Trapped in Another World With No Magic

Chapter 118: The Strength of the Fievegal

Vaergraes, Kera’tai, and Daniel stare up at the largest living dragon in the known world, the male greater dragon known as Neith. He aided in the seemingly mundane task of skinning an apparently especially powerful weisperant masonrahm, which is the mana-mutated wall-breaking beasts Daniel faced at Fort Peony. This individual, due to a string of catastrophic victories against subjugation groups from Mattarglos, grew even stronger, earning itself a name from the populace of Mattarglos; Tyror.

Tyror fell when Daniel used a polonium grenade to interrupt its magic, granting him an opening to fall back and use the 20mm anti-dragon rifle to finish it off. 

Daniel suddenly twitches, and Kera’tai looks up at him. “Did you figure it out, Daniel?”

Daniel chuckles. “Yeah, I suspect so.” All three of the others, which includes the dragon in question, look at Daniel. Daniel replies, “I should have known better. It’s been a while since I worked with radioactive contamination to this extent.”

“Contamination?” asks Neith.

Daniel nods. “Mm-hmm. The polonium powder was in ol’ Tyror’s fur.”

Neith looks at his foreclaws -his hands-.

“You mean to say so little of the polonium is enough to negate my magic?”

Daniel nods. “Seems that way. The flip side is, mana seems to have an inversely proportional effect on the half-life of the radioactive materials, and polonium is short to begin with. Doephluev’s harness uses plutonium, and it has already stopped blocking her magic a week ago.”

This surprises everyone. “Wh-What?” asks Kera’tai at a whisper. “Sh-Shouldn’t… Shouldn’t that be concerning?”

“How so?” asks Daniel innocently. She and Vaergraes both narrow their eyes at him, and he sighs. “Fine. But, if you must know, she has had me at her mercy, and she knew it, during the ruins dive we did.”

Kera’tai and Vaergraes both sigh. The former demon queen remarks, “It’s a wonder anyone sees you as a threat sometimes, Daniel…”

“Whaaat? I have great taste in people.”

The three others scoff, and they allow him that point. Daniel asks, “Neith, are you able to fly without magic?”

The grey dragon nods once. “Yes, my Liege. I will not be quite as fast, but I shall return under my own strength. Do not wait for me.”

“Daniel…” starts Vaergraes. “If Sir Neith is… flying back under his own strength, and since the shuttle would not be able to carry it…” She looks at the fur of the powerful beast known as Tyror.

Daniel looks to Neith. “Do you mind, Neith? I won’t force you.”

Neith smirks. He takes up the skin, slinging it over his shoulders and tying it via the leg skin like a cape. “I think it suits me, don’t you, my Liege?”
The three chuckle, and the grey dragon bows. “I shall be outpaced by the shuttle under my own strength, so I shall set out. I will meet you at the capital, my Liege.”

“Be careful on the flight back, Neith. And, if need be, use the fact that your new cape negates magic.”

Neith looks at his hands one more time, trying and failing to cast magic. “I’m curious, Sire. Is this the time when I say ‘Her Grace Geirahoel better be thankful that we did this’?”

All four of them chuckle together, until Vaergraes, Kera’tai, and Daniel in that order silence and turn pale. The grey dragon tenses when he hears the distinct crackling pops of ignityal burning in a pilot flame, and he turns to the direction Daniel and the others are looking.

In spite of the immense size difference, the orange dragon in human form cuts an imposing presence that causes Neith to lower his own massive form to show reverence. She is radiating a cold and icy anger as she glares at the grey dragon. He murmurs humbly, “Your Grace…”

She huffs, ignoring him as she storms past him to approach Daniel. He isn’t free of her irritation either, and Vaergraes and Kera’tai both back away from him as Geirahoel walks angrily up to Daniel. “Where is your helmet, Mukori?” She asks with a merciless and unrelenting tone that will take no nonsense or deflection.

Daniel admits, “It’s in my bag, Mukori…”

She grips the front of his chest armor at the collar, complaining, “Why did you do that!? I was worried about you! What if something happened when I couldn’t watch over you!?”

Daniel can’t help but smile at her gently. “If you must know, Neith and I were talking about you.”

She halts, her cheeks filling with color. “A-About me!? Wh-Wh-What did you say!?”

Daniel smiles, replying as diplomatically as he can, “That we both admire your passion for the things you care about.”

She squirms as she cups her own cheeks with her hands. Kera’tai pouts, “How come you never use such devilish charm on me, Daniel?”

