Nero Walker, Book 4 Ch.63 (294)

“Harrison! Take teams 11 and…” she paused for a moment before continuing, “9 and reinforce Billings. We need to keep that group cut off and contained. And tell him to stop chasing down the runners. Let the scouts handle them,” Cathleen ordered before shooing Harrison off like an intern.

Returning her attention to the central battle lines, she raked her eyes across the fighting. Her instincts screamed at her to join the battle, but she knew that her place was here. A good battle leader knew when to step back and allow her warriors to do their job.

She felt Angelton’s powerful presence approaching, joining her in assessing the battle. He’d pulled back around the same time she had and was now helping her coordinate the fighting.

“The troops have come a long way in a short time. Stress really is the best fuel for growth,” he noted.

Barely managing to suppress her grin, she replied, “Yes, they have. But you need to get in the habit of referring the them as Wackos. So do I for that matter.”

Understanding what she was subtly referring to, Angelton asked, “And what do you think of our lord’s perspective on our lawful traditions?”

They’d both listened in on Lord Walker’s conversation with the Wackos, and Angelton was understandably curious about her opinion. While this wasn’t the best time to address the matter, she accepted that it also wasn’t the worst.

“A lot of what he said was logical. And I’m sure you realized by now that the only reason we’re still alive is because he was here. All of the growth you were just commenting on only had a chance to occur due to his intervention,” she replied evenly.

Grunting in acknowledgment, Angelton replied, “You’re not wrong. He did exactly what he said he’d do. And it worked out exactly how he said it would.”

Glancing over at the man, she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “The North has long since believed in the kingdom’s stance on nurturing the next generations. It’s a societal structure that we can relate to. Whenever our warriors are sent out to fight, they’re always overseen by a veteran. If those fresh-faced fools faced the wilds without a protector, then they’d only be relying on chance for their survival.”

Angelton replied, “We do the same here. Carefully controlling the danger level of engagements is part of being in command.”

Cathleen continued, “Lord Walker’s perspective is wider. He didn’t grow up here. While we apply that logical training ideal locally, he doesn’t understand why we don’t do the same on the kingdom level. It’s a bold idea, and one I’d never considered.”

Angelton agreed, “Neither have I. Which worries me. The foundation of the kingdom is based on allowing cities to grow on their own. When I’d learned about it in school, it had made sense at the time. But now, I can’t help wondering if the kingdom shouldn’t play a larger role in their development.”

Having overheard their conversation, Blackwood stepped up alongside them and countered, “It’s not that simple. The kingdom is always available to help cities when they ask for it. There are protocols in place to allow for that.”

Cathleen nodded in agreement with Blackood’s point. “That’s true enough, I suppose. But there are a great many incentives for them not to do so. If a city asks for intervention, the city will automatically be restructured. New houses with an equivalent level will be allowed to come in and join the administration. In many ways, the identity of the city will be destroyed the moment they request aid from the capital. If the nobles want to remain in charge, then they have to rely only on what strength they have locally available.”

Angelton added, “And as for the powerful individuals that are locally grown but over-leveled, the laws ensure that they don’t have a choice but to stay out of the fighting. Even during noble wars, they are restricted to personal challenges and the like.”

Cathleen scoffed, “I believe that is the real reason our Lord disagrees with the policies. Power levels have never been stratified objectively. We, as a people, rely on opinion to dictate who is considered too powerful for a city.”

Blackwood replied quickly, “That’s not true. Levels matter, along with achievements. It may not be standardized or anything, but that’s what tribunals and the council are for. Besides, everyone knows when someone has become too powerful to take part in the development and protection of a city. You can just feel it.”

Angelton replied, “I’m not sure I wholly agree with that. Sure, the stronger someone is, the further back they step away from the frontlines, but that doesn’t mean they no longer have a role in the game. Commanders and the like rarely see combat, but they’re not necessarily barred from participating in the fighting directly. I can see how Lord Walker could argue that appropriate trials should be met with appropriate force.”

Cathleen agreed, “Like I said, his point was logical. It’s the corollary to how we only send what forces are needed to deal with an issue while restricting the powerful from intervening. Logically, if a threat becomes more than the forces available can deal with, then it begs the question why we don’t bring in someone more powerful to face it.”

Blackwood, clearly uncomfortable, replied, “Because… I mean… Cities have to stand on their own. Just like their armies and their teams.”

Angelton replied quietly, “But then doesn’t that just prove what Lord Walker’s saying? That perspective only works if you accept that a great many people will likely die. The lucky few who survive may be strong, but is that due to their successfully overcoming their trials or merely the result of fate choosing to be kind? We’ve been taught that fate dictates what trials we face, but why does our interpretation of fate require us to face them alone? That is a choice we’ve made as a people… and it may be the wrong one.”

Now that the conversation had led to something that could arguably be considered treasonous being said out loud, they all took a moment to reflect on the matter.

Cathleen broke the silence by saying, “The core ideal to keep in mind is that the powerful should never coddle those who are weaker than them. That would only lead to weakness. I’m sure we all can at least agree on that. Otherwise, our society would regress to the point where weaklings are raised to power under the protection of their ancestors.”

