Chapter 651: Dimensions of a Battlefield (Patreon)

Anneliese had always felt a particularly strong loathing toward Traugott.

It was difficult for her to pinpoint why, exactly, which troubled her—she liked to consider herself as someone calm, objective, and rational. She found hate largely unproductive. Though Traugott had been behind the death of Castro, a man who she had deep respect for, she could tell that wasn’t the root of her feelings. Traugott had displayed wanton cruelty at every turn, and reckless disregard for the lives of others. Even that, she felt, was only a contributing factor affirming her hatred was justified rather than forming the foundation of that hate itself.

For Anneliese to hate something so deeply, she felt she had to understand it. She did understand why Traugott did what he did all too well. That drive of curiosity, the desire to learn—it existed in her, too, giving her greater satisfaction than most other activities in life. But Anneliese had come to the boundary of what was moral to learn, and she had stepped away. She hated Traugott, she suspected, because he came to that moral boundary and never stopped pressing forward.

Jealousy? Disappointment? Disgust? Some other emotion altogether? It didn’t matter what was fueling that hate, but it existed. Knowing that, for the first time in her life, she had been eager to take the fight to this man. She had spent a lot of time thinking about it, plotting what he might do and how she might respond.

Traugott, barred from escaping, rushed at her with the calm of a feline hunting prey. She met his composure in equal measure, stepping backward and letting her allies fold inward. Both of them knew that one’s emotions were no cause to get swept up in reckless attack, and she would heed that sensibility lest she be overrun by this notably cunning opponent. Unlike Dimocles, Traugott had an abundance of experience fighting. She knew this wouldn’t be easy.

Bhaltair’s undead, armed with weapons forged of Argrave’s blood, leapt from folded pockets of illusion crafted by Ghislain.By instinct, Traugott, so accustomed to traversing between realms, dipped back inside the mortal world for a brief moment before reappearing. Anneliese was pleased to note that Veid’s heart did not lose its grip on him for even when he left the Shadowlands in that brief moment. She did not want to let him retreat ever again.

Now that Traugott knew his restriction was no retreat, he made full use of his terribly powerful ability. He stepped between the realms so freely and unrestrictedly that it was alarming, leaving few opportunities for Bhaltair’s undead to score a blow. He demonstrated the terrible power of his new form, stepping back into the mortal realm to dodge a swing only to reappear behind his foe, crushing their skull with a single punch. But he was not infallible—one small cut landed on his shoulder. Anneliese observed it carefully, with her [Truesight]. She watched everything he did, learning and observing to pick out any details that might lend advantage.

“You have come unprepared for who I am,” Traugott taunted, dodging again and dispatching two more of Bhaltair’s minions.

She took those words for manipulations born of no conviction. He would say anything to chip away at her composure. But he was alone, and always would be—she, meanwhile, made far better use of allies than he ever could. In the corners of her eyes, blackness started to consume them. It wasn’t the blackness of the shadows—rather, Argrave’s part in this plan was coming to bear. He was blocking reinforcements from coming to protect Traugott as he fought.

The heroes of old emerged from Ghislain’s concealment, striking in tandem with fast, powerful spells. Anneliese had a ward prepared in advance, and absorbed the powerful waves of magic the resulting clash created. When the chaos settled, Anneliese felt a presence behind her as sure as day. She whipped her head, where Traugott emerged. He had bypassed her ward so easily by stepping between realms. Both his hands lunged at the back of her neck, pulsing with prepared magic. He knew she was the lynchpin.

But then… she’d rather been hoping he’d desperately hunt her.

The black rider emerged from another of Ghislain’s concealments right beside her, swinging a blade of blood given to him by Argrave in a cruel arc. It sunk straight into Traugott’s left hand, yet he managed to yank his right arm away before it too was severed and dodge back. The spell in his left hand fizzled out as it severed from his arm, while the right sent out a lance of electricity which she easily caught with a second ward. Traugott fell back into the mortal realm, then reappeared some distance away.

Anneliese picked up his severed, black hand. Traugott clutched his arm, closing the wound with magic before it bled while watching his surroundings cautiously. “It appears I can fall back,” he shouted. “Is it a matter of mentality, that ability of yours? I can do what is needed for the battle, yet I cannot retreat. What loopholes exist in that, I wonder? How long can you keep me here?”

He was trying to make her panicked, make her act rashly in order to force a mistake. While the rider shielded her, she calmly placed Traugott’s hand up against his leg to test if it still held power. The Shadowlander wasn’t freed of the hierarchy. She hadn’t seen this hand change in any way, energy-wise, once it’d left Traugott’s body—that meant it likely wasn’t his physical body alone that Traugott employed to free the Shadowlanders from the Hopeful’s hierarchy.