Daniel chuckles. “Geira-Mukori makes it easy.”

This causes the orange dragon to tremble even more noticeably, embarrassed and bewildered by his teasing. However, Daniel’s best attempts aren’t enough to save Neith. She finally growls, “Nnn-Grahhh! You!” She whirls and points up at the grey dragon, and he asks reactively, “Y-Yes, your majestic Grace!?”

She growls in a threatening tone, “Perhaps we should find a curse to inflict on you. I wonder if there’s magic that can turn you into a female, so you can actually be useful for once.”

Daniel tries to defuse once more. “Mukori, that’s… I doubt that’s possible.”

“Of course it is.” The reply is chipper and comes from a surprising source; Vaergraes, the Uhl’tall Archpriestess. “It’s not easy, and it’s rare to find information on it. Also, the desired outcome increases the difficulty of the spell, but there were several booby-traps in my temple that I would have armed when a Divine Summon was getting close. One of them would have swapped the summon’s gender, which is a magic that is often not guarded against.”

The former demon queen smiles warmly. “If you’re ever curious, Daniel…”

He chuckles, “I’m good.”

Geirahoel grins wickedly, turning her spiteful gaze to the grey dragon. He nearly turns white. “Y-Your Grace… I should begin my flight back. Please excuse me.” Neith takes off, fleeing as quickly as he can with his new fur cape flapping behind him between his wings.

Geirahoel huffs, watching him go. “Coward.” She then faces Daniel, snatching his arm. “Now, let’s return, Mukori. This was enough foolishness for one day.”

Again, Daniel chuckles, walking with her as the other two follow them to the shuttle. She continues to pout about him removing his helmet, since it’s her direct connection to him until they make more radios for various away teams to use.

Thankfully, they are able to return to the city without further issue, especially when Daniel gives Senn and Veiranoei ginger ahead of time, which helps them both. They arrive at the arena where Neith is waiting. They are welcomed back by the full group, including Kalegrynten, who checks on his granddaughter. She recounts the events, while Daniel asks for a location and various mages to wash down Neith and the fur.

While a safe zone for decontaminating the grey dragon is being prepared, Kalegrynten and Veiranoei approach. He looks somewhat distraught. Daniel faces him as Geirahoel glares at the gatonine man for delaying her own goals. “Lord Daniel… I… was unsure when I saw it, but… is it true? Did… you really slay Tyror?”

Daniel looks at Veiranoei, who explains, “I have no doubts, Daniel. Please… sh-show them.”

Daniel nods. “With pleasure.” He has them clear a large area, and Hekate and Geirahoel both stay close to him. “Daniel, are we gonna eat it?” asks Hekate, a little more excited than she probably should be.

“Well, it was a specific request of Geira-Mukori.”

Geirahoel nods. “I am confident that I will make it to your tastes, Mukori.”

Hekate scowls at her a little, adding, “I hope you’re planning to let me help, Geira.”

“If you so wish, Hekate. I will not stop doing what I want to do, but I know we share common goals.”

Hekate nods in agreement, though her expression is serious. Daniel withdraws the mostly-cleaned remains of the named weisperant masonrahm, Tyror. There’s an awkward silence that shortly turns into disbelieving murmurs as they look at the massive creature, which still has its head.

Kalegrynten stumbles towards the massive monster’s head, and he falls to his knees close enough to touch it. He mutters, “I… don’t believe it… The Everfrost Scourge… It’s really him…”

“I told you, Grandfather…” murmurs Veiranoei as she pets his shoulder. “Even holding back, they defeated it in what felt like mere moments.”

Daniel kneels in front of them, saying gently, “We said we’d seek to find a solution to the monsters as a whole. We have some research to do, but as a gesture of friendship,...” Daniel looks at Geirahoel. She continues his thought dutifully, “As a gesture of friendship, the Fievegal will gift you the remains of Tyror, minus what I need to prepare a feast for my mate.”

There’s a slight awkwardness following what she just said, and Hekate snickers, which causes Geirahoel to reflect nervously on her words. “M-My… Mukori.” She clears her throat. “You may use the remains as you see fit.”

It takes a while for Kalegrynten to regain his composure, as cheers fill the audience chamber. Several of the soldiers of Mattarglos approach to kick the monster’s unmoving head, and they celebrate its defeat with boisterous cheers.

