Champions are not civilized beings. They may look like us, or the long-dead Elves, or any of the other extinct sapient species, but they are not. Their minds have been poisoned by the Dungeon, and even those who can still speak a language are consumed by hatred. By rage and hunger.
This does not mean they are like the Hounds. Champions are not animals, and studies have confirmed they hold great similarity to us. It is likely they are the offspring of those who descended into the Dungeon over the many centuries, and they still remember cunning. They remember tactics, strategy, and even the use of tools. They are not civilized, but neither are they dull.
Tread with care, and kill them with extreme prejudice.
Excerpt from The Beasts of the Dungeon.
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
"You're losing weight," Elly noted quietly, shifting on her saddle. "When did you last eat?"
Marcus shrugged. "That's very kind of you to say."
"Don't be obstinate. Any weight you lose comes from muscle. Look, I won't force you to take care of yourself, I couldn't even if I wanted to, but you know this is irrational."
He glanced at her, ignoring the war party assembling around them. Almost fifty souls, half mages and half Life Enhanced soldiers. Marcus shrugged. "I ate a few hours ago."
Elly sighed, turning away, and Marcus forced his hand not to tighten. Xathar was eating something or other as he did, keeping mostly still as they waited. Which was appreciated, but the demon wasn't exactly helping by insisting that being poisoned was a great honor.
Xathar meant well, but Marcus wasn't a demon. Didn't plan to spend his whole life at war, let alone keep a checklist on interesting ways he was almost killed.
"I'm working on it," he finally offered. "Margaret said my fourth-tier cleansing spell was essentially mastered this morning, though she seemed annoyed it took me a whole week, and it helps. But food has never been my vice, and phobias are irrational by nature."
Vess arrived before Elly could answer, though she offered a small smile before turning to the succubus. Vess inclined her head. "Final confirmation has been seen to. The old church the Silent Gods Movement is using as their base of operations is clear of civilians."
"How kind of them," Marcus replied, grinning with too many teeth. Vess didn't seem particularly bothered by the expression. "And the other chapters?"
The demon shrugged. "No sign of them. From the reports the Empire has seen fit to share this is a relatively small group, though possessing several skilled members. Mostly shadow operatives, as the Empire calls them. Not all members are in the church, but without their central base of operation the rest will be easy enough to hunt down. It is a group of spies and assassins, not soldiers."
Marcus hummed as Elly leaned down, a woman who he belatedly recognized as Mitzi whispering something in her ear. He'd been seeing her around more and more, though Elly had rolled her eyes when he'd reminded her that she was a spy sent by Hargraf.
He turned back to Vess with a shrug. "Their scouts?"
"Taken care of." The succubus shrugged. "Your own near death aside, this is rather good practice for my network. Without us being at war with the Empire I was afraid I'd have to train them in peace, which doesn't suit the sort of people I'm recruiting."
Marcus nodded, noting the trace of tension in her shrug. Him getting poisoned had technically been her failure, having essentially rebuilt the castle's security from the ground up as she had, and though he wasn't one to rub in blame he hadn't been overly happy with her either.
Which, she being the social savant that she was, had picked up on. And Vess was unhappy at someone being unhappy with her, which combined with her pride—and it having been bruised—had made for a very unhappy castle staff.
But there would be no more poisonings, not with the triple-overlaid security procedures she'd put in place. In Vess' words; 'Six layers of security interlaced to create a key person of security by accident, who had been promptly blackmailed with the disappearance of her son.'.
Marcus suppressed a flinch of phantom pain as his mind ventured into unpleasant territory, linking the fourth tier cleansing matrix together and scouring his body clean.
It didn't find much. Nothing unnatural, at least, though it still hurt. Not as badly, but pain was pain. Better than the fear, though. Pain was concrete, and went away as he let the spell fade. Fear was a different beast.
He shook his head, nodding to Vess and turning back to Elly. She shrugged, called for them to get moving, and soon enough they were underway. Vess was left behind, not seeing any need to accompany them.
Preparing to hunt the stragglers, as she'd said.
Marcus didn't mind. He was going to make an example out of this chapter, needing very little urging from Elly to do so, and the war party was mostly there to ensure no one got lucky. And to show off that Marcus was a King besides being an Archmage, which meant any attack on him was met with reprisal from a great many people.
The Silent Gods Movement. He didn't think he was ascending to godhood, nor did he think he was a former god trying to regain his divine power, but then he wasn't a cultist either. Whatever the reason, the movement had crossed a line. Made a personal enemy out of yet another Archmage.
