Chapter 185: The Walls of Glastia

The frontline near Glastia looked like some divinity had split the world in twain, showing two versions of a world that could be. Seen from the east, the left part of the landscape was one of mankind flourishing. Well-fertilized fields extended to the horizon, rich with thick ripening wheat, orchards, fat lines of fruit-bearing bushes near columns of salad greens surrounding pens teeming with animals. Neat encampments hug the walls. A myriad of colorful pennants fluttered lazily in the spring wind, speaking of the assembled might of mankind. Groups of soldiers trained, cooked, played and drank in clumps along the wall with the floating smoke trails of Glastia itself far in the distance. As for the wall itself, it was titanic yet misshapen, built in a hurry by mages as the horde of beastlings turned into a tide. Like a giant beast it grew and snaked across the land while soldiers trawled its back. That side was all warm colors and life in all its tamed diversity.

 

There was the clean side of the wall.

 

Then, there was hell.

 

Charred stones, broken crenelations and the presence of war machines marked the limit between the rear and the frontline, after that was what the locals had come to call the corpse trench. For leagues upon leagues, there were only two things: dead soil, and corpses. Dessicated corpses. Burnt corpses. Ossified remnants mixed with the soil until one couldn’t tell gravel from jutting femurs. Fresh corpses. Putrid corpses. The rotting cadavers of great beasts belonging to early shamans, before hunger had pushed the beastlings to eat everything including each other. The devastation reached the maximum range of how far of a target the war mages could kill, and after that, the only difference was that the bodies didn’t have a speck of meat left on them.

 

Beyond that was a haze, a black, smog-filled land squirming with hidden numbers, black mana and toxic emanations hiding the ground from sight. It was a cursed place that grew more dire and disgusting as time went by. No human had walked there in almost five years. It was about to change soon.

 

Mostly, it stank.

 

That was something that the wall didn’t stop. Even in the sun, even with the wind, the revolting stench of carrion clung to the nose of all the humans around like a slimy film that never left. It was so bad that the Glastians had grown insensitive to it, but those visiting fighters called it the ‘Glastian Aftertaste’. It hung in the air like an invisible cloak that no gray magic could dispel. There was no escaping it. Only two things could erase it: the extermination of the beastlings, and time itself.

 

Over the hill, a group of Enorian mercenaries watched the latest column approach. One of them, an older warrior missing part of his nose, spat on the ground.

 

“Damn witch.”

 

“Oh, cut it,” a younger warrior said.

 

“She killed Constable Tarano!”

 

The others groaned out of habit, but then their gaze fell on the Harrakans now marching out of the massive portal set some distance away from the walls of the city.

 

Some armies, like the Golden Order or the Knights of the White Orchard were grace and aristocracy incarnate. They walked out like heroes from children’s tales in shimmering colors, barded with family heirlooms and armor sets so decorated they were pieces of art. It was inspiring, fighting side by side with those barons and warrior priestesses who sallied out from the gate with beauty and panache. There were also regular armies moving in harmonious disorder, knights covering archers then splitting as they climbed the wall to take their place at the fore. Finally, there were the poor fuckers like them, sods paid iron bits to hold less risky parts of the wall. Those moved in organic blobs under the command of grizzled veterans who knew they had to give up on marching order because they were too busy enforcing basic discipline. Those were drab masses that crossed the nice roads like mud drifting down a canal.

 

The Harrakans were not like any of those.

 

“Damn, that’s a lot of iron,” one of them said.

 

“Steel. Birdmen made,” said one with a pipe and the spare bits to buy the hotweed to fill it.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah. They got the mines open. My cousins moved there from Regnos. Says they pay well and don’t use lashes.”

 

“Well they… got a lot out.”

 

The Harrakans moved like clockwork. They were quiet and organized with the precision of a loom and enough metal to arm a force five times their size. Massive carriages of pure metal rolled without a horse to be seen, and behind, a long baggage train followed at a good pace. Elites walked up and down the flanks but they barely gave any orders.

 

The looming impression was reinforced by the uniforms those soldiers wore. In the Enorian army, each noble was responsible for arming their own retinue, and though there were color schemes, armor sets and weapons were simply the best the nobles could get their paws on. Here, the various infantry regiments wore gear that identified them at a glance. Young fellows wore scale armor with dragon patterns visible from up here, even having a white dragon on their banners — and that was calling for disaster. Older men and women carried a variety of weapons but they shared the same cloaks and their symbol, a large tree, was present on every tabard. There was a group of quiet, huge fuckers in the heaviest plate the mercenaries had ever seen, faces hidden behind intimidating war masks. Even the flankers, crossbowmen mostly, had commonalities. The oldest group had heart motifs and preferred gray while a black-clad group of younger women favored eye-patterns — a daring boast about their accuracy, no doubt.