During the initial cheering, Ryuogriar and Reignleif approach Daniel and the others. “Mukori,” starts the platinum white dragon. “While you were off playing with these… trifles, I received reports from the Grand Duchy, and I also have some good news regarding the various nobles of Mattarglos. Would you like to receive these reports in a more… private setting, Mukori?”

Geirahoel instantly cuts in, “He’s going with me to the kitchen. He laughed at the stupid one's imitation of me. And, he took his helmet off in the dangerous area and stored it, so I couldn't watch over him.”

When Geirahoel mentioned Neith's joke, Ryuogriar only tilted her eyes to make eye contact with Daniel. She smiles warmly. “I see. Then, Mukori owes you a proper apology. That is fine. We shall accompany you and make our reports while preparing dinner.” She gives Daniel a devious and knowing grin. “We can't have Mukori's favorite getting any further ahead, can we?”

“F-F-Favorite!?” stammers Geirahoel. “W-Why would I care about that?” Her cheeks betray her real feelings, in spite of the crowd. Reignleif nods in agreement with the eldest of the three.

Hekate defensively warns, “Heyyyy. I tolerate quite a lot, but I'll not suffer a vile temptress spouting nonsense. If Daniel chose favorites, it would be me.”

The matron dragon grins playfully. “Oh? Is that so…?” She leaves it at that cryptically. 

Reignleif replies to Hekate, “Mukori said that I am the most like him. We share the most hobbies.”

“Watch it, Reina. I just helped slay Tygor or Tymor or whatever his name was! I’m just getting warmed up!”

“There are privileges that are Hekate privileges. But, Geirahoel…” She looks a little enviously at the orange dragon, who flinches. “I-...” She looks at Daniel for help, but he has escaped the conversation when they weren’t paying attention.

“HEY!” snaps Geirahoel. She sprouts her wings to close the distance on him in seconds. “Daniel! I won’t let you escape so easily.”

He chuckles, apologizing to Vaergraes. “Apologies, Vae. Looks like I’ll have to ask you for a rain check.”

“I understand. I can not stand in the way of youthful passion.” She teases, “Perhaps you should be kinder to your lovers, Daniel.”

Daniel rolls his eyes. “Neith aside, Geira-Mukori likes it when I tease her.”

“I do not!” yells the young dragon, and both Daniel and Vaergraes chuckle, causing Geirahoel to snatch his arm with the obvious intent to drag him away. She bows politely to Vaergraes, “Vaergraes, I will ensure Daniel is returned after he apologizes properly. He promised me a recipe among other things, and he’s going to keep it.”

And with that, Daniel’s night is fully preoccupied.

***

“Grendel Two, Dante Five, mark enemy formation.”

“[Dante five, Grendel Two, Plag see many soldiers. Ten gob-... Grendel hands. Riding warriors with much armor. Demon wands may be too weak.]”

Olmosk, the dattakorien leader of the fifth “Dante” squadron, observes the road leading towards the border of the Grand Duchy. When asked by the great, wise, and gracious Empress Ryuogriar, Emperor Daniel agreed to help name the army units. He described mythological and legendary figures of Earth, and the squads chose their names accordingly. The dattakoriens chose “Dante”, a man who entered the punishing afterlife of “hell” to save the woman he loved. The goblins chose Grendel, a monster strong enough to best all but the greatest warrior of his time, Beowulf. Since Daniel would be Beowulf, as far as anyone in the Fievegal would be concerned, the goblins chose Grendel. Naturally, they meant no ill intentions by the comparison. As a rather unintelligent race, they chose it as an inspiration for strength, and nothing more. Even though they are looked down upon by most other races, Olmosk can't help but admire the goblins for their bravery.

Even now, the half-sized humanoids are at the front, lying in wait to ambush the enemies from behind.

Given the report, there are around forty thousand soldiers invading in the second wave. “Goblin hands” are the way the goblins were taught to estimate enemy forces, using each of their four fingers to a hand to quickly count off sections of marching columns by simply spacing their fingers a couple people apart, and then making note of literally how many of their hands it takes to get from the front line to the back line. As simple as they can be, the members of the small race are consistent and crafty, and with little cheat methods, they can make quick and accurate-enough estimations of their enemies. And, of course, the goblins themselves often joke that they're good at counting enemies, because they want to know how much loot they can collect.

From the intel reports, this forty thousand should be the remainder of the Mornistae trained army. But, of course, Rikuto may have commissioned support from other kingdoms, as well as mercenary groups and untrained conscripts. Daniel said that forced military conscription was minimized on Earth, especially the countries where Daniel and Rikuto hail from, but it's a well known historical practice even on the mysterious advanced homeworld of the Fievegal’s emperor.

