No Anomalies on the Western Front (2)
Kriel ultimately failed to ride the shadow horse properly. It was far too conspicuous in every way to pull out on the well-maintained road after exiting the deserted mountain valley.
As Kriel dismissed the shadow horse, reverting it to rein form, Tuon caught sight of Orishin smirking faintly. She chided the unicorn spirit for being sly and frivolous, but Orishin scoffed, asking what she was talking about.
The closer they got to the Western Army camp, the fewer travelers they encountered. Patrol soldiers from the Western Army occasionally roamed about, however. Kriel had no desire to invite needless misunderstandings by riding the shadow horse and stirring suspicion.
Yet even without mounting it, a black vortex seemed to swirl around Kriel's entire body. Thick resignation and gloom clung to him like a shroud. That dark aura deepened with every step he took.
Orishin let out a sigh—or as close as a non-living being could manage—and spoke up.
[Hey, Kriel. Why the funeral face? Passersby might drop dead from how fierce you look.]
“You try joining the army sometime...”
[Didn't we come back from Rolang together last time?]
“No. I mean enlist for real.”
He truly never wanted to return if he could help it. But there was no alternative. When it came to discussing automatons, the Western Army was the only option.
Kriel trudged onward. Right. Think differently. While I'm here, wrap up the discharge paperwork and leave as a true civilian—not some 'promotion-pending' civilian.
He halted before the main gate of the camp. Two knights in gleaming plate armor stood guard. Spotting Kriel waving casually, they barked in a firm tone,
“Halt. Hands up. Move and you're dead. Automaton.”
This distinctive challenge phrase. The inspection procedure screamed military outpost.
“Long-term operative returning. Passcode unknown!”
“Who goes there?”
Kriel gave a wry smile. Damn it, yeah. This was the army.
“Independent Ranger Force Chief Knight Kriel.”
“State your business.”
“Mission report and discharge filing.”
One knight muttered in disbelief at the words.
“No way your service was that short?”
Kriel shrugged. He hadn't been a proper enlistee from the start anyway. He'd come as a mercenary on hearing the pay was good, only to get roped in by the Lion Duke and unable to leave.
“Approach three paces for ID check. Well, I'll be. Wandering without your helm.”
“The armor I used to wear got wrecked.”
The gate sentry cleared Kriel to pass. As he headed into the Western Army camp, Tuon whispered,
[Master. I recommend drawing your sword aura now.]
“Out of nowhere?”
[Right now, you might pull out something infinitely close to the abyss.]
Kriel flicked Tuon's hilt sharply and quickened his pace.
“Hey, Kriel! Up for an extended stay?!”
“Commander. Begging your pardon, but are you in your right mind?”
The Lion Duke burst into laughter at Kriel's resolute tone. That steadfast personality charging straight at me. Perfect as my successor.
“What, you hate the army that much?”
“I do.”
“Then how about chief knight of my house's order instead? Or banner bearer for the family— that'd be fine too!”
An exceedingly honorable position. The Lion Duke's moniker stemmed from his valor, earning him the title of duke. A chance to become chief knight of the most respected ducal house in the Allied Kingdoms.
Kriel turned it down flatly.
“Everyone knows you throw your house knights into the Western Front too, Commander. I have no plans to stick around the army.”
“Heh, you really hate the military, don't you.”
The Lion Duke let out a hearty, unbefitting chuckle. Kriel didn't let his guard down at the old man's affable smile. He'd worn the same expression when deftly quashing the duel trial.
Valiant, yes—but just as cunning.
“Keep going like this, and you'll be the next-next commander. What drives you so urgently?”
“No interest in command. Pay's crap compared to the work. I like money.”
The Lion Duke snorted. A money-loving knight who served for a single coin? Absurd. Even if he loved money, honor came first.
“Let me ask, Commander. Why hold onto me for the Western Army so badly?”
“On the flip: What commander would let go of a knight who silenced all opposition to his appointment as chief of the Independent Rangers through sheer skill?”
Damn. Kriel inwardly groaned. Should've heeded that old Earth saying about moderation. Ignoring it had led here.
“I like your serious pursuit of knightly honor too. Holding the center in noble council politics takes real grit.”
“I'm just playacting the noble knight.”
“Play long enough, and it becomes real.”
“Damn. Can't win with words.”
“And above all, your face is perfect. Commander material.”
A first. From the Lion Duke or anyone.
He'd drawn wariness for his looks, sure—but becoming commander because of them?
“Just staring down budget-opposing nobles in council would make them withdraw! They'd fear losing their heads before offering bribes! For a soldier needing distance from politics, it's a born gift!”
This old fox? Tuon whispered in a voice not particularly indignant,
[Mm. Hate to admit it, but true.]
