"Shit," Marcus muttered, Xathar rapidly gaining speed the moment he'd mounted. "Shit shit shit."
The army was nearly as panicked as he was, thousands of soldiers rushing around in barely controlled chaos. Captains bellowed as soldiers moved, the clank of metal becoming a rising tide of noise.
"Another battle, bush mage?" Xathar asked, tone overjoyed. "Excellent, excellent. They shall taste the fury of my hooves."
Marcus cursed as they soared over a collapsed wagon, abandoned by their crew in the heat of the moment. "There wasn't supposed to be a battle! Not yet. The Legions stole a night's march on us, and managed to smuggle a full legion around us to hold the bridge. Elly wanted to keep that open to retreat, but now there's no choice but to fight."
"Rejoice, bush mage!" Xathar spoke, utterly ignoring the reply. "Soon we shall be soaked in blood, reborn in the fires of glorious battle!"
Marcus grunted, his answer more bark than speech. "Just get me to Elly."
Xathar complied with another shout of joy, and come to think of it the demon hadn't demanded a horse to eat since the war started. Probably just a hobby, so not something for when serious matters were happening.
Marcus shook his head. That… That was one of the weirder thoughts he'd had.
But emergencies didn't care for his incredulity, and neither did it care for anyone else's. Mages were preparing rudimentary defenses, finishing in hours what had been planned for the next few days, and companies moved beyond completed walls to embed stakes.
Over and over and over the pattern repeated, until the valley was filled with spikes so numerous they looked like a miniature forest. It was a good location to fight—Marcus himself was growing increasingly familiar with what exactly that entailed—but they were nearly out of time.
Summons would be held back until the last moment, Gretched to standby with the dismissal ritual. It was quite the equalizer, though the Empire would undoubtedly have come up with a way to mitigate its effect.
They finally arrived at the command tent, his waiting guards moving the moment they spotted him. He'd been without one for almost half the day, which had been risky but necessary.
Couldn't have a party of Royal Guards and mages ruin his stealth, especially not when his newest spatial matrix should have told him exactly where the enemy was. Instead all it told him was something everyone else had already known, necessitating him to leave early.
Elly had been vehemently against him going without a proper detachment of guards, but Marcus had insisted. Aside from stealth, he needed time to breathe. To center his emotions and be alone with his thoughts.
He wasn't worth much if he couldn't de-stress, and he couldn't de-stress with dozens of eyes watching his every movement.
Still stupid, perhaps, but then he hadn't expected the Empire to be so close.
You can only avoid making mistakes for so long. When you do, act first, reflect later.
One of his father's old sayings. Never quite said to him, but Marcus remembered it all the same.
"Finally," Elly muttered, moving closer to examine him. His cloak had snagged behind a branch, but really, that was just haste making him sloppy. The rest of his guards finished forming up around him, and Marcus could almost feel the stress press around him again. Elly sighed. "Come on, we need to finalize the strategy."
"What strategy?"
"Exactly. We only have two options, and we need to decide on which one we take."
Marcus shrugged, following her into the tent. As hectic as things were, apparently they had enough time to both assemble the army's officers and have a meeting on which course of action to take. It was rather obvious to him, seeing as their only viable path of retreat had been cut off, and fighting to overcome the Legion guarding the bridge would only allow the others to hit them from the back.
Maybe he could freeze over said river, but that was a gamble. A large one. They'd have to move as if he was capable of it, as if it was a certainty, and large-scale building projects hadn't been trivialized by magic for a very good reason.
He followed Elly into the tent, eyes roving over the assembled group. Helios, Hargraf and Soema were there, as expected, along with general Pator and his second-in-command Zotor. He glimpsed Barry standing in the back next to Gretched, and he had a moment of panic as he realised one decisive strike could probably end the entire war.
But no such strike came, and even most Archmages couldn't fly, let alone teleport.
"We must make a choice," Elly began, voice cutting through the quiet like a knife. "And the way I see it, there is only one option. We fight, or the Kingdom is lost."