Fortunately, arming and armoring soldiers is an expensive business, and the Fievegal and Grand Duchy have collected the equipment of the fallen and incapacitated soldiers that were defeated recently. 

The Stalvaltan Guard have been petitioning to participate in battles, but the Fievegal has had more reason than most to prove themselves. They have yet to formally win a major battle for the Fievegal, and most of the battles have been primarily supported by the Citadel’s golems. This is as much revenge as it is a battle for honor. The fall of Fort Twilight, and the losses there, are still fresh in everyone’s memories. They have already repaid the kingdom of Mornistae several times over, but now, the Emperor of the Fievegal has asked his army to hold the Grand Duchy and defend it from invasion, and to work on undermining and conquering the rest of Mornistae to remove Rikuto from power.

The risk of Rikuto’s superweapon is still present, and the scouts are carefully watching for their deployment. But, Ahok, the Court Magic Artisan who helped develop the weapons, believes Rikuto will use them defensively, as they are one of the only means of defense the kingdom will have against the dragons. If he deploys one, it will be to target a high priority enemy, since recharging the many enhanced magic crystals needed to operate will take a great deal of time, and only four full ‘magazines’ of diamonds exist.

Olmosk smiles as he looks at his own ‘demon staff’ in his arms. Daniel is a quirky human from a very different world, but his first priority was making sure the Fievegal’s soldiers have every advantage he can provide to help defend the Fievegal and its interests. The dattakorien knows he’s not invincible, but he alone, and even the goblins, can take on any army ten to one with reasonable odds of victory. Daniel doesn’t see ‘goblins’, ‘dattakoriens’, ‘ogres’, ‘Uhl’tall’, or ‘Chi’rinnis’ when it comes to the military. They are all soldiers of the Fievegal, and entitled to the best defense and armament the Fievegal can provide.

Olmosk says out loud, mostly to hear his thoughts audibly, but also so his companions can bounce ideas with him, “Around forty thousand soldiers in total… King Rikuto must be a fool.”

“Indeed,” replies Ikthilaken, the Uhl’tall squad leader stationed with Olmosk. “He must be hoping overwhelming force will be enough.”

“Should we request aid from the Stalvaltan Guard?”

“They have been chewing their gums, yes?  That is the dattakorien saying, I think.”

Olmosk scoffs. “It is. And,  yes. The soldiers of the Grand Duchy are anxious. Are we sure they are loyal to the Fievegal, though?”

“The Emperor trusts the Grand Duchess. If nothing else, he will make it worth her while. And, by extension, worth the while of them and their families.”

The dattakorien soldier nods. He can’t argue with that. “This is a much greater number of soldiers. We had no casualties in the last battle, but they outnumber us closer to twenty to one, now. Even we will struggle to compare.”

“There is good news, sir…” replies Andani, one of the dattakorien women serving with Olmosk as she listens to her radio headset. “The Field Marshall just said two more drakes have arrived.”

Olmosk smirks. “Drakes” are the codename for something no one from Zenkon would ever envision; a self-propelled iron carriage with armor that can withstand most offensive magic and cast instant death on even the legendary godbeasts of myth, the invincible mithril skinned Sphranterus. Or, at least, Olmosk assumes it could kill the Sphranterus, since they were created by Daniel as larger versions of the weapons he used to defeat the dragons. There have been murmurs among the dattakoriens to ask Daniel to defeat the Sphranterus, since it is credited with wiping out settlements in the west many times. But, the Mikadresselle Baeka doesn’t want to ask anything unreasonable of Daniel until she can earn his trust.

Especially because he'll have his hands full with the other otherworlder, Rikuto. Daniel fears that Rikuto will desperately try to figure out firearms, and even if he can't get the mechanisms Daniel recreated, even primitive firearms will shift the tide of battle some.

For now, they’re going to exploit every bit of the advantage they have and capture as much ground as they can.

“Get ready everyone,” murmurs Olmosk as he signals with his hands, relaying the hand signals from those further down the line and closer to the enemies than him. Dattakoriens have excellent ranged vision, comparable only to Goblins, which can spot almost anything that stands out. Their weakness is that goblins will often then pursue said object in hopes of finding treasure, only to be led into a trap. Daniel’s soldiers are all lectured and trained by the General golem Ucahote to learn discipline before they’re allowed to serve, but they often will go around finding bullet casings in the aftermath of battle hoping for dropped coins and jewels. Regardless, even though it’s less, there is a reward incentivizing collecting bullet casings to recycle them, so the pint-sized soldiers are rarely disappointed.

