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Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 52 - Pacts with Patrons - Part Two
🕑 Added 2022-10-18 16:14:19 +0000 UTCOgre Tyrant: Chapter 52 - Pacts with Patrons - Part Two
The remainder of the Conquest passed uneventfully. However, Clarice had begun interrogating the Warlocks for details on the different powers granted by their Patrons through the Manifestation Ability. I had known from the beginning that she would begin gunning for the Warlocks the moment we discovered sufficiently intelligent Beasts. Whether it was because of their Intelligence or nature as Variants was still unclear.
The Asrusian high command had taken a keen interest in the discovery as well, which didn’t surprise me either. Their interest made it that much easier to raise the subject of my intentions for a Beast protection agency and regulatory body. The presence of the Variant Carnifexes had already guaranteed that the floor would need to be quarantined until one of the Daemons could make an attempt at inducting the Variant Carnifex population through telepathy.
I spent the majority of my free time studying and reviewing proposals from a number of high ranked officers. The Asrusians wanted to enact something of a scorched earth campaign against the Confederacy.
In so many words, they wanted to steal the lowest level floors of the Confederacy’s Labyrinths.
The first five floors of most Labyrinths provided almost the entirety of any given city’s meat supply and raw resources for various industries. Of course, it varied depending upon the nature of each Labyrinth, but stealing those floors from a city’s Labyrinth would functionally cripple the city, and in turn, the nobleman who claimed ownership over it.
The way the war had ended had left a bitter taste in the mouths of most of the military. In the most technical terms, they had lost. Surrendering and joining the ranks of a former aggressor had delivered a serious blow to general morale in spite of saving the overwhelming majority of the civilian population.
The high command wanted to target the cities under the dominion of nobles that had turned traitor at the outset of the war. Objectively, it presented no risk to Sanctuary beyond the loan of an Artefact. The logistics were a different matter entirely.
With only one Artefact, only one floor could be taken at a time. The enemy wouldn’t just allow their territory to be stolen without a fight either. Conquests could be enacted simultaneously, but the moment they ended, the Guilds, at the very least, would begin to investigate.
“Majesty,” a familiar voice drew me from my musings and toward Gregory who was standing respectfully to one side of my table.
“How long have you been there?” I asked curiously.
“Not long,” Gregory admitted, “I have news regarding the Mournbrent Labyrinth and movements of the Liche’s forces.”
“Go on,” I pressed, giving Gregory my full attention and setting aside my learning materials.
“Confederate forces have begun investigating Mournbrent and its Labyrinth. Thus far, they have limited their actions to barricading the entrance to the Labyrinth. Or trying to,” Gregory furrowed his brow slightly, “The grand cathedral and its occupants have not gone unnoticed, but their strange Abilities have been attributed to zealotry and not third-party intervention. Unfortunately, that’s where the good news ends I am afraid,” he sighed and rolled his shoulders before reinitiating eye contact, “The Werrian Empire is in the early stages of a crisis. The sporadic reports from our spies suggest that when the Liche fled, she took her forces north and has been carving a bloody swathe through the countryside since. The Werrians don’t seem to realise the extent of the threat, and likely won’t until it is too late,” Gregory paused and gave me a look that made it abundantly clear that I was expected to make a decision, “The Lord Regent wishes to know what you will do regarding this information, Majesty.”
The Werrians were or had been, the Asrusians enemies. So far as I was aware, their motivation for invading the Asrusians was driven by expansionism. The fact that they were prolific slavers was a mark against their current moral character, but it wasn’t irreconcilable. Earth’s history was a bloated mess of different cultures enslaving and subjugating one another. But there were also many instances of slavers becoming liberators. Damning the Werrians for the choices of a relative minority in positions of power and influence would make me an accessory to the slaughter.
“I won’t abandon my humanity for the sake of spite,” I replied grimly, “What do you suggest as a course of action?”
Gregory slowly nodded in agreement but seemed far more conflicted, “Direct intervention would be impossible. Going to the Werrians' aid in the field would cause Morale to plummet. The Werrians wouldn’t allow an army to roam uncontested either. Even if they did allow it, their bureaucratic excesses would hobble any meaningful actions the army might take.”
“So we need to send individuals, or small teams instead?” I guessed.
“Indeed, Majesty. Specifically, the Warlocks and Summoners and Pact Binders associated with the Angels would be best,” Gregory clarified, “I have no doubt that the Werrians' sacred church will act once they are aware of the threat, so I believe that this may present an opportunity for our reformed church to establish itself on the international stage.”
“All while the Dwergi are made to disappear throughout their empire?” I sighed, recalling the council’s commitment to rescuing the Dwergi from Enslavement.
“The current circumstances may in fact play to our advantage, Majesty,” Gregory replied optimistically, “With some preparation, disappearances and collateral damage could be attributed to the undead. Leaving our involvement unknown to the Werrians.”
