Nero Walker, Book 3 Ch.83 (198) (Patreon)

“After disseminating the new monitoring policies throughout the gates, we were able to confirm that our initial projections were based on incomplete data sets.  We weren’t able to ascertain what caused the inaccurate reporting, but based on the Thought-Hub registration numbers, we now know the number of immigrants reported by the guards was off by at least 11%,” declared Lord Mott.

If one didn’t know her, they would think City Lord Cosgrave was paying close attention to every word the man was saying.  Her eyes were locked on him as if he were delivering the most important news she’d ever heard.

However, in reality, it took every bit of her impressive self-control to not simply order the man to get to the point.

She’d been listening to Lord Mott and his attendants for almost an hour, and he still hadn’t addressed the topic of their meeting.  She’d asked him to sit down with her and go over the current status of the plans to deal with evacuation out of the outlying towns and villages.  There were questions that she needed answered.

She needed to know how long it would be until the city was at capacity.  How were Dorchester’s food supplies doing now that the closest waypoints had been closed down?  What progress had been made in converting the city’s internal forests into farmland?  Were the reports that his team hadn’t even started accurate?  How has the density shift affected travel times for the refugees?  Has the current war with the kobalds affected the projected schedule?

However, knowing Lord Mott as she did, she knew it was pointless to rush him.  She’d known him for decades and he had always been the prototypical Center-Point graduate.  He was simply incapable of presenting an opinion or conclusion without first having explained in detail how he’d come to it.  It was a common trait ingrained into everyone who’d studied there.

As a Center-Point graduate herself, she knew how hard it was to break the habit.  If it weren’t for her mother’s constant mockery of the lecturing tone she used to use, she’d probably still be doing it.

Regardless, she understood why it was taught.  The precise logical thought process to produce a reasonable conclusion required methodical and rigorous factual backing.  Presenting conclusions without sufficient evidence at Center-Point was grounds for harsh punishments, even demerits.

Yet, it was times like these that she recalled her mother’s wisdom.  ‘In the classroom, your reasoning comes first because that was the point of the lesson.  But, here in the keep, it’s the answer that matters.  Present your findings first, and only produce your reasoning when your conclusions are challenged.  It will give people a sense that you always know what you're talking about, and leave a lasting impression when you are asked to prove it.  Not to mention that it will also save everyone a great deal of time,’ she had said.

“So, as you can see, we can expect approximately 30% of our needed food to come from the converted farmlands.  Also, the correlative trend should continue as we increase our population while performing the transition from gardens and forests into more productive landscapes like herding ranges and farms.  We’ve confirmed irrefutably that we’ll require the underground farms to feed the city within four months,” said Lord Mott proudly.

Gesturing to the advisor on his right, Lord Mott continued, “Now, to present our modified citizenry influx models, I’ll present Mr. Templeton.  You might remember him as the sixth heir of House Templeton.  He personally developed the new model we’ll be presenting, and I have to say that it should be markedly more accurate than what we showed you last week.”

Right as Mr. Templeton stepped forward to begin his report, City Lord Cosgrave held up her hand to stop him.  Her tone failed to hide her annoyance when she said, “One moment, Mr. Templeton.  I’m sure what you have for me will be nothing short of riveting, but I still haven’t heard from Lord Mott as to what’s actually been accomplished.  We have thousands of square units of forest that are scheduled to be cleared and converted into farmlands. That’s what the council agreed to.  And while we’ve talked a great deal about what we’re planning, and why we’re planning it, I haven’t seen any evidence of your committee actually doing anything.  Have you started the hiring process for woodcutters and farmhands?  Have the plots themselves even been assigned?  I need a progress report.”

Lord Mott and the advisors all looked at her in confusion.  “My Lord, when you presented this assignment to me, I was under the impression that it was an exploratory committee to determine the best way to handle the impending immigration crises.  I was unaware that we’d also be handling the implementation of our findings during our initial fact-finding.  With how quickly things are changing, our time has been taken up by adapting our models to current immigration and supply usage statistics.  It will take some time before accurate long-term models can be developed and we can schedule a feasible implementation plan,” he declared, seemingly offended at the idea he was supposed to have done something.