Hargraf cleared his throat. "There is the option of negotiation. Of peace."
"We are outmaneuvered and in a weaker bargaining position because of it," Marcus replied, hardening his tone. "Negotiation is only an option once we are crushed or have achieved a decisive blow against the Empire. So we split our army to attempt to take the bridge, or we concentrate our forces here to make use of the fact the Empire is one Legion short."
Elly shot him an appraising look, which he found somewhat insulting. War might not come as naturally to him as it did to her, but he was capable of learning, please and thank you. It was pretty much all he did for most of his life.
Helios spoke, any emotion he might be feeling hidden behind a polite mask. "Duke Hargraf is not wrong to voice his concerns. While we might be outmaneuvered, we are still strong. Duchess Soema's reinforcements will arrive soon, which gives us the leverage you seek. If we fight, we might win. Or we might lose, and if we do we lose everything."
"Exept for one detail that still makes no sense," Marcus replied. "The Archmage shouldn't be here. What has Vistus done, really? Turn wood to stronger wood? Fight me and Elly, then leave? What could he have done?"
Gretched's voice drifted through the tent, tone strangely hollow. "He could have set the air on fire. Turned flesh to stone, stone to sulfur, sulfur to an explosion. The Empire has the knowledge for it, as do my ancestors. The Archmage could have done much, much more than what he has."
"Exactly." Marcus looked around the table. "Vistus wants something he cannot get by killing us, yet he still attacks. He wants a war but not victory, or at least not victory he can achieve through overwhelming power. Fighting him now is the only option that does not allow him free reign to decide our future."
Elly tapped the table. "In more practical terms, suing for peace will let them solidify their position. Right now they are tired, having marched through the night and forced to forgo extensive preparations. They will have trained for that, no doubt, but a tired soldier is a tired soldier. If we negotiate, if we run, they will rest. We have superior numbers and our greatest weakness can be negated by removing the Empire's ability to prepare the terrain."
Helios didn't reply, Hargraf's eyes flickered between them both before seeming to quietly sigh, and general Pator was a soldier. Barry wouldn't speak against Marcus, that much was starting to become clear, and between him and Elly they controlled the vast majority of the army.
Sometimes, when his perspective shifted and he looked at things like he never had before, he wondered at how much power he'd accumulated. He'd always had it, but now it was spreading outwards. Using a core of personal might to build something greater around it.
There was no more debate after that. His father had held absolute power, and he'd been raised with the concept that the King held absolute power, but never had he really understood. Not until the war, where his authority became absolute.
Elly pointed at the map, finger gracing the location of the four nearby Legions. "Duke Helios, you will take all the levy forces and move west. Attack them from the side and force them to recall their last Legion stationed at the bridge. Our scouts are ensuring it cannot attack us without ample warning, but it will take time for them to get here."
Attack when the enemy expects you to defend, defend when they expect you to attack. Marcus hummed. He really was starting to get the basics down. Battles were decided long before the first axe bit into the first shield, and it all came down to preparation. Preparation and one's ability to make the enemy waste theirs.
The plan was simple, Elly gave her general his orders, and within minutes Marcus was approaching Xathar again. The demon was looking over the assembled soldiers with an air of nostalgia, head jerking in greeting as Marcus approached.
"We're attacking," Marcus said, patting Xathar's side. "I'll be with the right flank, hunting for mages with my guards."
Xathar threw his head up, hooves stamping down. "Good. Very good. You would have made a fine demon, bush mage."
"I'm going to take that as the compliment I'm pretty sure you intended it to be. Are you alright?"
"Change is in the air," the demon responded, inhaling deeply. "I can feel it. You began as an entertaining but mostly unremarkable summoner, bush mage. I am glad to say this is no longer the case."
"You're freaking me out a little, Xathar."
The demon exhaled, tippy tapping forwards as his voice rose in intensity. "I am the scourge of battle. The approaching stampede of war. I am conflict in all matters most brutal, and I am as immortal as the desire for violence. Come, bush mage, towards glorious battle!"