“Maybe,” I agreed, “However, on the subject of Angels, we might have a problem.”
Gregory waited patiently for an explanation while I gathered my thoughts.
“Ophelia and Orphiel are Fallen Angels,” I cautioned, “And the addition of that particular prefix makes a considerable difference. Apparently, regular Angels attack The Fallen on sight. I wasn’t aware of this until reading through some of the Class Abilities. However, I have personally witnessed how quickly Angels react when making contact with Daemons, and I imagine it can’t be much different with The Fallen.”
Gregory frowned thoughtfully, “I was unaware of this animosity, Majesty, and I can understand how it presents a number of potential problems.”
“The Warlocks and Pact Binders associated with Wisp and Valkyrja might be alright,” I suggested after some thought, “In fact, Wisp in particular is somewhat better suited than Ophelia in regards to dealing with a macro-level threat. Discussing the matter with him might reveal a number of potential intervention measures that could be used by motivated laymen as well.”
“With your permission, Majesty, I shall seek Wisp’s council at the earliest opportunity,” Gregory promised.
“You have my permission,” I agreed, “And I will let Wisp know you’re coming.”
“Thank you, Majesty,” Gregory bowed low at the waist.
“Before you leave, what do you think of the high command’s proposition to take territory from the Labyrinths in the Confederate cities?” I asked, curious to see where Gregory’s opinions lay on the subject.
I appreciated it when Gregory took a few moments to think about it rather than answering right away. “I understand the motives behind seeking vengeance on a traitor, but the changes made to the Labyrinths are already quite suspicious. Striking further afield and spreading rumours of the Labyrinths undergoing a sort of Evolution would provide better coverage over the long term. The monsterification of anyone who enters the Laine Labyrinth is already beginning to leak, and the last thing we want are more nations eyeing our holdings. Far better that we exact tolls now and reap benefits while they count their blessings.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed, “You can tell the high command that-” I felt a tug from my self-conscious, “-Seven intruders just attempted to enter the Demi-Plane!”
Quick as a flash, Gregory began running for the tunnel to the surface.
*Tingling*
Clad in robes as black as midnight, Wisp materialised on the other side of the table.
“Seven people just attempted to invade the Demi-Plane!” I growled angrily, “Take a team to investigate the Gateway and then isolate and subdue the invaders for questioning! You will find them in Tartarus! Now go!”
Wisp bowed his cowled head and disappeared.
The hours passed and the fortress was undergoing the final stages of the initial pack down when Gregory returned. None the worse for his traversing the city outside, Gregory still appeared troubled.
“A Confederate spy and his team,” Gregory reported solemnly, “Four royal guards were fatally wounded, but they were given aid before succumbing to their injuries, so they are expected to make a full recovery.”
“That’s good,” I hadn’t considered that the guards posted to keep watch over the Gateway might become targets themselves, and the oversight gnawed at me. “What of the spy?”
“Still undergoing interrogation, Majesty,” Gregory replied neutrally, “They are all bound under oaths, so it will be slow going if we manage to extract any useful information at all.”
“You have my permission to approach one of the Daemons to see if they can glean anything through telepathy,” I sighed and ran a hand exasperatedly over my scalp, “I want to know if this was an unfortunate accident driven by curiosity, or if they had known what was on the other side.”
“I will make sure to get to the bottom of this, Majesty!” Gregory swore and began to head back toward the tunnel again when he stopped himself, “Majesty, why were the invaders already in cages?” He asked curiously.
“That part’s simple really,” I replied nonchalantly, “Tartarus is meant to be a prison. Anyone who attempts to use a Gateway to enter my Demi-Plane without at least my general permission is deposited into one of those cells. I figured it would make finding and interrogating them much easier that way.”
Gregory looked profoundly surprised, “Your Majesty can do that?”
I nodded, “Amongst other things.”
“If I may ask, Majesty? If such a precautionary measure was already in place, what was the cause for your panic?” Gregory asked respectfully.
“Gregory, I knew seven individuals had invaded my Demi-Plane,” I explained slowly, “But I didn't know who or why. I was somewhat iffy on the how as well. They could have come from Mournbrent instead of the capital. It could have been undead instead of nosy spies. It could have been...someone like me...”
Gregory nodded in understanding, “I see. I Will do better to trust your Majesty’s insights in the future,” he apologised.
“No, Gregory, You are right to question me. I’m not infallible, and my actions shouldn’t be above reproach solely because of my position,” I corrected him, “This is all as new to me as it is to you.”
I spent some time explaining what I knew and what I had guessed at in relation to Demi-Planes. I also made a point of mentioning that it was very likely that others like myself already had Demi-Planes of their own. The security measures available would make it almost impossible to confirm a Demi-Plane’s existence in the first place. However, it was something to remain wary of going forward.
