Path of Dragons 3 - Chapter 37 - Murder (Patreon)

“Idiots,” said Roman with disgust as he looked out across the battlefield. The sun had long since set, and even though thousands of fighters had already fallen, the battle continued to rage. At one point, the sky had lit up with hundreds of spells, and of all sorts, but most of the Sorcerers and other casters had quickly run out of ethera. Now, the air was filled with the clash of metal on metal as the more physical combatants fought a bloody and, ultimately, pointless fight.

Roman had no idea why Arbor’s leaders had been so resistant. They were clearly outmatched. The battle had been decided before it had even begun. And yet, those leaders had sent their army to die in the field against Easton’s superior force. Certainly, Arbor had more people, but numbers were largely unimportant. When quantity and quality clashed, the latter would win every time.

Even so, Roman was anxious.

It had been quite some time since he’d left the friendly and empowering confines of Easton, and though he was one of the strongest people on the field, he didn’t have the safety net of the Seal of Authority to back him up. After all, aside from providing a few measly attribute points, it only worked in the city. So, if he were attacked, he would have to rely on his own abilities rather than the powerful item.

Yet, he refused to show his anxiety. Instead, he stood, straight backed and wearing the armor Carmen had created for her second-in-command. As he gazed across the battlefield, he rested his hand on the False Dragon Fang. He knew he cut a striking figure, and one that his people could both respect and aspire to match. He was an inspiration. An example for all of the people who loved, respected, and admired him.

A specter of fear for those who might harbor notions of opposing him, too.

“The battle is going well,” Fiona said. “As always, your Majesty’s leadership has seen us through to victory.”

“It is not won yet,” Roman stated, raising his chin at the compliment. Or Fiona’s statement of fact. The coming end of the battle was a herald of his majesty and proof that he had been chosen by the system to usher humanity into a new age. It was practically divine right.

“True. But with your leadership, success is inevitable.”

Roman permitted himself a slight smile at that. Night hung over the battlefield, but with the stars and a full moon casting their light upon the clashing warriors, everything was visible. Most of Arbor’s forces had been defeated, but there were still a few large pockets of resistance. Most notably, at the center of their defensive line was their leader, Morgan. He was a hulking brute of a man, with a massive beard and more muscles than he knew what to do with.

But more than anything, when Roman looked at the man, all he could think of was the brute’s indignity. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his lessers, risking his life like a common soldier. More, he’d paid no attention to his grooming, and he wore armor that looked fit for the scrap heap.

By comparison, even the lowliest of Roman’s fighters wore better gear. That was due to the sheer volume of cold iron they’d mined in the past few months. Carmen had done the lion’s share of the work in getting Silverado established – a task Roman had given her more to get her out of the way than because he cared about the potential benefits of such resources – but since her ouster, he’d sent almost a thousand people into the mines.

The results were obvious.

With their high-quality blue-and-white armor, his people fought better and were far more durable than any force Arbor could muster. The only reason the battle had gone on for so long was due to the fact that Easton’s army had originally been outnumbered nearly two-to-one.

In the center of it all was Laramie, his long dreadlocks flying as he whirled around like he’d stepped out of a comic book movie. There was so much wasted motion. So many unnecessary twirls and flourishes. Yet, even as distasteful as it was – especially to someone like Roman, who had become something of an expert in the noble art of swordfighting – it was effective enough.

Roman could only think that the general’s high attributes and useful skills were the reason. Certainly, it wasn’t his swordfighting techniques.

“Does he believe he’s attending a dance?” Roman groused.

Fiona, who was the only one near enough to hear him, answered, “He is a showboat. A selfish combatant who cares more about how he looks than the effectiveness of his abilities. I’ve seen three people die while he twirls around like a ballerina. It’s disgusting.”

Roman couldn’t disagree. But he wasn’t surprised. The man was no soldier. Instead, he’d relied solely on his personal prowess and charisma to lead his warband. And while they had been effective, against anyone with even a little discipline, they had been doomed to fail. More than once, Roman had wished he could have spared the time to wipe them out, but his plans required a larger army than Easton could field. So, the warband was necessary.

Even if using them and their flashy general left a bad taste in his mouth.

More worrying was the man’s potential influence on the more disciplined soldiers native to Easton. The last thing Roman wanted was for them to look at Laramie and try to copy his reckless and selfish style. He was no example, and the soldiers of Easton needed to be reminded of that.

“After this battle, make certain that our people spend the next few weeks drilling,” he said. “Have the sergeants focus on discipline and conformity. We must present a unified front.  I do not want any of our core soldiers infected by that man’s influence.”

“So it will be,” Fiona intoned.

After that, the two went silent, and Roman watched the battle continue to unfold. It went as well as he could have expected, though Easton’s armies lost more people than he wanted to consider. Yet, Arbor’s force was even harder hit, and after a few more hours, only one pocket of resistance remained.

Morgan himself stood among a hundred of his strongest and deadliest fighters. Most wore similar armor to the man himself, which meant they were a lusterless bunch who looked like they’d never given any thought to their appearance. They stood in stark contrast to Easton’s fighters, whose armor still gleamed blue and white despite the blood and gore of the battle.

Laramie stepped forward, calling out, “Morgan! Face me yourself, and your people will live!”

