Chapter 9

  The Baron was gently shaken from his slumber. He was still exhausted, his brief nap was not even close to enough sleep. He groggily looked up at the man who had awoken him and waved his hand.

  “Yeah yeah, just give me a little bit.”

  The shaking intensified slightly.

  “Baron, I doubt we would want to keep Spymaster Brusilov waiting. He does not seem like the type to forgive lateness.”

  The Baron rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and when he was able to see properly he was greeted by the serious face of Hans Volkner.

  “Ah, apologies, Hans. I have been feeling the years accumulating as of late. I will make my way over to him as soon as I can.”

  Hans saluted and walked out of the tent while the Baron put on his poofy clothes and strapped on his chestplate. His armor was absolutely beautiful, and extremely detailed, which seemed like a strange choice for a piece of armor meant for combat, though it did seem to hold up to the rigors of battle just fine. Even after his near death at the hands of the Berzerkeri Seamus, it didn’t even have a scratch.

  He put on his helmet which resembled a Spanish Morion helmet and clicked his tongue. He didn’t know he had it during the battle of Baktenburg, it was for some reason buried under his spare clothing. He strongly doubted it would have helped too much against Seamus, but it most likely would have done its job quite well against anyone else.

  Then, finally, he strapped on his weapons, saber and brace of flintlock pistols, wrapped his eyepatch around his head, and left for the war tent.

  Said war tent was massive, it more resembled a house than any sort of temporary shelter. The doorway was covered by a purple cloth emblazoned with the symbol of the Empire: a gauntleted arm holding up its pointer finger. Underneath read the words “Ein Reich Von Einem” in the Empire’s strange Germanic font. He ducked through the opening and pushed aside the cloth as he entered the War room.

  He was greeted by his Lieutenants, Spymaster Brusilov, a man wearing traditional Middle Eastern clothes, and a couple of other well dressed Empiresmen he didn’t recognize, all sitting at a large round table. Brusilov looked up from his papers as the Baron entered.

  “Ah yes, Baron. So good of you to join us. You are 5 minutes behind schedule.”

  The Baron smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “My apologies, Herr Spymaster, my years seem to be catching up to me.”

  Brusilov shrugged his shoulders and turns his attention back to his papers.

  “It is fine, you are 50 years of age, yes? I understand. I turn 47 this year and I am starting to slow too. Just sit down there, by mister Albrecht.”

  The Baron nodded and sat next to Ludwin. Brusilov slid a folder over to the Baron. The exterior was beige and roughly textured, far more crude than the manila folders he had seen in his past life, but it held the papers just fine. The Baron skimmed the documents, which mostly had troop numbers, cannon batteries, and rough estimations of how several siege plans would go. Brusilov cleared his throat and began laying out papers on the table.

  “The Empress has invited all of you here specifically because she has heard tales of your battle prowess, your tactical mind, or both. We have a need of specialists, and you men alongside your troops will act as such. Firstly we will begin by explaining the plan our Empress has created, and then I will inform each of you of your role in the plan.”

  Brusilov was still speaking with a Russian accent, but his grammar was perfect and his thick accent had somewhat lessened, most likely because he wanted everyone present to understand him properly.

  “Are there any objections?”

  Everyone in the room looked to each other before shaking their heads. Brusilov nodded appreciatively.

  “Good. Currently, the Empress wants to bring down the walls of Leibensburg. We will use the artillery many of you have brought, alongside what the Grand Imperial Army already has, to break open the gates on every side and breach the walls in select locations we have found would be the hardest to defend. After this, we send in the army in squads of 50 at a time, each being led by a gifted one with specific orders on what to do and what to focus on. Any questions so far?”

  A man with a bushy mustache and a giant plume on his helmet spoke up, his voice was deep and rough.

  “How many squads would there be in total? And why are we dividing the army into squads of 50? Shouldn't we just flood into the city with our superior numbers?”

  “Including the men all of you have brought, there would be about 45 squads in total, more or less. As for dividing the men into squads, usually yes, we would simply flood the city. However, the Empress wishes to test if this would reduce the amount property damage done by the attacking army. Do not worry, she has informed me that looting is still allowed, she just wishes to keep the damages to infrastructure at a minimum, since these are still her lands. Is that explanation satisfactory?”

  Plume helmet nodded his head and gestured for Brusilov to continue.

  “We would love to immediately proceed with our plan. Every second Imperial territory is held by rebels is a travesty to our mission of unity. However, the rebellious prince has been able to convince some Elven wizards to join his side.”

  The men around the table all groaned.

  “Yes, yes, I know. Do not let this get you down, as far as our intelligence network can surmise, he only managed to recruit four Earth mages, and their only purpose is to strengthen the walls. Since they are earth specialists, specifically Elven earth specialists, our artillery simply cannot break down the walls. Their enchantments are too strong.”

  The men around the table began to whisper to and debate each other on how best to proceed. In an effort to get them to shut up, Brusilov jabbed his ballistic knife into the table. His plan worked perfectly.

  “I ask that you keep the discussion for after I am finished speaking. So, our plan is to infiltrate the Castle and kill the mages. I will hand pick men to form squads for infiltration, we will send in 15 squads of 4 men each, their mission will be to find and kill the mages, as well as wreaking as much havoc on the defenders as possible during the bombardment. You will signal your success with fireworks. After killing a mage you are to find a window and shoot a firework into the air. After four fireworks have been shot off, we will begin our bombardment. Any questions?”

  Ludwin piped up.

  “Will every squad be equipped with four fireworks?”

  “Yes, every man will have a single firework and a box of matches.”

  Next, Fergus leaned forwards and asked a question.

  “Will tha mages be fightin’ back? Aye donnae ken much aboot magic, but ah hear sum magicks take alota focus ‘n effort ta maintain, so will thay be shootin’ rocks at oos? Or will their ‘eads be so deep in their grimoires they won’t 'ear oos comin’?”