For all we knew, I was breaking some taboo of secrecy by pilfering the lower floors of the Labyrinths. With how comparatively weak humans were to begin with, it’s doubtful they would notice a power creep after the eightieth floor of any given labyrinth. Being felled in one hit made it difficult to determine objective differences in power.
My discussion with Gregory did reveal something I hadn’t been initially aware of. I had somewhat limited access to tools for population control.
The subject had arisen when Gregory had somewhat offhandedly inquired when the Mothers Moon for Humans would be expected to arrive. The answer had been six months and four days, but what had been interesting was that the timing, scale and scope were all subject to change within the Demi-Plane.
My degree of control was objectively limited. However, with overpopulation in the future being a serious issue, it was not something I would just ignore. With fertility already bound to partners within a Mate Bond, there was already a certain degree of population control in play. Furthermore, the infrequency of the Mothers Moon for each Species created a much larger artificial gap between potential births than would normally be possible. However, with enough time and a low mortality rate, the population of each Species would continue to grow exponentially. The safety of the Demi-Plane would all but ensure an overcrowding crisis in the future.
I could allow a smaller scale Mothers Moon event to be triggered at the cost of a lot of mana, derailing participants from the Labyrinths independently timed system. The benefit would be represented in a more voluntary engagement process involving less pressure due to the ritual being available whenever a couple was ready for it. Removing the artificial deadline would probably generate an initial boom in population amongst the monsters from the Labyrinths, and to a certain degree from the Humans as well. However, I was confident that once the concept of the service being available on demand was understood, parents would opt to spend more resources on their existing children rather than rushing to have more because of a fear of missing out.
Time would tell, but I was interested in trial-running the experiment to confirm things would function as I believed they would. Leaving Gregory to select a number of the more rural communities to keep the individual sample sizes low, just in case. I drafted special requirements for initiating and participating in the Altered Mothers Moon so it would be a purely opt-in scenario.
With the looming crisis temporarily off my plate, I went to bed. After spending some time with Pete and Suzy, I explained the idea to Lash so she could provide some insight that I might not have considered. Unsurprisingly, Lash was very supportive and provided a number of additional reasons as to why the ritual alternative might be better.
The most prominent reason Lash provided in favour of the Altered Mothers Moon was pre-battle population maintenance. Although she phrased it considerably more romantically. A lesser reason was preventing the undue stress on mixed species couples. I had experienced the Orcs Mothers Moon already, and I had no idea when the Ogres Mothers Moon would arrive, but Lash would be just as affected by it as I was. It would be far better to have some degree of control over the matter.
The second Conquest passed as uneventfully as the first, and with the assistance of the Harpy Overseer Skreia and her former flock, the eighth floor was annexed a couple of days later.
However, upon arriving on the ninth floor, things immediately became more complicated.
Hulking anthropomorphic boar people, Boarmen, had laid claim to the abandoned Foothold in the Adventurer Guild’s absence. The scouts had been permitted to leave peacefully in exchange for their equipment and had returned unharmed.
Rather than skipping the ninth floor, I decided to take the opportunity to be more proactive.
Peaceful annexation was possible so long as I accepted a certain degree of risk and that my hands would be irreversibly bloodied regardless of the outcome.
Leaving the army behind. I permitted Gregory and a small squad of soldiers to accompany me as witnesses.
Passing through the portal, I found myself standing inside a crude bulwark formed from rough-hewn trees. Two raised platforms on either side of the bulwark provided four Boarmen with an elevated position to throw their spears without obstruction. A heavy wooden gate blocked the only means of leaving the bulwark and entering the Foothold itself, but it was barred from the opposite side.
The moment we arrived, the Boarmen atop the raised platforms began squealing in warning and waving their weapons in an attempt to intimidate us. The squeals of warning quickly turned to surprise and fear once they seemed to internalise my presence.
Ignoring the guards, I made my way over to the gate.
Clenching my right fist, I gathered some mana and aimed for the middle of the tree barring the gate from the other side.
*BOOM!*
The gates flew open amidst a hail of splinters and clouds of dirt and debris, revealing the wider Foothold.
Boarmen warriors were calling out in alarm and mustering from the nearby buildings while smaller Boarmen, who I presumed to be women and children, actively fled toward the periphery.
Two spears struck my back but dealt no damage, so I ignored them.
Moving forward I took up a position a short distance in front of the bulwark’s gate and waited.
“Hugh-man! Weee! Hugh-man stay! Hugh-man give up! ” Shrieked the bulwark guards while waving their weapons threateningly in my direction.
A ring of partially armoured and armed Boarmen formed a short distance away, squealing and grunting in their own language. The largest amongst them was only half my height but roughly two-thirds as wide. Many were covered in vicious scars, some of which looked comparatively recent.
