’s nice book, he never ever wanted to feel those silvery tendrils crawling in his brain and changing him, transforming him, making him into a creature that thought it was him but was most definitely not him. At least no more than he absolutely had to. So his points flowed exactly where the rigors of battle demanded. 4 for Finesse and Perception, and 1 for Quickness with each level, as it had for every level he had earned that night. Because his cultivation progression focused on only one of those 3 stats and Battle time still needed a certain degree of balance between the three, and quick thinking harmonizing perfectly with quicker reflexes in battle was absolutely EVERYTHING. So long as one had the strength to make full use of one’s monstrous speed.
Ideally, it meant that he would be analyzing and countering his opponent’s deadliest strikes before they even registered his rebuttals. A focus on rapid analysis and action meant that even against the deadliest of opponents, he was far more likely to be able to survive by devising means of countering their own tactics, however clever, or at least be fast enough to seize opportunities for survival a heartbeat before deadly foes that utterly outclassed him could close the distance, trap his weapons, and deny him any opportunity at all.
Like Tyson fighting Glass Jaw Joe, exotic techniques and decades of battle mastery didn’t mean shit if Eric’s strikes hit his targets before his foes could even register the killing blows, let alone counter them. And the power generated by his strikes could be upwards of a dozen times more powerful than what a slower version of himself would be capable of, piercing armor like straw piercing wooden planks in a windstorm. Only his fists could now channel essence and his blade was soul-bound Mithril.
How many real life battles had been won simply because an fighter could think and react just a fraction of a second quicker than his opponent? And whereas one Olympian Boxer’s 18 or even 19 Quickness might best a stronger, slightly slower boxer with a 17 in that crucial stat… Eric’s was now a screamingly fast 581.
He spend a final moment gazing at the blood-spattered ground where he had just taken out a Rank 20 Bronze tier Commander who had had, Eric suspected, a very balanced stat distribution for martial combat, magic, and military command, with a Quickness of perhaps 400. A speed that had seen that man through countless battles over decades. Maybe even centuries.
Eric was no fool. He knew damn well that were he not able to unleash hideously powerful Fire Fists while dodging away from his opponents with absolutely monstrous Quickness, there was no way in hell that he would have survived his first brush with monsters of this caliber, let alone defeat father and daughter both.
And he was painfully certain that had he not played to Crevpost’s weaknesses, his desperate need to close and strike and make the man who had shed his children’s blood pay with a brutal hands-on death… Eric would be the one wheezing his last. And what was truly horrifying was the realization that at perhaps 70 points earned per rank, had the man been just a few ranks higher than 20, Crevpost would probably have had more than sufficient speed to crush Eric no matter what he tried to do to counter.
A chilling thought.
“Speed, people. Speed all the way,” he muttered to himself, filled with an odd mixture of triumph and anxious certainty that, as strong as he knew he was against the average Joe he might face in the form of a fellow newly risen Terran just trying his best to advance and survive, he was as fragile as a leaf blowing in the wind compared to the otherworldly threats that now seemed increasingly able to slip into his world, supposed newly ascended realm status strictures apparently no more effective than a bad joke.
He gave a bitter shake of his head. It was so bloody obvious that despite his fortuitous encounters, he could have been slaughtered over half a dozen times if he hadn’t been just as fast and ruthless and lucky as he had been up to now
If he and his sister were to have any hope of surviving the next few months, let alone years... he needed to get stronger at all costs.
He was about to race right out of the chambers before cursing himself for a fool, so overwhelmed by the bittersweet mixture of triumph and tragedy in that room that he had almost overlooked the desks covered with what looked like tactical maps, correspondence, and papers, taking the expedient approach of sending it all whirling into his ES Space before darting out of the command bunker and heading not for the rift that he sensed now spilling hundreds soon to be thousands of troops…
But to the quintuple battery of highly modified and customized 24-pounder cannons, all still facing his sister’s palace.
