Chapter 110 - 43rd Brigade (Patreon)

Duke Reihnhardt Le’ Mortan

“Tell me some good news, Melckaer,” a stern voice ringing with authority demanded.

Refusing to meet the duke’s eyes, a bookish fellow with long, scraggly hair took a moment to think before responding, “Duchess Ravenna is stabilized and recovering well, my Lord. Her arm is –”

“I don't care if that old hag is unconscious for another century. You were supposed to be investigating why the wards are degrading!" Reihnhardt slammed his palm against the arm of his throne, causing the entire room to quake in protest.

“Ahh, I understand now, my Lord. I was confused. Since you asked for good news, I could not think of any other than the Duchess’s recovery." Melckaer’s voice was indifferent but the sheen of sweat peppering his brow did not go unnoticed.

"Melckaer,” The name rolled from Reihnhardt’s tongue with a growl. “Your urchin indicated you had discovered something important. Otherwise we would not be having this meeting at all. Why are you wasting both our time with your prattle?"

"Right, yes, of course.” He cleared his throat, ”My team, with the assistance of Princess Oliviala, have determined that the wards are not being tampered with. Whatever the Gray are doing to weaken them, it must be related to the formations powering the wards. How they are bypassing two hundred meters of wards to reach the formations, we have no idea but it is most fascinating."

Reihnhardt’s entire countenance deflated as he released a weary sigh. "So it’s the formations being attacked? Nothing short of a tier ten could accomplish such a task. Thank the fathers we don't have a traitor. You should have led with this, it is indeed a semblance of good news. So, the vermin have something out there powerful enough to disrupt Lostrifar’s formations from a distance? Why not crush us completely then?”

Reihnhardt's brow wrinkled as he fell into deep thought for several long seconds. Melckaer stood perfectly still, not even daring to swallow. The duke’s gauntlets were crushed into waste as he clenched his fists in outrage. “Trying to understand their motives is pointless. Foul shitspawn should crawl back into the latrine they rose from! Why are you still here? Get back to your lab and figure out how to save what’s left of my city!”

“As you say, my Lord," Melckaer cleared his throat, cringing as if expecting to be struck for what needed to be said. "It is my duty to remind you that the Princess has fulfilled her end of the bargain. Should I—”

The double doors leading to the conference room slammed open. A young man with bloodshot eyes threw a lowly trooper on the floor face-first before smashing a fist to his chest.

“What do you think you’re doing, Dornev?” Reihnhardt’s mask of command snapped into place.

“Grandfather, this… soldier kept buzzing on about some great emergency regarding the horde. I took it upon myself to expedite his arrival,” The duke’s grandson lifted his chin with a confident smile, clearly expecting some kind of acknowledgement.

“Soldier, report!” Reihnhardt snapped, ignoring the insufferable child.

To his credit, the trooper instantly leaped to his feet and snapped a hasty salute. “My Duke! There is a disturbance within the horde, an unknown assailant has begun targeting and killing the rooks. By the time I left, two of them were already slain. They are using some kind of red, light-based attack with a very long range. Both rooks died with a single attack. Sir!”

“Unknown assailant? Did you not get a good look at them, trooper?”

“Sir, no Sir! They used some kind of technique to hide themselves, Sir!”

“What kind of moronic imbecile would squander their mana on cleaning up a few rooks? I hope they're not expecting us to foot their expense. We don’t even have enough high-tier supplies to feed ourselves!” Dornev snarled.

“Boy, you’re teetering on the precipice of my patience, choose your words carefully! Any ascender capable of killing a rook with a single attack from range is someone you cannot afford to antagonize. For all we know, that could be Prince Rutertt leading the glorious seven to liberate us in our darkest hour. At the very least, we shall welcome our guests with every amenity until we are certain of their identity. See to the preparations, Dornev. It would appear I must go to the wall myself.” The trooper recoiled at the biting venom in the duke’s tone.

“Yes, Grandfather,” Dornev’s bloodshot eyes glinted in the low light as he spun around with a wide smile. Yelling could be heard as he marched from the room, sending manor staff scrambling to prepare for a grand feast.

Jiran of Feylon

Jiran annihilated another swath of the Graymin army. The rook he was aiming for managed to dodge, but not enough. Half of its body was reduced to incinerated particles of matter while the other half slowly melted away as raging heat overcame its powerful regeneration.

Well, my theory of needing beasts higher than a tier six for challenger density is definitely proven now. Hopefully, its tier sevens. I can’t imagine being able to hurt a tier eight. Tier seven is going to be crazy enough with their sixty-four concentration and attributes over a thousand.