Most of their weapons and armour were primitive and fashioned from bone, but a few of the larger Boarmen had metal weapons.
All of the Foothold’s original buildings had been removed and replaced with large long huts made from logs, thatch and bark. Located primarily around the periphery, the central stretch of the Foothold, leading from the portal to the gate, was kept clear.
I didn't have to wait long before an even larger, and wider, Boarman arrived and began pushing his way through the other warriors. Roughly nine feet tall, the Boarman had beefy arms and a prodigious gut. His thick bristled ebony mohawk added another foot to his height and directed attention toward his bloodshot eyes.
“Hugh-man!” The large Boarman shrieked in anger, “Hugh-man dare invade Blackmane?!”
I looked at the other Boarmen and realised that they all had the same black mohawks. “Yes!” I called back bluntly.
The large Boarman seemed confused, perhaps having expected me to lie. However, he quickly worked himself up into a fury again, “WHY?!” The large Boarman demanded with a rabid shriek.
“I am Tim! And I am here to challenge your chieftain!” I cried in reply, “The Blackmane will serve me!”
The large Boarman looked stunned for all of a microsecond before rallying once more, “YOU CHALLENGE MORT?!?!?! REEEEEE?!?!?!”
I drew my machete and rolled my shoulders in preparation for combat.
The large Boarman, whom I assumed was called Mort, released a frenzied squeal and charged. Armed with a large axe and armoured in furry hides, it was difficult to determine how much of a threat the Boarman presented.
Rushing forward to break Mort’s momentum, I caught the shaft of his axe with a sweeping backhanded blow from my machete, snapping the shaft of the axe and sending the head flying into the unprepared crowd of warriors.
Instead of abandoning the shaft, Mort delivered a backhanded blow to my hip as he struggled to arrest his charge.
While I took no actual damage from the blow, it was somewhat unsettling that so much force had managed to carry through the chain hauberk.
I punched Mort with my free hand to try and keep him off balance, but cut myself on one of ihs tusks as he was driven to the ground. The wound was minor and had already begun to heal, but the sharpness of his tusks had taken me unawares.
Swiping at Mort’s back while he attempted to scramble to his feet, I succeeded in cutting through the hides and opening a shallow gash just below his right shoulder.
Scrambling to his feet, Mort shrieked something unintelligible and threw a clump of what I hoped was only dirt toward my face.
Stepping back and shielding the visor of my helmet with my left arm, I braced myself for Mort’s counterattack.
A flash of dull pain erupted from my right thigh as Mort attempted to tackle me to the ground, driving his tusks deep into the meat of my upper thigh in the process.
Lifting my left arm back I hammered down on the back of Mort’s unprotected neck with as much force as I could muster while trying to move my leg clear of his flailing arms.
Mort gave a yelping squeal of surprise as he was sent crashing to the ground for a second time.
I ignored the pain in my leg and stomped on Mort’s back, “YIELD!” I demanded before following up the stomp with a vicious kick to his chest.
Mort regained his feet with deceptive speed and glowered at me defiantly while rubbing his neck and accepting a donated spear from one of his warriors.
“I’ll kill you if I have to,” I warned while swapping the machete to my left hand and summoning a heavy flanged mace to take its place in my right.
“BLACKMANE MORT’S!!!” Mort shrieked and charged with his spear aimed toward the ragged puncture wounds in my upper thigh.
Gathering mana into the mace I resolved myself to make it quick.
Sidestepping Mort’s charge, I slapped away his spear with my machete and brought the head of the flanged mace crashing into the back of his skull.
*BANG!*
Blood, bone and brain matter exploded from the point of impact as Mort crashed into the ground.
Instead of spasms and death throes, Mort roared in rage and began pushing himself to his feet while pulped tissues and blood pouring down his back. Staggering on the spot, Mort screamed in fury as he stared at his surroundings with hollow bleeding eye sockets.
The fight was clearly over, but Mort refused to die, still holding fast to his spear and wildly thrashing it in all directions.
Releasing the mace, I conjured a magical bow and brace of magical arrows. Slowly bringing them up to the correct size, I continued watching in astonishment as Mort thrashed his way around the clearing. Just as I was taking aim to try and place an arrow in his heart, I received a kill notification and Mort collapsed to the ground.
The Boarmen all stared at Mort’s carcass in shock. Then, one by one, beginning with the largest, the Boarmen began bowing their heads and prostrating themselves on the ground.
“You!” I pointed to one of the largest Boarmen I could see, “Come here!”
The Boarman in question did a double-take before meekly rising to his feet and making his approach.
“Your tribe is mine now, you understand this?” I asked grimly.
The Boarman nodded, “Tusker, know, you, say,” he grunted nervously, clearly struggling to form the sentence.
