Chapter 177 - 177: Interrogation, Cultural Differences
"Gods above... what are you doing?!" Cassian yelled, covering his mouth in horror.
"Extracting troop deployments," Syra answered calmly. She turned a page in her diary and kept her quill ready.
Lucian stepped in front of the human diplomat, his deep-earth steel armor clanking noisily. "Halt this madness right now! General Boros is a high-ranking officer of the Fourth Continent. His forces surrendered the valley. He is an honorable prisoner of war and entitled to basic dignity!"
Iron-Scale wiped his dagger clean on his leg armor. "Dignity does not win campaigns, Apostle. Actionable intelligence does. We need to know the exact cavalry numbers waiting for us across the central plains."
"You are acting like mindless butchers," Lucian retorted angrily. He pointed a gauntleted finger directly at the Kobold's chest. "If word reaches their capital that you are maiming surrendered generals, the Fourth Continent will slaughter every Second Continent soldier they capture in retaliation. It will be us who will suffer. We agreed to fight a war alongside you. We did not agree to a senseless massacre. Step away from him."
Iron-Scale hissed loudly. His predatory instincts flared aggressively at the direct command, and he tightened his grip on his blade.
Syra gently closed her leather diary.
'The Apostle is letting mortal morality interfere with tactical necessity,' Syra analyzed quickly. 'Fighting a divine champion over a single stubborn general will fracture our alliance completely. We haven't lived like that, so it's completely unnatural to us.'
"Release him," Syra ordered her Troglodytes.
The massive warriors groaned in disappointment and stepped back. They allowed Boros to slump forward into the dirt. The general clutched his broken hand against his chest and glared at the Envoy with hateful, tear-filled eyes.
"You have your honorable prisoner, Envoy," Syra declared, slipping the diary into her robes. "Let us hope your morality protects your soldiers when we march blindly into the plains."
Cassian ordered two of his armored guards to collect the prisoner. They approached Boros with visible pity and gently lifted him by his armpits. Boros slumped his shoulders and let out pathetic groans of pain. So the guards loosened their grip to accommodate his injuries.
Boros immediately capitalized on their sympathy. He violently threw his weight backward and slammed his skull directly into the face of the guard on his right. The man collapsed with a broken nose. Boros ripped a dagger from the second guard's belt with his good hand, shoved the man into the dirt, and sprinted frantically toward the eastern treeline.
"Stop him!" Cassian yelled in panic.
Boros pushed his legs to their absolute limit. The tree canopy offered instant cover, and freedom was just fifty yards away.
A metal-plated boot suddenly snared his ankle.
Boros slammed face-first into the dirt. He tasted copper and spat out a chipped tooth. Human Commander Novus stepped out from behind a supply wagon and casually dusted off his Vanguard uniform.
"Leaving without saying goodbye, General?" Novus asked with a sharp grin.
Boros slashed upward with the stolen dagger. Novus simply sidestepped the desperate strike, grabbed Boros by the wrist, and twisted it sharply. The weapon fell to the grass.
Then, Novus planted his boot firmly onto the general's back and pinned him securely to the ground.
Cassian and his guards rushed over, panting for breath.
"Your hospitality is clearly lacking, Envoy," Novus commented. He kicked the dropped dagger away and hauled the struggling general up by his collar. "He clearly prefers our company. Try tying his hands this time, and maybe keep your weapons out of his reach."
Cassian flushed with embarrassment and ordered his men to bind the prisoner in iron chains.
Night completely overtook the valley a few hours later. The Vanguard and the Second Continent forces established a joint encampment along the riverbank. The arrangement quickly highlighted the massive cultural divide between the two human factions.
Commander Torin's soldiers sat around small campfires. They quietly rationed out thin vegetable soup and stale bread. They were exhausted from months of siege warfare and maintained a solemn, quiet atmosphere.
Across the camp, the Vanguard humans acted like a pack of victorious predators. They roasted massive chunks of game over roaring fires and enthusiastically passed around metal bowls of dense alchemical grain. Laughter, boisterous shouting, and the clashing of sparring swords echoed loudly from their side of the river.
A Vanguard soldier named Hawl noticed the bleak atmosphere of their allies. He grabbed a massive, dripping leg of roasted meat and a bowl of thick nutritional paste. He marched directly over to Commander Torin's squad and slammed the food onto their wooden crate.
"Eat," Hawl commanded, crossing his massive arms. "You all look like brittle twigs. A strong breeze could snap your spines."
The Second Continent soldiers stared at the rare meat and then glared up at the imposing Vanguard warrior.
"We endured a six-month starvation siege," a local swordsman named Vane snapped angrily. "Show some respect for our survival."
"Surviving is the bare minimum," Hawl retorted with a disappointed sigh. "The Spiral demands peak physical conditioning. You need marrow and protein. Shovel that paste into your mouths before your muscles completely wither away. I feel second-hand embarrassment just looking at your arms."
Vane's face turned bright red. He stood up and shoved Hawl squarely in the chest. Hawl barely budged, but a wide, thrilled grin spread across his face.
"Finally, some fighting spirit!" Hawl cheered. He immediately punched Vane in the jaw.
The campfire erupted into absolute chaos. Second Continent soldiers swarmed Hawl to defend their pride. Other Vanguard humans gleefully rushed across the camp to join the brawl. The Vanguard troops genuinely believed a good fistfight was the perfect way to build camaraderie and stimulate muscle growth, while the local troops fought with genuine, furious indignation.
Pots of soup overturned into the dirt. Punches flew wildly. Vanguard soldiers laughed uproariously while catching fists to the face. The Second Continent men shouted curses and tried to tackle the much larger warriors to the ground. It was a terrifying mix of a tavern brawl and a brutal training exercise.
Commander Novus and Commander Torin had to sprint into the fray and physically drag their respective idiots apart before the skirmish resulted in actual casualties.
"Stop you fools! This is not the time and place to play around!"