Nero Walker, Book 3 Ch.80 (195) (Patreon)

Academian Quincy, Scholar Idrius, and the other evaluators all sat comfortably on the edge of the earthen roof, their feet hanging over the edge of the roof they were sitting on.

They’d chosen this spot for several reasons.  It was close enough to the battle to keep watch over Lord Walker, while also out of the way enough that they weren’t in danger of getting involved.  All it took was a little flight spell, another spell or two to reinforce the roof for their peace of mind, a simple essence fading technique, and before anyone knew it they were completely ignored.  In fact, considering how skilled they were, only five or six people in the entire city would be able to notice them.

Even Lord Walker, with his prodigious abilities, hadn’t noticed when they’d vanished from his senses.  Scholar Idrius’ theory was that the young man was sufficiently distracted by the battle.  However, Academian Quincy believed it was more likely that Lord Walker simply didn’t pay enough attention to his surroundings.  It was actually quite surprising how bad he was at situational sensing despite how talented he is at almost everything else.

‘It probably has to do with how overly focused he tends to get.  Possibly a natural weakness to balance his ability to concentrate on something to the exclusion of everything else?’ he posited.

Over their private communication link, Scholar Vaxas asked, “Why is he so focused on the ‘acid projection’ spell?  He knows other ones, I’ve seen him cast them.”

Scholar Idrius replied, “Look closely at what he’s doing.  He’s not just casting the spell, he’s experimenting with it.  You can see it in the effect of the spell, he’s manipulating the spell form somehow.”

As a more than competent spell researcher, Scholar Mortem added, “He’s free-form casting.  Doing it with a tier one spell isn’t all that difficult… if he were 30 or 40 levels higher that is.”

“OK.  But, why?” asked Scholar Vaxas.

Shrugging as if he didn’t care, Scholar Mortem replied, “Who knows?  Maybe he’s bored.  This isn’t much of a battle, I’d be bored too.”

Several of the evaluators chuckled in agreement, as there was some truth to that.  Even with the thousands of kobalds assaulting the lines, they could tell Dorchester’s army didn’t have a problem handling the vicious little lizards.  Aside from a few concentrated charges, the kobalds mainly focused on drawing out the fight as long as possible.  They didn’t seem to mind trading the lives of their sub-classes for the opportunity to exhaust Dorchester’s resources.

Regardless, the larger concerns of the war weren’t why they were here.  They were here for Lord Walker.  To observe him, to understand him, and to learn from him what they could.

Ignoring the bigger picture, they watched as Lord Walker continued to fiddle with the ‘acid projection’ spell until it somehow mutated into a liquid flame emitter.  It was fascinating to see the spell variations progress throughout his testing.  Although, it would have been a lot more impressive if they didn’t know how he was doing it.  But, alas, they did.

With an undercurrent of jealousy in her voice, Scholar Yalbarrow said, “It’s almost insulting how easily he’s able to see and manipulate essence flows like that.  I also think that he somehow has an instinctual understanding of how the spell forms codify and integrate essence.”

Every single one of them nodded in agreement with her.

After a few seconds of watching Lord Walker light his entire section of the battlefield on fire, Scholar Idrius replied, “Even taking his gifts into consideration, what he’s doing is still rather awe-inspiring.”

Once again, everyone nodded in agreement, before offering their own perspectives on Lord Walker’s actions.

While the rest of them debated whether or not Lord Walker’s talents were the results of his gifts, or simply the manifestation of his talent, Academian Quincy’s concentration was locked on Lord Walker’s attempts at spell creation.  He, more than any of them, knew what it took to do what the young man was doing.  Even with being able to ‘see’ essence, Lord Walker SHOULDN’T be able to do what he was doing.  He’d known the young man was talented, monstrous even, but seeing it in person was enough to make him question everything he thought he knew about magic.

Before long, Lord Walker seemed to settle on a variation that included a spell loop with a charge/emission profile.  It was relatively simple, low-cost, and extremely effective at controlling the pace of the battle.  Considering how little the young man knew about magic, it was an impressive bit of spellcasting.

Over the command line for Lord Walker and his adherents, they heard the order for Lord Walker and his adherents to reposition.  As one, they stood up and began looking for the best way to slip through the soldiers so they could follow.  But, something in the ether caused Academian Quincy to pause.

“Everyone be quiet for a second.  Calm your emotions and let me concentrate,” he said, causing the evaluators all to stop talking and begin muting their presences along the connection.

Narrowing his eyes, he spread out his senses, trying to locate and determine what had changed.  No one said a word, as they could all ‘feel’ how serious he was over their connection.

