The Calamitous Bob

The mood was subdued in the council room. The prince of Luten sat on his throne, his face a carefully composed mask of concern. It was difficult not to rejoice at the discomfited Purist faction after the complete disaster of their latest initiative. Like all things that came dearly, it had to be enjoyed for what it was. There would be no more dark blades for a generation, after all.

The fat idiots sat on their chairs as if they were ovens. He reveled in their shame. Oh, they hid it well beneath a thin veneer of outrage but he knew them well. Under the fake anger of patriotism, they were really seething with the loss of their position. For more than two decades, they had ruled the political landscape of the city, and brought it to ruin. Today marked the end of a very, very long era, and although they felt it, they would not relinquish it easily. It didn’t matter. He had them.

It had been a long time coming. The expansion west had ground to a halt. His citizens knew kark land was mostly unfit for cultivation. At best, those unforgiving steppes could be used for grazing if one didn’t mind feeding the death worms. It was a pointless endeavor. It had always been a pointless endeavor. Now, finally, after tens of thousands of deaths and enough silver talents to build a grand palace, the war was over.

“I declare the council in session,” the prince decreed.

He savored the ensuing silence, a bit like that quiet before great music. One of the purists sneered, face contorting in rage for an instant before he regained control. All knew the prince was taking his time, now that he was finally free. Free of them.

But all things, good and bad, must come to an end.

“Noble rulers of Luten, my friends, I fear I have gathered you today to confirm grim tidings. Two days ago, at twilight, kark warriors treacherously ambushed our expedition as it made for their camp. Despite heroic resistance, and after a resolute defense, the combined strength of the savage raiders and the magic of the Black Witch overwhelmed the defenders, destroying the expedition in the process. The survivors hastily broke the envelopment to bring us news that the Red Tribe of the kark, our chief opponents, employed a mercenary band of armored members of their species to spearhead the dastardly assault. It was a hopeless struggle.”

The reference to an overwhelming enemy force would normally support the purist narrative that every tribe was sending constant reinforcements to the Red Tribe, and that every defeat was because the expeditions faced ten-to-one odds and thus would have succeeded were it not for the cities’ lukewarm support. It was no longer working because the city was exhausted. As far as silver linings went, it was a bleak one.

“With the confirmed loss of the dark blades and their relic, I fear that we have no choice but to admit failure. I have recalled all patrols and sent word to the faraway homesteads. We can no longer protect them.”

The ones he’d been against developing since they would be far too exposed.

“Surely, the prince’s troops…” one of the purists began.

Even his allies remained silent while on the other side of the room, the prince’s faction heckled him.

“—leaving the city defenseless!”

“Have we not bled enough for your foolish ambitions?”

“My men will not die for your failures.” ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ No(ᴠ)ᴇlFire.nᴇt

The prince lifted a hand, calming his side. It was all a show, of course. His skills revealed it, and no doubt many other nobles also saw through the masquerade, but those were careful dances meant to convey a message and that message was that the purist faction had fucked up for the last damn time.

“Your Grace,” their leader began after a moment of hesitation, also faked. “While our effort has failed in the face of overwhelming odds, the bravery and sacrifice of so many of our citizens must not be in vain! Their widows and children work the earth we have grabbed with blood-soaked hands. For honor and the reputation of the city, I ask that you do not forsake them in their hour of need. If we will not attack, then surely defending should not be beyond our means!”

The purist league loudly supported the proposal.

The prince used [Window to their Souls] though it was exhausting. His will captured hints of the other’s pure essence, tasting the wispy threads for hints of duplicity. There were only surface lies, which meant no ruse. The purist leader really wanted the city to hold on to the border fortress.

Every time the kark took the upper hand, they attempted to conquer that stronghold. The border fortress was impregnable without siege equipment, however, and all their assaults had ended in bloody disaster. They were sure to try again, only this time, they had the Black Witch. Forget siege equipment. The woman could drill through an avatar. A gate would be a joke to her. The Pure League needed to act if they wanted to save something from the catastrophe.

The prince knew he would agree. The new border nobles had started to support the crown. They had felt the wind shift, and though they had gained their titles on the benevolence and urgency of the expansionists, now they, too, saw that more nobles diluted their own power. They were more than eager to close the door behind them.

War also meant heavier taxes in the form of extraordinary tithes. New nobles had needs of funds to develop their meager estate.

The prince also believed that the border fortress was too valuable to leave behind. it had been built at great cost, and some of the lands ir protected were of the more fertile kind. More than that, it was a symbol. He could not forfeit it.

The prince pretended to consider the question. He had already discussed the matter with his supporters, of course, and they all agreed.

“We will not relinquish Lutenese land without a fight. The Crown shall dispatch a unit of elite archers to protect the walls in addition to the existing garrison. What of you, noble friends?”

Yes, put your fucking purse where your mouth is, you vociferating windbags.

“Our domain shall provide smiths,” one of them offered.

There it went. The prince knew the faction would move its ass to convince him to move his. They couldn’t spare many soldiers anymore, but offers of money and equipment poured in. At least, there was that.

“What of the Great Black Whore?” one of them finally asked. “The traitor to mankind?”

Silence answered. The purist faction nodded to show their support, but it was clear the attempt at rallying the prince would fail. They were being foolish. No nobleman on the continent would believe her an enemy of mankind, not after her efforts to reclaim the deadlands, or her key role in stopping the Nemeti, and purging the beastlings. Those idiots were too stuck in their own collective buttocks to understand that not everyone saw the world as they did. If they were truly cunning, they would have pushed the miscegenation angle. Tell the people she wanted to birth hybrids. Tell them she fucked kark men in great orgies. The simple minded would have loved to be horrified.

He wouldn’t develop their slogans for them, however. The war was ending. They would have to find a new cause to pursue while he tried to hoist his nation out of irrelevancy.

“What of mages?” a new blood lady asked. “Surely, our own casters can do something?”

The prince didn’t need his leadership skill to whisper this was unplanned. It was possibly the first genuinely heartfelt words said in this room in the past couple of years.

“We have a proposal,” his own archmage replied, her voice laden with concern.

The prince had planned to ask her in private, but if she already had a plan, he didn’t mind hearing it now.

“Do tell.”

“After having observed her performance on the battlefield, it is our honest assessment that we cannot stop her.”

That declaration was met with dismay. Luten didn’t have the most powerful magery on Param, but like all major cities, they still had enough to stop monsters.

Not that one, apparently.

“Not in a direct confrontation, in any case. We also have concerns about the way she handled the Dark Blades. We believe she’s brought her pet assassins with her.”

“Hadals…” Someone whispered.

There were a few muttered curses across the room. Hadals were only second to kark when it came to visceral hatred. Nasty things. They should never have been created.

“As such, our plan would be to belay her until her army breaks, all the while conserving our own lives. Our plan revolves around two different measures.”

The prince found himself interested. He knew he couldn’t kill her easily — King Erezak the third, of Baran, had written as much — but perhaps there was a way to neutralize her later as part of a coalition.

The meeting went on with something the prince had been missing terribly: cooperation.

***

Skills! After a long period of stagnation and training, Viv was finally making some progress. The thing was that it had grown increasingly difficult to increase her stats because it was so hard for her to find productive ways to challenge herself. As for skills that didn’t require extraordinary achievements, such as meditative trance, only time and effort would work.

She was an advanced expert in her fields now, and an immortal to boot. Her progress was simply going to be a matter of years, not weeks, and there was nothing she could do. It was fine. She was already pretty strong.

Some of the progress was weird though.