Both Angelton and Blackwood nodded in silence, clearly lost in thought over the issue of responsibility and duty.

—--

Upon arriving in the area immediately behind the frontlines, Nero was caught off guard by what he was feeling in the ether. He’d gotten somewhat used to how essence fields could blur into a greater whole when people were working together toward a common purpose, but up until now he’d never experienced the sensation this strongly. The feeling of their combined identity pulling on his essence field was enough to give him goosebumps.

The fighting line currently assaulting the kobalds was acting together as a single comprehensive unit. Every single Wacko was uniformly distributed as if they’d silently agreed on the optimal distance between each fighter. In some of the more congealed areas where the essence fields were indistinguishable from one another, Nero could see the Wackos instinctually working together like they were being puppeteered.

He saw a Wacko strike out with their weapon while the one right next to it stepped forward to defend them. The maneuver was so fast, so effortless, that it looked like they’d spent days practicing it. Yet, he knew for a fact it was just a result of their essence fields intermingling and influencing each other. The longer he watched, the more creeped out he was.

‘It’s damn effective though,’ he admitted to himself before turning his attention to the Wackos who were dragging away kobald corpses.

From what he could tell, around 20% of the Wackos present weren’t actually there to do any fighting. They were just mindlessly walking back and forth collecting corpses and stacking them in piles off to the sides. Seeing the expressions on their faces, Nero couldn’t believe how calm they were.

In the middle of a battle, they looked bored.

Taking another look at how the overall battle was going, he could see that the Wackos were treating this as practice. He was pretty sure he could even hear one team leader critiquing their team member’s sword techniques as if they were in a training ring.

Proving his assumption correct, he began to see the more competent fighters being replaced by fresher troops who didn’t look nearly as skilled. Nero felt like he was watching a kids' soccer match where the coaches were making sure everyone had a chance to participate.

This wasn’t a battle. It was a slaughtering house.

Over to his left, he could see Cathleen, Angelton, Blackwood, along with a few other of the more recognizable Wackos who were in charge standing there with their arms crossed. Occasionally they’d call out some orders, but for the most part, they were just watching. It was hard for him to believe that just an hour ago these were the same people who’d nearly been overrun. But, thinking about it logically, Nero could understand how it was possible.

His Wackos had learned how to handle the kobalds. To be fair, the little clone lizards weren’t all that dangerous as long as they stayed predictable. The real danger with them was their numbers and tactics. And when their numbers could be controlled, their tactics countered, then their threat level dropped practically to zero.

Even the kobald casters weren’t all that dangerous. Nero had noticed that to create spells powerful enough to be dangerous, they required multiple kobalds working together to construct them. Through his weirdly detailed senses, Nero could see that individually the kobalds essence fields were weak. Although it was only a guess, he believed it was because they were not fully individualized people, but clones. They really were like easily programmable tools of war that were being wielded by a select few ‘real’ kobalds.

Stretching his senses, Nero located the ‘real’ kobalds soon enough and nearly broke out in laughter at what they were doing. He could see them fighting amongst themselves in the middle of the kobald horde, smacking each other and arguing like a bunch of toddlers blaming each other for what was happening. All around them, the clones were hissing and fighting to their death, while the ‘real’ kobalds were panicking. They obviously knew that they were going to die, their brilliant strategy of using an illusion ambush the Wacko’s having spectacularly failed.

For a moment, Nero wondered if it would be possible or even worth it to capture them. Maybe interrogate them?

But a second look at their essence fields made him believe that it wouldn’t be that easy. Sure, they were scared, but they were also filled with nothing but hate and a desire for violence. Their essence signatures felt like rabid dogs in the ether, just waiting for an opportunity to lash out.

Shrugging off the passing thought, Nero decided to do what he’d come over here for in the first place and began studying the soul stuff being left behind by the dead kobalds. In a rare moment of self-awareness, he realized that it would be somewhat insulting to everyone who was still fighting if he pulled out his trusty stump and took a seat, so he instead imitated the people in charge and chose to stand there with his arms crossed… looking like a boss.

The battle continued, and more kobalds died, but other than time passing, nothing was really accomplished.

No matter how much effort he put into his studies of the soul stuff, Nero didn’t learn anything new. It was almost as if he couldn’t make any grand discoveries without the threat of imminent doom hanging over his head.

‘Son of a bitch,’ he thought to himself while dropping his jaw in shock at what had just occurred to him.

He suddenly had the crazy idea that another cliched concept he’d only seen in web novels and self-help books applied to this absurd reality he was living in. Considering how many other ridiculous cliches he’d already noticed, he couldn’t discount the possibility that what he was considering was actually true.

‘Are mid-fight revelations a thing here? Like considered normal… possibly even expected?’ he wondered.

Audibly groaning in annoyance, Nero turned on his heel and began walking away from the battle with a furious look on his face. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made, pissing him off to no end.

