Bog Standard Isekai

Brin returned to the others and swapped his real body out with the Mirror Image that had been holding his place. Then, it was finally time to rest.

The moment he lay down he immediately passed out. When he woke again, he was in the Order of the Long Sleep’s camp. Not that they’d moved him; they’d simply built up the camp around him.

He was in a hospital tent with rows of other knights-at-arms in various degrees of convalescence. They hadn’t bothered to pull him out of his armor again, maybe because they’d have a hard time without his help to loose the glass bindings, but it was also likely that they realized that the armor was nearly all that was holding his bones together.

He felt awful. Sore in ways that defied imagination. But he had work to do, so he tried to sit up. He tried and failed. Maybe five more minutes. Besides, Marksi had taken position on his lap; it would be rude to wake him up.

A [Nurse] noticed him struggling and stepped over to adjust the bed so that he could sit up. There was a great amount of pain even with her help, but Marksi didn’t wake, even with all the grunting and groaning. She left and came back soon after with a bowl full of porridge. He had a hard time lifting his hand to eat, so she fed him.

Marksi woke up to the smell of food, but turned his head away when he noticed what Brin was eating. He’d hunt his own meals, thank you very much. A dragon has no need of porridge.

When he was done eating, the [Nurse] gave Brin a stern warning that he should stay in bed and rest. The food also brought on a huge wave of exhaustion, but he couldn’t let himself sleep, not now when there was so much to be done.

First, he split his mind. It still hurt, but in a sore and tired way, not something he felt was dangerous. Still, he didn’t dare go past two extra minds. Each mind created a few conscious threads and several directed threads, and with the power of his Lightmind, he was able to get a good amount of mental power. With them, he sent out a fleet of Invisible Eyes. The undead had been quelled, for the most part, though a little pocket of them would still spring out here and there, only to be crushed by overwhelming numbers. The three armies were gathering in the city, cordoning off areas and claiming ground.

He wondered if there would be consequences to Cati’s awakening, or if the war would take a new turn now that a version of Arcaena was in her fortress, more able to direct her forces. But the new resistance didn’t come. The situation of the war seemed exactly the same as when he’d left for the citadel. Which meant that the situation wasn’t good. Arcaena’s forces were scattered and defeated, so now the allies turned their attention to each other.

Fighting hadn’t broken out between them yet, but it was clear from the way that they were bunkering down and setting up palisades that the generals assumed it was going to happen.

The soldiers of all three armies scoured the city, and inevitably, groups from either army would run into each other. As before, many of these encounters were artificial in nature. The commanders were throwing groups of their men at each other, hoping to start something. Things were heating up, but so far at least, nothing had boiled over.

That wasn’t an accident either. Every time Brin saw shouting, or scuffles that threatened to grow into something larger, a Lance from the Order of the Long Sleep would rush in to mediate.

Galan’s command tent was warded, but with a little bit of spying, he could figure out what was going on in there. A series of [Watchful Knights] were constantly in and out. They’d enter, probably to report what they’d seen in the city, and then they’d go out just long enough to give an order to the Prime of a Lance. That Lance would mount up and gallop across the city. Once there, they’d break up whatever trouble was brewing.

It looked like Galan had a handle on things for now, but that wouldn’t last forever. Brin started creating illusions. Nothing too big, not even something as large as a Mirror Man. He’d shape the way the light glinted off a breastplate, or adjust the shade of a man’s tunic. He changed postures to be less threatening, made sharp movements seem relaxed and smooth. And with every illusion, a message.

He doesn’t mean any offence. This is all just a big misunderstanding. He’s not my enemy. We’re all on the same side.

Even larger offenses could be smoothed over with a bit of creative thinking. A group of Frenarian infantry and a contingent of Prinnashian irregulars both got sent to dig underneath the same wrecked home and it looked like fighting would break out after they actually found a buried chest of gold and jewelry. Brin made a loud fart sound and then hit them all pretty hard with This whole situation is hilarious and soon they were all laughing and patting each other on the backs. They split the find in half and went their merry way.

Brin worked as long as he could, but eventually sleep took him like an [Assassin] in the night. He didn’t realize he’d slept until he woke up again.

