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Nero Walker, Book 3 Ch.78 (193)
🕑 Added 2024-06-24 22:30:01 +0000 UTCGlancing to his left and right, Captain Angleton noted the grim faces of the elites alongside him. His efforts to keep his opinions on their orders to himself had failed miserably. Even Sergeant Blackwood appeared less than happy with what they were about to do.
He felt like grinding his teeth in anger but instead settled on firming his jaw and forcing himself to be unaffected.
On the surface, their orders were simple. He and his relief team were to head to where the kobalds were assaulting in force, then engage briefly before pulling back. The goal being to entice the kobalds into overextending and allow the rest of the army to envelop them and subsequently wipe them out. The dispatch commander he’d spoken with had been very specific. They were not to ‘waste time on body reclamation’. They were only to ensure that the kobalds were slowed, but not stopped.
Just recalling the commander’s cold, clinical tone was enough to make him clench his reigns in his fist tight enough to turn his knuckles white. For a Knight of Dorchester to purposefully abandon soldiers to soul death was nothing short of disgraceful.
Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself of the likely reasoning behind his orders.
Every moment they wasted on this war, they were burning essence crystals to fuel their shields. Their crystal reserves had never been high. And, regardless of how much the recent density shift was aiding them with new sources of crystals, it simply wasn’t enough to overcome centuries of forced budgeting. From an economic standpoint, they were simply unprepared for this level of fighting. They needed this to end. Sooner rather than later.
Yet, humans were attrition fighters. It was in their blood. It was how they were trained. As long as they stood together, held the line, and watched out for each other, their victory was just a matter of time. With soldier rotations, solid healing, and the ability to resuscitate their dead, there was nothing that could overcome humanity's war machine.
Sacrificing good men and women of Dorchester to save some resources was both unnecessary and shameful.
But, orders were orders. He was duty-bound to follow them.
Captain Angleton’s mental discussion with himself paused as the kobalds began their charge. From his vantage point, he could see the mass of kobalds rush down the mountain in loose formation, ready and willing to sacrifice themselves by the hundreds to overwhelm the human fighters. While he felt like holding his breath in anticipation of the coming collision, he forced himself to take slow steady breaths.
He quickly looked around to judge the progress of the preparations for the envelopment maneuver. From what he could see, the army looked ready. Although he could only hope that someone remembered to move the battle-hub. Or perhaps command was expecting it to act as some kind of incentive for the kobalds?
Shaking his head slightly, he banished the pointless line of thought. He needed to focus on his duty.
Just in time, his attention returned to the battle lines. The kobalds hit like an avalanche, slamming into the lines and nearly running over the humans despite their difference in stature. He could already see fighters retreating, forced to leave their dead or dying comrades behind. They probably believed that reinforcements were coming to help them recover the bodies.
The words of his oath of knighthood whispered in the back of his head. ‘I will stand in front of the innocent. My struggle is with the guilty. I will allow no evil in my soul. My struggle is with the corrupt. Body, mind, and soul are one. My center is respect. My center is duty. My center is me.’
He shouted over his command link and out into the air, “Soldiers of Dorchester! On Me!”
With his heart already jackhammering, he nearly snarled in anger at the feelings of shame bubbling up from his center. He ordered his steed to charge and held up his sword as a promise of victory. ‘But there will be no victory here,’ he thought sourly.
He used the predefined lanes of assault through the defensive berms to plow into the kobalds. He heard himself roaring in challenge. He and his steed stomped over the kobalds like they were crushing grapes. He deployed shields where he could to save as many of the remaining fighters as possible.
Time seemed to become meaningless as he was forced to constantly watch soldiers falling back and leaving more dead bodies to be discarded under the kobald’s clawed feet. He felt his center shake as he condemned himself for not pushing into the kobalds and recovering those brave men and women.
Over his command line, he heard the voice of the commander. That cold, emotionless voice overcame the cacophony of battle by injecting itself directly into his head.
“Pull back slowly. Do not push them too hard. Your duty is to merely delay them,” it demanded.
He felt like his very being was breaking. His center was spilling out like water as he couldn’t concentrate on maintaining it.
Then, as if the world was conspiring to unmake him, he felt his fellow captains and their troops disengage from the battle. He whipped his head around to see them pulling back, abandoning the fight and leaving these men and women to die.
Over his command line, he shouted, “What are you doing?!? Get your units back here!”