After a minute of silence, Scholar Idrius hesitantly asked, “What do you sense?”

Academian Quincy frowned, and replied quickly, “None of you feel that?”

Scholar Mortem shared looks of confusion with the others before asking, “Feel what?  Describe what you’re sensing.”

Before Academian Quincy could put into words what he was feeling, Scholar Idrius’ voice interrupted his train of thought.

“Look!  Lord Walker isn’t leaving.  He’s hiding his troops among the penal forces being brought in.  Anyone recognize what the army is doing?” she asked.

None of them had a history of military service, despite their thousands of years of shared life experience.  However, they did have enough common sense to recognize when something out of the ordinary was going on.  For some unknown reason, the military was moving their troops out, and replacing them with penal units.  Relief forces were being brought in, and secondary lines were being prepared.  They didn’t know what it meant, but they all could tell that it meant something.

“Why is he fighting alongside the criminals?  He’s supposed to heading to another section of the line, isn’t he?  You all heard the same order I did, right?” asked Scholar Yarborrow.

Snorting in amusement, Scholar Mortem replied, “I don’t think the Walker particularly cares about orders.  He probably senses the excitement in the ether, same as Quincy.”

Academian Quincy’s frown turned into a grimace.  He knew that wasn’t it.  While he recognized that the ether was projecting a sense of an upcoming large-scale battle, it was something else in the ether that was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  He was no expert, but he felt like fate was being stretched… or maybe changed.  It was a feeling that he couldn’t describe, and one he wasn’t sure he ever felt before.

As he stood alongside his fellow evaluators in silence, they all waited to see what would happen.

When soldiers climbed up to take ranged positions on the roof, they moved back to allow the archers to take their place.  While under the essence fading technique, they were still all but invisible to the low-level men and women of Dorchester.  Luckily, despite having to reposition, they were able to maintain a good line of sight on Lord Walker and the battle lines.  They weren’t in danger of missing anything.

It soon became clear that the army was going to sacrifice a few hundred penal soldiers to lure the kobalds into a trap.  They even brought in the cavalry to entice the kobalds into over-committing.  Whoever was in command must really want the kobalds to over-commit.

Academian Quincy watched dispassionately as the kobalds overran the line, and a singular unit of cavalry was left to die.  While he didn’t like it, he understood it.  Sacrifices were part of war, and death was an acceptable outcome as long as it led to victory.

Then, he heard it.  Somehow it was loud enough to echo through the ether.  He heard Lord Walker’s teenage voice roar with an intensity that defied his age.

“What the fuck are you assholes doing!  Are you just going to leave them to die you fucking cowards!”

—--

The wackos around Nero first looked surprised at his outburst, before slowly becoming confused.  Did he not know they were penal units?  If he didn’t, then why the speech?

Nick, once again serving as a cultural translator, looked over at Nero and smirked.  “Yes, Nero.  They are criminals.  Penal conscripts are men and women who are tasked with fighting in return for time toward their sentence.  With having access to the battle-hub’s command line, you can identify them, their criminal history, the unit their serving under, and their primary skill or occupation.  You really should take advantage of the tools you have at your disposal,” he said with a bit of a chiding tone.

Nero brushed off the critique as if he hadn’t even heard it.  Instead, he focused on the implications of what he’d just learned.  He couldn’t believe that he had once again underestimated the dark side of this gentle utopia.  ‘These people are being forced to die for their country,’ he realized.

Despite being all but ready for bed after the fighting, Nero hopped to his feet on shaky legs.  The smoke filled backdrop and stench of burning kobalds weren’t enough to stop him.  As a longtime keyboard warrior of middling to no renown, he couldn’t just let this pass without offering his totally justified and not-at-all ignorant opinion on the subject.

“This is outrageous!  Dorchester practices slavery!  How can you all just accept that without doing anything about it?” he nearly shouted.

Used to his antics, Nick stayed seated, barely acknowledging Nero’s animated arm waving.  “It’s a perfectly logical way for criminals to pay their debt to society.  Calling it slavery is woefully innacurate.  They aren’t being ‘forced’ to fight.  Every one of them is here by choice,” he said calmly.

Nero, seeing as how everyone around him was looking up at him with interest, as if they were just waiting to see what he’d say next, replied, “I’ll be looking into this, Nick.  If I find out that these people are being abused I’ll… Well, I’m not sure I’ll do… but it will be something.  You can count on it!”

Unfazed, Nick replied, “Understood, Nero.  You do that.”

One of the wackos, possibly named Oscar or Ozzy, asked, “My lord, if you didn’t know they were criminals, then why did you give them that speech about their civic duty?”