 

“It’s like watching a golem walk,” one of the younger mercenaries said.

 

“Like you’ve seen a golem walk, bumpkin.”

 

“I did too! Near the bank!”

 

“The fuck were you doing in the bank when you don’t got two bits to rub together.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Quiet,” the pipe smoker said. “Look.”

 

More people emerged from the portal. First, mages in robes on carriages bearing strange contraptions, a shining core present at the top. Some of those owl people crawled on their surface. Who even hired yries for war? They disliked being involved with humans.

 

The next column was made of knights. But those were strange, like the rest. True knights ought to be colorful like in the stories, but these were all wearing black with a hint of blue. Truly, the Harrakans weren’t normal folks.

 

“Maybe the black mana messes with their heads.”

 

“Well don’t let them hear that. Oh, look, here she is, the Great Black Slut!”

 

The Enorians mercenaries watched the newly ascended ‘Empress’ ride forth on a nice horse that must have cost a lot. She didn’t look like much from up there. Certainly not like the monster the rumors made her out to be. Hell, they couldn’t even see her cleavage.

 

“Doesn’t look so scary to me,” one of them spat.

 

“Look, there’s the fallen prince by her side.”

 

“Traitor calls to traitor, I guess!”

 

“And to freaks.”

 

“I resent that.”

 

The mercenaries froze where they sat. Right there, on the hill, suddenly, there was a man. A tall man with an exposed bald head, wearing all black. On his back rested the largest battleaxe they’d ever seen.

 

“I said. I resent that,” Zero-Five repeated.

 

And the mercenaries ran away.

***

 

“Neriad’s bollocks this place smells like a dead skunk’s arse,” Viv swore.

 

Feeling sorry for her blasphemy, Viv sent a large burst of mana via prayer to her favorite god. It was a huge amount, enough to power a war mage cadre.

 

“I am sorry for calling upon your bollocks in vain.”

 

YOU KNOW I PAY ATTENTION IF THE MANA OFFERING IS HUGE SO PLEASE STOP CONTACTING ME FOR STUPID REASONS. I AM TRYING TO SPAR WITH MY FRIEND.

 

“The blessed one answers!”

 

YOU ARE BEING OBNOXIOUS.

 

“Viv,” her beloved said in a diplomatic voice, “Please stop bullying the light gods.”

 

“Pah,” she groaned.

 

Her mischief completed, Viv grew despondent. And annoyed. Here she was on the other side of the continent, fulfilling an obligation at a time when her empire was at its most vulnerable. And all for thankless people who would barely spit on her if she were on fire.

 

“Will you be going to the city now?” Rollo asked from the side.

 

“No,” Viv replied. “I want to make sure our position at the wall is secure.”

 

They approached the massive structure through growing fields. At its highest, it was probably thirty-meters tall but the outlying places went as low as four to five meters, enough for the most agile beastlings to climb by hand. Scorched marks showed where the walls had been breached then cauterized by fire mages. It was amazing how several types of stone and architecture were involved to raise or build different sections, yet it all felt like the same wall. She inspected it.

 

[Wall of Glastia, artifact, drenched in the blood of a million beings, the wall stands battered but unbowed. Limited self-repair. Architectural drift.]

 

Huh. It explained why the stones and styles seem to flow into each other.

 

Viv looked down to see that spot they were supposed to occupy. All major forces that would be involved in a purge gathered around gates used to sally out when there were enough knights to justify it. Theirs stood between a large gathering of well-ordered tents with golden flags while to the right, mercenaries gathered in small groups, the runt of the formation meant to hold the far end. As soon as she approached, she knew there was going to be an issue.

 

“As expected,” she grumbled.

 

The place where they were supposed to set up camp was a pigsty, an unholy mess of trash and unburied latrines. It stank even worse and it was abundantly clear the location was not just a landfill: someone had specifically dumped trash here.

 

Sidjin sighed.

 

“He can’t help it, can he?”

 

“It might not be your brother.”

 

“If he didn’t start it, then at least it happened with his knowledge and consent. We are here to help and I am still being provoked,” he bemoaned. “I will complain to father. This is entirely unacceptable.”

 

Viv felt her own temper raise. They were here to fight for Glastia in the name of the Paramese alliance and the locals were still giving her shit. Well, some of them. The assholes.

 

“Can I be the iron fist and you the velvet glove?” she asked.

 

“Certainly. I feel that if I start losing my temper here, people may perish.”

 

“Ok good while I’ll merely maim them. So. Who’s responsible for this fuckery? Do I have to go to the city?”

 

“Hold on.”