  The Spymaster stroked his chin for a couple of seconds in thought.

  “From what I understand, at any time two of the mages will be completely focused on maintaining the wards and spells on the walls, so about half of the mages should be too distracted to fight you, but their guard will be heavier, and the other half should be awake and able to fight but with less of an entourage, as the defenders can only spare so many men. Is that a satisfying answer?”

  Fergus leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the table.

  “Aye.”

  Udo, feet up on the table, balancing his chair on two legs, spoke up, almost falling backwards as he spoke.

  “So, after we deal with the mages-!...We just attack anyone we run into?”

  Brusilov nodded.

  “Yes, essentially. Though if your squad is feeling too tired or is too injured to fight you may withdraw. Additionally, try to keep away from the outer walls and gatehouses, for obvious reasons.”

  “And where are we supposed to go if we need to leave?”

  “You will simply need to retrace your steps and come back through where you entered. Our entry point will be guarded by my men so extraction should go smoothly. Satisfied?”

  Udo nodded his head and began to balance his chair again.

  “Oh yeah, of course.”

  A dangerous looking man wearing a shemagh to cover his face, as well as leather lamellar armor under various different traditional wraps quietly rose his voice, if such a thing was even possible.

  “Are there any problem with civilian casualties? Should we get spotted, are we allowed to silence whoever spotted us before they can raise the alarm?” He had a quiet, whisper-like quality to his voice. Even though he was speaking at full volume it felt as though you could barely hear him. His accent was clearly from the Middle East, but despite being deployed there in his previous the Baron still didn’t have a solid grasp on the different accents and languages there.

  “None at all. You have the greenlight to kill all who oppose you. The Empress just requests you do not let it get out of hand. Additionally, as I mentioned before, you are allowed to take whatever loot you can carry. The Empress wishes to make an example of Leibensburg to an extent. Not to destroy it, but to put the fear of the gods into them, so to speak. Looting is fine, as is killing people who spot you, but no fires and no wanton slaughter. The Empress wants the population cowed, not wiped out, and as I previously stated, she wishes for the infrastructure to remain relatively undamaged. Clear?”

  The man nodded his head, the shemagh covering his expression, but the tone of his voice gave it away: Gleeful.

  “Crystal.”

  “Excellent. Now, if there are no more questions, I will be handing out assignments.”

  No one spoke up and The Spymaster continued onto assignments, setting down his bundle of papers and grabbing a clipboard.

  “First, we will start with who will take part of the main force assaulting Leibensburg. The men who have been chosen are…”

  He trailed off as he flipped through the papers on the clipboard.

  “Ludwin Albrecht, Hans Volkner, Johan Schreibkopf, Udo Fudopfiegler, and Helmut Freier. We have looked into your pasts as much as we could and allotted you accordingly. Ludwin Albrecht, Udo Fudopfiegler, Hans Volkner, and Johan Schreibkopf will each be given command of a squad for the assault. As I understand, Ludwin is more commander than warrior, as is Herr Schreibkopf, so you may choose to hand off direct control of squads in exchange for managing broader strokes. And…Helmut Freier will be working with artillery crews.”

  He looked up from his papers and stared directly at Helmut.

  “You are a hard man to pin down. Very little paper trail. Had the Empress’s bureaucratic reforms not been implemented we would have absolutely nothing on you. But, our records show that you were briefly enrolled in the Imperial Gunnery School at Waffenstadt, and you were top of your class. Until you disappeared. Our Master of Artillery is currently buried in rubble in Grossendorf, so we need someone else to manage the men until we can find a suitable full time replacement. Do you take any issue with our assessment of your abilities?”`

  Helmut stared directly into Brusilov’s eyes, his expression as unreadable as ever.

  “None at all. I just ask that you assign someone with authority to work with me. People have a tendency to not notice me. Gift from the gods.”

  Brusilov nodded empathetically.

  “Of course, no problem, we’ll send someone the men know and trust.”

  He quickly wrote a note and called over a messenger boy to deliver it before grabbing a different clipboard.

  “Ok, now for the infiltration team...Baron Johan Bleichroder Von Bickenstadt, Fergus Ulpagahn, Ahmad Salib, Hans Messenschaft, and myself.”

  He walked over to the chalkboard and began writing.

  “I will not be writing out every squad, just the ones that include you all. The first squad is made up of the Baron, Fergus, and two of my own personal men. Next squad is Ahmad, and three of my men. Last squad is Hans, myself, and two of my men. Now is time to air your grievances, if you have them.”

  No one spoke up, and Brusilov nodded appreciatively.

  “Fantastic, then we have nothing further to discuss. We will begin our infiltration at 03:00 hours tomorrow. Infiltrator squads, get your supplies in order, visit the quartermaster to receive mission equipment, maybe request anything extra you may believe you may need, and then rest in preparation for the infiltration. Assault force will meet with their men today and prepare for the assault. Helmut, you will get to know the artillery crews and make sure everything is organized and running properly. Understood?”

  Everyone muttered their agreements. The infiltration squad immediately left, while the assault and artillery squads stayed behind to be directed where they needed to go.

  |

  |

  |

  |

  At 03:00 hours the next day, the infiltration squad met at an entrance to the Leibensburg sewer system. Everyone got into their squads and awaited orders from Spymaster Brusilov. Soon after everyone arrived, he appeared from nowhere holding a hollow cylinder and stepped onto a box, bringing it to his mouth and addressing everyone in the area.