He knew that the more a person pushed their stats, the more their stress levels rose, allowing for a better improvement in their stats the next time they leveled. So, logically, when a person’s mind was being stressed during combat, they were smarter and mentally ‘better’ than they were when they weren’t being pushed past their limits.

“This damned world created a totally logical and internally consistent reason for mid-fight powerups like some kind of dumbass anime,” he muttered to himself angrily.

Nearly tripping over his feet at the thought, he remembered that his hair had already been turned silver like he was some kind of protagonist. Shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, he once again ignored the stupid things he couldn’t accept about the world, again promising himself that he’d deal with it later. Although he’d come pretty far in his efforts to adapt, he still found it difficult to accept how things worked around here.

The good news was that by now he’d had plenty of practice learning how to ignore what he didn’t want to think about. It was a skill he’d always been good at, but now he was approaching mastery.

‘At some point, I’m going to check my skill list to see how high my self-delusion skill is,’ he thought to himself before mentally moving on.

Looking down at the intricately carved sheets of stone, Nero reached out with all of his senses to begin examining them. He’d gotten somewhat used to ignoring the small, but constant drain on his center from half his brain still maintaining his mage armor, and had no trouble focusing entirely on what he was seeing.

Every fiber of his being for focused on the task at hand. This was something tangible, something real. He needed something to emotionally ground him, something to focus on. And these stone sheets fit the bill nicely. They were spells given physical form. They weren’t ideas or concepts that would cause him headaches if he tried to conceptualize them. In a world where everything was a metaphor or a cliche, and therefore subject to justifiable ridicule, this was as close to fundamentally ‘real’ as it got.

Squatting down, he ran his hand over the spell formations which the kobalds had carved into the stone. The first thing he noticed was how different they were from anything he’d come across before. They didn’t look anything at all like the spell forms he was familiar with. Honestly, they resembled the rune magic he’d seen the dwarfs use more than anything else. Yet, some differences made it clear they were based on completely different principles.

The runic magic the dwarfs used looked like swirling letters. He remembered being able to almost see the hidden spell forms they were creating in the ether as they moved. Runes looked like a programming language that caused magic rather than being magic.

But how the kobalds did magic was apparently completely different. What he was looking at was more like pictograms interspersed around Celtic knots. At first glance, it made absolutely no sense to him.

“Huh…” he muttered under his breath before plopping himself down on the cavern floor and leaning forward in interest.

“Kinda weird, right?” a voice remarked from over his shoulder.

Startled so badly that he tried and failed to jump to his feet, Nero shouted, “God damn it, dude! What the hell?”

Turning his entire upper body around so he could see who’d snuck up on him, Nero looked up to see a young man standing there looking sheepish.

“I’m… I mean, my apologies, my lord,” the young man said. “I was just commenting on how odd kobald magic is. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Narrowing his eyes, Nero replied, “Uh huh. So, who are you and what are you doing over here? Why aren’t you with the fighting?”

Standing up straight, the young man replied, “My lord, my name is William Lowe. I was released from my team… temporarily. I was no longer needed for the shield, the others could use the experience. I’ve been a shield mage for years, my lord. I was thinking about joining the fighting line… but then I saw you studying the kobald magics, so I figured I’d take the opportunity to introduce myself. Not that we haven’t met. We have. It’s just that I didn’t get a chance to talk with you during the life-oath ceremony, and I wanted to assure you that my former house will not have any influence on my service to you, my lord.”

Stifling a chuckle at the overwhelming sense of sincerity and naivety in the man’s essence field, Nero replied, “OK. First, stop saying ‘my lord’ every three sentences. Second, why would I think your former house would influence you? Did you use to be some heir or something to one of the other nobles? You didn’t like forsake your birthright to follow me or something, did you?”

Looking utterly poleaxed at the idea of being an heir, William replied hastily, “Absolutely not, my… I mean… sir. I wasn’t even an acknowledged member of the family. I’m only a tertiary son from a concubine. Back when I reached my awakening, my mother and I chose to forgo the ladder and focus on my magical education. I was going to go to the Otterbaum Academy over in Gate 11, but I ended up not getting accepted. That was years ago. I’ve been thinking about other academies, but in the meantime I’ve been taking jobs through the Merchant’s Hall. Besides, I’m sure the only reason I didn’t get accepted was because I accidentally botched the practical exam. You see, at the time…”

Nero relaxed into a more comfortable seated position, somewhat in shock at how quickly the young man had begun narrating his life story. Rather than interrupt him, he found himself enjoying the down-to-earth sight of someone acting so normal around him for once. Having recently had his mind blown by the ridiculous laws of reality… again, it was nice to have something familiar to hold on to.

*Chapter Title: Standing on sand.

*Spoiler: Most people get through their days by not asking too many questions.  I know I do.  I can't recall how many stretches of time I've spent avoiding the news because I simply didn't want to deal with the perfectly justifiable anger I felt whenever I read the headlines.  But that tendency not to dig to deep is universally applied to everything.  Relationships, jobs, faith... they all ruin your day when you start focusing on them.  I don't have any advice on the subject... I just want it noted for the record.