“You see that?” asks Andani. “Mid ranks, it looks like a cavalry unit, but… Don’t they look too lightly equipped?”

“I see them,” confirms Ithilaken. The Uhl’tall commander looks down his rifle scope, adding, “Even the buckrokhs are almost completely unarmored.”

Olmosk, having studied the group as well, replies confidently, “It’s a running unit. They’re not here to fight, they’re here to flee and report on the conditions of the battle.”

The front lines spot the bloodstained battlefield where the vast majority of the first wave were wiped out. The signal to stop is passed back through the ranks, and lower ranking officers are sent forward to investigate. It took several days, but the Fievegal army was able to clear most of the battlefield of bodies and equipment to help disguise what happened, but there was little to be done about the craters and blood. Daniel’s weapons are effective, but they are destructive. Of course, there were far fewer maimings, ironically enough, since clean shots with the demon wands, especially, do just enough damage to drop a person. And, at range, the demon staves -rifles- perform similarly.

“Rikuto is clever,” remarks Ithilaken.

“He knows enough about his enemy, our great Emperor, to know these weapons. It’s clear he’s afraid of what all we’re equipped with. We need to keep the tanks hidden unless we start to lose ground. Radio, relay this message: ‘Hawkeyes, mark middle rank riders and hold target. Drakes, hold position and maintain cover.’” Olmosk waits for a moment while Andani relays the message. “‘All staff and wand wielders, contain Moonlight. Expect attempts to flee with intel.’” Olmosk watches the handful of squads he can see from his sniper perch. They're difficult even for him to spot thanks to yet another suggestion from Daniel; disguises he calls “ghillie suits”. They're essentially long mantles with plenty of places to anchor branches of shrubs and bundles of grass to blend in with the terrain. They have the defending advantage with the terrain, even if they're far away from home.

Olmosk says, “Radio, mark and announce countdown to attack.”

“Yes sir!” Andani speaks into her radio quietly. “All units, on my mark, commence attack. Three, two, one, mark! Fire at will!”

Even as she’s shouting the last part, rifle reports echo against the hillsides as flashes and smoke puff out. The Fievegal soldiers are relentless, focusing fire as they’ve been instructed; focusing on the officers and the riders specifically tasked with fleeing the battle. Some of the buckrokh’s panic as they bellow and buck, launching riders from their backs while blood sprays across the ranks of soldiers in the marching columns. They had started to file out into battle ranks, but now are doing everything they can just to identify the source of the sudden attack. Olmosk cycles his own rifle, firing and using the bolt to keep up the attack.

The bolt action rifles are slower than the semi-automatic and fully automatic counterparts, but their accuracy is breathtaking, allowing even modestly trained soldiers to attack from beyond the range of even the best bows and crossbows, and a good marksman can eliminate enemies beyond the range of a ballista.

For now, they just need to focus on keeping any of the obvious messengers meant to bring word of the Fievegal defense strategy back to the Mornistae leadership.

Olmosk can feel his grip tightening as the soldiers scatter, some taking bullets meant for messengers as the messengers whirl their buckrokhs around and attempt to flee in every direction. Only one of them needs to escape.

As the dattakorien soldier is trying to cycle his bolt forward, it jams; he didn’t pull it back far enough, so the previous casing didn’t get ejected. He curses, yanking the bolt back. He has to fight the next bullet clear as well, since another bullet is now trying to feed from the magazine.

The feline commander watches helplessly for the moment as he fights his rifle. He got careless because he rushed, and now there are precious seconds being wasted as the messengers scatter to the four winds. Some fall to rifle fire, especially because the Fievegal is scattered all through the hills. The vanguard unit is rushing the front lines with assault weapons, firing sprays of gunfire that glimmer in the sunlight as golden streaks, racing into the ranks of soldiers that try to hold the line, only to drop the heavily armored warriors in seconds. The ranks of the Mornistae army fall like dominoes, and the goblins are leading the charge to earn glory on the battlefield -while being mindful to stay out of range of their enemies and keep track of their ammunition.

“Commander! Drakes are requesting orders!”

“No! Tell them to hold! We have to assume scouts have already retreated to report the blood. The drakes should still be unknown to the enemy. Keep firing!”

Olmosk does what he can to fire at the messengers that are getting the furthest away.