Completely out of patience, the city lord leaned back in her chair and began rubbing her temples.  “Lord Mott.  I understand you want to wait for the numbers to become predictable.  However, we don’t have time for that.  We need to start dealing with the problem BEFORE it becomes one.  Those farms need to be up and running as soon as possible.  As the density shift continues to alter the local essence, we’ll have more and more people sheltering within our walls.  Without those farms, we’ll still be relying on what little food the refugees are bringing with them.  Already caravans coming into the city are down 26%.  By the time we have accurate reports of which villages and towns have emptied, their people will already be here.  Yes, it will be useful to know what we can expect, but all the projection models in the world won’t save us from having to deal with what’s directly in front of us.  Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Before Lord Mott could answer, the door to her office opened.  She looked over to see her trusted aide approaching with a poorly hidden smirk on her face.

Glancing back at Lord Mott, the city lord said, “A moment please, Lord Mott.”

Ignoring the man’s nod of acceptance, she took her aide’s handwritten note.

It is confirmed.  All three agreed, offering their own options for replacements if you’re interested.

Forcing herself to not visibly react, she looked up at her aide and formed a private connection, one which was outside the monitoring ability of the Thought-Hub.  “To be clear.  All three agreed to the terms?  They will support my voiding of the consort agreements?  And while they are ‘offering’ proposals for replacements, they are not demanding anything?”

The aide failed to contain her smile.  “That’s correct.  For them, simply removing the influence from their competitors is enough.  The current political climate is favorable, as everyone is more concentrated on the war and density shift.  Ridding their enemies of their advantage is enough for them.  They’re even willing to formalize it in writing to see it done.  No one wants a noble war, even a limited one.  As you’re perfectly in your rights, they are happy to take advantage of the situation without pushing for more.”

Feeling victorious, she turned to Lord Mott and his attendants.  “I apologize for the interruption, but we’ll have to continue this later.  You can return to your modeling, as I’m sure it will prove useful.  However, the funds that have been set aside for future implementation of your plans are to be returned in full.  I’ll be assigning someone else to handle the farmland project.  I’ll also need you to provide whatever data you’ve collected to whomever I put in charge of monitoring the situation with the refugees.  You are obviously focused on the future, and while helpful…  essential even, it is not what Dorchester needs at the moment.  Thank you for your time,” she said imperiously, enjoying the look of impotent rage on the man’s face.

Without another word, Lord Mott and his retinue bowed and left the room.

Finally safe from prying eyes, she let the smile she had been hiding come out.  Things were looking up.  She would be able to leverage new committee positions to solidify her position.  And for the first time since her ascension to the city seat, her house would be completely free of the commitments she’d used to buy her victory over her siblings.

—--

He’d thought the fighting would have started much sooner after the spells began raining down on them, but it turned out the kobalds had entrenched themselves inside some kind of weird-looking tower.  If it weren’t for the mountain's incline, the height of their defensive position, and the fact that all the trees in the area had already been leveled, he wouldn’t have been aware of it until he was right underneath it.

‘Nobody ever mentioned the importance of height when it comes to knowing what’s happening on the battlefield.  There has GOT to be a spell or something that can allow me to look at things outside my essence field,’ he complained.

The moment the thought crossed his mind, he realized that what he had described was the entire purpose of scrying.  Even the definition through the translation magic told him that ‘scrying’ meant magically observing things at a distance.

Groaning in annoyance while stumbling up the terrain, he decided that the last thing he needed right now was another experiment with magic that he was barely familiar with.  After the fiasco with the shield and his probable misinterpretation of the nature of combat magics, he needed to focus on what already knew how to do.

He was pretty good at causing damage… lots of damage.  Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he needed to accept that the entirety of his spell repertoire at the moment consisted of stolen and mismatched combat magics, along with a few basic elemental spells.  Well, that and a few utility spells that were less than useless for the current situation he was in.  But, there was no point in complaining about it.  He’d just have to wait until he was closer to be of any use.