Immediately, he heard Captain Inkler reply, “You have your orders. We have ours.”
Then, Captain Onslow’s mocking voice added, “Good luck, Captain. Die well.”
The shock of being abandoned was almost enough to ruin him. From all sides, the kobalds were clawing at his legs, attempting to rip him from his saddle. His steed’s emotions were roiling as it spun in circles and tried vainly to defend itself.
He couldn’t stop himself from staring at the battle. The kobalds were climbing over the berms, pulling down soldiers left and right. Without his fellow captain’s troops, the situation devolved into a rout. They were simply being overrun. Humans were dying by the dozens and he could do nothing to stop it.
The tenets of his order rang out in his head. The need to do ‘something’ was almost overpowering. His ‘duty’ demanded it. His ‘perseverance’ required it. His ‘honor’ cried out for it.
But, somewhere in the depths of his center he knew it was pointless. Command had abandoned him and his elites. They were being left as an incentive for the kobalds. He could almost imagine the delight they would feel when they brought him and his troops down and left them bleeding out in the dirt. Already, he could feel several of his elite’s horses being killed and their riders dying under the kobald’s blades.
He felt hot tears streaking down his face. He’d failed.
Then, something in the ether stirred. He felt the world hold its breath, and the resolve of the kobalds around him began to falter. Even from atop his horse, he could feel the ground shaking in anticipation of something… something that was coming.
Sensing a massive emotional presence behind him, he looked over his shoulder and spread out his senses, dropping his jaw in shock at what he found. Hundreds, maybe thousands of soldiers in mismatched armor and poor equipment broke ranks and charged into battle. He could feel their war cries echoing into the ether with their defiance. As one their essence screamed in outrage and refused to let it happen.
Like a competing horde, they slammed into the kobalds like a spear. They weren’t even in formation. Whatever was compelling them to act had them doing it at a flat-out run. He couldn’t tell who was leading them, but something about the smaller-than-average profile made his center tremble with hope.
Despite their pathetic weapons and their sub-par training, they cut through the kobalds like butter. Suddenly he was surrounded not by kobalds, but by humans. He could see them passing bodies back through the lines, sending them off to hopefully be resuscitated. It was clear to him that they weren’t here to kill kobalds, that was just a bonus, instead, they had come to save whoever they could.
His center sang in response to their valor. He could see that they were penal units. One and all, the lowest of the low. They were the kind of men and women who were only on the battlefield because they were forced to be. Yet, their honor had demanded them to act.
It was glorious.
The kobalds weren’t pushed back, they were obliterated. The battle lines quickly returned to where they had started.
Then, as if their purpose had been achieved, they began to slowly retreat. But, they still left no one behind. Any fallen were quickly sent back for healing.
He felt his center harden, regaining its luster under the physical representation of his code being displayed to all the world. His sword arm trembled with poorly contained might as he cut down the enemies of humanity by the dozen.
He let himself and his forces be pulled back alongside them, seamlessly joining their organized retreat. ‘This… This is what their orders SHOULD have been,’ he thought to himself.
His faith in humanity and the men and women of Dorchester had been restored, and he felt the ether tremble as his center refilled itself. He recognized what was happening, but he couldn’t believe it.
He was leveling.
—--
Nero’s mind calmed as the battle changed gears. He and the soldiers around him were now simply holding their position and dispatching the kobalds without retreating.
He paused his casting and let his senses expand to their fullest. Somewhere out there were his wackos, and he needed to find them. He fully expected them to be nearby, as he couldn’t have been launched too far away during his ill-fated ‘pillar-maneuver’.
‘There!’ he mentally cried out in joy.
Not 50 feet away, he could see Cathleen and the others grouped up in a tight formation. Their organized and impenetrable example served as a beacon in the ether. All around them, soldiers seemed to follow their example, copying what the ‘cool’ kids were doing.
Nero slipped through the crowd, eager to rejoin his minions. He felt himself unable to contain his giggling as he recalled how WELL his plan had gone.
Hopefully, the soldiers they’d saved were being brought back, and command’s plan hadn’t been screwed up too much. When he looked out into the kobald horde with his perception field, he certainly couldn’t see the kobalds falling back, or calling off their doomed assault. To him, it looked like they’d saved the soldiers and kept the ambush plan on track.
“My Lord! Thank all the heavens above! I knew you’d survive!” called out one of the wackos.
Nero’s attention snapped up to the woman staring at him with nothing short of worship in her eyes.