Miss!

Breathe. Pull bolt back. Spent shell ejects. Shove bolt forward and lock it down. Aim. Breath. Hold. Lead the target…

Olmosk fires again, and just shy of a full second later the rider flops forward on his buckrokh, nearly falling from the saddle.

Nearly…

The dattakorien commander curses silently. That was his last shot. He switches magazines as quickly as he can. He cycles the bolt one last time, quickly wiping sweat from his brow. Olmosk can’t get desperate. He has to focus and make his shot count. The wounded messenger is passing into the dattakorien’s most extreme range.

Calm down, Olmosk. Daniel isn’t the Red Lord. It’s not whether or not you fail, but if you can make our Emperor proud.

He pulls the trigger, and this time, the rider topples, left behind by the buckrokh as it keeps sprinting back towards its home -or at the very least, far away from the battle-.

Olmosk sighs. The battle is still raging, and the Fievegal vanguard unit has formed up in a firing line. The Mornistae soldiers have figured out that penetration of the goblin weapons is limited, especially at range, and they’re using the bodies of their own fallen to try to block the incoming fire. But, small arms aren’t the only things they have at their disposal.

The dattakorien commander can see a couple of buckrokhs in the distance towards the neighboring territory. They’re far enough away that he can’t tell if they have riders or not, but it’s too late for him to do anything about it now. They prioritized the tanks because of their higher defense, but a tank isn’t fast enough to pursue, and the shuttles are on standby for air support and evacuation.

“Have the signallers order the vanguard to begin using explosives. Mind friendly fire and shrapnel.”

Andani calls it out, and Olmosk watches as the oni in the vanguard, specifically, begin arming and throwing grenades using magic, obliterating the defenses of the Mornistae soldiers and causing them to break ranks once more, allowing the goblins to continue picking them off with coordinated -if a little-chaotic- bursts of fire.

With the officers, another obvious priority for the snipers are the mages, and one such mage manages to create a barrier, protecting a large handful of soldiers. They begin retreating.

“Commander,” starts Ikthilaken.

“I see it,” replies Olmosk as he drops his magazine out and ejects the current live round from the chamber of his rifle. He feels on his chest for the extra bullets on his bandolier, several of each kind of specialized rounds designed for advanced purposes.

In this case, he feels for a metal box similar to a cigarette case made of lead, and he withdraws it. Both Andani and Ikthilaken grimace at the object as the dattakorien sniper opens it, revealing a row of bullets with black and yellow paint on the conical projectile. Olmosk loads one of the specialized cartridges into his rifle’s breach, closing the bolt and then the bullet case. He takes aim at the mage producing the barrier as others prepare more complex spells. The bullets of the vanguard unit are deflecting off of the barrier. Only a handful of the snipers have these peculiar and dangerous bullets. Just being in the presence of mages without lead shielding is enough to disable their magic.

The bullet is made of a radioactive isotope of polonium, and is actually dangerous to handle carelessly. Daniel made the rounds specifically because they’re effective against barriers and decay faster than uranium or plutonium. Depending on the various mana sources the bullets are exposed to, they actually can become useless in a matter of days if the mana is strong enough.

That said, Olmosk can feel the weariness that comes with losing his mana, and he aims carefully at the mage. Fortunately, the mage is moving slowly as he escorts the soldiers he’s trying to evacuate.

BANG!

The barrier crackles like lightning before vanishing, and the hailstorm of bullets in the area no longer has any obstacle. The mage falls, killed by a bullet that passed cleanly through his barrier -an anti-magic bullet-, and the other soldiers fall quickly to the goblins, oni, and ogres closing in on them. Both Andani and Ikthilaken sigh relief, and the Uhl’tall mage remarks, “Nice shot, Commander.”

“It wasn’t a clean hit…” The dattakorien commander studies the mage, who is crying out and squirming on the ground, wounded -and likely poisoned- by the polonium bullet. He’s in for a long and slow death. Still, it’s war, and he had to be brought down.

Olmosk loads his regular magazine back into the rifle, cycling the bolt to chamber the next round. He takes aim at his target, watching his movements carefully. He’s in agony as the other soldiers flee, surrender, or try to defend in futility. 

As soon as he finds an opening, the feline soldier pulls the trigger.

He doesn’t feel like an honorable warrior this way, but he knows that a swift and underwhelming victory is better than losing countless allies in a ‘fair’ fight.

After all, the evolution of war is based on the pursuit of ensured victory, not honor or glory.

******