Several Days Later…

  Ethan marched up the northern alpine meadow, marveling at how alien even the familiar could be. A dense fog lay over the world, untroubled, barely noticing the sliver of morning sun trying valiantly, but impotently, to burn its way through. Noticeable only because it turned the near-smothering blanket of mist a slightly brighter color of grey.

  Then he took another step and the ground boomed beneath him as his ego soared with it. Alas, it was not only him who marched, nor just him who could shake the very ground with it.

  Boom, boom, boom. The regular beat of near 200 feet moving in unison. A powerful weapon that, if a double-edged one. Habit, and good habits at that, had them all moving in step. But, the noise of two centuries stepping in time, the vibrations of it could be felt for miles.

  Sometimes that was useful, an assault on the enemy's morale before you ever appeared. But it was also a warning. And Ethan preferred not to warn his food that he was coming. He snorted softly, taking a deep breath of the fresh morning air. His mind filled in what his body no longer felt. It was a brisk morning as his breath misting out before him showed.

  And would continue to do so for an hour or so, then it would become swelteringly hot. And despite all that, he didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable. The Core’s Buffs were something else.

  He glanced backwards, past the charger on its lead, taking in the dozen or so men he could see clearly. Guile, a massive sheathed sword propped across the pauldrons of his black and silver knightly plate. Beside him and gesturing wildly as he described a sword pass was Adelbert, resplendent in his own beautifully lacquered and fitted plate.

  He glanced between the two for a moment, trying to put his finger on what bothered him. Then he had to hold in a snort as it hit him. The boy’s, no, the young man's armor lacked a little something when compared with Guile’s.

  As befitted the former heir to a barony, it was no cheap set. Emerald lacquered iron alloyed with mithril, if Ethan was any judge. A low Tier 2 set. Light, strong and even a bit flexible as pure iron was not. A light mix of engraving and fluting gave the illusion of a rampant stag on his chest and back, without, quite, giving a place for a blade to catch or deflect upward.

  It was beautiful and functional. A status statement. An acknowledgement of his position and wealth, as one of the warrior aristocracy that ruled and protected their own little pieces of the Empire.

  But Guile’s…

  Guile’s was an artifact of war. Oh, in its own way, it yelled his status, proclaimed it in a way that allowed no doubt. But that was incidental. An effect, not the purpose. The purpose was death. And he wore it like an old, familiar mantle.

  Ethan glanced down with a smile. For once, he didn’t fall short in that regard. The fruits of a year and change of practice had finally ripened, and the Tier 2 umbral carapace armor set he wore, browned ivory swirled with eddies of white, was quite the statement as well.

  A better, higher tier material than either of the other men, truth be told. If more simply and less skillfully assembled.

  Lorica Segmentata. The traditional armor of the Legions. His chest ringed in layers with two long, thin rectangular plates bent into C shapes, laced together with silvered mithril latches where they met with his torso in the middle. Each layer overlapped the layer beneath it slightly till the articulated cylinder reached his armpits, where the pauldrons, more wrapped plates, but in the vertical direction, connected back to front over his shoulders.

  It fit him perfectly, the fruits of careful adjustment, but relatively easy adjustment compared to the other two men’s breast plate, mail and the many fitted plates around it. But for all it was a rougher style, the quality of materials, and the Skills that went into it were no joke. Each thin chitinous plate had been thinned, compacted and enhanced by the bone singers before being laced onto a tabard of beautifully tanned greater demon hide. The black undertones adding something imposing to the chitinous armor. Not to mention offering a stronger defense than chainmail and with more flexibility.

  Nice and warm too. A benefit in these climes, if a dangerous one. Here was hoping the rift wouldn’t be another jungle.

  Speaking of which, his head snapped to the side, barely managing not to level his spear, for once, as Leo appeared beside him.

  “As expected?”

  Leo nodded easily, “Small Malefic Rift, Mid Tier 1.”

  “Malefic?” Ethan asked; he wasn’t unfamiliar with the term, but had never seen it on a rift. Not a particularly auspicious term either.

  The knighted scout shrugged.

  Well. They’d find out soon enough. Fun. He hid a sigh, letting his eyes rise slightly as a large shadow appeared in the fog, slowly fading into a towering 3-story black watchtower. Square, and fifteen feet on a side, though that left considerably less space in side then one would think, with two feet thick solid walls and considerable cross bracing.

  Special bricks in those walls, too. Over 400 pounds each, and a bastard to transport. But once set and mortared properly with the right Skills, the black basalt was the next thing to impervious. It would shrug off ballista bolts and even medium onager stones. The building-sized siege engines were likely a different story, but even there, he’d not expect the tower to break in a single blow. Not that he had any to test that theory with.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Those were reserved for senior nobles and were often a good portion of their authority. Nothing like the threat of a demolished castle to keep underlings in line.

  He shook his head as they marched past the structure, giving a wave to the decade currently manning it, and peaking out at them from a half-shuttered window on the third floor. And likely from some of the similarly shuttered arrow slits that graced each floor.

  Even the ground floor, which was slightly uncommon. But appropriate here. Because it wasn’t built to survive a conventional siege. But the occasional monstrous beast. When you’d seen a two story tall moose-like creature fling a 300-pound boulder at an even larger metal furred bear, you knew better than to build light.

  They’d politely stayed out of that fight, and thankfully, neither peak lord had bothered to descend into the valleys. And Ethan’s maps had large red circles now where they knew not to go.