Gritting his teeth, he focused on what he could see with his essence field.  Already, the front of their formation was engaging the outer defenses of the kobald position.  He could see the lizards hiding behind what looked like poor imitations of the mud walls Dorchester’s army had been using.  They were placed haphazardly and were much shabbier than what the human mages had made.

He could also see that the kobalds were still relying on their mages for their overhead shields.  So, they obviously didn’t have anything like the shield generators he’d seen the human army using.  But they did still have numbers on their side.  From what he could see, the little buggers were packed in like sardines and the larger kobalds were struggling to keep them under control.

Surprisingly, the melee fighters at the front were having trouble coordinating their movements with how chaotic the fighting was getting.  Despite how poorly the mud walls were made, they were doing their job and hindering the taller human’s efforts to move forward.

Looking over at one of the casters maintaining the shield over his head, Nero shouted loud enough for the man to hear him, “Hey! Do you mind if I borrow your arm for a minute?  I need to concentrate on something, so just make sure I don’t get trampled by not paying attention.”

Seeing the confused look on the caster’s face, Nero didn’t elaborate, and instead just grabbed the man’s elbow and let him lead him as if he were blind.  Closing his eyes, he put most of his concentration into his essence field.

Reaching out, he focused on the kobald’s mud walls.  He tried to see how they were put together, and how much of them was actually dirt rather than just concentrated and shaped essence constructs.  He hadn’t gotten a close look at what the human mages had done, but he knew that it was closer to enchanting rather than casting.

He could see that while the mud walls ‘looked’ like they were made out of dirt, that was only on a superficial level.  The essence was shaped and given an identity, but it was much, much more solid than a simple spell construct.  He could only assume that however they did it, the process must have been really center intensive and probably explained why it took groups of human mages working together to make them.  He had to wonder how many kobalds it took to make a mudwall.

Reaching out, he ran his mental projection over the wall the melee fighters were currently trying to overcome, attempting to get a closer look.  He then compared it to the actual ground.  There was an obvious difference between the two.  It was like comparing a hollow metal casting to the original solid object it was copying.  He could see how the mud walls looked metaphysically ‘light’ when compared to the ‘heavy’ feeling the real world gave off.  It was interesting and more importantly, exploitable.

Tracing the strands of essence within one of the walls, he located the weakest part of the construct and wedged his mental fingers into it.  With a flex of his will, he demanded the essence to unravel and to stop pretending to ‘be’ a wall anymore.  He felt like he was pitting his will against the local reality, but it wasn’t all that hard as the ‘reality’ in this case was defined by the will of whoever had created the wall.  In other words, little-bitch lizards.

He felt the construct snap, then watched the entire wall begin to break apart.  It looked pretty similar to when monster corpses melted back into the ether.  Instead of vanishing, the mud wall simply broke apart into flakes and disappeared.

The looks on the kobald’s faces were priceless.

Barely caught off guard for a moment, the humans descended on the kobalds like blitzing linebackers.  Without the ability to hide behind their walls, the kobalds were slaughtered.  Nero was a little surprised at how well his idea had worked out.

It had been significantly easier to ‘dispel’ or interfere with something that wasn’t actively being maintained.  It also seemed like the interference in the ether from all the conflicting essence fields had absolutely no effect on what he had done.  ‘OK.  That was much easier than casting,’ he remarked to himself.

Unfortunately, their formation’s forward progress was hindered by what he assumed were walls outside his perception range.  So, ultimately, his efforts amounted to very little in the grand scheme of things.  It wasn’t like they could charge forward, leaving everyone else behind.  That would be suicidal.

But, he wasn’t discouraged.  That was just step one in his grand plan to decimate the kobald hordes.  Now, he just needed to figure out step two.

Seeing as how the lizards were still bunched up, he decided to try and do a little casting.  He quickly carved an ‘acid barrage’ spell, mentally gauging how high he’d have to aim it to avoid the shields above him and the friendlies in front of him.  After infusing it with some center, he paid close attention to how the essence in the ether reacted.