This was a battle in two dimensions, Anneliese realized. The first dimension was the battle of life and death, trying to gain victory over the other. The second dimension was the battle of their capability to gather information. Traugott was trying to discover how Veid’s heart could be exploited in order to get away from this fight or gain an advantage. She, meanwhile, was trying to discover how Traugott broke free Shadowlanders of the hierarchy.

The ‘why’ of her quest for discovery rested in her other half, doing battle with that far more intimidating opponent. It could be said her ability to learn how Traugott freed people from the hierarchy determined whether or not they left this place alive.

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When they’d asked the rider escorting them for the character of the lieutenant that had betrayed the Hopeful, he’d offered some choice words for description.

Anger. Stubborn defiance. Iron will.

To say the least of it, Argrave saw those traits on full display as he rolled about in the mud, desperately preserving his life.

This white-haired woman with red eyes, her body wreathed in nightmarish shadows, chased him relentlessly. Argrave was forced to rely on his blood echoes ceaselessly, dodging attack after attack. Every time she raised her hand up, rather like that rider they’d fought, she had a weapon in hand. The troubling bit was that it seemed to be totally random.

Pike, sword, scythe, greataxe, glaive, bow, saber, cudgel, staff, javelin, sling, crossbow, bullwhip, shield—the types of weapons came without an end, each wielded expertly with the intent to kill. It was incredibly mentally exhausting constantly plotting new directions to flee. No one before had ever been this unrelentingly straightforward in their attempts to snuff him out. She didn’t think—she just hunted him wherever he appeared, and hit hard enough to level a building. The constant vigilance necessary to avoid death was made all the more stressful by the importance of his role.

Argrave was as much the primary attacker as he was the primary support. The locusts erupting from his arm their primary method to destroy Shadowlanders, and their method to control the battlefield. Doing damage to an enemy was just as important as retaining positional advantage. To that end, much of their time in preparation had been spent modifying the spell [Apollyon] to better function with Argrave’s non-vampiric body, and to fulfill a variety of functions.

In his right hand, the locusts bursting out were designated for combat—pivotal, because Argrave needed to kill things to ensure a steady stream of vitality coming back to him through Anneliese. She redirected all energy she received back to him without even thinking. To sustain that, his attacks killed both allied and hostile Shadowlanders, indiscriminately. They’d asked their escort where allies were stationed before the battle began, and thus far, that information held true—Argrave slayed thousands of Shadowlanders on their side with [Apollyon]. Underhanded, perhaps, to use allied forces as walking batteries. But they’d not bothered concealing their intentions to kill Argrave, so he wouldn’t bother preserving them, either.

In his left, this modified version of [Apollyon] was meant for controlling the battlefield. Ghislain, the southron elf, had employed the illusory magic of his people to great effect in both sneaking up on Traugott and completely hiding the effect the man was even under attack at all. Still, if reinforcements reached Anneliese, their opportunity might slip away. She was outmatched by Shadowlanders, unfortunately. To that end, Argrave’s left hand created locusts following his mental direction more clearly. He kept any Shadowlanders far from her fight with Traugott.

The spells were working fine. Vitality wasn’t in short supply, thus far—if it was, Argrave was capable of holding back far more than he had been the first usage. Considering that these spells had been modified in collaboration with some of the greatest geniuses of every age in the world, it would be stranger if they weren’t flawless.

The problem rested in the unpredictable element—this lieutenant, who was rather pivotal to further steps.

“Listen to me! Traugott is—” Argrave shouted, before being forced to use [Echo Step] to get away. Where he’d been moments before exploded into fragments of rock and dust as she slammed a mallet done and shattered the ground.

“Traugott’s—” Argrave tried to continue, only to frantically teleport away from a blackened arrow bursting out of that cloud of gray rubble.

Their intention had been to divide the liberation movement from the liberator—Traugott. If Argrave knew Traugott, he was certain this man inspired no loyalty from those he worked with. He had no friends in the Order of the Gray Owl before he’d gone rogue. He worked alone for the longest time, briefly collaborating with gods whom he held no loyalty to. He wasn’t a people person.

Argrave had been counting on his unsociability, but he couldn’t get a damn word in edgewise with this berserker woman chasing him about mindlessly. Though he wondered how the hell Traugott had managed to get someone this uncompromisingly relentless on his side, he steeled himself with the knowledge that, if that uncharismatic freak could win her over… so could Argrave, surely, with his tongue of silver and looks of gold.

“If you want freedom, then—” He looked up, where a hammer near the size of his body fell upon him with devastating force. Even when he teleported free, he could feel its quakes rattling his legs as the force travelled through the terrain.

Surely.