“You serve me now, Tusker!” I sheathed my machete and rested my left hand on his head, electing to ignore the fear in his eyes as I did so.
Tusker shivered in fear for a good minute before realising he was expected to make a choice. “Tusker serve!” He squealed fearfully, relaxing only after I removed my hand from his head.
Having added Tusker as a minion, I could now understand the low and high-pitched grunts and squealing from the assembled crowd of warriors. More importantly, they could now understand me.
“The Blackmane serves me now!” I declared, leaving no room for doubt, “You will swear oaths of loyalty! Those who swear oaths will be rewarded! Those who refuse will be banished!”
The assembled warriors stirred at the mention of rewards and seemed to ignore the demand for oaths of loyalty and the threat of banishment. It was an interesting insight into Boarmen psychology.
Guiding Tusker through the simple version of Sanctuary’s oaths, I promoted him to Underlord and then set him to recruiting the rest of the tribe.
With things now taking care of themselves, I began snacking on dried meat rations while cleaning out the two puncture wounds in my thigh. I had only taken a handful of hitpoints in damage, but the wounds were deep and could have easily nicked a femoral artery if I had been unlucky.
With our position cemented, Gregory had sent his men back through the portal before hurrying to my side, “Are you alright Majesty? I have sent for a Surgeon.”
“I’m okay, I was lucky he didn’t hit anything important,” I gestured vaguely toward Mort’s corpse without looking at it. “I was a little surprised that the mail was punctured so easily,” I motioned to the patch of broken mail links that I had expected to protect my thigh.
Gregory gave me a wry smile, “Unfortunately, Majesty, mail is best against slashing attacks, not puncturing or piercing attacks. That is why it is typically worn over padded armour such as a gambeson,” he thumped his own padded sleeves. “I doubt a gambeson would have stopped such a blow, but it may have blunted it somewhat. I fear anything short of a plate of hardened steel would have stopped the blow entirely.”
I sighed and nodded in understanding. I was avoiding the use of heavier armour partially because I preferred the mobility afforded by wearing the hauberk. The primary reason was that no one had donated any magical plate armour, and the Asrusian treasury had styles I had been informed were far better suited for mounted combat or were far too ostentatious.
A commotion from amidst the warriors drew our attention away from the mangled chain links of my hauberk and toward two large warriors dragging a considerably smaller warrior in my direction. The smaller warrior had pale grey fur in contrast to the browns and black of the other Boarmen. His mohawk was a dark black like the others, but as he was brought closer, I realised how they had managed such uniformity. They were using hair dye.
“Chieftain!-” The larger of the two warriors announced.
“Tyrant,” I corrected before motioning for him to continue.
“Tyrant,” the warrior corrected humbly, “What should we do with runt?” The warrior asked gravely, as if the smaller Boarman was a dead man walking.
“What do you normally do with runts?” I asked warily, suspecting I already knew the answer.
“Runts banished from tribe, Tyrant. Runts make tribe weak,” the warrior explained matter of factly while trying to remain respectful.
“He was born in your tribe?” I asked with mounting curiosity, noticing a number of aesthetic differences.
Both warriors made contradictory motions with their heads, one nodding while the other shook his head.
“Mother from conquered tribe,” the larger warrior explained, “Father Blackmane.”
“Mort, the former chieftain, was his father, right?” I guessed, now understanding why the runt had been brought to my attention.
The warriors nodded meekly.
“Does Mort have any other children in the tribe?” I asked shrewdly.
To my surprise, the warriors shook their heads, “Old chieftain’s children strong, make more tribes,” they explained.
I studied the runt for signs of potential animosity but found only fear and curiosity in equal measure. Shifting my attention to his Status, I compared his stats against the warriors beside him and realised that he had abnormally high Intelligence and presence but was also lacking in Strength and Toughness.
Of greater immediate interest was the Boarmen Racial Abilities that explained why my duel against Mort had gone so awry.
Besides possessing Primal Rage like Ushu and Cooper, the Boarmen also had Indomitable and Boundless Gluttony.
At the cost of mana, Indomitable could temporarily stave off unconsciousness or death. The former being far cheaper than the latter. It was unclear whether bodily functions would be retained during the grace period, so I was inclined to believe that Mort had been well and truly beyond saving despite his extended bodily autonomy. However, it was still unclear whether Primal Rage was responsible for his devolution into mindless thrashing, or it was because I pulped his brain. It was entirely possible both were to blame, but I couldn’t envision a scenario where such an instance could be tested and disproven without killing the subject.
Boundless Gluttony seemed somewhat similar to Iron Gut, increasing the rate of Healing from consuming food. However, it also increased resistance against Diseases and specifically mentioned the capability of expending mana to increase the power of digestion. If I understood the last part correctly, it meant that the Boarmen could theoretically eat just about anything provided they had the available mana to do so.