  “I am not going to give you some long, drawn out speech. You men are professionals, doing so would be patronizing. You all know your orders, men. The sewers are clear of patrols, and the guards at the entrances have been replaced, so you will encounter zero resistance until you reach the city proper. You have full discretion to do what you must. The only stipulation is no arson. If you are caught torching buildings or destroying infrastructure you will be shot for violating the orders of the Empress. Now, let us get moving, time is of the essence. For unity! For the provinces! For the Empress! And for the Empire!”

  The soldiers all chanted in unison, except for the foreign mercenaries, who simply raised their fists and did battle cries.

  “FOR UNITY! FOR THE PROVINCES! FOR THE EMPRESS! FOR THE EMPIRE!”

  Brusilov jumped down off the box, putting his hand on the pommel of his kilij.

  “Now, let’s go kill us some traitors!”

  Everyone gave another cheer and then quietly filtered into the sewer, splitting off in different directions as directed by Brusilov.

  |

  |

  As they were moving through the sewers, nearing the entrance to the city, leading directly into Castle Lebiensburg they were told, The Baron wanted to get a feel for the men he would be working with. The Baron threw his arms around the two strangers Brusilov assigned to his squad. As there was a substantial height difference between the two men and himself, one of them substantially shorter than his partner and the Baron, it was a tad awkward, but the gesture communicated what he wanted it to all the same: He wasn’t just some stuffy aristocrat, he was a soldier first and foremost.

  “Alright lads, we will be working together tonight, so we should go around and give a summary of our abilities, as well as give our names. I’ll start. I am Johan Bleichroder von Bickenstadt, don’t let the title fool you, I am a soldier first, aristocrat second. I am an excellent duelist proficient in many different weapons and combat styles, though I specialize in saber dueling, as well as a fantastic shot with a pistol, if I do say so myself. I carry with me four pistols, four flashbombs, two fragmentation grenades, and enough cartridges for 20 shots on top of the four currently primed and ready.”

  Fergus ran in front and raised his weapons for them to see.

  “Aye’m Fergus Ulpagahn! Aye'm a Berzerkeri, an’ use ah 'andaxe an’ an Orkney knuckleknife!”

  I have no idea what a Berzerkeri is, but apparently it is well known enough that he doesn’t need to elaborate on his skill set. As soon as this is done with all this I’m gonna lock myself in my study and read as much as I can about this world. If I remember to.

  The first man to speak was fairly tall, about as tall as the Baron, and about twice as wide. He was wearing a dirty red and white striped shirt, and had similarly striped cloth tied around his waist. Bits of chainmail were visible through the rips in his shirt. He wore a bandolier with many bombs and pouches on it. His skin was sun-tanned and leathery, his hair dark and medium length.

  On his head was a black leather tricorn, and on his face he sported a small soul patch on his chin. Stuck into the tricorn was a small length of matchcord, slowly smouldering and putting off a small, hardly noticable amount of smoke. He had striking blue eyes which seemed to cut through the darkness of the sewer, quite a beautiful color for such a rough and tumble looking man. As he spoke, he hoisted an ax onto his shoulder, his voice low and gruff.

  “I’m Uwe. Brusilov’s Finest don’t give last names, so you’ll get none from me! I’m Empire Special Forces, son of Waffenstadt, recruited out of Holenstadt, hand trained by Brusilov. I’m a demolitions expert, so I got a buncha grenades and explosives with me, though no flashbombs, as well as a pistol and me trusty boardin’ ax.”

  The other man was much shorter than Uwe, around the same height as Fergus, but significantly thinner. He was wearing a navy blue gambeson with jack chains and a kettle helm, the standard issue armor of the Grand Imperial Army, though colored with a dull gray instead of the traditional black.

  He was wearing leather vambraces, and had a small crossbow folded up and mounted on his left arm. At his side was a simple looking saber, the handguard made of a length of chain instead of solid metal. He had a very slight accent, not too noticeable, but still distinctly Polish.

  “I am Bartosz, Empire Special Forces and one of Brusilov’s Finest. I am from Brcz...I mean Holenstadt. I am an excellent duelist, exceptional stealth skills, and have exceptional hearing. I am armed with a specialized armbow and a simple szabla. I can also use Healing magic. I use hand signals as my medium and I burn poppies for pain relief.”

  So..he’s Polish? Are Holenstadters Polish? I fought quite a few, but didn’t really have the time to stay and chat with them.

  After introductions the rest of their journey through the sewer was mostly silent, the most speaking they did was to ask directions from the Baron. They quietly reached an exit which lead directly into the castle and started to look around for the mages. As they were stalking through the halls, Bartosz held up his hand to stop them.

  “I can hear a patrol ahead. Six men. From the sounds of their footsteps they are all wearing chainmail. I say we ambush 'em.”

  Everyone silently agreed and found a place to hide. Uwe hid behind a pillar and the Baron did the same. Bartosz clambered into a cupboard and Fergus managed to cling to the ceiling just above the doorway.

  The patrol made their way into the hallway around 30 seconds after everyone got settled in their hiding spots. Their formation was a diamond, four men in the middle, one at the front and back. As soon as the last one cleared the doorway Fergus dropped down from his spot above and landed on him, slamming his knife through the top of the man's head, killing him instantly.

  Bartosz burst out of the cupboard and slammed into one of the men in the middle, knocking him to the ground and stumbling his comrades. As soon as the patrol started to figure out what was happening Uwe and the Baron stepped out from behind their pillars.

  Uwe took a step forward and swung his boarding axe upwards in a great arc, impaling the front guard on the spike and lifting him in the air. The guard lived just long enough to let loose a blood curdling scream before going limp on Uwe's axe. The body fell to the ground in a heap as Uwe lowered it, bringing it up to his shoulder in a single smooth motion, readying himself to defend against the now alert patrol.