At present, there were some forty or so jaded-looking Classers that Eric sensed were nearly uniformly hovering at the Level 30 mark. Which spoke of significant training and dedication to one’s craft, particularly if one had to level-up in world whose ascension had long past. Yet Eric also noted, as he stalked his prey, which was yet another officer wearing a chainmail-lined captain’s uniform whose desperate orders verged on panic, that such was the same ‘official’ level nearly all invaders were limited to. Except for the Bronze tier elites who somehow seemed to be free of any rules or restrictions altogether. The privilege of power and all that, he supposed.
“Ready your weapons. You are all to muster out in twenty minutes! Do you understand? Twenty minutes!”
In sharp contrast to the fear-sweat reeking from the captain, the nearest handful of Scandinavian-looking humans and what might have been half-orc gunners just gazed at the captain in their comfortable leather jackets and enhanced aviator’s glasses with a calm sangfroid that clearly got under the man’s skin.
“Are you fools listening? We move out in twenty minutes!” The captain screamed.
One human gunner turned to his counterpart. “Who the fuck is this clown, and where’s the baron?”
The half-orc woman beside him snorted. “Damn good question.” She looked casually to the rear of the camp some distance away, near the crackling purple-hued gate filled with the panicked screams and shouts of men. “We’ve both been in this business long enough to know that trailblazing with heavy artillery in the middle of a panicked army is a great way to wind up dead.”
Their words were picked up by the other gunners whose calm faces gave a way no tells at all, just cool, collected nods.
The captain blanched, eyes widening with dismay he tried to bluster his way through. “Are you fools actually daring to defying your orders? That’s a court marshal right there!”
The gunner who had first spoken, who Eric, choosing not to act for the moment, noted wearing a silver pin on his own lapels, just flashed the captain a humorless smile. “Actually, we’re following orders. The very specific orders our company signed up under. We serve directly under Baron Crevpost and move an act under his command, or, if he is incapacitated, under one of his immediate children. Bronze tier melee specialists who both know what it means to lead, and protect.
“If you had been present at the original commander’s meeting, ‘captain,’ you would know that it was made quite clear to all parties that we are not an auxiliary branch of your state military and are completely outside its chain of command. We serve directly under the pleasure of the baron and his immediate family, and only with the understanding that we will enjoy the benefit of their protection and that of their elite troops while doing so, and we will never be forced to get within half a mile of actual combat.”
The half-orc woman nodded. “What my husband’s saying, in case it didn’t get through your thick skull the first time, is that we’re not going anywhere unless Lord Crevpost himself orders it and has our backs.”
The captain’s lips pressed tightly together, he smiled coldly at the platoon of men rapidly approaching as he blew a whistle. Fifty powerfully built men fully kitted in heavy field plate with arming swords at their hips and halberds in their hands. Men who were most definitely powerful tanks and facing just the wrong way for any cocky artilleryman to take down.
“Well isn’t it fortunate for you that we have a full platoon of Lord Crevpost’s elites with us even now. In point of fact, seeing as how you’re all trapped behind enemy lines on a hostile world, I think right now might be the perfect time to renegotiate your contract.”
The lead merc gunner gazed pointedly at his wife. “Do you smell a coup? Because I definitely smell a coup.” He then frowned at his anxious-looking wife as a handful of armored halberdiers marched toward his cannon in particular with purpose while the captain’s wand crackled. “Yini, relax. We’ll play ball. Same as always.”
“So… just out of curiousity,” Eric said from the stiffening man’s shadow. “If Baron Crevpost is no longer fit to command, are you still under obligation to serve Captain Sourpuss over there, or are you and your boys technically ‘free agents’ up for a fresh contract, so to speak?”
The man stiffened, for the moment tuning out the rapidly approaching captain and his armored troops eager to assure compliance by any means necessary.
The man’s frightened gaze instantly eased into twinkling eyes and a maveric grin. “Sorry, kid, but unless Lord Crevpost has formally surrendered, or he and his kin have perished or completely fled this territory, it’s a five level penalty to switch sides and a permanent stain on our corp rep which, believe it or not, will hurt even more. Now considering that you got us dead to rights, if you were to ask for our pardon or parole, you’ll have it in a heartbeat kid. Assuming you can survive the captain coming right at us and... Holy Mother of Fuck!”