This time, he felt even worse, but he also had a good deal of energy that had been lacking before. The [Nurse] came by to feed him again, and offered to help him answer the call of nature. He refused, and got out of bed to use the latrine without aid, though the pain of moving his body even that much had him questioning everything.

Rather than return to the hospital tent, he walked to the command tent. Galan was inside, with Lyssa, Cid, and a few other officers.

“What are you doing here?” Lyssa snapped.

“Reporting for duty, sir,” Brin said with a salute.

“You should still be resting,” said Galan.

“With respect, I’m needed here,” said Brin. Galan’s [Watchful Knights] could see a lot, but they didn’t have a top-down realtime map like Brin did. While they mostly heard shouting from incidents that had already broken out, Brin could see conflicts before they happened. He stepped over to the map of the city and indicated a corner near the shore. “For example, a Prinnashian group is digging here, but there’s a group of Ollandish outriders on their way, and they look mad. I think they–”

“Sir Ostwel, go,” ordered Galan, and one of the watching [Knights] departed the tent. Then he pointed at another spot on the map. “Brin, if you do this, keeping your Class a secret may well be impossible. I trust my men, of course, but not against accidental slips.”

“I think that secret is beyond saving at this point,” said Brin.

Galan nodded, seeming satisfied at that answer. “What do you see here?”

“Sir Blaise and his Lance have done an excellent job of quelling tensions, but the Prinnashian sappers didn’t return back to their camp. They’re heading north. Maybe…”

After that; instead, both Galan and Lyssa peppered him with constant questions, and used his answers to respond even more quickly to the conflicts throughout the city.

That slight lean and pointing at the map had strained him past the point of endurance, so he created a Mirror Image to stand in his place, and then stepped back and found a spot on the floor to lay down. There weren’t any chairs in the room, but he wasn’t the only person on the ground.

Lothar also sat on the large rug covering the floor. He knelt on the ground, hands in his lap, and looked almost like he was meditating if you could ignore the dull and listless expression on his face. Brin had already heard the men talking about Lothar’s fall. In their minds, he’d lost his Class in some kind of heroic sacrifice that had protected them all against the explosions that had demolished the city. Account varied on exactly what that entailed, but the basic story was the same: He’d sacrificed his Class so that they would live. They all assumed that any minute now, Lothar would rise up out of ashes somewhere and take a new, even better Class.

Brin didn’t have any plans on arguing with that version of events, and he didn’t have any attention to spare for the issue regardless. He kept his main mind in the room to answer their questions and coordinate things, while his other minds did what he’d been doing last night, and used [Say What’s True] to push kindness and cooperation everywhere he could.

He couldn’t do much more than a gentle nudge, a slight hesitation, but repeated over and over for the next several hours, the effect gradually became something real and measurable. There were more men in the command tent as fewer of them needed to be sent out to put out fires. Peace was breaking out all over.

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A few times throughout the day, meals were brought into the tent and Brin would have to stand to take the position of his Mirror Image so that he could eat with the others. The servants would kindly and patiently offer something to Lothar, while he gave no indication that he could hear them. Until dinner time, when Lothar took a bit of bread, and even muttered, “Thank you.”

When Galan dismissed everyone for the night, Brin went to his own tent rather than the hospital tent, but he slept in his armor. Morning came much too quickly, and he went back to the command tent to continue the struggle.

For three days, Brin and the Order struggled to keep the alliance from falling apart, and for three days they succeeded. It seemed every half hour a new emergency showed up, but between Galan’s willpower and good name, Lyssa’s cunning, and Brin’s eyes and illusions, they held back the tide.

Once, Brin asked Galan when it would be over, what needed to happen so that they could finally say for sure that a war between the allies wouldn’t happen.

“Peace is not so easy to declare as war,” Galan answered. “We can only work minute by minute, day by day.”

Now and then, when there was a lull in the work, Galan would step over to speak with Lothar. Once in a while, Lothar would answer. Never about anything important, but he’d let himself be drawn into a short conversation about the quality of the food or the state of the weather. Then Lothar would close himself off again, and return to his thoughts.

To [Inspect], he was still level 0. It was strange, because when Brin had reset himself, the change to the new Class had been immediate, but Lothar seemed stuck in the in-between space. It was like the System couldn’t decide what Class to give him.