“Grunty, are you willing to swear the oaths?” I asked while staring down at him.
“Grunty will swear!” Grunty agreed with the same enthusiasm as a drowning man offered a place aboard a life raft.
“Let him go,” I ordered and offered Grunty my hand, “On pain of death, do you swear to obey and uphold my laws and the right of my bloodline to rule?” Technically, regicide was prevented through the laws against murder and knowingly engaging in seditious activities. However, having killed his father, I decided to be slightly more pedantic with Grunty.
“Grunty swears,” Grunty agreed, flinching as the oaths settled on his soul.
“You can leave us now,” I waved away the two warriors while keeping my attention focused on Grunty.
The warriors did as they were told, bowing and scraping as they left my presence.
“Grunty, I want you to go with Gregory and answer his questions while I attend to other business,” I ordered, “And understand that he speaks with my voice and deserves respect. Gregory will also inform you of your obligations and the opportunities afforded by being my subject.”
“As Tyrant commands, Grunty obeys!” Grunty agreed emphatically, eagerly following a short distance away to afford me some privacy while I saw to the puncture wounds in my leg.
As I expected would be the case, Nadine arrived shortly afterwards under heavy guard.
“What happened to your leg?” Nadine demanded rhetorically while pulling out a large needle and thick thread from her satchel.
“Gored by a Boarman,” I replied somewhat distractedly, trying not to look while Nadine prepared alcohol to sterilise the wound.
Nadine paused for a moment and looked at Mort’s corpse, “Well, at least, it looks like you gave worse than you got,” she commented quietly while getting to work, “Are you okay? With what happened I mean?”
“I think so,” I grunted as Nadine tied off her first set of stitches. “I mean, I tried giving him an out, but he refused to take it.”
Nadine nodded, but whether it was in support or agreement was unclear.
“When you have a moment, I want you to take a look at the Indomitable Ability,” I requested, “I’ll need to let Wraithe know as well.”
Nadine nodded again and finished her second set of stitches, “I think that will do it. You were well on your way before I got here.” She pressed her hand onto my thigh and consumed the stitches with golden light.
After a brief moment of intense itching, the sensation faded and the stitches disappeared.
“So what’s this about an Ability?” Nadine asked curiously while packing away her supplies.
“Indomitable, it can stave off unconsciousness and death at the expense of mana,” I explained, immediately earning Nadine’s intense interest.
“You’re sure? You didn’t just read it wrong?” Nadine asked somewhat warily.
“I saw it in action,” I replied and motioned toward Mort’s corpse, “I don’t mutilate corpses.”
Nadine’s eyes widened, “You dashed his brains out and he was left alive?”
“And swinging,” I added with a sigh, “But I don’t know how much of him was still present. The Boarmen all have Primal Rage like Ushu and Cooper, forcing them into an Enraged state when critically low on health.”
“Which is why you wanted me to take a look at indomitable...” Nadine realised, “We might be able to save some lives thanks to the Ability, but we will have to contend with the patients themselves to make it happen.”
“Exactly,” I agreed.
“I suppose we could focus on recruiting porters with Grappler Class,” Nadine reasoned thoughtfully, “But they would have to be as big as an Orc to be of any use for just the rank and file of the army. Enraged is a scary buff.”
I nodded in agreement, recalling videos I had seen that showed patients on illicit narcotics ripping off bed railings, throwing orderlies across a room and breaking out of restraints. Adrenaline was not something to underestimate.
“There’s a reason why Berserkers and Reavers find it hard to get into regular adventuring groups or even mercenary companies,” Nadine commented, “The possibility that an ally might turn on you at the worst possible moment is bad enough, but with them, it’s that basically a matter of when it will happen, not if.”
“Still, Indomitable isn’t something I am willing to pass up. Depending on the circumstances, it could be a lifeline for people we might not have been able to save otherwise,” I insisted.
“I know,” Nadine agreed, “But it’s going to make things that much more complicated because of the other Abilities that are part of the package. With Cooper and Ushu, they could always be removed from the group to drop the synergy, but we would lose Indomitable if we did it to the Boarmen.”
We continued rehashing the same point from slightly different perspectives for a half an hour before deciding to leave the matter.
The cavern’s excavation was well underway, but wouldn’t be ready for another hour or so. New walls would take another three hours or more.
To pass the time, I handed out magical weapons to the warriors who had sworn oaths of loyalty and fealty, demonstrating how to resize them through the injection of mana. The reaction I received from the veterans in particular seemed somewhat disproportionate to the value of the gifts. Even after I explained how common such weapons were and how the warriors would have plenty of opportunities to acquire them.
“Majesty,” Gregory waited until he had my full attention, “I believe that there is an opportunity to gather the remaining Variant tribes beneath your banner with minimal bloodshed.”