  The Baron quickly bound from behind his pillar and slashed a guard’s hand off at the wrist, allowing the momentum of his strike to bring his torso down as he lifted his leg up, performing a devastating wheel kick. He felt it connect with the jaw of another and heard a sickening crack as the man’s head jerked around, sending him sprawling to the ground like a ragdoll and sliding into the wall before laying still.

  As soon as the last man was able to raise his sword Fergus was on him, pulling his foot out from under him with the beard of his ax, raising the knuckleknife high above his head. Just as the Baron finished off the handless man he turned to Fergus and shouted.

  “Wait! Don’t kill him!”

  Fergus was obviously in the throes of bloodlust, his eyes dull, his face in a cruel smile, howling as loud as he could. He thrust his dagger down at the man's right eye, but at the last second he was able to compose himself enough to change the angle of his strike, firmly imbedding his knuckle knife the stone floor.

  “BARON! 'Es...”

  He began to trail off and his eyes regained some of their color.

  “...Sorry, sorry. ’M back.”

  Brusilov’s men both looked at Fergus, then at the Baron, who shrugged and waltzed over to the still living guard. The two men shared a glance, then also shrugged and walked over. Bartosz knelt down and felt his pulse.

  “It is weak, but I can fix that.”

  He made some movements with his hands and suddenly his eyes started glowing a light pink. He made another sign with his hands and touched them to the man’s head. The torches lighting the hallway began to dim, and after a couple of seconds the guard woke up. The Baron stood over him and pointed his saber at the man’s neck.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living! Now, where are the mages that the Prince has hired?”

  The man muttered a bit, looking around, obviously confused. Uwe delivered a swift kick to the man’s ribs, snapping him back to reality.

  “Thank you, Uwe. Now, the mages? You ought to have seen them during your rounds. Tall, pointy ears, ethereal beauty, possibly glowing eyes. You have seen them, yes?”

  The guard looked to the Baron, eyes full of fear. He was quite a young man, which was unfortunate, because he was most likely dying today.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Uuh-uuh-uh…yeah...I think I’ve seen ‘em around.”

  The Baron flashed his best businessman smile.

  “Good, now, pray tell, where can you usually find them?”

  “Um, they...they have their own living quarters. And there is a specific room they go to so they can reinforce the walls. It is marked by a sign with a picture of an elf on it.”

  “Well, thank you very much, son. That’s useful information you’ve given me. Your contributions to the Empire will be noted. Sleep tight!”

  The Baron swiftly smashed his pommel into the man’s face, knocking him out cold.

  “Uwe, he looks heavy, stuff him in the cupboards.”

  After following the Baron’s suggestion, the group randomly gallivanted about the castle, ambushing patrols when they came across them, until they finally came upon a room with a sign over the door. In the center of that sign was a drawn pair of long, pointy ears.

  “That feels...disrespectful.”

  Bartosz kneeled and put his ear to the wall.

  “The room is filled with men. I can hear them shuffling about and breathing. There is about...fifteen, I would say, and I can feel magic being done in the farthest part of the room. The men are not moving enough for me to tell their armor, so we will just have to hope they are not all gifted ones in plate.”

  Uwe clicked his tongue and shook his head.

  “So...what do we do?”

  The Baron plucked off a couple of flashbombs from his belt.

  “Well, I suppose it’s time to make some noise!!”

  Uwe smiled brightly and pulled two grenades out of his satchel, one for each hand.

  “Fuck yeah! Let’s make some noise!”

  Uwe touched the fuzes to the matchcord tucked in his tricorn before tossing the grenades into the room, shortly followed by the Baron’s own flash grenades. The Baron pushed his full weight against the door and braced himself, feeling the shockwave attempt to force open the door and debris clattering against his greaves, pushed from the gap under the door alongside a plume of black, acrid smoke and stone dust.

  As soon as the blastwave petered out, the Baron threw open the door and rushed in, followed closely by his comrades.

  Eight enemies were killed outright, missing arms and legs from the blast, as well as having massive, gaping holes torn through their bodies by shrapnel. Many of the others were reeling from the flashbombs or injured by the shrapnel, or both, and the men closest to the flashbombs were bleeding from the ears.

  Fergus howled and sprinted into the room, tackling men left and right, stabbing through their armor like it wasn’t even there and beating others to a bloody pulp. Uwe rushed in with Bartosz, hacking off legs and arms as he moved, leaving Bartosz to finish the disabled men. The Baron lunged forward, impaling a man through the throat, spinning around him as he dislodged his saber and slashing another man’s throat in the same motion. Soon most of the men who were dazed by the blasts were dead, and the rest of the men were beginning to form up, and, worst of all, the mage was beginning to regain his bearings.

  One of the men rushed at Uwe, swiping wildly with his katzbalger. Uwe caught his wrist and headbutted him, tossing him aside to be finished by Bartosz with a single, precise thrust to the heart or neck. Uwe stepped forward and swung his ax down in a wide arc, lodging the ax in another man and slamming him into the stone floor so hard it spiderwebbed. A soldier shuffled around Uwe while he was attempting to dislodge his ax and raised his sword, shouting at the top of his lungs as he prepared to strike.

  “FOR MY BROTH-”

  He was cut off as a small bolt appeared in his throat. Bartosz rushed forward, kicking him away from Uwe. Uwe lifted his ax with the body still attached to it and smiled at Bartosz, turning around and swinging his ax so the body dislodged itself, flying into a group of 4 men approaching them.

  The Baron quickly aimed his pistol and shot through the neck of a man approaching Fergus from behind and then quickly ducked under the swing of another man, twisting his body and slamming his pommel into the soldier’s stomach, swiftly raising his saber high into the air and chopping the man’s head off while he was doubled over.

  He returned his pistol to its holster and drew another, quickly using it to parry another strike and simultaneously thrust at his attacker's heart. The man was able to dodge back at the last second and send a wild strike at the Baron, which he parried with ease, stepping inside of the strike and elbowing him into the wall.