Nero’s face blanked, his eyes blinking a few times as if his brain was overheating.  He tried to remember what he’d said.  It had something to do with fighting for the ‘good and decent’ men and women of Dorchester or something, along with some noble bashing and such.  He really hadn’t been paying too much attention to the specific wording, as he was more interested in the inspirational aspect of his rabble rousing.

“That’s… I… Look, I just thought they were human beings that wouldn’t stand for the blatant evil they were witnessing.  Everyone at their core is nothing more than a human being just trying to survive this crazy world.  When faced with standing by and watching people die, I knew they wouldn’t stand for it,” he bullshitted, trying to regain his conversational footing.

“Whether they are press ganged criminals serving as cannon fodder for the nobles, simple soldiers fighting for their paychecks, or even commoners who signed up to defend their city, everyone out here is here for one reason… The defense of Dorchester.  That alone is enough for me to respect them,” he grandly declared.

Hoping that what he just said made sense, he looked over at Nick and asked, “Going back to my question, How are all these people criminals?  And what are they doing out here?”

Appearing out of nowhere, Academian Quincy’s voice nearly made Nero’s heart stop in surprise.  “They are here to earn time off from their sentence.  Oglivarch doesn’t practice slavery.  At worst, you could consider it court appointed indentured servitude,” he said calmly.

Spinning around, Nero confusedly shouted, “Where the fuck did you just come from.  Have you been standing there the whole time?  How the hell do people just keep appearing out of nowhere on me?”

While everyone around him was in various levels of amusement at his seemingly one-man-show, Scholar Idrius and a few others had to cough into their hand to hide their giggling.

With a gentle smile on his face, Academian Quincy replied, “Yes, We’ve been here watching the entire time.  I have to say, that was an amazing thing you did.  Inspiring so many people to forsake their orders and fight to save those people was like nothing I’d ever seen.  It was nearly enough for us to break the law and join you.  Thankfully, it didn’t come to that.”

Nero almost blushed.  Something about the way Academian Quincy said what he said reminded him how old the man probably was.  With his pristine battle robes filled with glowing runic edging, he looked every bit the wizened wizard despite his youthful appearance.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Nero said, “Yeah, well… Just doing what was right and all that.  Let’s not make a thing out of it.”  Trying to change the subject, he asked, “Can you explain the whole criminals being out here thing?  I’m still having trouble not seeing how that isn’t totally evil and worthy of a good uprsing or two.”

Luckily, everyone seemed to assume Nero wasn’t serious and they all started chuckling at his ‘joke’.

Nick stood up to join the conversation.  “Nero, the criminal justice system here is based on equivalent punishment.  If a person breaks the law, he or she has to pay back their debt to society.  A simple thing like public intoxication can earn a month or two of community service.  While something more serious like attempted murder or smuggling can earn them decades of harsh work and hardship.  I believe we covered this when you brought that assassin to the Tower of Law.”

Nero was just about to respond when a man walked up as if he were summoned, “Excuse the interruption, my lord.  I just wanted to say that what you just did was awesome.  I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Turning to the newcomer, Nero was surprised to see Mike the assassin standing their with a stupid look on his face.  Not having expected to ever see him again, Nero’s jaw dropped as he shouted, “You’re here too!  What the fuck is happening right now?”

Caught off guard by Nero’s reply, Mike replied, “Um… I was just serving my sentence.  Originally, I was part of one of the units intended to search the mountains for kobalds.  But that was before all this happened,” he said with a wave at the war torn surroundings.  “After most of my unit was killed, we ended bouncing between support units before ending up here.”

Nero had no idea how to respond to that.

Running his hand through his hair in frustration, Mike pressed on.  “Lord Walker, I spent enough time with you to see that your planning the destruction of the system or something else equally insane, but I’m begging you to just let this one go.  In this case, the system doesn’t need your intervention.  I may not be some scholar or social engineer, but I understand why and the other penal forces have been deployed out here.  We made our choices and we have to live with them.”

Once again, Nero was shaken at the absurdity of this world.  Was he really being reassured by the man who’d tried to kill him that he was alright with being forced into the army and thrown at the kobalds like a suicide bomber or death korps trooper?

Adding fuel to the fire, one of the men who’d been accompanying Mike stepped up.  Nero could see the entire side of his head had some kind of implant shoved into it.  “We just came over to say that we’re thankful about what you did.  It wasn’t right us all standing there and watching those people die.  It feels good to make a difference I guess,” he said with an almost lobotomized look on his face.