On the morning of the fourth day, when Brin got to the command tent, the mood was grim. Galan and Lyssa were always still working when Brin left and they were always there when he woke again, and he was starting to think they never slept at all. Normally, they seemed unaffected by any kind of weariness, but this morning Brin saw the strain in their eyes. They stared at the map where all the figurines had been moved into three big piles; the armies had pulled back their men. They weren’t exploring the city any more, they were preparing for a fight.

“What happened?” asked Brin.

Galan and Lyssa looked at each other. “Let’s wait for the others.”

More officers shuffled in. Not the Prime of every Lance, but everyone with a leadership Class, so they included Cid.

“Frenaria is invaded, from below. Our informants estimate one hundred thousand undead soldiers have entered the nation, scattered across the entire country,” said Galan.

Brin’s stomach sank. He wanted to ask about Hammon’s Bog, but of course, many of the people in the room probably had friends or family in Frenaria; the three nations had a lot of interchange. No one else asked, because they all knew there was nothing they could do. They needed to concentrate on what this meant for the war.

“Our own [General] Maddox informs me that the Frost King is mostly contained. That leaves the Ollandish army free to remain here indefinitely. Without knowing the extent of the goblin threat that Lothar warned about–”

Lothar said something.

“What was that, my friend?” asked Galan.

“They’re real,” he said.

Galan waited for Lothar to continue, but he didn’t. Galan cleared his throat. “Without knowing their placement or numbers, we must assume that Prinnash also feels they are at liberty to remain. I predict that both Pombe and Maddox will join together to attack Grimwalt. Once the Frenarian army retreats, they’ll be able to concentrate on each other.”

Galan opened the floor to questions, and there were many, but none that shed any further light on the situation. Galan didn’t think anyone would call the attack today, but the go-betweens from the other armies that were still talking to the Order of the Long Sleep insisted that the call to attack would happen by noon.

Eventually, the conversation stalled for long enough that Brin felt he could ask about Hammon’s Bog, but of course Galan didn’t know if the undead had attacked the Boglands.

“You should assume they’re in just as much trouble as anyone else,” Lyssa said. “But they’ve pushed the undead back once already, correct? They’ll likely have an easier time of it than most.”

Exactly one hour before noon, a breathless [Messenger] arrived in the command tent, still dusty and sweating from the road.

“Invasion! Prinnash is invaded. Eighty thousand goblins, and they’re led by Easterlings. Easterlings march in rows, commanding the horde, and they don’t disappear or leave and return. They abide with the army, I’m told. Three cities are fallen, but the people are conquered rather than slaughtered, and now Gynll is challenged.”

A silence fell on the room, broken only by Lothar’s weary sigh.

“A tragedy, for sure, but isn’t this an unexpected boon in our situation? Surely, Prinnash will now withdraw. War is avoided, and victory goes to Olland,” said Sir Crost. He’d taken over many of the duties as Galan’s Second, as Ectar was still recovering.

Lyssa shook her head, a dismissive frown on her face. “This is a disaster.”

“How so?” Galan asked.

“You don’t know Prinnashians.” Lyssa looked around the room, and out of all of them, only Cid returned the look as if he knew what she meant. “Right now, what do you think is going on in Lord Pombe’s command tent?”

“If I know Lord Pombe, he is earnestly exhorting his men to remember their duty to their country,” said Galan.

“No, not even he would dare. No true man of Prinnash would be willing to be the first to voice the opinion of surrender or retreat. No. I can hear them as clearly as if they were present in this room. They are planning their attack. They will send envoys to Grimwalt to obtain an alliance against Olland. Whether he agrees or not, they’ll launch an assault. They won’t dare leave Maddox free with an intact army while both Frenaria and Prinnash are so weakened from within.”

She was interrupted by a chorus of shouts.

“Grimwalt would never…”

“Pombe is reasonable…”

“Maddox will prevail!”

She shook her head. “Prinnash will attack, despite everything,” she said, not minding that her voice didn’t carry over the shouting.

Galan held up a hand for silence. “I’ll hear solutions, not objections. Lyssa’s analysis has proven salient time and time again.”

“I already have a solution,” said Lyssa. She slipped a prepared envelope from her jacket pocket and handed it to Galan. “Wait a few minutes before reading that.” Then she lifted herself onto her toes and leaned forward. At the last second, she thought better of whatever else she was about to do or say, because she shook her head and then stepped away, out of the Command tent.