  He shook his head, slowing down a bit as they moved out of the meadow proper and around a large boulder strewn near cliff, before Leo led them to a game trail that cut through that embankment.

  And not one he’d have seen without being led to it. Even without the fog.

  The pace slowed considerably as he was forced to keep his eyes on the trail, a gentle but firm hand on the reins as he led the charger, and the now single file of men behind it, down the narrowing trail. Trusting Leo to warn him of oncoming danger.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t a long trip. The rift had sprung up nearly on top of their valley, within a mile as a crow flew, though a bit double that as they’d have to travel. And it also explained why they were here.

  He couldn’t leave a rift this close open. Especially when he didn’t recognize its type.

  Then they turned a corner, around another massive boulder and descended into a small, but quite verdant, and mostly visible valley. The fog lingered overhead, between the ridges that bounded the area while small scrub pines fought to show themselves above a near solid floor of bushes.

  Damn dense bushes at that. He stepped forward easily, trampling them down, breaking branches where he had to and blessing the armor that let him shrug off thorns and wiry branches without injury. Though not without mark. Sap and what could almost be grass stains were already beginning to dot his previously pristine armor.

  His poor squire… He gave Adelbert a side eyed glance, the boy was already looking gloomy. Heh.

  He patted Celer absently as he broke trail for her. She was also armored, but her scaled skirt stopped at knee height to save weight. Not like the Cataphracti who had nearly floor length coats on their beasts.

  Of course, that only worked because they had the Skills to offset the weight and reduction in mobility.

  Skills he did not have. Still, she was war trained and in the upper reaches of Tier 1, even without the armor she was no prey animal. No lady’s palfrey here. And the quarter century of lancers behind him rode similarly impressive beasts.

  A field of bushes would not stop them.

  Bushes... he took another, closer look then smiled, reaching down to pluck a vibrant orange berry and tossing it into his mouth. Somewhere between tart, sweet and tasting like a flower smelled, it was a treat made even better by the pleasant acidity it left behind. Cloudberries, a decent find. The villagers below would have harvested this patch if they’d known. Even if it took a decade of guards to do it.

  A shame. They were about to trample the lot, and no avoiding it. If they didn’t, whatever came out of that rift would likely do the same, and it was a big rift at that.

  A sparkling yellow, black and red transparent bowl, or dome-shaped field rather, as he knew from experience that it wasn’t hollow, poked out above the overgrown bushes and smaller trees.

  He slowed a bit, waiting as the Armsmen caught up and spread out around him. Following the gestured directions of their Decurions with little fuss as the column unfolded into a square smoothly, and with the grace and precision of skilled, well-drilled men.

  It made him damn proud. Young as most of them were in their class, he couldn’t really call them green anymore. The spring, and the first half of the summer for that matter, had forged them with constant conflict.

  More rifts closed than a lowlander would see in 5 years, and in only half a usable year… It was a scary thought, but one Ermina had made sure he was aware of. And the results were astonishing. Turning previous Labori into hardened soldiers, if not the high-end Veterans of the original band.

  Of which there were quite a few as well. Philangites, their 14 foot long spears, the sarrissa, appearing as nearly a forest in their own right marched in disciplined blocks. Moving to anchor the middle of each line while blocks of Hastati filled in their flanks and the corners of the square, while the Lancers, and Ethan, mounted up and stood, waiting in the center surrounded by smaller, looser less regimented blocks of Alpine Hunters.

  And in small knots interspaced with them, a small contingent of workers. Two dozen Labori, a handful of newly ascended Alpine Foragers, an Army Cook, a few Medics and two Apprentice Tanners. A decent crew for harvesting, a burden shared by the Alpine hunters thankfully, or he’d need a lot more workers!

  He waited for several minutes as men made last minute preparations. Taking the time to drink from water skins, take a bite of travel rations, restring bows, prepare arrows and tighten down armor straps. All the usual tasks of fighting men preparing.

  Preparing for what, they weren’t sure yet.

  Mostly.

  They did know that it would be unpleasant.

  That was nearly natural law.

  Ethan snorted, giving everyone a last glance and stopping himself from barking at the Hunters. They weren’t really disorganized. But their lines weren’t what he’d call dressed either. Hunters, he reminded himself, not Bowman. Still... “Could really use Sir Andrew.” He mused.

  Guile grunted from beside his horse. “He’s off with the Aetherhorns.” The ‘again’ when unsaid, but not unheard.

  “Don’t need to tell me that.” Ethan shot back. He was always off with the Aetherhorns. Not that it hadn’t paid dividends. He’d cleared a great deal of ground that way. Helping in many ways, but being helped in many more. They were no mere mountain goats, the Aetherhorns. And their Alpha, or herd leader or whatever he was called, was a Peak Lord in his own right.

  Not a beast Ethan would care to tangle with. Even with a century of men behind him. He might win, but he’d lose far more men than it would be worth.

  Wouldn’t mind taking him into a rift though!

  Ha! Might as well wish for more than a pair of Pahadi as guides while he was at it. He glanced at the two men and sighed. He was lucky to have even to. They were needed at Promise. And he could have used a number more! Despite how Ermina and James complained about the budget.

  “Sound… OFF!” Ethan called at last. “READY!” echoed back in a stuttered chorus as Decurions called out in order, but starting halfway through their predecessor’s response.

  Good!

  Yes!

  And the coin flipped.

  ___