Gulping in terror at what he saw, nero shakily replied, “No problem.  I’m proud of you all doing what’s right.  You deserve recognition for your service to Dorchester.”

Internally, Nero was practically panicking.  “Did they implant mind control links into the poor bastard!?!  Is there like some kind of slave class that I didn’t know about here?  Holy shit did my personal story just get dark,’ he thought to himself.

Mike, apparently not done with what he’d come over here for, awkwardly added, “Anyway, my lord.  I just wanted to say thank you, and offer my sword to you as a sworn blade if you’ll have me.”

Nero instinctually turned to Nick and Academian Quincy with a look that demanded one of them to start explaining what was going on.

While Nick began chuckling, Academian Quincy said, “As a personal house outside of Dorchester’s hierarchy, you can accept a personal vow of servitude.  He’s not asking to be an adherent.  He’s asking to offer his life to you and to offer a oath to that effect.  It would normally require you to go to the Tower of Law and request the services of a binder.  But, if you’d like, I know the spell-forms well enough to do them.”

Nero, not liking where this was going was about to object when the guy with the hardware in his head added, “I’ll offer my sword to you too, my lord.  That is, if you’ll have me.”

Sputtering, Nero replied, “Everyone just calm the fuck down for a second.  Just please… stop talking for a second.”

Feeling completely off center, Nero took a step back and tried to calm down.  Closing his eyes, he steadied his breath and attempted to slow his heart rate.  He could feel it pounding in his chest like a jack hammer.

‘Since I’ve shown up in this world, I’ve been cursing more and generally been in a near constant state of shock.  Everything is just so god damn insane, and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better.  No matter how much I learn, I am still getting caught off guard by every interaction I have with these nut jobs.  Binders?  Penal units?  Sword blades?  Somebody needs to sit my ass down and give me a Dorchester for Dummies talk before I really start loosing it,’ he complained.

“Let’s start at the beginning.  Do you -” he started asking before he was interrupted.

Cathleen’s harsh voice cut through his question, “Wackos form up on me!”

Turning to see what was going on, he saw Cathleen standing there about 10 or 15 ft away looking all kinds of pissed.  Her normally stoic face was contorted into a mask of fury.

Rushing over, he pushed past the assembling wackos and asked, “What’s wrong?  Are you alright?”

Cathleen looked over at him with a glare and replied, “I’ve just been arguing with those morons over at command.  They are insisting that we vacate the field while the rest of the army pushes forward.  Your actions seem to have caused their plans to fail, and they want us out of here.  I politely told them that you and your forces are under contract with the council of leadership, and they have no authority over you.  I don’t know what they are planning, but I’m sure it’s some complicated political nonesense that I refuse to let happen.  The final push toward the kobald’s exit tunnel is coming, and I doubt you plan to miss it.”

Nero assumed she must have been talking with command over the battle-hub and he’d never been more glad to have been ignoring his responsibilities.  This was exactly why he’d been trying to delegate.  He had more than enough headaches without having to deal with politicians masquerading as soldiers.

Figuring this was a perfect opportunity to put off what would likely be another complicated and confusing explanation of local laws and social structures that made less than no sense, he replied, “OK.  So, what’s the plan.  I put you in charge, so it’s your call.”

Cathleen’s clenched jaw loosened up, and she returned to her stoic self.  “We join with whoevers closest.  That would be the penal soldiers here.  They have orders to assault the kobalds now that their formations have collapsed.  We push hard and wipe out whatever is in front of us.  I say we clear out the lizards and expose the commander running this battle as the weak willed southerner he is.”

Nero looked around to see the excited faces of his wackos, along with amused evaluators and several criminals who were apparently trying to swear their undying loyalty to him.  They all seemed on board with what she was saying… even eager for it.

Taking another deep breath to try and clear his mind, he took a moment to consider his options before saying, ‘Fuck it’ and deciding to wing it.

“Alright, whoever wants to come along, I guess you should just talk to Cathleen.  We’ll deal with the whole ‘sworn sword’ thing later.  While ‘binding’ sounds awful, and I think conscripted soldiers are totally unethical, I’ll try and reserve judgment before I hear an actual explanation.  If you all want to keep going, I’m down to see where this takes us.  As for the evaluators, I’m sure you’ll keep doing nothing and pretending to be helpful.  So, I’ll just keep ignoring you until you become relevant again,” he said firmly.

Turning back to Cathleen, he said, “OK.  It’s your show, we’ll follow your lead.”

In return, Nero received the patented bloodthirsty warrior-woman grin he’d been missing since his time with her in the training ring.

‘Well, I’m sure this is just going to turn out great,’ he thought wryly.