The second she was outside, she took off running.

“Galan, what’s in that letter?” asked Brin.

“Sir Galan,” his commander corrected. To his credit, Galan wasted no time in pulling it open. He scanned it briefly, and his eyebrows rose in wounded surprise. “It’s her resignation.”

Brin had eyes on Lyssa. She reached a tent only a dozen yards away and whispered, “Release him,” to the man standing guard. Then she bolted towards the stables.

“Hey! She’s running! Someone should go catch Lyssa!” Brin said.

“Crost!” Galan ordered, and the [Knight] took off running after her.

Crost was an [Untiring Knight] and spent a [Knight’s Charge] the instant he left the Command tent, covering hundreds of feet in a moment. Then he stopped short, and turned around to stare when a [King] emerged from the tent Lyssa had just stopped at. He’d been told that the tent stored confidential supplies. Apparently very confidential, but not supplies.

“What is it? What did you see?” Galan pressed.

[King] Johan was thin and wan, but he held himself with a noble bearing and didn’t seem at all intimidated to be surrounded by [Knights] who had apparently been imprisoning him all this time. His clothes were clean and rather fine, but there was an unusually drab cotton scarf around his neck. A bandage, maybe.

Galan would never stoop to kidnapping…which meant that Lyssa had been acting alone. Things began to click into place.

“It’s nothing. Sir Crost can handle it. You should go after Lyssa,” said Brin.

Cid backed him up without hesitation. “Sir, if I may, out of all of us, I’m the only one who commands a Lance with mostly Prinnashians. In this case, Sir Brin has the right of it. If a woman runs, she wants you to chase her.”

Galan didn’t go for it. “Then I shall. But first, I will discover what has you so rattled.”

If Brin’s body was in a better state, maybe he would’ve tried to fling himself in Galan’s way, or to shield the view with his body. But he was in no state to move quickly, and Galan left the tent before he did.

Outside, Galan took in the scene with the same patience and quiet strength that made him the leader of an Order of men who would follow him anywhere. It was the same firmness of character that made women scheme and plot for him, even if he’d rather they wouldn’t.

“I suppose this is the time where you claim that you had no idea. That this is all a misunderstanding,” said [King Johan].

“Your Majesty, I assure you that I intend to make no such excuses,” said Galan.

“He didn’t know!” Brin croaked out, exiting the command tent and trying to keep the pain out of his voice. “He had no part in–”

“I take full responsibility. I trust my men. I take full accountability for their actions,” said Galan.

Crost looked horrified. “Surely you know that none of us would have–”

“Lyssa acted alone,” Brin gasped. “That’s why she resigned and that’s why she fled. So that all the blame can be cast on her. This way the Order of the Long Sleep can still remain neutral. As the arbiters of justice.”

“If it was done by a member of my command staff, then it was done by me,” said Galan.

“You understand,” said [King] Johan, “that there will be consequences. The Order of the Long Sleep will have no respite in Prinnash so long as I live and breathe.”

“I understand,” said Galan.

“Good,” said [King] Johan. “Then please escort me back to my people.”

And Galan did.

The return of the [King] hit the army of Prinnash harder than any artillery spell ever could have. Several High Lords representing merchant houses had used the [King’s] apparent desertion to elevate themselves. With him returned, everything was up in the air. Total chaos reigned. Brin missed the bulk of it as the most important conversations happened inside warded tents, but the effects were obvious. Three factions had grown up inside the Prinnashian army itself now. The [King’s] men, the merchant lords, and those who refused to band with either, led by Pombe. Maybe if they were attacked outright by another army they’d band together, but other than that they were split. The Prinnashian army was stalled, and they would be for a while.

After escorting the [King] to his camp, Galan took a group of [Untiring Knights], including Cid on his request, eleven of their fastest horses, and took off to catch Lyssa.

He was still absent when another [Messenger] sent shockwaves throughout the camps. The Frost King in Olland had broken the army sent to contain him. He ran rampant across the countryside, leading a fearsome band of rebels and mercenaries. Now all three armies had problems back home.

That only increased the temptations. Defeating one of the armies here would break those nations completely.

That was the situation in the warcamps when Hogg arrived.