Feeling uncomfortable, he replied, “Uh, yeah. No worries here. I’m still kicking. I need to talk to Cathleen though.”
The woman’s smile morphed into confusion, yet the worship in her eyes remained. “Why don’t you just talk to her over the command line?”
Nero froze for a second, his brain seemingly needing to reboot. “Right. The command line. Good call.” Gesturing off toward the battle going on 10 or 20 feet away from them, he continued, “Feel free to continue the war-making. I’ll be along shortly.”
The woman whose name he could not for the life of him remember replied, “Of course, my lord.”
He watched in amusement as she turned away and eagerly awaited her chance to switch out with the front line.
Reaching out to reconnect with his link, he was not surprised to find the damn thing filled to the brim with pings. The battle-hub had supplanted the typical organizational structure he was used to. Instead of the equivalent of the internet, he instead had a private network. It had its own operating system equivalent, and it took a second for him to undo what he’d done by instinct. Somehow, he’d overridden the damn thing to ignore incoming messages. Which, he could tell by looking at the options, should have been impossible. Somehow, he’d deferred everything into an inbox, saving them for later. Which, of course, completely disregarded the point of a real-time communications system.
Shrugging his shoulders in dismissal of the absurdity of it all, he stretched out his mind into the link and demanded it to revert to default. For whatever reason, whether through some kind of intent-level translation, or hidden programming, that did the trick.
He was back on the command line, slotted back into his previous authority level. He immediately selected Cathleen and reached out to her.
Immediately, he heard Cathleen’s voice demand, “Where the hell have you been? Has your link been damaged?”
Nero replied with a mental smile. God, he loved that woman. She didn’t even bother to ask him if he was alright. She just mentally prepped a lecture on taking care of his equipment. If he wasn’t able to actually ‘feel’ that she was being serious, he’d have assumed she was only pretending to be so badass. He didn’t think women like her EXISTED outside comic books and movies.
“I’m fine. Thank you for asking. And my link is perfectly fine too. What’s the situation?” he asked snidely.
Through his perception field, he watched her continue fighting as if she wasn’t remotely affected by their conversation.
“As you still haven’t connected to the command line with command, I’ve been maintaining contact with Commander Otoy. They are furious with your commandeering the penal divisions. However, everything seems to still be going according to plan. We are to hold this position and await further orders,” she replied curtly.
Nero struggled to contain his laughter. The ‘command line with command’, and ‘Commander Otoy’ just sounded… hilarious to him. He just imagined some fat guy in a tent filled with toys screaming at his monitor about ‘insubordination’ and whining that no one was listening to him.
Over the connection, Cathleen must have felt his amusement because she asked, “Little Lord? Are you unwell?”
Nero took control of himself, forcing his overwhelming happiness with the situation back down to acceptable levels.
“I’m good. I’m just a little punch drunk with how well it all turned out,” he replied.
He felt her presence solidify into ice as she responded, “It’s not over yet. We still have to wipe them out and then proceed to their stronghold. Until we either seal their exit tunnel or track it back to their base camp, we’re not nearly done with this war.”
Nero felt himself nodding at the sobering thought of how much fighting they’d be doing. “Yeah, I get that. I was just enjoying the moment for a second. You can relax.”
Through his perception field, he watched her move quickly enough to blur before spearing a kobald through its head. He felt himself wince as he heard her reply, “Relaxing is the last thing we should be doing.”
Remember that he was in the middle of a war, he replied, “Yeah, OK. So what now?”
Her presence seemed to sigh. “I already told you. We’re to stay here and hold this position until further orders.”
Nero frowned. To him, that seemed incredibly boring.
Looking around with his perception field, he didn’t even see any casters he could copy. In fact, there were so many people around, he was having trouble maintaining his emotional distance from the overlapping essence fields. The ether felt like mud, and he no longer had confidence in being able to cast.
Yet, he could see abilities being fired off by the soldiers. There were flashes of color going off like fireworks. He saw blades glowing, arrows leaving lines in the air, and even small explosions that reminded him of tiny grenades. But none of them were spells.
For the first time, he regretted not having any abilities from his pillar.
He stood there comfortably, still covered in blood, still surrounded by soldiers itching for the chance to rejoin the battle, not really knowing what to do.
