Chapter 359
Chapter 359
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 359
Chapter Title: Saint and Completer (15)
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Chaos had erupted. Not just any chaos, but a slaughter-of-commanders level shitstorm.
"Think about it—this isn't some minor issue, right? Just the forces gathered at Hedern Castle alone include troops from Teldrat and the Free Trade Alliance, plus ragtag units from Borea, Quilton, Chiari, Mercert... twelve? Thirteen different territories? Each with their own nations and lords, and now all the nobles who were supposed to keep those bastards in line are gone!"
"Oh come on, Captain! Keep it down! There are knights in the infirmary too—they'll hear everything! We'll all get dragged off at this rate!"
"B-but Hedern's sovereignty is returning to Lordric, isn't it? Sure, right now the Teldrat knight commander—who leads the largest force—is acting as temporary lord, but word is the capital's sending a Lordric noble to take over as castle governor soon!"
"L-Lordric noble... for the sake of... legitimacy?"
"Ha! Listen to you, Lucky—you get it! Even in an expeditionary force, with all these mismatched units bunched up and the heads suddenly gone, who else could step up without getting flak for sticking their spoon in someone else's rice bowl during mourning? Everyone except us—the actual warring party, the Lordric natives! Only Lordric has the justification to 'step in reluctantly' to a Hedern that's 'lost its command nobles'! And just like that, a Lordric noble gets appointed commander of this multinational mess under the allied forces' banner! Talk about dodging an arrow by tripping over a rock!"
"Oh man, Captain! Hey, Lucky! Talk him down! I don't wanna end up on the execution block after barely surviving!"
"H-ha..."
And so, I lay on the damp infirmary bed in Hedern, listening to this chatty captain and sergeant duo yap away.
My alibi was rock-solid. I'd left two clear eyewitnesses to the 'big red vicious monster,' I had plenty of time, and as the 'wounded soldier' most exposed to holy power in the castle, my identity was airtight.
No reason to bolt outside. That'd just get me tracked by some archer or pathfinder hero. Four days had passed since the assassination, and while bedridden watching the situation unfold, I'd gotten pretty chummy with these two jolly soldiers who kept dropping by: Captain Charles and Sergeant Todd.
"I'm still uneasy. No mutants have shown their faces yesterday or today, and now this assassination. Doesn't it feel like the mutant bastards are up to something?"
Ah, that's on me. Looks like that... Pillar of the Poor? The blood mist generator doubles as some kind of radar. They know a zerg rush without elites is just potion fodder for me. The attacks stopped dead the moment I arrived.
Of course, the clueless masses just guessed it was 'good luck' or 'mutants shifting their assault elsewhere.'
"Todd, how many times have I told you grunts like us don't need to worry about that shit? We rested yesterday, we'll rest today. In the last four days, no one's died except the wounded who couldn't hold out against the twelve commanders! That's all you need to know. And I told you—this guy's a lucky charm. Good things have been happening nonstop since our pal Lucky got here! Proof enough, right?"
"...Yeah, this guy's no ordinary joe. What was it that mage said back then...?"
"The one touched by the guidance of flames. Ooh, lucky bastard! Straight from the mouth of 'Abaros of the Spreading Flames' himself about that mage's talent! Lucky, if you really become a mage and snag a personal guard... don't forget your lifesavers, got it? Me and this guy might be rolling as regular grunts now, but we're squire stock. Our knight died, leaving us high and dry. Pretty please, hook us up! Make me hold a shield on the walls with a mage instead of slogging through that mutant shitpile as infantry!"
The middle-aged captain grabbed my bandaged hand tight, flashing a cheeky grin as he made his pitch.
Why were they making such a fuss, spilling all the outside gossip to a total stranger like me during their precious downtime?
Because right after I'd wrapped the assassination and snuck back panting into the infirmary, someone had come looking.
"This the place? Where the soldier who survived my flames is?"
"Y-yes, mage sir! Privates Charles and Todd brought him here!"
"...You're sure? Not just scorched arms or legs, but full-body burns that should have melted him, and he still lived?"
"No doubt, sir. His skin melted enough to seal the bleeding from his amputated leg."