 

Sidjin activated his long view enchantment. The air in front of him shimmered as it formed lenses. The construct then followed Sidjin’s gaze. He looked right, then left, then up. He then sighed again.

 

“As expected, the guilty party is currently looking down on us to enjoy our discomfort. I recognize the heraldry of House Redclaw, a staunch supporter of my dear brother Prince Medjin. They must be in charge of this slice of the wall. They would be responsible for clearing the space here.”

 

Ah, Medjin, the asshole who caused Rakan to be crippled.

 

Too bad she couldn’t send him a gift without risking Sidjin’s pardoned status.

 

“And you say they’re up?”

 

“Yes, on the wall as we speak.”

 

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Viv cast one last glance at the field of detritus where she was supposed to camp. No. That was just unforgivable. A pure provocation of the lowest order.

 

“Alright.”

 

She dismounted.

 

“Rollo, with me. Sidjin, if you would stay here please. The One Hundred will escort us up the stairs. Masks on, bags down.”

 

Ban approached, long white beard resting on his massive runic chestplate.

 

“Battle formation ma’am?”

 

“Yes but let me take the front.”

 

“Ah, Your Majesty, there was someone I wanted to introduce you to.”

 

Viv raised a brow. It was quite unlike Ban to interrupt her so it must have been important. As the One Hundred approached, she took in a newcomer by Brick’s side.

 

Now Viv had seen some pretty hot people around considering stats just made people healthier and gave them better skin. She’d also seen some really muscular guys such as Ban himself and Solar when he trained bare-chested. But this guy? This guy was a younger Zeus. He was tall as hell too. An absolute giant.

 

Clad in steel from head to toe, he was the kind of guy she’d put on recruitment posters if they were a thing.

 

Brick looked at him then averted her eyes, blushing.

 

Fleeting dreams of the perfect genetically engineered himbo floated through Viv’s addled mind, but she cast them aside. Eugenics was for losers.

 

“This,” Ban said, “is Ban the Younger, my eldest son.”

 

Viv was rendered momentarily speechless.

 

“How very imaginative, Ban.”

 

“Ban is a great name,” Ban replied. “My son also ranked first in the ranking competition as soon as he joined. I trained him myself.”

 

“Wow…”

 

That was absolutely impressive.

 

“He has sworn fealty to you, aye? Your Majesty,” he finished as an afterthought. “He’s my second in command. Unless, of course, you want to test him yourself.”

 

“I doubt you would accept anything less than excellence.”

 

“If that’s a fancy way to say I’m a hardass, then aye. Your Majesty.”

 

“Well then, Ban and Ban, I hope you’re ready to impress.”

 

“Aye ma’am.”

 

Viv looked around and found a set of stairs adjoining the wall. It was wide enough to accommodate a carriage which suited her just fine. The base started next to a rather small gate peeking from underground, which made her wonder how practical sallies even were. She moved up the slope at a short jog.

 

Behind her, the One Hundred trampled the stone with their steel-capped boots in perfect unison. The booms alerted two sentries lounging in the middle of the road. They moved to the side, paralyzed with fear. Viv stopped right in front of them.

 

Her intimidation flared. They were both shorter than her and clearly not the pick of the litter. She grabbed one of them by the collar, then slammed him against the wall. Her wings spread behind her like omens of doom.

 

“You. Who the fuck’s in charge of this section of the wall?”

 

“I… I… I…”

 

“WHO IS YOUR SUPERIOR?”

 

“Lord Redclaw, ma’am!”

 

She dropped him on his ass and cast a quick mirror spell just to be sure.

 

Monster eyes? Check.

 

Bone spike reforged war crown of the Old Empire? Check.

 

Tall? Fucking check. She would never be tiny again.

 

Silverite-embroidered regal battle robes? Hell yeah, custom made and it had pockets.

 

She looked great.

 

“Onward!”

 

It took only a few seconds to reach the top of the wall. Although it was rather low here, it was still wide enough to allow for multiple layers of defenders and their supplies. Right now, a hundred or so soldiers huddled in confused squads, uncertain as to what was going on. Viv had no intention of letting them recover.

 

“Where is Redclaw?” she asked in a deceptively cold voice.

 

[Aspect of the Sovereign]

 

Intimidation crashed into them like a wave. The squads wavered, taken by surprise, and a path was instinctively cleared towards the perpetrator of today’s indignity.

 

He was a thin, aristocratic man in mage robes bearing the symbol of a claw. In red, of course. Right now, he was looking like someone who thought he was doing a fun prank only for two cop cars to pull up in front of him. Viv made a beeline for the fucker. Behind her, the One Hundred pushed his men aside by sheer weight.

 

She only stopped when she was so deep in his personal space he might ask for rent.

 

“Do you think this is a joke?”