I wasn’t keen on the fact that bloodshed seemed to be a given but I motioned for Gregory to continue.
“Grunty’s three brothers, the chieftains of the Redmane, Bluemane and Yellowmane tribes respectively, control the three most powerful and largest of the remaining tribes. If your Majesty can convince those three chieftains to bend the knee, the remaining tribes will join without resistance,” Gregory explained with all seriousness.
“They name their tribes by colour?” I asked while contemplating the potentially disastrous possibilities of three more duels.
“It seems to work for them,” Gregory replied with a somewhat dismissive shrug, “When a tribe is defeated and absorbed into a rival, the warriors' manes are shaved. They are forbidden by tribal law from participating in warfare until their mane regrows enough to take in the dye corresponding to the namesake of the tribe. The women and children, more or less, continue as before. The women remarry if necessary, and the children perform menial tasks according to the tribe’s needs.”
“How does Grunty feel about the potential death of his siblings?” I asked while glancing at Grunty who was admiring a magical crossbow gifted to one of the other warriors.
“He appears indifferent, Majesty,” Gregory shrugged, “Fratricide and patricide seem to be culturally acceptable for those in positions of leadership. The most powerful chieftains in turn create the most powerful offspring, who in turn either break away and form their own tribes or challenge their father for control over theirs. Whether it is through warfare or attempted coup, fathers, nephews, uncles and sons face off against one another frequently enough for it to be considered commonplace.”
“If they aren’t fighting over vengeance-driven grudges, then why are they fighting?” I demanded irritably. Uncomfortable with the idea of potentially killing three more people and no one batting an eye.
“Access to food and shelter,” Gregory replied solemnly, “Or so Grunty tells me. The Foothold was the most valuable location due to the Barrier preventing wild monsters from attacking the women and children. This means more warriors can be sent out to hunt, bringing in more food. The other tribal holds don’t have the Barrier but have varying degrees of terrain advantage and access to different food sources while being exposed to different dangers.”
“So, what do you recommend we do?” I sighed, accepting the idea that violence would continue to be our best tool for saving a greater number of lives.
“Send the oldest and most trusted warriors of the tribe to inform the three major tribes chieftains that the Blackmane have a new chieftain,” Gregory explained, “When they arrive to confirm the chieftains death for themselves, demand that they become your subordinates. If they refuse, then I have absolute confidence that your majesty will be more than a match for them. If they accept, all the better.”
“See to it,” I agreed and began summoning supplies to bribe the Blackmane populace. I hoped that seeing the Blackmanes happy with the transition would make the chieftains that much more likely to accept a peaceful transition themselves.
As the day wore on, spices, salt and other seasonings proved immensely popular. The wives, sisters and daughters of the Boarmen warriors sent their male relatives to beg for more, offering up anything of value they could lay their hands on.
For the time being, I refused all forms of payment. Being known as a bringer of gifts seemed more preferable to me than being seen as a merchant. Besides, I was reasonably certain that Gregory was already formulating a payment scheme for securing Boarmen mercenaries in exchange for spices. I could hand out free samples all day and it wouldn’t make a difference, but the moment I accepted something in exchange it would dictate an actual value.
The most senior warriors were given Evolution Elixirs before being sent on their diplomatic expedition. Partly to make them more formidable against the wildlife, but mostly to make them that much more intimidating to the tribes they were visiting.
The Boarmen of the village watched on in awe as towering walls were erected further afield and surrounded the village. Technically raised beyond the protective influence of the Barrier, it wasn’t really that big of a concern. The wall was intended to serve as a buffer against concerted efforts at attacking the Blackmane village, not to stop the scattered wild monsters wandering the periphery.
The walls actually made it that much easier for the Blackmane warriors to seround and butcher the wild monsters as the walls denied an actual escape.
Having decided that the village would serve as the major population centre for the Boarmen, I had two more sets of walls erected around the village. Rather than letting the engineers run amok with civic design, I decided it would be best if the Boarmen resolved the planning for themselves.
As something of a consolation prize, I asked the engineers to design an embassy. So, naturally, they erected a sprawling fortress instead...
*****
Reek glared warily at his brothers from the corner of his beady little eyes. As the smallest of the trio, Reek knew that his brothers would almost certainly underestimate him in a direct confrontation. However, Grotten was prone to taking any and all perceived slights as a challenge, so it was best not to give him any excuses.
Ivar was a different beast altogether. By far the largest of the three siblings, he was exceptionally dimwitted and proud of it. By no means any more violent than the next warrior, Ivar had an uncanny ability for scenting out trouble and crushing it into submission. As chieftain of the Bluemane tribe, Ivar had been expected to challenge their father within the next couple of years and assimilate the Blackmane tribe and its holdings.