"Hmm... Very well. Off with you. I'll check myself."
Not long after I'd reinfiltrated post-assassination, that voice hunting me rang out. A massive mana signature approaching. At first, all I could think was 'Shit, busted!'
But Abaros the Rank 5 fire mage wasn't there for that. He approached my corpse-like form, unwrapped my bandages without asking, and nodded approvingly at my grotesquely warped skin.
"...Talent indeed."
"That heat should've charred him to the bone. Surviving means he has the gift. An overwhelming talent incomparable to these pampered sprouts, one that can reach higher flames."
"Priest. When he arrived, did you perform any special holy healing?"
"For that burn case... Just standard burn first aid. No bleeding, and weirdly no blood infection."
"Had to be. With dead skin from burns covering his whole body, the living blood clumps thought he was a corpse and stayed away. Happens sometimes with frontline flame mages."
"This one is loved by fire. Unlike these bonsai-tended modern mages fed enlightenment in non-lethal heat, he rose from the brink of death bearing my, Abaros's, flames. Thus, he harbors purer fire. He proved his talent by surviving. Tell him to seek me once he wakes."
"B-but in this state, he can't even move yet..."
"That's ideal. Since my flames birthed him, taking him as disciple is only right. The faint water stench is a flaw, but boil it off in the fire pit and done."
He's the only flame mage active in Hedern, so he assumed the flames that did this were his spell. Thanks to packing my mana tight with aura, he didn't clock me as a water mage—but back then, I was this close to pulping all witnesses and bolting. One punch from embedding in that real fire mage's jaw.
Anyway, Mage Abaros said his piece and swaggered off. The two 'lifesavers' eavesdropping outside came charging in muttering stuff like '...A mage! Fresh mage without attendants or guards!'—and started schmoozing me with outside news and nurse duties. Mages' guards have better survival odds than grunt infantry, after all.
'Hedern's troops are definitely higher quality than Kingsland's. Used to extremes, tough mentality, and above all, fierce will to live. With luck, these guys can actually survive.'
Just looking at Charles and Todd, who'd dragged me into Hedern, gave a sense of the overall vibe. Veterans hardened from war's start to now. If mutants had more elites, even skilled grunts like these couldn't last—but their elites died chasing me, got funneled into the desert and died, depleted all around. So the front was mostly zerg rushes and rare elite breakthroughs, creating space for grizzled vets like these.
'Kingsland was zombie-marching on empty morale from the king's regency. It'll change, but still lags behind western front survivors clinging on from day one. They had tons of fresh civvy recruits enlisting to defend the homeland. Can't match troops forged through hell like these.'
Superior troop quality, and Hedern's clusterfuck command structure now streamlined under one new Lordric noble.
'Too many cooks spoil the broth. Especially when the allied commanders weren't even thinking of rowing.'
The alliance's biggest issue: Lordric was too desperate, accepting every scrap of aid from national armies down to 50-man manor guards, 20-man tribal rabble, mystery contingents, random watchmen—without discrimination. Total clusterfuck pool.
If the Empire had gotten this motley aid, it'd strip their mismatched gear and rekit them as 'Empire troops!' uniform sets, good to go.
But it was Lordric lumbered with it, already halved in territory, low on quality and numbers, unable to wrangle them.
The primary war party lost voice from weakness, leaving aid forces directionless—turning into an 'alliance' deciding war via commander meetings. That was the western front till now.
Fix? Simple. Too many cooks? Cull 'em till the boat rights itself.
Hedern's commanders were perfectly useless: stuck blocking the right flank (western front left wing) where mutants barred the Kingsland path. Broad, pointless deployment.
Obnoxious land-grabbers in others' war, parking in safe eastern Lordric far from hot western/central spots. Deals were made, no doubt. Post-war, long fronts plus mutant-held northern Lordric all up for grabs—so left-behind commanders concede eastern claims, eastern ones settle for middling plots.
Western stragglers at least had 'win and eat' will; eastern sprawlers just honey-suck scraps. Useless to persuade—better off culled.
