Chapter 112– Ranger Academy XII (Patreon)

The frontlines were vast. Even from our vantage point so high in the sky, the walls and encampments stretched to the horizon, beyond my view. The feature that immediately caught my attention were three massive walls. I couldn’t see how tall or thick they were, but the fact that the people walking on them looked like ants spoke to an enormous size.

Large slabs of stone jutted out from the walls at regular intervals, a perpendicular slice pushing deep into hostile territory. It reminded me of a cross between Pride Rock from The Lion King,and Minas Tirith from The Lord of the Rings. There seemed to be people hauling sleds full of rocks up the slope of the juts. Empty sleds were brought down, and I kinda wanted to try sledding down the hill.

Between the three walls were two sections, full of neatly organized and regimented tents, dozens of tents making up the short section between the walls. I mentally dubbed it the “Military” section. Outside of the third wall, on the “safe” side, was a wild riot of tents, wooden shacks, the occasional stone building, and it was safe to say that the words “planning” and “organization” weren’t to be found in any of the documents governing that area. I mentally dubbed it the “camp-follower” section. It was the perfect offering to Xaoc, God of Chaos, and the place could practically be a temple to him, if Xaoc went for that sort of thing.

As we started to come in for landing, more details became clear. Soldiers patrolled both the “military” and the “camp-follower” section. Wooden walls, of a more normal size, were in layers in the “dangerous” section outside the walls.

I got my first good look at the Formorians. They were huge, jet-black ant-like creatures, slightly larger than the average man, with massive, crushing mandibles, an endless black tide that covered the earth.

They charged in endless waves, into a solid phalanx formed by the soldiers, two deep. The rocks being hauled up the stone juts made it to the top, where mages magically grabbed them, throwing them without any apparent aim into the vast, endless horde of Formorians.

There was no need to aim. Any shot would land.

Screams and cries came from the battlefield, stretching endlessly from horizon to horizon. There must’ve been literal millions of the Formorians, and less than a tenth of that in human manpower.

A massive gout of flames came from one section.

A billow of yellow gas from another.

Ice shards, tripping vines, blurring spears, red blades, ballista arrows, metal buckshot, lightning bolts, crashing water, searing light, toxic spores, ashen spikes, brilliant shields, lava shots and so many, many more skills were constantly unleashed upon the endless, never-ending, never-ceasing horde.

We clearly passed some type of boundary, as my System went nuts.

[*Ding!* Your Army has slain a [Formorian] (Wood, lv 120)]

[*Ding!* Your Army has slain a [Formorian] (Wood, lv 120)]

[*Ding!* Your Army has slain a [Formorian] (Wood, lv 120)]

[*Ding!* Your Army has slain a [Formorian] (Wood, lv 120)]

[*Ding!* Your Army has slain a [Formorian] (Wood, lv 120)]

[*Ding!* Your Army has slain a [Formorian] (Wood, lv 120)]

[*Ding!* Your Army has slain a [Formorian] (Wood, lv 120)]

[*Ding!* Your Army has slain a [Formorian] (Wood, lv 120)]

[*Ding!* Your Army has slain a [Formorian] (Wood, lv 120)]

[*Ding!* Your Army has slain a [Formorian] (Wood, lv 120)]

[*Ding!* Your Army has slain a [Formorian] (Wood, lv 120)]

[*Ding!* Your Army has slain a [Formorian] (Wood, lv 120)]

[*Ding!* Your Army has slain a [Formorian] (Wood, lv 120)]

Hundreds – no thousands – no, more – notifications were steaming past me in a dizzying array, *Ding!*’s going off like a battalion of machine guns.

I disabled all notifications dealing with Formorians. Holy.

“Heh. Pay up.” Arthur said to Sky, holding his hand out.

“Oh, come on! You warned her! No fair!” Sky whined.

Arthur shook his head.

“I did no such thing. Pay up. You lost fair and square.”

Sky grumbled, but paid up, a money pouch changing hands.

“What was the bet?” I asked.

“How fast you’d turn notifications off and return back to us. Happens to everyone.”

I tilted my head.