  Just as he was about to finish the man off he felt the ground begin to shift beneath him. He frantically threw himself to the side just as a spike of stone erupted from the floor, briefly rolling before forcing himself back to his feet and taking a deep stance, saber raised above his head, tip aimed at his fallen enemy, in case he sprung forward.

  The Baron turned to find the source and saw a surprising sight: an elven man, etherially beautiful with long, pointed ears. He was waving his hands in the air, a dark green light eminating from his eyes.

  He wore a dark blue, waist-length jacket, with sleeves that extended all the way to the wrists, then under that a white linen waistcoat over a white linen shirt on his torso, as well as two white straps creating an X across his chest. In addition to this he wore white breeches tucked black leg wraps which spanned from the ankle to the bottom of his knee, and on his head was a tall and stout bearskin hat which sported a tall red plume, and at his side was a simple straight saber.

  They had been speaking about elves for a while now, however to see one in person truly made it sink in that he was in a world completely alien from his own.

  I suppose I will have completely to abandon my old life. Now, I will truly become the Baron von Bickenstadt!

  The elf quickly finished his air signs and some stones jumped out of the floor, launching them at his attackers as soon as the force of gravity began to drag them down. The Baron shielded his face by raising his gauntletted forearm and threw himself to the side, feeling rubble smash into his armor, a few finding gaps and hitting squishy flesh.

  Fergus took on the rocks head on, weaving through the hail as he sprinted toward the mage. He smashed the ones he could not dodge, and allowed a few stones to strike him wherever he had the most padding, trusting that his heirloom Berzerkeri armor would keep his organs safe.

  Uwe and Bartosz frantically scrambled to dodge the stones and find cover, slipping on the various bits of debris scarttered across the floor during the scuffle.

  The two managed to clamber behind an overturned dresser, but as he vaulted the dresser Uwe was struck in the back of the head by a fist sized rock, hitting the ground hard with the added force of the blow, landing at an odd angle, one leg ahead of the other. Under his immense weight, and the sheer momentum built up in his massive body, his leg snapped like a twig, and his face slammed into the stone floor.

  Another rock glanced off the side of Bartosz’s head as he tumbled over the dresser, also smashing his face into the stone floor. Bartosz was instantly knocked unconscious, and Uwe, while only slightly rattled by the knock to the head, was out of commission until he could get his leg fixed, simply laying on the floor and writhing in pain.

  The Baron was barely able to avoid getting pummeled to death by the barrage of stones, pummling his unarmored shoulders, the back of his thighs, and flank as he desperately scrambled to find cover sturdy enough to stop a rock. Fergus was making slow progress moving forward, but the mage had built up a barrier of orbiting stones around him and Fergus was having trouble finding the pathway through, simply observing the patterns and battering away rocks as they came.

  After what felt like hours, but was likely only around ten seconds, the barrage was beginning to slow down, and the mage was slowly shuffling to a different part of the room.

  The area he was standing on before was full of holes, dust, and loose rock. Fairly poor footing for anyone wishing to approach. The Baron started to edge around the side of the mage and the barrage lessened further. After waiting until the mages barrier thinned, the Baron aimed his pistol. Just as he saw an opening he was tackled to the ground, his pistol skidding a few feet away before impacting a head-sized stone.

  The mage took a step back and swung his fist in an uppercut. His eyes flashed brightly and a wall shot up at his feet, erecting itself between him and Fergus. The mage then stomped and thrust his arms forward and unleashed a single primal roar, shooting the wall forward and making it fall on Fergus, who rolled to the side just as it was about to crush him. The elf's uniform and Fergus's beard swayed in the wind created by the falling slab. As soon as it settled down, the two again sprang into action.

  The mage made a sign with his hands and thrust his first upwards again, calling forth a spike of stone towards, hoping to catch Fergus as he fell.

  Fergus managed to twist his body just enough to avoid getting impaled and scraped against the spike, leaving a large trail of gore in his flank. Fergus rolled aside to avoid another stone and shot to his feet, his eyes suddenly looking dull, a wild grin plastered on his face and a small trail of foam was forming at one side of his mouth. The mage prepared another barrage of stones and launched them at Fergus, who howled and rushed forward, crushing and weaving between stones with blinding speed and inhuman precision.

  The Baron managed to get his feet onto the man’s chest and kicked like a mule, prying him off and sending him flying back-first into the wall. The Baron rolled over his back and onto his feet, readying his sword. He dropped his pistol in the struggle, but he still had one more loaded. The man scrambled to his feet and fell in line with his fellow guards, each one giving the Baron their sole, undivided attention.

  There were five of them left. The Baron made a smug face as he reached for his belt, then swiftly finding his smile faltering. His grenades had fallen off in the struggle. Now that he looked he could see them rolling around behind them.

  He released a colossal sigh and fell into an offensive stance, weight heavily on the lead leg, off-hand at his hip, saber raised high in the air. He leaped forward and slashed diagonally at them, mostly just to get them separated. Two of them rushed at him at once, one on either side. He ducked under one strike and blocked the other with his gauntlet, immediately kicking the legs out from under the attacker he parried.

  Another man slashed at his back and he simply allowed it bounce off the enchanted backplate as he lunged forward and thrust at the soldier in front of him. The quick, panicked movement meant that his technique was sloppy, and his saber just barely grazed the soldier's neck.

  The Baron could feel what his attacker was going to do, he would attempt to stab down at the Baron and impale his shoulder. The Baron readied himself, and as soon as the man reeled back to thrust he stepped through with his back leg rotated his elbow inward while flicking his wrist forward, rotating his saber and dragging it through the soldier's neck, slicing clean through and severing the spine with ease due to the enchanted blade.