'And even worthless trash makes a bonfire when burned. Killing them yields effects too.'
Basic goal: cull deadweight commanders, snatch command via chaos for Lordric. Plus, those blood-pooled noble corpses in plain sight? Bonus effects.
Like those two whispering priests in the corner.
"Ah, Priest Verdel. How'd things go at the castle?"
"...A gruesome sight. No evil god blood or foul aura... but seating headless bodies in their chairs, neatly displaying severed heads? A warning from the evil god's spawn, no? Corpses in command seats, heads lined on the floor..."
"Shh! Quiet down. Patients will panic."
"Mmm, Ratara. Sorry. I got shaken..."
"So, clues on the beast?"
"Only two knights nabbed by paladins. Brother, you've heard of the 'Red Mutant' too, right?"
"Aaah, Ratara el-Samia. Forgive me uttering the cursed name. Surely... not?"
"...Matches recorded sightings and description. Infiltrated undetected before, collapsed a mage tower. It's active again."
"Unbelievable. 'White Death' and now 'Red Mutant' on our western front..."
"...Command ordered commanders to hunker with elite guards in safe spots. Orders from our orders' HQs too—priests stick with paladins. Enemy assassins rampaging means shifting from stalled zerg to breakthrough kills."
The priests crossed themselves and headed to their assigned paladins. Good. Rumors blending nicely.
Killing useless commanders yields profit via assassination's baked-in 'fear.'
Reminds them command seats aren't rice-cake parties—but frontlines where top enemy mutants hunt you.
Nobles always prioritize self-preservation. When necks chill, they turtle, voices weaken.
'The alliance will play cautious awhile. Rumors paint Red Mutant as Ediora-tier infamous for infiltration/terror. Can't block with regulars, so allies halt thinning flanks to close encirclement, hunker like turtles.'
Use fear to halt that dogshit plan.
'With me immune to mutant blood, I can pierce their chambermaid line. While allies turtle, rack merits with Lordric regulars. Target: headless, detached surplus eastern garrison.'
While allies turtle, Lordric racks merits under king's name, reclaims land, regains war voice.
'And once Siode IV leads ops, Empire aid arrives. Massive infantry to match endless zerg—'
Then, proper war.
Sorry Erwin, but I'll use the kid. Willing and promising, but 11-year-old fresh king can't wrangle city-states/nations in war diplomacy.
But... the boy king was deeply impressed by our chat. Easy to puppeteer him into leading commander meetings. Light Church backing seals command grab.
'Pressure allied commanders, boost Lordric voice, steer war my way. Prerequisite for final mutant showdown.'
As I sorted thoughts quietly on my bed, a cackling laugh echoed in my head. Hide.
[Assassinate allied commanders, puppet the king, get hailed saint by the masses. Textbook villain overlord, no?]
'Hmm... Yeah? Cliché bad guy? Planned kills = special murder, fancy displays = corpse abuse/dumping. Heinous criminal.'
Whatever reason, sliced a dozen necks like a game. Dismembered barehanded—can't be good.
'...What can ya do? Necessary. Gotta.'
[Kills fewer to save more... Wasn't that what you hated? Headcount math.]
'True, but seeing from on-high... Sometimes tough calls needed, feels like.'
Trash punishment eases guilt. Still, trading '12 commander lives' for 'Lordric voice recovery' stands.
'Educational game, huh. Bitter.'
[Gedroits that old fart mentioned?]
I nodded inwardly to Hide. Got why those 'vicious bastards!' folks from afar end up booze-hounds like Dome's chief.
'...Won't get comfy with 'sacrificed X to save Y!' excuses.'
[Bet other commanders started like you—before viewing troops as toy soldiers.]
'Nah, I'm different.'
[Different how?]
Rustle!
Outside grew rowdy—time to go. I rose, eyed the crutches the captain smartly snagged, grinned.
'Completer, duh. Picked by humanity's top scientist and best AI ever as superhuman. [That's you!] How could I not be? Whatever.'
[...Different in hoping you are, at least.]
Amid the din, a low buuuuuum—magic engine hum started.
Rested well scouting Hedern days. Time to resume saint duties.
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