So it came as a profound surprise when their father’s most venerable and respected warriors brought news of their father’s defeat and subsequent demise. As if the tale was not difficult enough to believe already, Tusker claimed that their father Mort had been slain by a Hugh-man. Every other warrior had sworn the same, describing the honour duel in terms as if it were an execution.
If the Blackmane warriors were to be believed, the chieftain known as Tyrant had slain their father with a single powerful blow to the back of the head.
No stranger to cranial blunt force trauma, and aware of how thick-headed his father was, Reek couldn’t comprehend how the feat could be possible. He strongly suspected that the warriors were exaggerating on behalf of their new chieftain. It was not altogether uncommon for newly risen chieftains to indulge in exaggeration to bolster their position.
Unfortunately, part of the warriors’ tale could not be cast into doubt so easily.
Reek and his brothers had known Tusker all their lives, and Reek had never seen the warrior nearly so cowed as when he spoke the new chieftain’s name. His accomplishments might have been exaggerated, but Reek had no doubts that he must be a formidable foe.
The second part of Tusker’s claims added credence to Reek’s suspicions.
The new chieftain had a special brew that Tusker and the other warriors swore accelerated their Evolution many times over. Accomplishing the accumulated effort of years in a matter of seconds. Despite the temptation to disregard the claims as dubious efforts at bragging, Reek could see the results for himself.
Tusker was now larger than Reek himself, and the other warriors were not that much smaller than Reek. Their lack of aggression toward Reek in spite of their increased size made it abundantly clear that they were far too afraid of their new chieftain to attempt striking out on their own without his express permission.
This made Reek feel profoundly uncomfortable.
Reek had been resolved to endure the indignities inflicted upon him by his older brothers and father only because he believed that they would one day kill one another. The introduction of the newcomer changed things, and Reek did not like where things seemed to be headed.
“What that?” Ivar demanded, pointing a thick-knuckled hand toward a large grey shape in the distance.
“Smell dirt,” Grotten replied, after sniffing and snorting at the air and scratching at his red mane.
Reek made a conscious effort to suppress the condescension in his voice. “It is wall,” he insisted, “New wall.”
His brothers stared at him for a few moments before returning their attention to the distant wall.
“Big wall...” Grotten grunted with interest.
“Big wall,” Ivar agreed greedily.
Despite having travelled for nearly a day straight, they all felt a renewed sense of vigour after realising that the large wall surrounded Blackmane village. Already a treasure beyond measure, the village had become exponentially more valuable.
Drawing closer to the village, they began encountering more Blackmane warriors engaging in gathering moss and thatch.
Reek and his brothers had all made sure to bring their own respective honour guards to deny the new chieftain any opportunities for mischief. However, Reek found it perplexing how the majority of the warriors they passed seemed to give them no mind at all.
The sheer size of the walls left them speechless as they passed through a large opening and discovered a second equally large set of walls. Made from stone, Reek could not find a single seam or crack to show how they were built.
Passing through the second archway revealed the original village much the same as it had always been. Only now there was a colossal tower looming over the village like the shaft of a mighty spear.
Making the final approach to the village gates, Reek felt a thrill of fear as he recognised movement from behind the walls. Something incredibly large was headed their way.
Tusker and the other Blackmane warriors fell to one knee and bowed their heads low in respect.
A few moments later, the largest Hugh-man Reek had ever laid eyes upon passed through the gateway and stared down at them all from behind a shiny metal helmet that hid his face.
“I am Tim, Tyrant of the Blackmane tribe.” the giant Hugh-man growled, “Those who swear oaths of loyalty and fealty to me will remain chieftains over their own tribes. Any who refuse will face the same fate as Mort, the former chieftain of the Blackmane tribe.”
Reek had sensed no inherent animosity in the giant Hugh-man’s voice, but there was no deception either.
Before reek could begin to consider his options, a litter born by several Blackmane warriors delivered the still-fresh remains of their former chieftain.
Just as Tusker and the other veterans had claimed, the entire rear of their father’s skull was missing. Furthermore, the skull itself was covered in cracks and smaller fractures.
Grotten was the first to act, falling to one knee and grimacing as he lowered his head in defeat.
Ivar shook the ground as he joined Grotten a few moments later.
Keenly aware that all eyes were now turned toward him, Reek very nearly froze in terror. Thankfully, his knees had the good sense to buckle, sending Reek headfirst toward the ground of their own accord.
“Good,” Tyrant stated flatly, “You made the right choice. Tusker, you can extract their oaths and explain the rules,” the large Hugh-man commanded before ambling away.
Reek felt a chill run down his spine and gasped for breath as the panic slowly released its hold on his body. Never had he felt so close to death in all his life.
However, Reek’s existential dread was quickly replaced by pangs of hunger as his snout began detecting the most delectable aroma’s coming from the village.