“What is he doing?” Roman spat. That wasn’t the plan. There was no reason to face the dangerous leader of Arbor in single combat. The battle was already won. Even if Laramie was victorious, there was nothing to be gained. But if he lost, Easton would be down a general. And while Roman didn’t approve of the man’s style, he knew that the warband’s inclusion in the armies of Easton was still too new. Without Laramie, they would drift away. Or cause problems.

The big leader of Arbor stepped forward, hefting his giant glaive upon his shoulder. Such an inelegant weapon with a laughably low bar for basic competence. He bellowed, “You want some of this?”

“I do,” Laramie replied, also stepping forward to stand before his people. The battle had all but stopped, the exhausted combatants having stepped back for a brief respite. “Here’s the deal. You fight me. If I lose, you’ll get to go back to your city where you can hole up and resist for as long as you want. But if I win, your people surrender. They’ll be treated well. You have my word on that.”

“Your word means nothing, warlord,” growled Morgan, spitting on the ground. “Besides, you’re not in charge, are you? Where’s your little king? If anyone should fight me, it’s that coward.”

Roman’s grip on his sword’s hilt tightened.

“Do not rise to his taunts, your majesty.”

He barely heard Fiona’s words, he was so angry. After everything he’d done, after all that he’d sacrificed, someone had the audacity to question his courage? He’d fought and bled for Easton. He’d conquered a tower. He’d done things no man should be asked to do, and all so that they could have a chance at survival.

And this barbarian insulted him?

It was untenable. But it was also the reason he’d never intended to give Morgan the chance to speak. The man was an uncouth commoner. A common Warrior with more muscles than brains. And he needed to die.

So, Roman strode forward, shouting, “You wish to face me, Morgan? So be it!”

Fiona said something to try to stop him, but Roman refused to hear her. Instead, he embraced Assassin’s Vigor, which quickened his reactions. As he crossed the battlefield, he drew his sword.

No one moved.

They didn’t dare.

Even the enemy watched with anticipation as the King of Easton descended from on high to walk among them. When he reached his own soldiers, they parted before his passage, and soon enough, he stood next to Laramie, who wore a smirk upon his disrespectful face.

“Good of you to join us, your majesty,” the dreadlocked man said. “Perhaps you can show us how it is done.”

A hush fell over the battlefield as thousands of soldiers focused on the two men standing a few dozen feet from one another.

“Very well,” Roman said softly.

Then, without warning, he used his newest ability, called Predation.

Predation

Disappear from sight, teleporting behind your foe. Charge based on Dexterity. Current: 2. Cooldown based on Dexterity. Current: 7 Minutes

The moment the ability activated, he disappeared, and an instant later, he was behind Morgan. Then, his sword flashed as he used Eviscerate.

His single stroke, which Morgan had somehow managed to dodge, was followed by a dozen more, all in quick succession. The big man couldn’t stand up to all of them, and soon enough, his armor parted and blood flew. He used some sort of ability which cloaked him in green light, but it was useless, because Roman had followed it up with a spell.

Weaken

Inflict your opponent with crippling weakness, cutting   their attributes by 60%. Duration   based on Dexterity. Current: 3 seconds.

Even as Morgan staggered, wounded and weakened, he swung his great halberd around. But by that point, Roman had already gotten too close. He used Murder:

Murder

Instantly slay anyone weaker than you. Viability based on total power. Cooldown based on cultivation level. Current: 7 Weeks

Roman buried his sword in the man’s chest, concealing his use of the ability. Morgan, of course, was already dead. It was a shame, too, because Roman would have preferred to make some scathing and belittling remark. Still, the situation had worked out in his favor. So, he pushed the huge man away, letting him clatter to the ground in his cheap armor.

Then, Roman looked around and said, “Take them all into custody. No one else dies unless absolutely necessary.”

Then, as he strode back toward Laramie, the forces of Easton surged forward. With what they’d just seen, Arbor’s army was in no state to fight. After all, Morgan was the strongest among them, and he’d single-handedly kept them from being routed. If he had fallen so easily, then what chance did they have?

“Impressive,” Laramie said with a smile that bordered on insolence. If Roman hadn’t just used all of his most powerful abilities, he might’ve killed Laramie, then and there. But with only his second tier of spells available, he knew any ensuing fight would be annoyingly close. “As befits your status, my king.”

Of course, no one else knew just how limited he was. For a single fight against someone at or below his own power level, he was nearly invincible. Yet, if someone was much stronger than him, he would struggle. Or if he had to fight multiple people at once. Still, his skillset was perfect for reminding his underlings why he was the one in charge.

Fortunately, Morgan had only been a couple of levels above Roman, so when he’d used Weaken on the barbaric man, it had opened him up to Murder. The rest was just pantomime meant to disguise his true abilities.

Still, as annoyed as he was at Laramie for putting him in such a position, Roman was satisfied with the way things had turned out. Not only had they defeated Arbor’s forces, but he’d gotten the chance to show how powerful he was. In addition, he’d gained quite a few more prisoners, which he hoped to put to good use sooner rather than later.

After all, his strategy of leveling via the execution of prisoners was still ongoing.

Yes – he was well on his way to satisfying the requirements of his quest. More importantly, he was on the verge of becoming the savior the people of Easton – and perhaps Earth – needed.