Vistus had said the Empire cracked down on them every few decades, and had been doing so for centuries now. The fact the group still existed probably spoke more to the state of the continent than anything else. Well, that and the fact its chapters were independent and nearly wholly self-sufficient.
In a way, that made this simple. There was no need to take prisoners, no need to hunt for any information. There wouldn't be anything, and if the Empire hadn't found a way around that, he wasn't going to waste time trying.
Time passed. An hour, then two. The church wasn't far from Redwater, not when looked at on a map, but it wasn't close either. Out of the way, which was good, but that wasn't because the cult wanted to make this easy on them.
Mirrania hadn't housed its own chapter. Not before he'd awoken as an Archmage. Which meant these weren't locals, and that meant blending in was out of the question. Given time they would undoubtedly have recruited locals to their cause, but no. They'd acted, now they were dead.
Elly interrupted his musings on the folly of taking on an entire Kingdom, clearing her throat. "I wish to once again assure you that I'm aware that Mitzi is a spy sent by Duke Hargraf."
"Of course," he allowed, smiling kindly. "It was quite obvious. Barely a ploy at all, really."
She narrowed her eyes. "I knew before you told me."
"Of course, honey."
"Don't call me honey," Elly hissed, highly outraged. It didn't stop her eyes from dancing with mirth. "I am, at least, a good steak. Maybe that soft cheese thing you forced me to try a few weeks ago. But not honey."
Marcus rolled his eyes. "And now she hates honey. You never really know someone, do you? What next, a secret aversion for soft pillows? Maybe you loathe the idea of kittens."
"I prefer dogs." She was clearly suppressing a grin, schooling her face in a more neutral expression. "Regardless, I knew Mitzi was a spy. Now, Hargraf probably assumed he was very clever, men like him usually do, and then he probably also assumed no one else has ever tried something like this before."
"They have?"
"Well, not here," she allowed. "Back in Caldir. It was before the undead came, at a time where my popularity was rising. More and more officers looked to me for opinions, the number that was loyal to me and me alone was growing, that sort of thing. Plenty of nobles sent their sons and daughters to serve under me, and you know what I found?"
"Boredom and sycophancy?"
"Some, but not as much as you'd think. You see, people our age look to make their own lives. Their own opinions. Even if they love their parents, and they would be poor spies if they didn't, that doesn't stop the fact they're all alone. Surrounded by people who are actually loyal, and removed from frequent reminders of their task."
Marcus hummed. "So you made them loyal to you instead. I doubt it was that simple."
"Not simple, no, but not hard either." Elly glanced at Mitzi, who was near the front of the party. Nearly half the Life Enhancement soldiers with them were from her group, too. "For someone like her? I can teach her things about her new obsession no one else can. If I'm kind about it, help her grow and keep her away from Hargraf—which isn't hard to do with how busy that man is—, it won't be too long before she hesitates in her mission. Vess putting the fear of herself into the castle over the last week helped."
"Spies get hanged. Simple, but startlingly effective."
Elly shrugged. "Pretty much. Either way, I know what I'm doing with Mitzi."
"Of course, honey."
Marcus grinned when she clearly resisted the urge to throw something at him, looking around. His war party was an interesting experiment in unit composition, really, and as he fell silent Elly was clearly noting the same.
Half Life Enhanced soldiers, able to hit hard and move fast. Shock troopers in their most advanced form. Mages to back them up, raining fire from the sky or creating mobile pockets of protection. A quick, maneuverable unit hitting much, much harder than its size should allow.
And just like Elly, he was warping loyalties. Not as actively, he wouldn't know how to aside from the theory, but most of the war mages here were nobility. Sons and daughters of those who had invested in his Academy, their previous education and work ethic helping them to rise high.
The Lords and Barons no doubt hoped for spies in the short term and capable mages in the long term. Except, like Elly had said, it was easy to forget your mission when you were surrounded by that which fascinated you.
Oh, it wasn't everyone. Not even half. But after he'd awakened as an Archmage, those looks of mild interest turned sharper. More personal. Those noble spies would never inherit their parent's lands, first born children didn't get sent to spy, which meant they had to carve out their own future.
And suddenly, there was an Archmage close by. Someone who many had fought aside in the war. One who even taught some of their lessons, on occasion.
Marcus wasn't one to demand loyalty, but when asking for volunteers amongst the most talented war mages for this excursion, there hadn't been one who hadn't raised their hand.
