The Fell War - Chapter 3 (Patreon)

Alfre pushed the question of her so-called ‘boyfriends’ out of her mind. There were more important things to worry about, like how Maldrom and Ludovico finally managed to get an engine running. They called Alfre in a week after her last visit, the two of them grinning like madmen.

“We’ve done it!” Maldrom exclaimed. “We’ve got an engine that won’t explode on us. The blasted thing has been running all week without a care in the world.”

“Now we just need to place it within the ship,” Ludovico informed her, fox ears twitching excitedly atop his head. “Which, according to our measurements and input from Atticus, should hold about three thousand people in the hidden passages.”

“That’s not bad,” Alfre agreed. “What input did Atticus have?”

“He used to be a firefighter,” Maldrom explained. “We brought him in for safety consultations throughout the project.”

It made so much sense to Alfre that Atticus had been a firefighter. “I see. But we won’t be able to get everyone out.”

Ludovico shook his head, looking honestly saddened by it. “No, unfortunately not. Canus said something like twenty thousand people in Sandfur’s Den. Getting them out three thousand at a time would take weeks if not months.”

Alfre frowned. “We need to get these blueprints and mana crystals to Berdea and Kowhai as soon as possible. And start production on more ships.”

Maldrom nodded. “We’re already on it. The moment we figured the engine would work we started on another one. We’re hoping to have two more finished before we get back with the first batch of refugees.”

Alfre nodded. “Our first priority should be those too weak to defend themselves from the Granato Empire and their followers, and those without guilds.” She paused for a moment, a thought coming to her. “Do we know how many players are still in the city?”

Ludovico turned and picked up a small leather bound journal. “According to Canus’ scouts, there’s maybe five thousand left. Out of those, only about three hundred are the actual aggressors. The rest are people who holed up in their inner city guild halls because they realized they couldn’t get out in time.”

“Hopefully those still trapped in the city can hold out for a while longer,” Alfre said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Who knows how long it’ll be before we can actually make an attack.”

“If they even want us to make an attack,” Ludovico added. “They might think fighting the Granato will make things worse.”

Alfre frowned at that. “But it won’t get any better until we do something about it.”

Ludovico shrugged helplessly. “There’s no easy solution to this, snowflake.”

Alfre glared at the fox familiar. “Only Ren gets to call me that, and I’m only just barely okay with her doing it.”

“Noted.”

Alfre turned to leave. “Let me know when everything is set and ready to go.”

Maldrom huffed, the red-brown hairs of his beard ruffling. “Aye, lass, we will.”

Alfre left, passing by a forge where craftsmen were already carving glyphs into more engines. She smirked, pleased. Things were actually starting to look up. The ship itself was mostly build already. All Maldrom and his crew had to do was fit the engine into the shell and weld the whole thing shut. Once the first ship was seaworthy, she’d alert Alessio, and they’d sail off to Ahmar. Three thousand was a large number; if they got a whole fleet of ships together they’d be able to move the refugees to safer shores in no time.

At least, that was the hope. And Alfre would hang onto hope until someone pried it from her cold, dead hands.