Like he thought it would be, it was more than a little sluggish.  In fact, he could see the strands practically ignoring his spell inputs.  From what he could see, it was like every single bit of essence was being held in place by hundreds of little fingers currently poking at them.  However, since there were so many, it amounted to the strands being completely held in place, totally out of his control.

Although he was frowning, he was surprisingly happy to have his hypothesis confirmed.  Now, he just had to figure out a good way to control the essence around him without disrupting the casters that were currently maintaining the shield over his head.  ‘Because that would be bad,’ he reminded himself.

Maintaining the spell form was easy, as it was completely made of his center.  And he could take advantage of the potential from all the death in the ether, but that seemed like cheating.  Directly giving the essence purpose wasn’t what he wanted.  Yes, it would probably work.  And, yes, it would allow him to basically overpower everyone else’s control.  However, he wanted to figure out how to ‘convince’ the essence to ignore everyone else and just listen to him.

He could use his mental presence to just ‘grab’ the essence, but that would cost center, as he would be responsible for giving it a new purpose.  Which of course explained how wasteful he was of his center when he was first casting.  So, that was out.

He could overpower his spell with his center, increasing the pull on the surrounding essence.

He could even copy what he did with the soul scraps, but use his own center instead to directly infuse the essence strands with his own directed purpose.

But, whatever he did would most likely affect the casters around him.  Unless he was REALLY careful.  Which just screamed ‘bad idea’ in his head.  So, how had he cast spells while under the shield generators?  He hadn’t affected them with his casting, had he?

Thinking back, he was almost positive that he hadn’t.

‘Oh, right, they were running off essence crystals, which are essentially crystallized potential.  Crap,’ he realized.

Mentally poking at the essence streams, he tried to physically nudge them without actually imparting any of his center into them.  He watched as they bent and deformed, but refused to ‘flow’.

He felt himself stumble over a kobald corpse and opened his eyes to see that the formation had made it to the remains of the mud wall he’d removed.

Reaching out, he saw that the melee fighters were already at the next wall.  Dismissing his spell form, he recollected his center and felt around for the weak spot in the mud wall’s construct.  Finding it quickly, he casually shattered it before returning to his experiments.

He knew there had to be a way to cast without affecting anyone else.  Otherwise, this reality would just be stupid.  Despite knowing that his logic was less than sound, he wholeheartedly embraced that belief and tried again.

Casting a fresh spell form, he watched as the essence once again refused to power it.

He felt like he was standing in front of a car with the hood up, staring blankly at an engine he had no idea how to fix.  Like an asshole, he just stood there looking at it, hoping that his inherent manhood would somehow impart the knowledge of how to get it running.

Fed up, and out of ideas, he looked closer at one of the essence streams for water that was struggling to connect with his spell form.  He could see it ‘wanted’ to power his spell, but it was currently unsure if it ‘should’.  There was a sense that it was like a dog being called by multiple people, each of which was offering it a treat.

‘Is there really no other way to do it than just throwing center at the problem?’ he wondered.

Then, from out of nowhere, he recalled a memory from his childhood.  One of his friend’s fathers had gotten fed up with his dog refusing to fetch.  The mutt was more than happy to go grab whatever was thrown, but it would refuse to hand it over after it collected it.  Instead of ‘fetching’, it would just return to the man and show him that it had succeeded in collecting the ball.  Giving up on trying to entice the stubborn animal, the man simply walked over to it and took the ball out of its mouth.  Of course, the dog hadn’t cared and was instead wagging its tail… eagerly waiting for the man to throw it again.

‘I don’t have to get the essence to connect with the spell form.  I can simply make the spell form on top of the essence stream I want to use,’ he thought with a smile.

Of course, that severely limited his spell-casting options.  He couldn’t use a complicated spell form, as he needed to recognize whatever essence streams the spell needed to function.  So, ‘acid barrage’ was out because he had no freaking idea how it actually worked.  He’d simply futzed with parts of other spells until it had done what he wanted.

‘Oh, looks like they’re at another mud wall,’ he noticed, before quickly removing it again.

‘Now, what can I cast that I totally understand, and can reasonably build around essence streams that I can recognize,’ he wondered while ignoring the chaos going on all around him.