“Everyone – every single person – on the frontlines is considered to be part of the Army, according to the System, from the soldiers doing the fighting, to the washer-women cleaning clothes. Everyone gets a tiny portion of the experience, and the more you’re participating in your class to assist with the war effort, the more experience you get.” Arthur explained.

“Yeah, it’s real shit though.” Sky said. “A solo kill’s worth more than twice as much experience as killing a monster with a partner. The more people you have, not only is the experience spread out among more people, there’s less of it to go around. There’s several hundred thousand people here, making the experience shitty.”

“Unless you directly participate in the combat.” Night said, the first words he’d said since the sun came up, sounding particularly grumpy.

“Yeah, but even then, it’s almost impossible to get over 180.” Sky grumbled.

“Which is exactly why we request new Trainees to be level 180. It demonstrates a strong commitment to the frontlines, and only the smart, the strong, make it that far.”

“Do people die that much?” I asked, horrified by the prospect.

Nature scuffed at me, the first sound I’d heard from him all trip. I jumped, having forgotten about him.

“No. But it’s easy to be a coward, to simply hold the line.”

“We have arrived.” Night said, as we landed close to the biggest tent I’d seen so far, the fabric of the tent red, with purple trimming.

“Nature. You are free to do as you please. Report to this section’s Centurion once a week such that you can be located, if the need arises.”

“Sky. Report back here in three days’ time.” Night gave out his orders.

With a whoop, Sky was off, flying towards the danger zone. I felt a minor surge of admiration, as his first thought was to help with the grand war humanity was engaged in.

Three seconds later that admiration crashed to the ground, and I facepalmed as I saw him flying back from the danger zone, to the safe zone, circling for a moment before going in for a landing.

Night pulled his cloak around him more tightly as a number of guards tensed up, obviously unhappy at a bunch of Classers suddenly landing right next to what was one of the head honcho’s tent.

“Toxic.” Night said, and Arthur flashed his Sentinel’s badge, Eagle within sunburst.

The guards stood down and saluted, but kept a wary eye on us.

“We wish to meet with General Augustus.” Night said. “Could you please inquire as to his availability?”

One of the soldiers stepped forward and saluted.

“Sir! Who should we say is here?”

“Night. Toxic.” Night said.

Three of the guards went pale at Night’s name, and scurried off. The squad commander looked around.

“Can – oh.” He said, realizing that some of his minions had already left to do Night’s bidding. Given the extreme loyalty required to be the guard of the head honcho – I recognized Augustus’s name from the strange pink-haired girl back in the capital – Night had some serious pull.

In a moment, the guards came back, and we were swiftly escorted into the tent.

With all these hotshots around, I resolved to shut up and not embarrass anyone.

General Augustus was one of those short, intense people. The tent was large, but spartan, only the necessities in place. A massive table, dominated by a map. A cot in a corner, a few trappings of living. Some chairs, a number of aides milling around.

[Identify] Away!

[Leader].

Holy – that was what, level 370? Hard to tell, I didn’t have a lot of practice IDing high-level people. And when I did, they weren’t forthcoming as to what their level actually was.

“Night. Pleasure to meet you again.” Augustus said, saluting. Night saluted back, just as deep, deferentially.

“General Augustus. A pleasure, as always. I’d like to introduce Toxic, the newest Sentinel. We are here to attempt a new method of attacking the Formorians.”

General Augustus frowned at that.

“Given Toxic’s title, I assume it’s not a large-scale casting.”

Night shook his head.

“I am always the one counseling against them. I remember what happened in 4466. 4179. No. Large-scale magic like what Destruction can do has no place here.”

General Augustus relaxed.

“Good! What do you need?”

“Two mage outcrops. One Advanced, one Standard. Five extra-large, charged Arcanite crystals for my transportation. – we shall provide you three uncharged ones. Twenty-four extra-small mage packs, twenty-four extra-large mage packs. Accommodations. A single small shift of guards. Two would be plenty. A single Wind mage, or other Classer capable of preventing backblow.”

General Augustus had thunderclouds on his face.