“Mory!” Yini’s gaze switched from panic to relief to horror as she saw that her husband was completely unmarked.
The same couldn’t be said for the looming captain coming over to force concessions before any merc could even swivel their cannons that might have all been equipped with turning platforms, equilibrators, and recoil systems, but sure as fuck couldn’t swivel on a dime before fifty level thirties had blades at everyone’s throat.
Yet it seemed that a certain desperate captain had overestimated his own hand when the air blurred, and the six heavily armored infantry around him collapsed, crashing to the ground in fountains of crimson shooting from their necks, heads tumbling upon the steel covered corpses a heartbeat later as the captain gazed about in confusion before yelping in surprise when he felt razor sharp mithril press against his throat.
Yini shivered with visible dread at the wild-eyed boy peering at them all with a fey grin, the crimson patina of blood washing over his features doing nothing to diminish the boy’s captivating beauty, nor the intensity of brilliant sapphire blue orbs that helplessly drew her in.
His face was exquisite perfection, and his eyes glittered with predatory madness that made Yini’s throat tighten with terror and the inevitability of her own death.
And then the shockingly beautiful faerie prince, for what else could he be? Flinched before her gaze, seeming to disappear with a Quickness Yini could scarcely fathom, far beyond the 50 points she had carefully placed in the stats that were perfect for mastering the beast of a cannon she could manage almost as well as her husband’s manhood. But compared to the creature radiating a killing aura that had to be Bronze… she was a lizard near frozen in winter torpor, trying to follow the movements of a speed shrike.
“I think we might be in a spot o’ trouble, Morty,” she whispered to the man furiously cursing under his breath, and for the for the first time in a long time, she was giving serious thought to her husbands fantasies of selling out and expanding his father’s restaurant business. She’d far rather get fat stuffing her face and popping out their future sons and daughters than dying on some alien world with her head rolling in the desert as her neck stump spurted out the last of her lifeblood, just like the half dozen soldiers that hadn’t even stood a chance against the monstrous Contender suddenly in their midst.
“I’m sorry, captain, I didn’t quite catch your name?” Eric said with a tight grin, as if he hadn’t been profoundly shaken by the momentary frisson he had felt with the half-blood who, for all that she was related to the pig-faced abominations he was still dead-set on purging from this world… was a fiercely determined and loyal woman who wasn’t nearly as bloodthirsty as she carried herself for the sake of her man and her crew. A woman who’s sultry laughter and charming smile had won her a natural rogue’s heart and given then twenty years of slow and steady growth on a dozen campaigns and worlds. For leveling up was damned hard for most gunners, but a hell of a lot safer than living the life of a melee tank or mage desperate to ascend as fast as they could.
And now he was pretty certain she had the blood of at least one Psionicist in her veins and he had to get his head BACK IN THE GAME! Because he was at war, already had a fountain of blood and guilt on his conscience, and his only focus now was to SURVIVE and do his damnedest to keep Elonia’s territory intact and thriving, no matter how many hundreds or thousands of assholes had to fall to his blade. Even if he could never savor another restful night’s sleep again… he’d take on that burden as he would all others, for the sake of his twin.
Eric’s thought’s flickered just as fast as near 600 Quickness boosted by Battle-time would allow, the momentary anxiety and uncertainty of a teenager with blood on his hands, finding himself in way over his head, near instantly replaced by the manic grin of a natural wildcard who laughed at death and tragedy with equal abandon and most importantly WOULD STOP FOR NOTHING! In the pursuit of his goals.
It was method acting at its best, embracing a role that in another time or place would have sickened him, and was EXACTLY what he needed to do and be if this night was to end as anything but an absolute tragedy for those he loved.
As far as the invaders were concerned… fuck ‘em.
“So, Captain!” Eric said, bright madcap grin once more fully in place, mithril blade against the man’s neck. “Any chance I can get you or your men to swear a blood oath to serve me for life in return for a fresh start in an ascendant world with dignified treatment, honor, prestige, and access to honest to goodness Wealthy tier dungeons that have NO LIMIT as to how deep you can go or how far you can advance?” He winked. “And I’m not bullshitting you. I made it myself, so I should know.” Eric projected his voice, making sure all of the approaching soldiers could hear, a few looking on with genuine wonder, though most had expressions of fierce iron-hard determination.