  Another man rushed at the Baron and aimed a thrust at the back of his head. The Baron rolled over his shoulder and came up behind the soldier he had just killed, springing up and shaving the dead man onto his new attacker. Just as the soldier was able to throw his former comrade to the side while staying on his feet the Baron was on him, tackling him and swiftly straddling his chest. The Baron grabbed the top portion of his blade with his offhand and slammed it through the soldier's throat, feeling his sword glide through vertebrae effortlessly with the force generated by his entire body.

  The Baron saw his lost pistol lying close by and scrambled to grab it, pulling it up and aiming at a man who was charging at him, a huge grin plastered on his face. As the hammer fell it sparked, igniting a few grains of powder and sending sparks flying into the air. The man the pistol was aimed at stopped to try and move out of the way, the look on his face told the Baron he knew he was going to die. Both sides waited a second, then two, then three.

  The Baron’s face fell and he checked the flashpan. Empty.

  Fergus had almost reached the mage, blasting through his barrage with sheer strength and speed. The mage pulled out his straight cavalry sword and made a few quick signs with his hands, pulling stone from around him to build up on his forearms and chest.

  The elf allowed his barrage to end as Fergus jumped towards him. He stepped forward and thrust his saber at Fergus’s neck with blinding speed. Fergus brought up his ax to catch the blade in the beard, but at the last second the tip dipped to the right, aiming for his shoulder. Fergus brought up his knife and punched the blade with the knuckles, battering the strike away and swinging his ax at the mage’s side.

  The mage brought up his stone covered arm and allowed the ax to slide up his forearm and get caught in a lip on his shoulder, twisting his saber at the same time to go over Fergus’s guard. Fergus ducked slightly and the blade stopped less than an inch above his shoulder. The strange way the elf had to contort his arm to pull off that move significantly limited his range of motion and prevented Fergus from being gored.

  Fergus pulled back his dagger arm and punched the elf in the stomach. As his fist got closer and closer the stone moved forward, colliding with the brass knuckles and slowing down his fist, significantly lessening the impact of Fergus’s punch. The mage used the remaining force of Fergus’s punch to make some distance, jumping backwards and regaining his composure.

  He quickly made another hand sign and called forth more stone to replace what Fergus had crushed. Fergus picked up a previously launched stone and chucked it at the mage, who diverted the stone to the side with nothing more than gesture with his head.

  The mage stepped forward and attacked with blinding speed, pushing Fergus back with each deviously aimed strike. Fergus was pushed all the way back to the wall, a grin beginning to form on his face.

  Just as it looked like he would be overwhelmed and pinned against the wall, Fergus's leg shot back and he pushed as hard as he could, flying off the wall and tackling the mage with the force of a charging stag. After skidding across the floor, the two rolled to a stop and began wrestling for control.

  Fergus was punching with his knife’s knuckle guard as hard and fast as he could, the elf shifting his chest just enough to avoid the strikes by a hair's breadth. The mage began to make a hand sign, and Fergus could feel the ground shifting behind him. A stone spike shot up from the ground and Fergus ducked down onto the mage’s chest.

  A spike erupted from the ground and ran up alongside his back, the tip just off center enough to simply create a line of gore across his back instead of impaling him entirely. The mage attempted one last sign, but Fergus chopped his hand at the wrist, embedding it halfway through his wrist with a sickening thwack. Fergus thrust his knife up into the elf's neck then ripped it to the side, cutting his throat open from Adam's apple to the back of his neck. The stone covering his chest and arms crumbled to the ground immediately as the green light swiftly drained from his eyes, and his sstruggling finally began to wane.

  The Baron panicked and chucked his pistol as hard as he could, pelting one soldier in the face and charging the other one. He ducked under a wild slash, coming up behind and grabbing him by the waist, lifting and slamming him face first into the ground. He slashed the nape of the man’s neck and quickly turned around just in time to see another attack coming his way, the thrust just barely below the gap in his armor, simply glancing off and clanging into the ground.

  The Baron blocked the soldier's frenzied but extremely unrefined attacks for a few moments, letting him tire himself out with wide sweeps and heavy chops. As the man overextended a slash and stumbled forward the Baron smashed his pommel into the soldier's face, knocking him to the floor, lunging forward and thrusting through his heart before the soldier could get back to his feet.

  The Baron withdrew his blade and leaned on his thighs, panting hard. For a few moments, all he could do was suck in short, shallow breathes. His lungs hurt and his jointed ached, he had exerted himself quite a bit during this fight. Finally, after catching his breath somewhat, he spoke to Fergus, still not looking up from his feet.

  “I’m guessing he’s dealt with?”

  Fergus wiped the foam from the side of his mouth and composed himself. His eyes returned to normal and his grin softened.

  “Aye! ‘E wa a good fighter! Better wit a sword than aye thought a mage would be!”

  The Baron stood up tall, took a deep breath, then crossed the gap and slapped Fergus on the back, laughingly raucously.

  “Good to hear you had fun. Now, send the signal firework, quickly, so we can continue rampaging without worry!”

  Fergus nodded and went to find a window.

  The room was an absolute mess. The once beautifully crafted stone floor was ripped up by the mage. Stone and dust were everywhere, embedded in the walls, the floor, as well as the many corpses, cabinets, and tables that littered the room. Not a single piece of furniture was standing.

  There was blood everywhere, splattered on the walls and pooling in the holes and crevices left by the Elven mage. The Baron walked around the room and retrieved his pistols. He cursed as he realized the stones had crushed the firing mechanism on one of them. He looked over at the dead mage and muttered under his breath.

  “These are really expensive you know. You can’t just break ‘em willy nilly! I’ll send the bill to your employer.”

  He heard some very faint breathing and drew his saber, walking over to an overturned dresser. He slowly inched towards it, trying to be as quiet as possible. He leaped over the dresser and slashed at where he heard the breathing, but stopped just as the saber was about to reach the man’s neck.

