A skinny, freckled man adjusts his glasses while lazily reading the reports being brought to his table. He looks at the stack of scrolls, reading about troop movement, combat strength, skills used and skills that are ready to be used. The man leans to the right, sipping on a potion of stamina. The taste was horrible… three days ago. Now, it is still horrible, but the aftertaste doesn't distract him anymore.
| Level up x 1 You are now a level 165 [Grand Strategist] |
He glances at the screen popping up in his vision before dismissing it. He’s been leveling quickly since he was assigned control of the Olympian forces three days ago. The task given to him by Flavion was surprising, but enjoyable. Abba leans back into his chair, a holographic map of the battlefield lit up in the air in front of him thanks to his [Cartographic Battlefield View] skill; a useful representation so reminiscent of the strategy games he played when he was training to be a fleet commander.
The evolved and updated itself as he read through the reports. Moments after finishing, he grabs an empty scroll and starts writing orders, his hand blurring with practiced ease. Finishing within a second, he hands the scroll to a nearby waiting [Soldier] who grabs it and rushes out of his office to relay the message.
It’s a slow process compared to what he is used to. Instantaneous long-range messaging using interwave light technology would be so much more efficient. Unfortunately, this world to which he was summoned is in its technological infancy, a byproduct, he believes, of reliance on magic.
Or perhaps, he is inside the rumored new, state-of-the-art strategic simulator. In the event of a war, the technological infrastructure that turned everyone into wizards would be any capable adversary’s first target. Yet, the presence of magic in this simulation keeps the battlefield fresh and dynamic instead of returning it to the well-rehearsed days of swords and arrows. If true, then the simulator has succeeded beyond everybody’s wildest dreams. He doesn’t even remember entering it!
Regardless, he knows his body is safely sitting in a chair while his mind is here in Orbis.
Still, it annoys him that he doesn't remember how long he has to stay in this world. At the current government allowed maximum time dilation, over a week should have passed in the real world over the two years he was stuck here. Well, it matters not, the system will boot him out if a month passes in the real world, so he still has many more years of practice and training to deal with.
As he grabs another scroll, a [Soldier] enters his office.
“[Theater Commander] Abba, emergency scroll,”
Abba snatches the scroll. He opens it. A smile forms on his face as he reads a line.
‘The Amazons have arrived at the front lines. They are awaiting orders.’
“Finally,” he breathes, uncaring if he is heard. So far, he has been unable to fully counter the Aesir offensive. Stall, yes. He has a lot of [Slave Soldiers] to call upon, but they are much too weak to actually defeat any of the Aesir Champions without high level support. With the Amazons coming into play, things can now properly move forward.
He glances at his pile of fresh paper, then shakes his head.
He stands up, the chair moving back as he tests his legs which are numb from sitting. The [Soldiers] look at him, curious, but he ignores them. He walks out of his office, down some stairs, and eventually arrives at an underground coliseum filled with more than a hundred people taking shifts to keep dozens of summoning circles active.
From the circles, minor demons are summoned and dispatched every hour. He watches as a [Scribe] grabs one of his scrolls and reads his order to a demon before unsummoning it. Within the next hour, that same demon will be summoned to relay his orders to one of the armies.
When Abba first arrived, he had stymied by the slow pace of communication. Orders usually take days to travel from one army to another, sometimes even longer if a [Courier] is unavailable. At that pace, coordinating a large scale campaign was a fool’s errand. One was more likely to meet an enemy by happenstance than design and the very notion of a Grand Strategy was a pipe dream. An entire day to order an army to retreat or reposition is unacceptable. Hell, an hour comm-lag is already unacceptable.
He leans forward and calls up his [Loud Voice] skill.
“All [Scribes]! Notify the armies that demon summoning intervals are to be reduced to five minutes.” he orders, causing everyone to look at him as he stands at the podium. ”Also, inform the [Generals] that the Amazons have arrived. The offensive begins today.”