But what mattered most to him were Mori and Yini’s take, having projected his voice loud enough for them all to hear.
The captain visibly stiffened, heart hammering so loud Eric could feel it throbbing against his blade as the tiniest trickle of blood drenched the mail shirt collar which of course his mithril blade sliced through like butter, Eric’s monstrous finesse allowing him to effortlessly ride the throbbing of his target’s carotid without slicing it clean open.
To his credit, the man didn’t quake in terror, though it was clearly a close thing.
“I have sworn myself to serve my lord until the day I die, Contender. Lord Crevpost, and his heirs.” He turned, glaring with fierce pride at his men. “We all have! Even if you truly think you can take out fifty of us, it changes nothing. We will never turn against the land whose sun cherished our newborn skin. We can never betray the lord who rose us all up from nothing!”
Instantly the armored platoon stiffened, slamming armored fists to chests.
“For Lord Crevpost! For the clan of the eternal fields!” They roared in concert.
The captain closed his eyes, smiling as if knowing the futility of his own words. “We will never surrender, boy. Best if you surrender. Our lord is an honorable man. He will treat you and your sister well. And how ironic it is that you don’t understand that already.”
Eric froze at those words, absolutely HATING the fact that he might have made a horrific mistake, but already knowing that every door of conciliation, whether through miscalculation, misfortune, or third-party malice, had been closed to him.
Now, there was only one path forward.
Eric inhaled once, projected his killing aura, and prepared himself for what was to come.
“Yeah, surrender’s not happening, seeing as I already killed the man.”
“You what?” The captain cried out in genuine horror, falling to his knees.
“Kill him!” The man shrieked to his now wild-eyed men. “KILL HIM and we will purge Aurelia’s clan off the face of this—”
His words were cut off in a spray of blood.
A dying man’s final despairing blink might have caught sight of crimson lightning blasting into armored troops, the current arcing and sparking through half a dozen before the air vibrated with a heavy thrum as countless armored soldiers erupted in explosions of flesh, mangled steel, and bone when the air filled with fire alternating with the oddly musical hum of mithril perfectly slicing through highest quality spring steel, and before that dying head had finished its final revolution before plopping right next to its body, twenty, then thirty, then forty armored knights sworn to eternal service to the Crevpost clan crashed to the ground in pools of their own blood.
The stunned gunners gazed at Eric in open-mouthed awe… and horror.
“God’s tears, that boy’s a monster!” Yini cursed under her breath.
Mory said nothing, just holding her close to him and kissing her head, feeling his wife’s tears silently pool against his powerful protective arms.
Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to see the smiling youth suddenly before him, truly looking like one of the temple priests of his home world, filled with half-blood elves as this child so clearly was, carefully bred for their inhuman beauty, magical affinities, and usefulness to their church.
Only none of those beloved healers and counselors that Mory had ever had the pleasure of speaking with, after being baptized by them on the day he had first left his world as a youth looking for adventure before finding himself joining an artillery company and falling in love with the hot-tempered loud-mouthed beauty now trembling in his arms… had quite so much gore dripping down their mithril armor before approaching with their blessing.
Mory shivered, shaking away the reverie that came when supreme terror was replaced by fatalistic acceptance.
“Drake Company Accepts.”
Chapter 353 - Long Term Employment
Comments
Goldfish2
Hmm
Anthony L
Idk his whole thing was about not being like his mother and I liked that aspect that even if it was harder he wasn't going to be a monster. But now it's like he's going full into it. He's so against the system changing him but he's now ok with his mom's side doing the same thing?? Like the thing his sister and him need more then anything right now are allies and he just brutally killed 4 possible ones. With no thought at all. Enemies must die. Since when did he stop thinking
Freedcats
So cool. I just got a little lost on the POV change(s). It might be worth thinking about a visual way to help the reader.