Kriel sensed it was payback for the flick.
“To business.”
On paper, Kriel's reason for leaving the Western Army and wandering was to resolve Rolang Village's incident once and for all. A journey to purify the unicorn spirit Orishin's abyssal corruption.
Kriel unfastened the horn dagger from his belt and set it down. Orishin popped out with a whinny.
“Ho. So this is the spirit unicorn Orishin from the ancient Allied Kingdoms' spirit registry?”
[Oh, see? Told you I'm famous.]
“Ah, no—I knew of you from the priests dispatched to Rolang. Their reports mentioned you.”
Orishin drooped its head with an exaggerated hing. Everyone present knew it was theatrical whining.
“Saintess Morgina of the Eve Kaha Church. Armede Ket, eldest daughter of the Ket County and president of the Abyss Prevention Society. And Alberik Lir, representative spiritist of House Lir. Their assessments.”
The Lion Duke swiftly read the three documents Kriel produced. Cleric, mage, spiritist. Experts from three fields had examined Orishin, all reaching the same conclusion.
“'Purification works to a point, but the core corruption can't be removed.' Quite the bizarre curse. What say you, Viscount Head?”
[Huh? What do you mean?]
“We've bolstered priests near Rolang, and the assessments say the curse isn't progressing. If you wish, return there. Steady research might uncover clues.”
Orishin pondered briefly, then shook its head.
[Nah, I'm against. Might draw weirdos to the village because of me. If the abyssal corruption flares up again, someone needs to pin me down and hack away—and this guy's the expert.]
“Then on paper, Spirit Unicorn Orishin's final disposition is to accompany Sir Kriel. I sincerely hope you escape the curse someday.”
Having signed the Rolang-related documents, the Lion Duke handed Kriel one more. At the top: Discharge Certificate, bold and clear.
Kriel almost imagined it glowing.
“What? Holding someone unwilling drags efficiency down. Your promised one-year service post-duel trial is long over. Time to let you go. Thanks for your dedication.”
The Lion Duke didn't hide his regret. Skill, attitude—irreplaceable. That intimidating face was an asset here. The knights shadowing him as probationers showed he'd have troops' support. Lingering grudges from the duel? He'd clean them up. Issues with appointing an outsider? Adopt as ward if needed.
He'd even considered arranging marriage to a suitable ducal daughter, but foresaw the knight fleeing on wedding eve: 'I can't force a lady into unwanted marriage!' Best abandoned.
'They'd realize true love mid-escape, but the knight's already gone—a chivalric romance ending.'
Idly musing, the Lion Duke waved him off. Staring only made it hurt more—go already.
Yet Kriel, who seemed ready to bolt, stayed seated.
“Commander. Any unusual activity on the Western Front?”
“Unusual? Automatons probed here and there knowing you were gone, but par for the course. You have something?”
Kriel briefly recounted Ket County events: a mage allied with automatons. He skipped family infighting to spare House Ket's reputation, mentioning only a lich-like figure using an automaton body as a holy relic vessel.
“That rusty scrapheap pulling something so youthful?”
“Less them recruiting, more him approaching first, it seems.”
“Same difference. Automatons never take prisoners—always kill. But you know they exceptionally preserve ancient dwarf brains alive.”
Kriel nodded. He'd wondered since his Tirnanog RPG days. Special treatment for creators, he'd assumed.
“Automatons uniquely desecrate ancient dwarves that way. Barely corpses since the brains live—worse, really.”
Dwarves enlisting to reclaim ancestors was common. The Allied Kingdoms' multi-race union meant higher non-human ratios than Empire or Holy Kingdom, but dwarves dominated the Western Army for this reason.
“Know why?”
“Special treatment for creators?”
“Special, yes. The scrap thinks Tirnanog's masses fools and idiots. Intellect gap too vast for talk—they kill first.”
“So ancient dwarves, as creators, get rated higher intelligence than other sapients?”
The Lion Duke shook his head.
“Higher evaluation, yes. But not for intelligence.”
Ancient dwarven civilization outpaced any modern Tirnanog nation. Steel branches mimicking the World Tree's blessing imperfectly, automatons persisting post-creators—they proved it. But civilization wasn't the metric.
“They recognized their species' flaws and crafted efficient suicide tools. That's 'reality cognition' excellence.”
“What madness is that?”
“Others deny abyssal corruption with escapism. Ancient dwarves built automatons for racial suicide—realistic thinking.”
Automatons' stated purpose—abyss purification, not suicide—was irrelevant. Low intellect couldn't grasp it; subconsciously, they craved extinction. The Automaton Totality's judgment.
[No... way more insane cans than I thought...]