Well, that was better. Still felt off, though. Like the demon knew something Marcus really ought to know, but wasn't willing to speak of. Kind of reminded him about how Vess was skirting around certain subjects, and avoiding him more and more when she noticed that he'd noticed.
He shook his head. No time for paranoia, and trust was easier when it was written in blood and ink. Xathar wasn't exactly subtle, and while Vess was, he trusted her. And he supposed if that shattered at the first sign of strain, there was never really anything there to begin with.
His guards finished assembling themselves, and he glanced at them. Forty Royal Guards, the best of what remained of the order. Hardened by war, outfitted with minor artifacts, dedicated to the task. Nine mages were with them, all with previous martial experience.
Five Life Enhancement warriors finished the group, courtesy of Elly. They were in short supply, shorter even than the mages, but Hargraf's project had bolstered their numbers. A small flock of carefully prepared summons kept watch in the sky, meant more to alert than kill, and Marcus looked away.
Fifty four souls whose sole purpose it was to protect his own.
And forty five souls went with thousands more, climbing over their hastily prepared defenses to attack the Legions. The smart move, the logical move, would be to link up with the Isolationist reinforcements. That was their best objective course of winning.
But he was seeing it now. How long had it been since the Empire fought against something that wasn't the Dungeon? The endless, horrifically powerful, predictable Dungeon?
That was what he thought about as Xathar trotted along the valley, two thousand soldiers alongside him with two thousands more behind them. The Archmage was powerful, but power did not equal brilliance. It could be a consequence of it, but never the source. So the Empire had expected them to act logically, to play the long game, because that is what they had been doing for so many centuries now.
Or maybe not, and within four hours all of them would be dead. Either way, no more war, and no more suffocatingly close bodyguards.
Hunting like this was new, though. Moving with thousands of others, aiming to attack an enemy they hoped was unprepared but likely wouldn't be. Smashing themselves into tired soldiers with the best training the Empire had to offer, their own dedication suffering a panicked moment of doubt.
Officers would bark, discipline would be reasserted, and it would repeat all over again ten minutes later. Marcus didn't pay much attention to it. This, this felt right. More so than nearly anything else he'd done in life. Someone had come to his home, to his people, and they wanted blood.
Marcus sped up, Xathar more than happy to obey, and his guards went with him. They were close now, close to the invaders that had dared to set foot in his lands, and as they crossed another slope he finally saw them.
Thousands of men and women, dressed in red and white armor, with dozens of banners flapping in the wind. Their battle lines had been set, shields locked and whole companies of crossbowmen and archers standing at the ready. But the terrain was undisturbed, a fact he knew but was verified a moment later by one of his mages.
No matter what trap one built, the very earth shaking in a miniature earthquake revealed them. Doubt tried to reassert itself, whispering that the Empire would know of this technique and build things to counter them, but Marcus silenced it.
No course of action was without risk.
Xathar slowed as Marcus lightly kicked his side, outside the range of their projectiles but close enough to be visible. Only one Legion to be seen, both his own and the Empire's army forced to split into smaller forces thanks to the terrain.
His own soldiers were arriving, assembling in a loose formation that the rocky hillside would allow, and then there was a moment of nothing. Of absolute peace, thousands and thousands of soldiers staring at one another from across the grassy slope.
It shattered when the Empire launched a rock, heavy and fast and devastating, and Marcus weaved a spatial matrix. Reality bent oddly, and the stone slid to the side. Gravity following the path he'd laid out, though attempting to reverse the projectile's trajectory was a little much.
Xathar started moving again, more slowly this time. It allowed the soldiers to keep up, moving down the hill with fear-filled determination. Fear for themselves, fear for their families, and most of all fear of the Empire.
Marcus didn't feel fear. He should, he recognized that, but all he felt was this burning anger. Anger and distant stars, a vast nothingness he could feel more clearly than his own skin.