A flare shot into the air from high atop the city wall. It stopped after a few seconds to hover over the tide of beasts. As it danced in the air, a shockwave ripped a gaping hole in their ranks and blasted dozens of them into the air. A boulder exploded from the center of the now empty space, tearing the little flame to smithereens.

And there’s my next target. Whoever’s bright idea it was to point these bastards out for me, I’ll be sure to buy them a drink once we’re done.

Niya ran beside him as they moved to a new position to avoid any retaliatory attacks from their last kill. Jiran’s aura pulled a dozen tier four pawns along behind them. Threads of Coating shot into their chests one by one as Mana Transference brought him back to full mana.

After running behind an obfuscation barrier for a hundred meters, Jiran activated Light Manipulation to create a zoomed-in image of the next rook. He made sure to take more time aiming on this one.

That last one almost survived. What else can I use to boost my accuracy? Oh, I know!

Jiran formed his aura into a long tube like the barrel of a cannon. He placed the light screen on top of it right before his face and adjusted his stance to match the new awkward angle of release. After rapidly spinning condensed mana through his channel, he released the energy, desolating another line of beasts. With his improvements, this rook failed to dodge and was pulled apart by elemental mana moving nearly at the speed of light.

A few seconds later, another flare went out, revealing the next target. On and on it went, blast after blast clearing out the most powerful Graymin while recharging his mana between each. Niya was always nearby, pulling Graymin pawns apart with her bare hands and throwing the tier fours into his aura for consumption.

After nearly two hours and twenty rooks, the next flare hung above the Graymin for twenty seconds before sputtering into nothing.

“I think that might be the last of the rooks on this side of the city. There are still so many pawns left. At this rate, we could probably clear them out in a couple days. Let’s head inside for now and check in with Mayalyn, we can come back tomorrow and do more. You ready?”

“I’m ready, yes. You, are not,” Niya folded her arms across her fully repaired breastplate while giving him another of her ‘You’re an idiot’ looks.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Niya sighed with a dramatic eye-roll. “Your clothes! They're full of holes, covered in burns, and what’s with that style? Where did you even get those rags? Fix them already!”

“Fix? Oh! That’s right, forming. I completely forgot. Any suggestions?”

“Something nice that won't embarrass me when we go up there. Just do something, anything is better than that. We’re supposed to be the heroes who saved Mortan. Not the guttershrelks who smell like a drunkard's armpit.”

Hmm, I remember some of Samris’s clothes, I could try to copy that style. Yeah, that sounds fun. Maybe a little gaudy but I guess I don’t mind. Forming, what do I remember about the skill? It broke down the bone I used into a base material that attached to Niya’s armor and then converted itself into the same metal.

The most difficult part of the process is converting one material into another. The more similar they are, the easier it will be, so I should use my clothes as a base instead of making an entirely new outfit.

Jiran dug through his attribute-enhanced memory, recalling in minute detail one of Samris’s outfits. He cemented the image in his mind and held it there. With his image formed, he concentrated his aura over a single section of his shirt, examining the fibers of the cloth as closely as he could.

I really need to figure out a way to see molecular structures. I remember from Mayalyn’s lab how that isn’t normally possible on Madra, but I’m sure I can figure it out eventually. Anyways, this cloth is some kind of plant material. Memories from Earth tell me it's likely made of cellulose, hemicellulose, and pectin, though I have no idea what those actually are. Hmm, what else did he know? The chemical composition likely formed a loose hexagon and the closer it got to that form, the stronger it was. Oh! There’s an interesting tidbit of knowledge tucked into that hexagon memory. That could be pretty amazing if it works, I’ll have to test that later.

With a loose mental image of strong plant fibers, wound together forming thread, Jiran began. “Forming,” He used additional mana to track the skill’s mana as it flowed through his channels and out his skin. The filaments of his shirt were unwound before they shimmered with a soft light. Fascinated, he watched as the grains within the fabric were reinforced—mana transitioning from liquid energy into physical form, complimenting and adding to what was already there. The skill followed his intent perfectly as the new fibers wound into complex braids forming threads, and eventually completed fabric.

He made a few minor alterations to the color and style, adding just a touch of Earth’s style to his ensemble to give it a little flair. By the time his entire outfit was repaired and converted, he had burned through only four percent of his mana.

Forming + 18

Nice! That wasn’t too bad. Maybe for a normal tier five spending four percent of their mana on a single outfit would be extravagant. But with all these manabags out here to drain, I could do this all day!

Jiran turned to Niya who was impatiently tapping her foot. “Better?”