“That’s a massive allocation.” He grumbled. “How long do you need the outcrops for? Also, the packs are strategic – they’re not for casual casting like you seem to be asking. And two sets? Toxic’s one, who’s the other for?”

“Ranger Elaine here.” Night said. “She is providing support for Toxic. I give no timeframe in which he shall be finished. Ranger Elaine’s requirements and support are of a shorter timeframe. I do believe we have a significant chance at causing massive damage, however. Else I would not be here, making requests.”

Night paused a moment.

“I shall also directly participate for a week.”

“Two weeks!” General Augustus attempted to negotiate.

Night shook his head.

“You know I can not be away that length of time. Attempting to negotiate is in poor taste. A week, along with the travel on either end, is the longest I can be away. Additionally, Nature has seen fit to bring his presence here, and will be doing… whatever he wants. Killing Formorians is probably part of that, but I shall not commit to what actions he shall take.”

“Fine, fine.” General Augustus raised his hands in surrender. “Just be open to a chat with me in the future, when the time comes.”

Night gave a self-deprecating smile.

“For the Warden of the Wall? Anytime.”

I noticed he didn’t say ‘for you’, he said ‘for the Warden of the Wall.’ My politics lessons coming in handy!

“Right. Aide Paraceltus! Get what Night needs together.”

One of the aides snapped to attention.

“Sir! On it.” He said.

“Follow me.”

We followed Paraceltus, who grabbed more aides, issuing more orders. A brisk, efficient whirlwind of activity occurred, and before I knew it, the three of us were in a tent, with forty-eight backpacks along the four walls.

Arthur poked his head out of the tent, and requested dinner from one of the guards, who hurried off to do his bidding. He came back into the tent, grinning.

“Gods, I love being a Sentinel at times.”

“Remember the responsibilities of your station.” Night gently reprimanded him.

Arthur saluted.

“Yes Night.”

“Good. Tonight, we shall begin.”

Night proceeded to detail the plan over dinner, simple soldier’s fare.

Night fell, and Night’s mood noticeably improved. I grabbed my backpack, and Arthur grabbed his. The moons were out, full and large, staring at us with those creepy eyes. Hey, at least [Moonlight]would work.

To my surprise, I was using the extra-large one, while Arthur was using the small.

“For you use significant amounts of mana rapidly, while Arthur only needs the occasional top-up.” Night explained to me. Arthur had his mysterious jug, leaving his dresser of poisons behind.

“Toxic. Mage Outcropping J-31.” Night informed him. “Ranger Elaine. With me, Mage Outcropping J-16.”

Toxic saluted, then climbed the stairs up the second wall, where he could access the start of his Outcropping, a tunnel through the stone allowing free movement along the wall, while stairs cut into the side let him climb up.

Night and I made our way through the camp, out of the walls, into the “dangerous” side of the wall.

Not that the area immediately outside of the wall was dangerous – the layers of wooden fortifications helped, along with the real frontline, the actual soldiers fighting for humanity, being deeper in. It looked to me like the logic was to slowly build wooden fortifications, inching forwards, pushing the Formorians back eight feet at a time. That, or it gave more room for ebb and flow. The complexities of the war eluded me – I had a simple mission. I left the high-level analysis to the [Generals]and [Strategists]

We made our way through the maze of fortifications, Night pointing out various signs and what they meant, until we arrived at the start of my Outcropping, significantly different from Toxic’s. It started out here, on the wrong side of the wall, and it didn’t go nearly so high. It was, quite frankly, designed for weaker mages, those who couldn’t project force nearly as far.

Or, politely, who didn’t drop rocks on their enemy’s heads. Gravity was still deadly, and the Army had no problems exploiting the weakness.

We jogged along the Outcropping, narrow, rickety, barely wide enough for one person with good balance, steadily rising higher and higher, until we reached where the soldiers were in direct combat with the Formorians, soldiers moving in a single unit, Phalanx strong, tower shields down in a solid, interlocking pattern, spears out, stabbing in a practiced, uniform manner. A second line of soldiers were behind them, spears long enough to cover their fellow ahead of them. Whenever a soldier took a bad blow, deadly mandibles crushing through a shield and an arm, the soldier behind them would grab them, drag them back, then take their place in line.