__________________________________________________________________
“You sure you don't want to go to Shival to become [King]? It would be pretty easy for you, what with you being their [Prince] and all.”
Abernick shakes his head as he leans into the seat of our carriage.
“I never wanted the crown, I only wanted to avenge my love. Shival rejected me a long time ago. I have no home there and no desire to rule over spineless cowards who would bend over for any stupid ponce with a fancy hat.
“You still sound a bit salty,” I poke, but the [Grand Necromancer] snorts and folds his arms.
“Maybe, though that seems like the least of my problems. The real problem is that we are heading into Aesir territory, where our classes are outlawed. Granted, being members of the Mercenary Guild should in theory allow us to move unaccosted, but I have my doubts.”
I shrug. “That all depends on how much they know. So long as,” I point at Jessica sitting next to me with arms around her legs, “we have her speak for us, I don't think they will care to check our classes.”
“How so?” Abernick asks.
“Well, how many mercenary teams with a [Priestess] would you expect to have illegal classes in the team?”
Abernick nods. “That… would make sense.”
“Yup, which also means I need to give you one of these babies.” I release a bit of mana, creating a dark shadow below my feet. I lean down and retrieve a mask. I throw it to Abernick who barely catches it.
“What?” he asks in surprise.
“Since you are now part of Merry Marrows, you are going to need one of our trademark masks! There isn’t a dental plan, so that’s to hide your mouth and wrinkly skin.”
Jessica stirs, her eyes roaming to the mask in Abernicks hand. “How many did you make?”
“Enough,” I answer vaguely, refusing to mention any possibly three-digit number. I was honestly expecting to have lost mine by now.
“Anyways, how are you doing Jess? Are you feeling any better?”
“No,” she answers quickly, but her demeanor tells a different story. She’s strong enough to pull herself out of her wallowing
“Right, well, just know that I’m here for you if you want to talk.”
She nods slowly.
With that taken care of, I turn to the silent [Runesmith]. “Deflon, where are we heading to? Also, I don't remember how long you said it will take to get there.”
Deflon sighs.
“Yes, I know you’ve told me this before. Just remind me again,” I tell the [Smith].
He gives me a hard stare for a moment before he complies “We are heading to the kingdom of Khavell in the midwest. It is where house Carpe Diem is based, at least what remains. As for getting there, it will be a few weeks of travel if we do not need to hire a caravan to get through the passes.”
“Passes?”
“The southern aesir kingdoms are broken up by mountains. You wanna get somewhere fast, you cross a mountain pass. Most people take the lower well-trod trade routes, but those are four or five times longer than heading directly through. There are more direct routes through the mountains, but those routes tend to have dangerous high-level monsters, or more commonly, hundreds of [Bandit] camps.”
“Ooohhh, dangerous mountain passes filled with [Bandits]. Now that sounds fun,” I say cheerfully, getting a raised eyebrow from Devlon and Abernick while Jessica rolls her eyes.
“What? We’re on an adventure! You can't have an adventure without getting jumped by a mountain [Bandits]!”
Abernick and Devlon look at one another, still a bit confused. Jessica just sighs, though a smile does come to her lips.
“Look,” I fold my arms, “we are going to take the most dangerous path, and we are going to get attacked by [Bandits]. No ifs, ands, or buts. [Bandits] or nothing!”
Jessica snorts while the other two attempt to fault my genius.
_____________________________________________________________
Garn breathes in the fresh air, a content smile forming on his lips as he sits atop his mistress's carriage. He contemplates his life choices over the last week and the changes to his brethren. The sunlight, vibrant flora, and fresh game have done wonders for his people. They stand straighter, stronger, and sounder of mind. Their hatred and resentment of the Vampires is still strong, so deeply ingrained he cannot change it, but he is happy they are more tolerant of his mistress now.
He looks down at the carriage, smiling as he hears her soft snores within. She has regained some strength, but not enough to withstand the sun's rays. He loves her. Not romantically, but as one would love a sister; a mother. She took care of him, taught him, even trained him when he was younger. He admires her, a feeling he hopes his people will feel as well.
