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388 - Fear of Perfection Pt. 3 [Sturmblitz]
🕑 Added 2025-02-07 01:43:45 +0000 UTCGiving it a few moments for the sight of the Boar’s Head Insignia to sink in, Strake then began reciting none other than the oath of the Knights of the Boar, or at least a modified version of it. Graham didn’t know that it deviated from recorded versions, he only vaguely recognized it to begin with.
“By the might of the Boar, whose sign I bear upon me, by the white of the cloth about my body bound. By this brand upon my back, I do swear upon my honor, to uphold the Knightly Virtues ‘til I lay beneath the ground…”
The brand on Strake’s back came alive, as a bed of coals would when blasted with air from a bellows. With each word, his voice seemed to grow at once more distant yet also louder, and before Graham knew it, Strake was speaking with the voices of six men, his own one among a choir. His hair seemed to billow in invisible wind, and though no spectres came forth as one might expect, Graham still felt an unearthly presence looking down at him.
“I have followed into battle, warriors of legend, with my war-kin at my side. My mind grew calm, all their mettle coursing through me, ten-thousand devils shan’t undo me with these masters as my guide.”
Strake rolled his shoulders, flexed his back, and put his shirt back on. All at once, the world snapped back into place, like the sense of the supernatural had never been there at all. He shook a cigarette out of a small, sheet-metal box, and, lighting it off his own beard, took a long drag.
“I’m still a dog of war. I’m just not filthy and ragged anymore. And this… This right here is my teeth. All the better to rip out the throats of the wolves who would eat my sheep. A knight on an iron horse or an old dog with new, polished claws — it makes no difference what you see. I am what I am.”
Then, he looked away, craning his neck up at the beast made of steel that was Zero. Its bloody colour remained, but it wasn’t paint anymore, and its shade was neither bright red, nor was it the rusty-brown of dried blood. The very metal of its armor had taken on a maroon hue, and over the weeks since Eberheim, had reshaped itself. Gone were the brutal, simple angles. The living machine now struck a more rounded, knightly silhouette, and even its internal skeleton had shifted to a small extent. In place of previously minimal joint-covers, it now possessed massive pauldrons that still struggled to encase its enormous shoulder joints, and had three circular vents each. Similar vents could be seen all across the steel beast’s body. The armor of its upper arms was split into interlocking, horizontal segments, and eldritch, purplish flesh showed through the gaps. The savage spears on its forearms barely resembled the simple pilebunkers a normal tank suit was equipped with. The machine’s head resembled something between a knight’s and a soldier’s helmet — it was rather low and squat to the body, with a flared shroud at the sides and back, similar to a typical soldier’s helm, and a curved, blade-like antenna resembling a horn. Within its horizontal visor, the glowing ember of its single eye sat, mounted on a rail.
Unprompted, seeing as Graham clearly wasn’t about to leave, Strake continued talking.
“Tankmen, you can get tankmen. If anyone can find the survivors it’s you. Tank suits, you can get tank suits. Hell, I bet you lot at the Bureau are the only people that Estoras is willing to sell third-models to. But me and Zero, we’re staying here. We have a good thing going. And sure, let’s say you somehow convince me, the dead ones know I’ve been convinced to make worse choices by less persuasive men than you.”
Slowly, the monstrous machine’s mono-eyed head turned to face him, but the burning, purplish light of its eye wasn’t on Sodan. It was on Graham.
”How do you convince him? How do you convince the revenants wailing in his engine?”
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“Von Wickten? You finally found him?” Zelsys asked.
Strolvath nodded. “It’s… Well, both better and worse than it could be. Better, because he indeed has not been active since your last encounter with him. Worse, because he has spent that time cultivating — not just that, but preparing to undergo some sort of advancement ritual meant to elevate him to the level and seat of a Divine General.”
“How’d you find out? You have a man on the inside, I presume.”
“Remember the incident with the Pateirian senators? There was this kid you spared, Zhuo. He decided to take Estoras up on his offer to join up with us as a double-agent after all. Kid’s been one hell of an asset. Thanks to him, we’ve been able to do more damage to Pateiria’s occupation efforts than any direct attack ever could.”
“So what next? Von Wickten finishes his advancement ritual and makes a beeline for me? Or do we interrupt him while he’s vulnerable?”
“We don’t even know where he is,” Strolvath shrugged. “Zhuo hasn’t seen him more than twice, and the advancement ritual is so closely guarded we don’t even know for sure that it is specifically a cultivation advancement ritual and not something more obscure, that part’s conjecture. Most of our intel on the matter is second hand, even if we know that it can be trusted. What we do know is what he plans to do after his breakthrough: Collude with the Black Horse Sect’s Root Branch. They plan to invite you to negotiate with them, then try to get you to agree to a duel any which way they can — not planning to win, but to get you away from the sect for long enough for one of their elite disciples to challenge the sect to a duel he can win, all so that they can get favorable negotiation terms for… Some purpose that eludes me. If you ask me, my guess is they just want any excuse to get out of the Northern Capital, and this is the only way they can justify doing it to themselves. Regardless, Von Wickten independently found out about the plan, likely through the Empire’s own intelligence network, and plans to use it as a way to get his fight with you. Being an independent third party with a personal grievance against you, and given the fact they don’t actually care about winning the duel, the Black Horses will have no reason to deny him his request.”
Zel took a sip of her drink, and considered her options. Fighting Von Wickten wasn’t a matter of “if” in her mind, it was a matter of “when” and “where.” He knew where she was, so at best, she could delay the fight by running away, but he would certainly cause a great deal of collateral damage — first it would be just because, and then once he realized she was stalling, his motive would change to drawing her out. Therefore, the most reasonable conclusion would be to stack the deck as much as she could by preparing to the best of her ability, just like Von Wickten was doing possibly at this very moment.
Comments
Irish Not Sane
And the very thing the emperor wanted to avoid, he creates. I love how this flows. It’s also a perfect point to stop the story and the author to map out where it goes as he focuses on his other story.