A third line of soldiers were on double first-aid duty, and wall-building duty. When an injured soldier was thrown back out of the line, three soldiers would pounce, quickly wrapping the injury up, stabilizing the soldier long enough for them to make it back to the wall, where the healers had set up large tents to process the casualties.

When enough soldiers had fallen from the 1st and 2nd line, a number of soldiers from the 3rdline would backfill in, and the entire 3rd line would reshuffle to continue to be balanced, and continue to be building the fortifications.

The meatgrinder had reached peak military efficiency centuries ago.

From what I could see, it wasn’t “The Formorians are attacking! Quick, get into position!” No, it was endless. 8-hour shifts of combat were the norm, at which point the next set of lines came out, replacing the lines out, and the combat continued.

Every day. Every night. Endless, ceaseless.

For. Centuries.

How did the Formorians get so many bodies? How were they not stacked like cordwood, a massive wall made out of dead bodies? How – oh, they grabbed their dead and hauled them back. Probably to eat, and reprocess into more bodies.

I couldn’t think of many other reasons they’d drag them back.

As we passed the soldiers and the lines, crossing into enemy territory, high enough above them that they couldn’t reach us, but low enough that I could reach them with a really long spear, I used [Moonlight] and [Phases of the Moon] to heal every single soldier in range, my mana almost immediately draining to nothing, a combination of the sheer number of soldiers in range, and the frankly terrible image I had – just “heal”.

Wonder if I could get a “multi-processing skill” of some sort. It’d help me think about each heal I was doing

I pulled mana from the backpack, the frankly ludicrous amount of Arcanite crystals packed in it, and just kept right on going, healing all those in range as we crossed to the sea of Formorians, some of them seemingly to look up and chitter angrily at us.

[*Ding!* Congratulations! [Constellation of the Healer] has leveled up to level 211! +10 Free Stats, +15 Mana, +15 Mana Regen, +15 Magic power, +15 Magic Control from your Class! +1 Free Stat for being Human! +1 Mana, +1 Mana Regen from your Element!]

[*Ding!* Congratulations! [Constellation of the Healer] has leveled up to level 212! +10 Free Stats, +15 Mana, +15 Mana Regen, +15 Magic power, +15 Magic Control from your Class! +1 Free Stat for being Human! +1 Mana, +1 Mana Regen from your Element!]

I squashed the other notifications. [Celestial Affinity], [Center of the Galaxy], [Phases of the Moon], [Veil of the Aurora], and [Learning] all made it to 212 as well.

[*Ding!*Congratulations! [Moonlight] has reached level 178!]

[*Ding!*Congratulations! [Moonlight] has reached level 179!]

[*Ding!*Congratulations! [Moonlight] has reached level 180!]

Man, this backpack full of Arcanite was good stuff! Healing people right in the thick of the fighting – even if they weren’t directly at risk of dying – was amazing experience.

A slight cheer came from behind us, as the soldiers realized a healer had just passed by, patching them up. I waved, not looking.

Cool girls don’t look back.

We reached the end of the Outcropping, and Night looked around, satisfied.

“Good. This will do. Do not hit me.” He said.

I looked around. Hordes of Formorians were marching past us, on their way to attempt to topple humanity – straight into the meatgrinder. A few Formorians flowed backwards, carrying bodies with them.

This was, quite honestly, a scary place to be. Hit the Outcropping too hard, a small earthquake, a moment of vertigo and I could lose my balance, and fall into the endless horde. There was absolutely, zip zero zilch, chance I’d survive falling. None at all. Not even a divine miracle could get me out of that.

“Begin.” Night ordered, and with some small amount of trepidation, I threw a [Fireball] into their midst, the light of the fire briefly illuminating the ants before impacting. It exploded with violence and fury, a few Formorians staggering under the blow.

[Oath] was silent. They were exactly what they looked like – oversized ants, a killing machine. There was no twist, they weren’t secretly sentient, just a black tide threatening to overrun the whole world.