“Alpha!”
His ears twitch and eyes open as a group of his [Scouts] return. They run towards him on all fours. As they near, their bodies shift back into their humanoid forms, albeit naked.
“What?” he asks.
“Something is ahead. They are…” the [Scout] pauses, putting his thoughts in order. Eventually, he shakes his head and points back. ”We’re not sure what exactly they are, but they look dangerous and there are corpses everywhere. There was a massacre.”
Nodding slowly, Garn stands up and jumps ahead while signaling the lycean procession to stop. They have been traveling directly south, bordering the west of the continent center. He hopes that so long as he does not drift too far west, his people will be ignored.
“Show me,” he orders and the group of [Scouts] shift into their bestial forms. They run, bursting with speeds faster than a horse. As for himself, he does not need to shift. He’s strong enough that he can keep pace.
It doesn't take long before they reach the edge of a cliff overlooking a clearing. Garn drops down into a crawl and moves to the edge, whereupon he is greeted with a ghastly sight.
An army camp, thousands of [Soldiers], all dead. Torn tents, broken weapons, and armored corpses litter the ground like trash. An entire army division, ten thousand men, slain by something enormous enough to leave meter long claw marks through the dirt. As he continues staring, he makes out movement on the far side of this field of death.
Activating [Far Sight], his vision focuses further, revealing dark-skinned humanoid monsters… with eight legs. As he watches them pick through the dead, he concludes that they are some kind of a beast-kin like himself. What beast exactly, he does not know, but such knowledge is only a question away. His mistress will know what they are and how best to deal with them.
After watching for an hour, he decides that he has seen enough. He shifts to stand up, but freezes as he notices something a meter to his right. A fist-sized monster with black fur, red eyes, and eight legs stares back at him.
He raises an eyebrow as he stares at it, then suddenly, all his hair stands on end. Deep within him, his instincts come out, they scream and growl as loud as possible, yelling at him that what stands before him is absolute DEATH!
A skinny, freckled man adjusts his glasses while lazily reading the reports being brought to his table. He looks at the stack of scrolls, reading about troop movement, combat strength, skills used and skills that are ready to be used. The man leans to the right, sipping on a potion of stamina. The taste was horrible… three days ago. Now, it is still horrible, but the aftertaste doesn't distract him anymore.
| Level up x 1 You are now a level 165 [Grand Strategist] |
He glances at the screen popping up in his vision before dismissing it. He’s been leveling quickly since he was assigned control of the Olympian forces three days ago. The task given to him by Flavion was surprising, but enjoyable. Abba leans back into his chair, a holographic map of the battlefield lit up in the air in front of him thanks to his [Cartographic Battlefield View] skill; a useful representation so reminiscent of the strategy games he played when he was training to be a fleet commander.
The evolved and updated itself as he read through the reports. Moments after finishing, he grabs an empty scroll and starts writing orders, his hand blurring with practiced ease. Finishing within a second, he hands the scroll to a nearby waiting [Soldier] who grabs it and rushes out of his office to relay the message.
It’s a slow process compared to what he is used to. Instantaneous long-range messaging using interwave light technology would be so much more efficient. Unfortunately, this world to which he was summoned is in its technological infancy, a byproduct, he believes, of reliance on magic.
Or perhaps, he is inside the rumored new, state-of-the-art strategic simulator. In the event of a war, the technological infrastructure that turned everyone into wizards would be any capable adversary’s first target. Yet, the presence of magic in this simulation keeps the battlefield fresh and dynamic instead of returning it to the well-rehearsed days of swords and arrows. If true, then the simulator has succeeded beyond everybody’s wildest dreams. He doesn’t even remember entering it!
Regardless, he knows his body is safely sitting in a chair while his mind is here in Orbis.
Still, it annoys him that he doesn't remember how long he has to stay in this world. At the current government allowed maximum time dilation, over a week should have passed in the real world over the two years he was stuck here. Well, it matters not, the system will boot him out if a month passes in the real world, so he still has many more years of practice and training to deal with.