  “‘Hey Baron...good to see you too.”

  Uwe sat up against the dresser, breathing hard.

  The Baron lowered his saber. Uwe smiled weakly.

  “So...is the battle over?”

  The Baron sheathed his Saber and pointed to the man next to him.

  “Yes it is. Is Bartosz ok?”

  Uwe strained a bit to get a better look at Bartosz.

  “I couldn’t tell ya. But ‘es breathin’, so ‘es probably fine.”

  The Baron checked the back of Uwe’s head, finding it was bleeding slowly.

  “More importantly, are you ok?”

  Uwe gently jerked his head away from the Baron.

  “I will be when 'e wakes up. 'e can fix me up easily.”

  “Alright, I’ll try and wake him up then.”

  The Baron walked over to Bartosz and gently slapped his face.

  “Wakey wakey!”

  Bartosz slowly opened his eyes and moaned in displeasure. The Baron smiled as Bartosz’s eyes focused on him.

  “Bartosz! Welcome back to the land of the living. Do tell, how was your foray into the other side?”

  Bartosz pulled himself up and leaned against the dresser, making a few gestures with glowing hands and touching his hand to his temple, and after taking a deep breath he set to work on Uwe.

  “Baron, find me something long and straight. If I heal his leg without setting it properly, the bones will heal wrong.”

  The Baron quickly did as he asked and Bartosz got to work attaching the makeshift splint. While watching Bartosz work, the Baron heard two rockets go off, one right after the other.

  “Either Fergus didn’t understand the directions, or another team has finished their work.”

  Bartosz didn’t look up from his work, his eyes were glowing pink and he was sweating buckets. The room was actively growing colder as he worked.

  “Uwe, are you and Bartosz going to withdraw? Fergus and I are planning on staying, but we weren't injured the way you two were.”

  Uwe looked to Bartosz as he finished up and took off the splint.

  “What do you think man? If we stay I’m sure Brusilov would be proud, but I kinda wanna sleep.”

  “I think we will leave. Your leg is fixed but if you go too hard on it the bone will warp, and I cannot fix that.”

  The Baron nodded his head and gave the men a quick salute.

  “Understood, it was a pleasure working with you men. Hopefully we will meet again.”

  The Baron left to go find Fergus.

  He found Fergus surrounded by a dead patrol, straddling the last one and burying his axe in the man’s head.

  “Fergus, good work!”

  He looked up and almost charged at the Baron, but his face quickly softened.

  “...Thanks Baron! Are 'Brusilov’s Finest' pullin’ oot?”

  “Yes, Uwe broke his leg, and Bartosz said if he’s not careful it will warp, whatever that means.”

  Fergus shrugged before looking very excited.

  “Oh! Baron! Aye found a secret passage!”

  Fergus was gesturing to a closet filled with dishes. He holstered his ax in a loop on his belt and stepped in the closet, kicking a brick as hard as he could. The wall next to it slid out, revealing said secret passage. Fergus smiled proudly.

  “Whadya think?”

  The Baron nodded his head appreciatively.

  “Sounds like fun. Just give me a moment to reload my pistols and we’ll be on our way.”

  As he was talking he heard another firework go off, and as he finished reloading his third pistol he heard the last one.

  “Looks like our operation was a success, the cannons should be singing any moment now. Lets go, I want to see what they’re hiding down there."

  |

  The journey through the passage was uneventful. It was a dark corridor which led to a spiral staircase. It took about 5 minutes of walking before they stumbled into anything interesting, and during that time they could feel the impact of the cannons making quick work of the walls. As they were beginning to consider heading back, they finally ran into something. The hallway opened into a wider room, and at the end of the room was a door guarded by 4 knights in beautiful and ornate armor.

  |

  “Fergus, how do we want to tackle this?”

  Fergus tapped the side of his head as he thought out loud.

  “Hmmm, can ya throw in a bomb fore weh attack?”

  “Good idea! I should bring more bombs with me next time. My remaining flashbomb was destroyed by the rocks, but the grenade is fine!”

  He pulled the tab and threw it as hard as he could, the bomb pinged off the helmet of one of the guards and exploded, killing the man it hit and stunning everyone else. Fergus and the Baron rushed forward, Fergus taking the two men on the left and the Baron taking the one left on the right.

  The Baron raised his pistol and pulled the trigger. The hammer sparked against the power and it slowly began to light.

  I put too much powder in it! If you add too much powder the ignition is delayed! Why didn’t I invest in standardized cartridges!?

  As the powder slowly ignited, he could see the trajectory of the bullet when it would leave. Right now his shot would miss by two inches. He made a few micro adjustments and the powder finally ignited, sending the bullet directly into the knight’s helmet, exactly where the Baron thought it would hit.

  The bullet pinged off the knight’s helmet. It obviously hurt, as the knight was knocked backwards and was desperately trying to take his helmet off, but the bullet was deflected and caused no real damage, which meant it was enchanted.

  The Baron clicked his tongue and holstered his pistol. He probably could have hit him through the eye, but didn't have enough time to adjust his shot that much. Him, Fergus, and the knight charged into each other. The Baron thrust with his saber, aiming for the gaps in the knight's armor. The knight easily parried and returned strikes at the Baron, the difference in skill between them and the guards was immediately made evident.

  Fergus howled like a wild beast, his eyes dilated and he began to shake as he walked. His eyes became dull and foam began to leak out of his mouth. The two knights began to edge closer to him, looking to Fergus and then to each other every few steps. No real thoughts were entering his mind besides slaughter. He knew the knights were making noise, but it mostly just sounded like gibberish to him, the berserker state stripping him of any knowledge of language besides his own mother tongue.

  “Was stimmt nicht mit ihm?”