Well, I had fantastic regeneration, and a small mountain of mana on my back. I could quite literally do this all night – and that seemed to be the plan.

With the unrestrained glee of a [Pyromancer]who’d finally gotten a real, legitimate target, a good cause, and no need to restrain herself, I fired off as many fireballs as I could, in just about every direction.

Mage Outcroppings were either so high up, or so far forward, that mages could unleash skills without needing to worry about friendly fire. Which was the whole point of having them sticking out like this.

“Very good. I shall take the right-hand side. Please limit your attacks to the left.” Night said, and with that, he stepped off the Outcropping, falling into the horde.

“Night!” I screamed in concern, only to see him gracefully land on top of a Formorian, punching straight through, blood and ichor spraying everywhere. He rode the body to the ground, then did the most frightening thing.

He laughed. The unrestrained laughter of a lunatic, of a psychotic killer unleashed. Red blades emerged from him, and started to swirl around him, and he began casually walking through the horde, spinning blades around him slicing and shredding all who came too close.

Slowly, his range of blades, the area they were active in, started to expand, becoming larger and larger, and he started to jog, then run, Formorians falling by the dozens – no, by the hundreds – as he ran back and forth through the battlefield, a one-man maelstrom of death.

“What are you doing, Ranger Elaine?” Night asked me, annoyance in his voice, ignoring as his lethally spinning blades around him cut down Formorians by the hundreds, the deadly ants realizing the threat in their midst and attempting to converge on him.

There wasn’t enough Formorian left after he was done with them for them to be able to drag a body back.

With a start I realized I’d stopped shooting off [Fireball], and went back to my barrage, feeling bad.

I sometimes killed one, maybe two Formorians with my shots – although I was injuring a bunch – but compared to Night’s hundreds killed every dozen seconds, I was nothing more than a drop in the bucket.

[*Ding!* Congratulations! [Pyromancer] has leveled up to level 113! +5 Free Stats, +14 Mana, +8 Mana Regen, +14 Magic power, +8 Magic Control from your Class! +1 Free Stat for being Human! +1 Strength from your Element!]

Well, a leveling up drop in the bucket.

At the same time, with the light of the moons illuminating, and the flashes of [Fireball] screwing with my night vision, the endless black tide of Formorians didn’t relent. Didn’t end.

Even Night’s efforts were a drop in the bucket, although the soldiers behind him probably appreciated the reduced pressure.

“I’m off for a brief run. I’d like to see how Toxic is handling himself. Do take care not to fall off Ranger Elaine. It would be a shame to lose you.”

I mutely nodded, and Night took off, whirling blades around him slicing and dicing.

What were those even made out of?I found myself wondering.

[*Ding!*Congratulations! [Ranger’s Lore] has reached level 173!]

[Name: Elaine]

[Race: Human]

[Age: 17]

[Mana: 28600/28600]

[Mana Regen: 29432]

Stats

[Free Stats: 606]

[Strength: 169]

[Dexterity: 212]

[Vitality: 297]

[Speed: 220]

[Mana: 2860]

[Mana   Regeneration: 3287]

[Magic Power: 2506]

[Magic Control: 2808]

[Class 1: [Constellation of the Healer -   Celestial: Lv 212]]

[Celestial Affinity: 212]

[Warmth of the Sun: 173]

[Medicine: 192]

[Center of the Galaxy: 212]

[Phases of the Moon: 212]

[Moonlight: 180]

[Veil of the Aurora: 212]

[Vastness of the Stars: 139]

[Class 2: [Pyromancer - Fire: Lv 113]]

[Fire Affinity: 113]

[Fire Resistance: 113]

[Fire Conjuration: 113]

[Fire Manipulation: 113]

[Fuel for the Fire: 113]

[Burn Brightly: 113]

[Rapidash: 113]

[Fireball: 113]

[Class 3: Locked]

General Skills

[Identify: 133]

[Recollection of a Distant Life: 156]

[Pretty: 130]

[Vigilant: 192]

[Oath of Elaine to Lyra: 199]

[Ranger's Lore: 172]

[Training: 160]

[Learning: 212]