As he grabs another scroll, a [Soldier] enters his office.
“[Theater Commander] Abba, emergency scroll,”
Abba snatches the scroll. He opens it. A smile forms on his face as he reads a line.
‘The Amazons have arrived at the front lines. They are awaiting orders.’
“Finally,” he breathes, uncaring if he is heard. So far, he has been unable to fully counter the Aesir offensive. Stall, yes. He has a lot of [Slave Soldiers] to call upon, but they are much too weak to actually defeat any of the Aesir Champions without high level support. With the Amazons coming into play, things can now properly move forward.
He glances at his pile of fresh paper, then shakes his head.
He stands up, the chair moving back as he tests his legs which are numb from sitting. The [Soldiers] look at him, curious, but he ignores them. He walks out of his office, down some stairs, and eventually arrives at an underground coliseum filled with more than a hundred people taking shifts to keep dozens of summoning circles active.
From the circles, minor demons are summoned and dispatched every hour. He watches as a [Scribe] grabs one of his scrolls and reads his order to a demon before unsummoning it. Within the next hour, that same demon will be summoned to relay his orders to one of the armies.
When Abba first arrived, he had stymied by the slow pace of communication. Orders usually take days to travel from one army to another, sometimes even longer if a [Courier] is unavailable. At that pace, coordinating a large scale campaign was a fool’s errand. One was more likely to meet an enemy by happenstance than design and the very notion of a Grand Strategy was a pipe dream. An entire day to order an army to retreat or reposition is unacceptable. Hell, an hour comm-lag is already unacceptable.
He leans forward and calls up his [Loud Voice] skill.
“All [Scribes]! Notify the armies that demon summoning intervals are to be reduced to five minutes.” he orders, causing everyone to look at him as he stands at the podium. ”Also, inform the [Generals] that the Amazons have arrived. The offensive begins today.”
__________________________________________________________________
“You sure you don't want to go to Shival to become [King]? It would be pretty easy for you, what with you being their [Prince] and all.”
Abernick shakes his head as he leans into the seat of our carriage.
“I never wanted the crown, I only wanted to avenge my love. Shival rejected me a long time ago. I have no home there and no desire to rule over spineless cowards who would bend over for any stupid ponce with a fancy hat.
“You still sound a bit salty,” I poke, but the [Grand Necromancer] snorts and folds his arms.
“Maybe, though that seems like the least of my problems. The real problem is that we are heading into Aesir territory, where our classes are outlawed. Granted, being members of the Mercenary Guild should in theory allow us to move unaccosted, but I have my doubts.”
I shrug. “That all depends on how much they know. So long as,” I point at Jessica sitting next to me with arms around her legs, “we have her speak for us, I don't think they will care to check our classes.”
“How so?” Abernick asks.
“Well, how many mercenary teams with a [Priestess] would you expect to have illegal classes in the team?”
Abernick nods. “That… would make sense.”
“Yup, which also means I need to give you one of these babies.” I release a bit of mana, creating a dark shadow below my feet. I lean down and retrieve a mask. I throw it to Abernick who barely catches it.
“What?” he asks in surprise.
“Since you are now part of Merry Marrows, you are going to need one of our trademark masks! There isn’t a dental plan, so that’s to hide your mouth and wrinkly skin.”
Jessica stirs, her eyes roaming to the mask in Abernicks hand. “How many did you make?”
“Enough,” I answer vaguely, refusing to mention any possibly three-digit number. I was honestly expecting to have lost mine by now.
“Anyways, how are you doing Jess? Are you feeling any better?”
“No,” she answers quickly, but her demeanor tells a different story. She’s strong enough to pull herself out of her wallowing
“Right, well, just know that I’m here for you if you want to talk.”
She nods slowly.
With that taken care of, I turn to the silent [Runesmith]. “Deflon, where are we heading to? Also, I don't remember how long you said it will take to get there.”
Deflon sighs.