Feeling a little uncomfortable bothering Cathleen for a lecture, he suddenly remembered Nick was around here somewhere. He quickly used his perception field to find him and was surprised to see him using his sword to hack away at the kobalds like a barbarian. ‘That isn’t how a mage is supposed to fight. At worst, he should be ‘casting’ FIST!’ he thought to himself with a smile.
Semi-worried about distracting him, he tentatively reached out to form a connection with him. He was able to see the moment Nick recognized his mental touch. The smile on his friend’s face was enough to warm his cold, dead heart.
Feeling the connection establish, he said, “Hey Nick! Having fun?”
Amusement flooded the connection as Nick replied, “Sure, Nero. Nothing like bloodshed and misery to brighten the day. What are you up to?”
Nero replied, “Nothing much. Just chilling. But, if you have a moment, I could use a lecture. I’m about 30 ft to your left and around 15 ft from the line.”
Nero watched Nick nod in acknowledgment before letting the wacko behind him take over for him. As he made his way over, he asked, “What subject has you interested enough to ignore the war going on all around you?”
Nero chuckled and replied, “Combat casting in the middle of the war. I thought I understood, but then I had a little epiphany, and now I’m confused again.”
As Nick slipped through the crowd, he replied, “That’s understandable. Perception shapes reality, and the more you learn, the more the world seems to change around you. While the rules themselves don’t change, how you perceive them does. How about you explain your epiphany, and I’ll try and interpret it for you.”
Nero tried to ignore the jostling going on around him, closing his eyes as he concentrated on how to describe what he’d learned. “Well, it’s like this. When we were training with Specialist Howie, you and he made it clear that more overlapping essence fields made casting harder. That’s why casters stay in the back. It’s not just so they don’t get shanked while they’re distracted. Also, throwing spells into dense areas of combat requires increased levels of center, so it’s normally reserved for war casters and people with iron-clad wills to maintain their centers. But earlier, while in the battle, I managed to somehow push aside the essence fields around me and kind of create a zone just around me that was just mine, and mine alone. It somehow made casting much easier, and I was able to carve spell forms with no problem. I kinda still used the souls and whatnot that were floating around to power them, but that’s another conversation altogether. I want to focus on the weird essence field thing.”
Nick had finally arrived next to Nero as he’d been talking. Looking down at his young friend, he frowned and replied, “You mean you were able to seize the center. Remember? We talked about that.”
Nero tried to recall what Nick was talking about but got nothing. “Remind me,” he asked.
Nick rolled his eyes and replied, “Seizing the center is a term used in combat casting where you take control of the local essence around you. It’s when you infuse your will and intentions into the ether and ‘seize’ the center of your existence. By doing so, you separate yourself from the essence signatures that try and influence you. A strong mage can even rip control from another, overwhelming enemy mages and cutting off their ability to cast altogether.”
Nero vaguely recalled hearing something about that. But that wasn’t really what he was asking. Trying to find a better way to frame his question, he asked, “But how does that affect the whole ‘group-think’ thing that happens when everyone around me is all riled up and rearing to go?”
Nick looked confused, apparently having trouble interpreting Nero’s word choice. “Group-think? I think you’re referring to emotional transference. It’s when people become united in purpose. It’s the cornerstone of civilization and unit tactics. I’m not sure I understand… OH! I get it. That must seem very confusing to you, huh?”
Nero just stared blankly up at him. “Yes, Nick. It’s confusing to me.”
Stifling a chuckle, Nick replied, “Well, as everyone can ‘feel’ what others are feeling. When emotions and desires all point in the same direction, communities are born. As humans, we come together to become more than the sum of our parts. We become one entity, driven by a singular desire to succeed in concert. Together, we can do great things. We can raise cities, change landscapes… We can protect each other. That feeling of ‘togetherness’ is what makes it all possible.”
Nero heard Nick’s emotionally charged speech, and could ‘feel’ through the connection how serious the man was. There was almost a reverence underlying his tone that made the hairs on Nero’s neck stand up in panic.
“Yeah… that just sounds like the world itself is conspiring to make everyone get along, and I don’t like it,” he replied with a look of disgust on his face.
Nick, not having expected that response, stood there in shock, having no idea what to say to that.
Comments
Dylan Alexander
I could imagine that’s how gods could be born. If another people believed that someone was a god emotionally and with their will.
Adam Roundfield
The power of a sufficiently large echo chamber is truly terrifying and/or inspiring to behold.
HereForHFY
Nero, after saving numerous people through pure power of will: "Sounds like forced group-think, I'mma nope on that"