A spatial matrix was prepared, activated and fired before he could think better of it. Space twisted, a tear of folded reality so thin, nails seemed as thick as trees. It sliced forwards, cutting the air apart with a terrifying wail, and the Empire deployed shields. Mages tried to disrupt the attack, cancel out its power, and when that proved pointless they raised stone walls in front of the Imperial troops.
Marcus grunted, pressing it onward with his will, and it sliced through rock as easily as butter. Power was drained, the tear growing more crude and less infinitely thin, but that mattered little. He couldn't see what happened behind the wall, stone falling a millionth of an inch and remaining perfectly stable, but he could hear it.
It reminded him of the sound that came when a sword parted flesh. How men would scream in a voice not their own, any conscious thought fleeing before agony. How air would run out and the wailing would drop to a whimper.
That came to mind when he heard the sounds Imperial soldiers made, but it wasn't the actual noise. It was more and less, pain and confusion more than only pain. The stone walls shattered away, blown towards Marcus' lines by hostile mages, but there was enough distance that it was a minor blow.
A panicked reaction, and Marcus could see why. His arc had been wide, shaped like a crescent moon, and it turned out to be the exact size of an Imperial company. Which, as Xathar kept closing the distance, was no longer there.
Sliced in half nearly to the last man, shields and armor bisected as easily as flesh. A pile of broken bodies, a gap in their lines the soldiers behind the unfortunate company hesitated to fill. And, Marcus' mind idly calculated, if that stone wall hadn't been raised, those hesitant soldiers would be dead too.
The Legion was reeling, but it wouldn't for long. Officers were already reestablishing order, but Marcus' senses spotted a gap. A trio of mages had been with the company, and now there were none.
Five matrices spun up, and hesitation was pushed away. Power was rushing through his veins, more power than he'd ever felt, and it was pure. Begging to be used, to be unleashed, and Marcus was more than happy to give it what it wanted.
Arcane fire appeared before his outstretched hand, compressing down and down until it felt like he was holding a miniature sun. He'd done this before at the lake, boiled thousands of fish alive, and he realized he was about to do the very same to actual people.
An arrow flew past his head, then another, and Xathar started weaving as Marcus unleashed the spell. It flew forwards with perfect silence, taking nearly half his reserves with it, and Xathar turned steeply as they got within two hundred feet of the enemy lines.
Marcus snapped his usual defenses into place a moment after launching the attack, but his eyes were on the fireball. The size of an apple with enough potential power to do… He didn't know. He had no idea what it would do when not fired into the open air above a lake.
It burned. He didn't know why he was surprised about that fact, but he was. It landed in the gap created by the dead soldiers, and it burned. A wave of fire spreading outwards and blowing apart the Legion, magical shields rising by the dozens to contain the explosion. It was the only thing that stopped it from incinerating half their soldiers.
Hundreds still burned, entire companies wiped from the battle in an instant, and Marcus turned away. Revulsion battled with satisfaction in his stomach, he rejoined his guards by the time regular soldiers started fighting, but Imperial morale had been damaged. Beaten but not killed, and his own soldiers were seemingly much more confident, happy to finish the job.
Instinct pulled at his mind, Marcus taking a moment to sharpen his senses as his guards protected him. And there, rapidly approaching, was the Archmage. The man crossed a hill, halting the moment he did, and Marcus looked at him. Looking with eyes that shouldn't have been able to see, the distance to their target shrinking without conscious effort.
Vistus looked pensive. Taking in the battle, likely noting the severed corpses and burned soldiers, before his eyes flickered to a portion of Marcus' army that had yet to engage the enemy.
A hand rose, flicked almost lazily towards them, and Marcus looked to see four hundred of his men blown apart. The sound of the explosion hit him a moment later, and Gretched's words echoed in his ears.
He'd escalated, the Archmage had done the same. Marcus felt his anger return, burning as cold as the void of space, and Xathar moved towards his former summoner without complaint.
The Archmage had to die, and as Marcus prepared to fight a living demigod, distant stars shone behind closed eyelids.