“Yes, I know you’ve told me this before. Just remind me again,” I tell the [Smith].
He gives me a hard stare for a moment before he complies “We are heading to the kingdom of Khavell in the midwest. It is where house Carpe Diem is based, at least what remains. As for getting there, it will be a few weeks of travel if we do not need to hire a caravan to get through the passes.”
“Passes?”
“The southern aesir kingdoms are broken up by mountains. You wanna get somewhere fast, you cross a mountain pass. Most people take the lower well-trod trade routes, but those are four or five times longer than heading directly through. There are more direct routes through the mountains, but those routes tend to have dangerous high-level monsters, or more commonly, hundreds of [Bandit] camps.”
“Ooohhh, dangerous mountain passes filled with [Bandits]. Now that sounds fun,” I say cheerfully, getting a raised eyebrow from Devlon and Abernick while Jessica rolls her eyes.
“What? We’re on an adventure! You can't have an adventure without getting jumped by a mountain [Bandits]!”
Abernick and Devlon look at one another, still a bit confused. Jessica just sighs, though a smile does come to her lips.
“Look,” I fold my arms, “we are going to take the most dangerous path, and we are going to get attacked by [Bandits]. No ifs, ands, or buts. [Bandits] or nothing!”
Jessica snorts while the other two attempt to fault my genius.
_____________________________________________________________
Garn breathes in the fresh air, a content smile forming on his lips as he sits atop his mistress's carriage. He contemplates his life choices over the last week and the changes to his brethren. The sunlight, vibrant flora, and fresh game have done wonders for his people. They stand straighter, stronger, and sounder of mind. Their hatred and resentment of the Vampires is still strong, so deeply ingrained he cannot change it, but he is happy they are more tolerant of his mistress now.
He looks down at the carriage, smiling as he hears her soft snores within. She has regained some strength, but not enough to withstand the sun's rays. He loves her. Not romantically, but as one would love a sister; a mother. She took care of him, taught him, even trained him when he was younger. He admires her, a feeling he hopes his people will feel as well.
“Alpha!”
His ears twitch and eyes open as a group of his [Scouts] return. They run towards him on all fours. As they near, their bodies shift back into their humanoid forms, albeit naked.
“What?” he asks.
“Something is ahead. They are…” the [Scout] pauses, putting his thoughts in order. Eventually, he shakes his head and points back. ”We’re not sure what exactly they are, but they look dangerous and there are corpses everywhere. There was a massacre.”
Nodding slowly, Garn stands up and jumps ahead while signaling the lycean procession to stop. They have been traveling directly south, bordering the west of the continent center. He hopes that so long as he does not drift too far west, his people will be ignored.
“Show me,” he orders and the group of [Scouts] shift into their bestial forms. They run, bursting with speeds faster than a horse. As for himself, he does not need to shift. He’s strong enough that he can keep pace.
It doesn't take long before they reach the edge of a cliff overlooking a clearing. Garn drops down into a crawl and moves to the edge, whereupon he is greeted with a ghastly sight.
An army camp, thousands of [Soldiers], all dead. Torn tents, broken weapons, and armored corpses litter the ground like trash. An entire army division, ten thousand men, slain by something enormous enough to leave meter long claw marks through the dirt. As he continues staring, he makes out movement on the far side of this field of death.
Activating [Far Sight], his vision focuses further, revealing dark-skinned humanoid monsters… with eight legs. As he watches them pick through the dead, he concludes that they are some kind of a beast-kin like himself. What beast exactly, he does not know, but such knowledge is only a question away. His mistress will know what they are and how best to deal with them.
After watching for an hour, he decides that he has seen enough. He shifts to stand up, but freezes as he notices something a meter to his right. A fist-sized monster with black fur, red eyes, and eight legs stares back at him.
He raises an eyebrow as he stares at it, then suddenly, all his hair stands on end. Deep within him, his instincts come out, they scream and growl as loud as possible, yelling at him that what stands before him is absolute DEATH!