  The knights continued to nervously inch forward, eyeing Fergus warily, neither of them willing to make a move.

  “Keine idee, er sieht wie ein Orkneyer. Vielleicht ein Berzerkeri?”

  “Nicht gut. Er scheint stark zu sein!”

  Fergus finally stopped shaking and stared at the ceiling, unmoving. The knights inched forward and waited for him to move, but he didn’t. One of them raised their sword and waited for him to react. He didn’t. The knight shrugged his shoulders and swung down at Fergus.

  Just before the sword connected, Fergus’s arm shot out and he caught the sword in the beard of his axe, tugging as hard as he could and pulling the knight into him. Fergus’s knife slammed into the side of the knight, piercing his enchanted armor like it wasn’t even there.

  “IMPERIAL DOG!!”

  Shouted Fergus in his native language. In his berserker state he couldn't remember any Reikers, though he was working on maintaining full control, and making steady progress.

  The knight screamed in pain and surprise and kicked away from Fergus, dropping his sword and pulling out Fergus’s knife. The other knight rushed forward and slashed at Fergus, who dodged to the side and punched the knight in the ribs, denting in his armor slightly. Fergus swung his ax at the knight with blinding speed, and the knight just barely dodged out of the way in time. The first knight made some hand signs and put his glowing hand over his wound while drawing a shortsword with the other. The two walked over and stood side by side.

  “Gemeinsam angreifen, Ja?”

  They both nodded to each other and launched their attack.

  They worked in perfect tandem, flashing their swords to either side of Fergus with perfect precision. Fergus blocked and parried each of their strikes with blinding speed, his arms appearing as a blur as he worked, a wild grin plastered across on his face as he howled and shouted Orkney battle cries. Fergus parried the knight with the shortsword using his dagger and kicked him back into the wall, turning his complete focus on the other knight. He began to attack him with both his weapons, his arms a blur of frenzied strikes and feints.

  The knight couldn't block and parry all of Fergus’s strikes, he had to rely on the strength of his armor and enchantments just as much as his own skill to keep himself alive. The other knight got back to his feet and began to run back into the fray, but suddenly the castle began to shake. The artillery barrage had started in earnest.

  The Baron and his sparring partner stumbled as the castle began to shake. The Baron looked up at the ceiling and nodded appreciatively.

  "They're making steady progress.”

  The knight swung down at the Baron and he sidestepped the slash, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the wall. He stabbed down at the exposed area behind the knight's knee, forcing him to twist his leg, able to dodge with almost no margin for error.

  He pushed against the wall and tackled the Baron into the opposing wall, striking him in the opening his cuirass had under the armpit until the Baron was able to disengage, pushing him off and barely lifting his saber before the knight could charge again.

  The Baron slashed at the knight’s neck, forcing him to halt his momentum and dodge back, immediately responding with a stab at the Baron’s armpit. The Baron angled his chest slightly, allowing the blade to slide off and grabbing his saber by the middle, jabbing it into the knight’s neck. He hit flesh but his chainmail neck covering was also enchanted, stopping the sword from digging deep enough to kill him before the knight could regain his footing.

  Fergus knocked the sword from the knight’s hands and swiftly followed with a two pronged attack, his axe flashing for the knight’s head and his knife aiming for his armpit. The knight tried to bring up his arms, but he was too slow and Fergus too strong. The knife pierced his hand as he brought it up to defend his armpit, and the ax crushed through the chainmail coif and opened his neck to the spine.

  The other knight wailed in anger at the death of his friend and charged. Fergus easily parried each of the knight’s blows and slowly began to decimate him, occasionally throwing a punch between parries with earth shattering force. Soon, the knight collapsed, exhausted from his assault on Fergus and his beating he had taken. He dropped to his knees, taking in rasping breaths.

  Fergus pulled his ax back and dropped it onto the knight, splitting his head, enchanted helmet and all. Fergus looked over at the Baron and began to take slow, deep breaths to calm himself down. He knew that if he rushed in now he would quickly lose sight of himself and kill the Baron, along with the knight.

  The two men were having trouble staying steady. The barrage was tearing apart the castle, dust and stones were falling from the ceiling at an alarming rate. The Baron and the knight were both exchanging strikes quickly, parrying and countering madly, neither of them able to get a clean hit. The knight stabbed at the Baron’s head and quickly feinted, changing the path of his sword and slashing down at the Baron’s shoulder, creating a small gash. The Baron looked at the gash, frustrated that his ability was so inconsistent.

  The world began to shake even more violently than before, almost knocking both of them off of their feet. The Baron heard cracking and looked up, staring with horror as the ceiling began to collapse in on itself. The Baron had an idea, taking out his spent pistol and chucking it at the ceiling. As soon as the pistol hit the ceiling it began to completely collapse all at once.

  The Baron stepped forward and kicked the knight into the path of the falling debris, almost losing his footing in the process as the small stones piled up around him. The knight fell onto his back just as the ceiling began to cave in. He looked up and raised his arms, his screams getting cut off by the giant slabs of stone crushing him to a fine paste.

  When the dust began to clear and the roar of the falling stones calmed down, the Baron walked over to the rubble, silently praying he could salvage his pistol.

  “Fergus! Are you still alive?”

  After a few seconds he got a reply.

  “Aye! Aye’m fine, how’re ya?”

  “I’ve been better, but I’ve also been worse. Tell you what, I’m going to investigate what’s behind that door. You go find Brusilov and get him to organize a team to free me. Understood?”

  “Aye, Aye’ll get on at! See ya soon, Baron!”

  The Baron nodded as he heard Fergus running off down the hall and up the spiral stairs. It was a long way back, he almost felt bad for him. The Baron walked to the door and pulled the handle, being greeted by a messy looking study, as well as a nicely groomed young man furiously writing at his desk.