He shook his head, focusing on the present. The church was close, and he let his relatively good mood drain away. He hadn't forgotten the poisoning, hadn't forgotten how it had felt, and for reasons he wasn't sure about he hated them more than he'd ever hated Vistus.
No, he did know. The Archmage had tried to kill him with things he could fight against. Opponents he could beat, and he'd gotten a very nice reward out of it in the end. The poison had just been death and helplessness for no other reason than fear and hatred.
That was an assumption, admittedly, but either way this particular chapter of the cult was going to stop existing very soon.
Their arrival wasn't entirely unexpected, unfortunately. His mages sent up summoned scouts and used basic divination to give them an overview, and it seemed the cult was packing up. Saddling horses, filling travel bags, apparently a pair of them were dumping oil into their soon-to-be abandoned hideout.
But while they might be expected, they were clearly early. Vess' work had been thorough, and cleaning out their lookouts had blinded them. Very good. Marcus flicked his hand, his mages double checking that there were no civilians in the area.
It took a few minutes. Minutes that the chapter apparently used to panic, though fighters did move in some semblance of a formation. His perspective was briefly forced to accommodate his curiosity, though stretching it this far gave him a headache, and he caught a brief glimpse of an older man.
If someone could look like a poisoner, that was it. Almost yellow-tinted eyes, chemical burns on his hands and smelling like herbs. It was exaggerated enough he almost suspected it to be a trap, but then there was one solution to almost any ambush.
Overwhelming power.
Marcus snapped his fingers—just to be dramatic—and two dozen warmages rained fire down on the church. Huge balls of it, detonating where they landed into explosions of flame. It caught the oil, spreading the flame, but he doubted that would kill anyone important. The cults' fighters rushed forwards, though it would take half a minute for them to get here. They only barely had line of sight.
Sloppy. Less sloppy was their escape, some thirty souls mounting horses and fleeing in all directions. His warmages summoned a flock of air elementals, relatively young but more than enough to cut them down.
Marcus hummed when one of the charging fighters threw a satchel at them, weaving his fifth-tier spatial spell together. His entire war party moved four hundred feet to the right—the horses were startled, but no one was thrown from the saddle—, and a second pulse of the spell deposited his Life Enhanced warriors very close to enemy lines.
Including Elly.
She staggered briefly, rapid teleportation having that effect on pretty much anyone but him, but this was a trained and practised maneuver. Elly started cutting after a second of adjustment, singing some old tune that turned almost haunting by the keening of her sword, and Marcus glanced at where the satchel had landed.
An explosion detonated a moment later, ripping through their previous spot and demolishing it whole. Right, not just a poisoner. No matter. The cults fighters were being cut down, the fleeing souls asphyxiated by elementals, and that left only the church.
Marcus weaved together his spatial arc, and three slices turned the abandoned building into a ruin. A pulse of power blew the collapsing walls outwards, smothering the fire in the process, and Marcus tilted his head as a group of five walked out into the grassland.
Elly and her contingent were already done wiping out the chapter's fighters, so Marcus moved them back. Had them take their usual positions, protecting the mages and being protected by them in turn.
"Eleil," Marcus called, his war mage stiffening to attention. A rather competent man, and one who had mastered earth spells more than almost any other in the Academy. "Take four and launch some stones."
The man nodded sharply, barking out four more names and drawing on his power. Two seconds later a rock weighing at least six hundred pounds was in the air, screaming towards the enemy. The group of five dove out of the way, the second and then third stone already airborne, and the scarred old man pulling on his own magic.
Not much of it. Someone with very low magical potential but plenty of intelligence, then. Made sense why he preferred poison and alchemy. But the spell he wove wasn't to attack, his voice drifting over the plains as its volume was augmented.
"This need not be the end, Archmage," the voice said. "I am sure you have questions. Justifications. I would-"
Marcus rolled his eyes, turning to Elly. "Please bring me his head."
She grinned, and a second later the group of five was joined by a group of twenty. A group that blinked into existence not even ten feet away, Elly's blade slicing through the old man's neck before he could do more than startle.
Elly returned on her own, holding up the severed head by the hair as her people butchered the other four, and Marcus exhaled slowly. "I suppose I did ask you to bring it to me, but I mostly meant that as 'please kill him'."
She shrugged, throwing her offering aside. Marcus cleared his throat.
"Hunt down the stragglers then go through what's left of the church. Collect everything in the bags I made so that Vess can look it over. There should be enough space to take the whole damn building, if needed, so be thorough. A good showing, everyone."