“Much. Let's go! I'm hungry and I'm dying for a real bed.”

Side by side, Niya and Jiran blasted from their hiding spot and charged into the Graymin army. Hundreds of pawns were tossed out of the way as their auras brushed them aside. On a whim, Jiran decided to leave a parting gift for the beasts. True Origin of Wind and Gas Manipulation pushed a tremendous amount of hydrogen to either side. When they were halfway to the city wall a few short seconds later, Jiran created a spark and tossed it behind him.

The explosion was deafening. Jiran dropped to the ground and smashed his foot down, pulling up a two-meter-thick wall of solid rock that he held at an angle over their heads. The blast wave swept over them, rattling his wall and aura alike while taking thousands of Graymin into the afterlife. Hundreds more were thrown away from the ballooning cloud of blue fire and smoke. The wave of expanding force passed, suffusing the air with the smells of seared meat and death as they continued their push toward the city wall.

“Jiran! What in the nine layers of the Inferno did you just do?!” Niya screamed, her voice barely audible.

Jiran responded softly, his aura now blocking the torrential winds and sounds of splattering meat falling all around them. “Just a little parting gift. Hey, I've noticed you don't sleep on your aura. Why not? It's way more comfortable than a bed.”

“Screw you. Not all of us have creepily good control over our manabody! Even using mine a little bit drains a ton of mana. Are you seriously not going to tell me what you did? And you still haven’t taught me how you’re so good with your aura or how you use it continuously at seemingly no cost. Don’t think I won’t keep pestering you until you cave.”

Despite being surrounded by a million ravenous beasts, Jiran chuckled. “What can I say little cousin, sucks to suck. Hey, you think that Ravenna lady has recovered yet? I’ve never had to regrow a limb, how long does that usually take?”

Niya’s response was instant. “For an old tier seven like her, maybe two manapools per limb depending on her expertise. If she has a lot of help, which I'm sure she does, then she could be back on her feet already. If not, then it depends on the food situation. Though with the city locked down, who knows what kind of supplies they have. Without tier seven or eight food, she would need two or three moons to heal completely on her own. With the right meals, a week or two.”

They arrived at the wall while Niya was still explaining and Jiran split his attention between her and the layer of invisible force the Graymin were struggling against with all their might. Not a single one of them could close within ten meters of the smooth stone wall. He siphoned two dozen of them to create a hole in their ranks and fill his mana, meanwhile, examining the concealed barrier.

His aura felt nothing, nor did his mana when he extended a filament of Coating into it. His hand as well passed right through without the slightest resistance.

What is this? Some kind of barrier that only affects beasts? Or is it specific to Graymin?

His last test was to apply pressure on the framework with his aura. Finally, he felt the slightest feedback from the strange boundary. Whatever it was, it was placing significant stress on the framework, to the point it felt slippery when Jiran tried to lift himself within it.

So it’s using the framework to support itself and it's strong enough that the framework can’t support my weight and the barrier. Whoever made this, I would love to have a chat with them. I bet they know way more about the framework than I do.

Jiran nodded at Niya and they jumped into the air behind a screen of Light Manipulation. Just in case they missed a rook on this side of the city, they both maintained a heavy paranoia as they ascended.

“So, Ravenna could be healed already, or take a moon or two, or a week or two. In other words, you have no idea. Wow, you're so useful. Truly, my ignorance is a blazing inferno of shame when compared to your vast understanding of the world.”

“Shut up, ass! You’re the one who asked the stupid question.”

They reached the top of the wall after a very quick flight and tucked between the crenelations to arrive on the battlement. The moment they appeared, they were surrounded by fifty soldiers in resplendent mail and leather uniforms.

In perfect unison, the men and women smashed fists into chests before bowing low. Immediately rising, they stamped their right feet once and shouted, “Alor! Together we Thrive!” A man and woman, both tier four, stepped forward from the group. The man spoke, his voice oozing with ardor. “Alor! Major Nophor, at your service! On behalf of the 43rd Brigade and the City of Mortan, thank you for using your precious mana to alleviate these lowly soldiers’ duties. A most unusual and welcome service you’ve provided us today, Sir, Ma’am.”

The woman shouted next with equal exuberance. “Alor! Major Sharees, at your service! If there is anything within our power we can do to repay you, please let it be known!” Jiran wanted to take a step back from their spittle-induced hollering but the crenelations and open air were right behind him.

Uhh, how in the fathers am I supposed to respond to all that? C’mon charisma, now's your time to shine!

Nothing? Seriously? No ideas at all? What a worthless attribute!