His war party got to work as Xathar started badgering people for horse meat, reasoning the fleeing souls wouldn't need theirs anymore, and Elly mounted her own steed again as they did. Looked at him, a satisfied smile on her face. "The maneuvers worked."
"That they did," he agreed. "This is mostly flat land with little cover, which helped, but yes. It worked. The horses didn't seem overly disturbed at their riders vanishing, either, which is good. The disorientation?"
"Getting less severe. More drills will solve the issue, though enhanced reflexes let us adapt quickly."
Marcus hummed. "Something for later. I'm going to work on my defensive suite while we wait, then we have to get home to greet the Vizier."
"Yeah," Elly sighed. "That'll be fun."
"I'm sure Vistus' complaints were exaggerated."
"I hope so, if only for the sake of the Vizier."
"Please don't kill the man. At least not in his first week."
"That will depend on how annoying he is, won't it? I dislike spies, so he's not off to a good start."
Marcus rolled his eyes. "I commend you on your restraint. Now shush, I need to focus."
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
Otman stretched slowly as one of his attendants slipped him a note, trying to work out a painful kink in his lower back. He had a healer in his party, always preferred to travel with one, but he was old. Old and feeling every year of his hard-lived life.
But there was one last task. One last mission, given to him by the Empress herself. Which, being a Vizier, wasn't unusual, but it had been given in person. He'd been summoned to the Imperial Palace, spoken not with a copy, not with a voice in the dark, but with the actual woman.
She had poured him tea. Him, a long-lived but mostly unremarkable Vizier. One of thousands, and he hadn't been surprised to learn his task was a dangerous one.
He hadn't been insulted, either. Otman had served the Empire and its Empress for her entire life, then her mother before her. He was more than content to die for it, which might very well be the case.
Every Archmage was assigned a Vizier, and that included the King of Mirrania, Steward of the Ninth Imperial Province and newly awakened Archmage.
Archmages didn't like Viziers. Otman was fine with being disliked. More problematic was the fact the Empire needed Archmages far, far more than Viziers, which meant his death would earn Marcus Sepsimus Lannoy little more than a slap on the wrist.
Less, most likely, considering how little the Empress could actually do to him. Vistus was a terrifying force of nature, creating and destroying matter at will, but the man was firmly attached to the Empire. Was dependent on some of its resources, which the Empress could limit or take away.
But it had been a long time indeed since an Archmage had been royalty, though Horzo counted if one was willing to squint. But the Merchant Princes lived and died on trade, whereas Mirrania did not.
Now add the King's Queen, who Vistus had underlined in his report as 'do not antagonize', a rapidly growing Academy, a professionally trained army, and a population that was supporting its King far more than it would ever support the Empire, and his death would earn the boy little more than a sternly worded letter.
The trick was to make sure the King never, ever realized that.
Otman finally glanced at the note he'd been handed, eyebrow rising as he reclined in his chair. The King had, apparently, assembled a war party. Was actively leading it, wiping out the chapter that had very nearly committed regicide. That had been unpleasant to learn about, mostly because of how long it had taken before he'd been informed.
Vistus had been charged with awakening and then recruiting the King, but did the man have to give up all their spies? It was limiting him rather badly, and Otman was going to thrive or die on intelligence.
Either way, the King was on his way back. Which meant he would be summoned to the throne room soon enough, surrounded by strangers who would be none too pleased at the Empire's most obvious spy.
Someone knocked on the door, and Otman looked up as his attendant opened the door. A pair of incubi were outside, which was a rather strange sight, but the neatly dressed men held another between themselves.
Tock. Well, that was quick. The body was deposited inside and promptly abandoned, though they'd at least been kind enough to strangle the man. Blood was annoying to clean, and making an enemy out of the servants was the quickest way to lose potential spies.
Still, only four hours? Tock hadn't even been doing anything. Just laying the groundwork to potentially infiltrate the place, though by the small burnmark on his arm, his host seemed to have realized he was a shapeshifter.
The entire castle staff was tested with silver after their intake? Again? And he'd been feeling so clever feeding the man a potion to negate his allergy. Paranoid bunch, these Mirranians. He approved.
Oh well. Others might complain about wasting a potion so expensive it was worth a small castle, but he was a Vizier. The Empire's coffers were open to him, and the Empress cared very little about cost. Just results, and it was early days yet.
The body was removed and Otman returned to stretching, humming an old tune under his breath as the time ticked by.
This assignment would last the rest of his life, however long that would be, so he was in no hurry at all.