***
In around eight hours,
A few things were becoming abundantly clear as the villages were evacuated and the people organized.
First of all, it was the rate at which Aura has been advancing. Three days — that was roughly the time by which I expected her to reach Sturmkamm.
Considering it normally took weeks to access the region of the high passes through which she traveled, this spoke volumes about how fast she was moving her slaves.
I knew that most, if not all, of them had warrior training, but I also strongly suspected that a fair share of those people were dead after all.
Auserlese - that was the name of the spell that Aura the Guillotine wielded in the original story.
A Spell of Obedience — its only goal was to enforce absolute servitude. The mechanics, as depicted, involved two souls being measured against one another: the one with the highest mana gained absolute dominion over the one with the least mana.
It was the existence of this spell that gave me hope when I first appeared in this world. It was the knowledge that this spell was possible, knowledge that the souls truly existed and could be interfaced with via magic, that allowed for Resonant Soul to be born. Because I knew it was possible to make my curse.
Auserlese wasn't merely fearsome because Aura could, effectively, turn anyone with mana weaker than hers into a slave… which was everyone in the region, bar, perhaps, me.
The true horror of Auserlese was that the servitude it enforced… did not end in death, nor could it be shrugged of with Goddess Magic or any other trick.
It didn't matter if the slave wasted away; his carcass would keep moving and fighting, though, I suspect, Aura must have dabbled in some necromancy to learn how to preserve the bodies.
Worse yet, the slaves under Aura's control didn't lose much in strength. A remarkably powerful warrior will stay a remarkably powerful warrior, enslaved by her. And she could control hundreds of slaves.
Effectively, Aura was the only necromancer who lived up to this title, as it was understood in fiction on Earth. She truly did bind damned souls to bodies, bypassing both the need to feed the constructs mana personally and likely bypassing the need to construct an artificial mind.
As a necromancer, she cheated past every single hurdle and limitation the necromancers normally had.
Clearly, she still must have had some limitations, else the number of people marching on us wouldn't be in the hundreds but well into the thousands, but even as she currently was… her magic was practically unbeatable.
More so, as I explained to others in the warroom what I found, sharing what I could observe of the physical feats of Aura's soldiers, and of the demons I saw among her group. So far, I counted over a dozen.
I wasn't particularly amazing at espionage, but I did have experience programming familiars. So far, I don't seem to have been noticed in my careful observation of their movements.
Meanwhile, as I was focused on the approaching threat, countless things were discussed and decided.
The first thing everyone gathered there understood was that the people of the valley had no business being anywhere near the fight. I had the greatest insight into demons of anyone in the room, but I was hardly the only one who could see what awaited us. Demons could fly. Aura's puppets, whatever they had been before she chained their souls, most likely had been warrior-trained before that, and the walls of Sturmkamm were not so high as to inconvenience men of that calibre unduly. Both, given the chance, would do their utmost to have us fight amid the townsfolk. To force a defender to fight with restraint around defenceless people, to hesitate, to feel trapped amongst the helpless.
Of course, young demons likely didn't understand humans well enough to try such a strategy, but Aura? I was certain Aura did. It wasn't hard to convince everyone present that this would be what demons would aim for.
I knew I would, were I in their place.
Given the uncertainty about our victory, evacuating people became the priority.
Standhaft's men, when they were briefed in turn, did not argue the point. The man's hundred or so soldiers were themselves warrior-trained, and considered themselves the kind of force that took cities of Sturmkamm's size as a matter of course. They knew, as such men did, how little ordinary fortification meant against humans with their training.
Even in this world, most armies consist mostly of 'normal people', those who were incapable of punching through steel with their bare hands, or quick enough to catch a crossbow bolt in flight. But if you were warrior-trained, such capabilities became a matter of course.
Naturally, noblemen like Standhaft tended to have their own share of warrior-trained men. They usually weren't anyone impressive, but still what I would call superhuman, if for the most part not very impressively so.
It was with that force that Standhaft became the hero of the Civil War. Every man that he took here was someone with warrior training, or even a proper warrior.
I caught up on my reading about the man; he took many cities during the last five years. I wasn't surprised that he and his men understood exactly what sort of threat Aura's puppet army posed.
After all, Aura's force was a twisted reflection of their own.
In any case, they did not need to be persuaded that a wall would not stop something that could simply fly over it. If anything, they were quietly puzzled that the question of evacuating the inhabitants had even needed to be raised.
It was not enough, of course, to merely turn the people out of the city. They were to leave the valley and then the mountain range altogether and reach one of the cities beyond the Donnergipfel range, where they could take refuge while there was still time. The Sturmkamm valley was the gate of the mountains, the only city with a road broad and well-kept enough to move that many people in any sort of order out of the mountain pass. The other towns and settlements in the range were not in the same position. Some people in other valleys might manage to slip out through the seasonal trails, but most would simply have to sit and pray. If we failed to deal with Aura, the people now being moved out of Sturmkamm were, in all likelihood, the only ones in the whole range who would live through the season at all.
Everyone else will be trapped in a region, the only exit from which would be blocked by a Greater Demon and her forces.
But that aside, even with the road open, the column itself was hardly safe. A built trade road through the mountains still had its bandits and its wild beasts, and a procession of frightened townsfolk and peasants, weighed down with children and household goods and the elderly, was very much the sort of prey that drew both. Because of that, the bulk of the Valley Guard had to be reorganised to accompany them.
There was an unspoken bitterness in the decision for the representatives of the Guard who were in the war room. It meant that most of the city's own armed men would have to simply run with women and children when demons came.
The idea of arming the townsfolk and forming some sort of militia to help man the walls was raised, briefly, and dropped almost instantly. There is a chasm between a proper warrior and a warrior-trained man. An abyss between a warrior-trained man and a 'mere' veteran soldier, and a similar abyss between said veteran soldier and the average Bürger.
A chasm of experience rather than actual capability, but something that, no doubt, will prove pivotal.
Naturally, any Bürger — that is, a citizen of a free city — had a responsibility to own a weapon and armaments in case of war. Especially in a frontier city such as this, knowing how to use both was less of a right and more of a responsibility.
Which ultimately brought this whole discourse to a simple enough conclusion; those who weren't trained to superhuman level were worse than useless against an enemy like this.
Against ordinary attackers, this sort of militia would have been a practical and useful line of defence.
Against superhuman opponents who could keep fighting with broken bodies and push past fatigue altogether, and likely fight on even in death, as I suspected Aura's puppets could, all normal people would amount to — are a few minutes of grim slaughter and nothing more.
No, we all agreed that the men who would otherwise have been pressed into such a militia were of more use loading carts and steadying draft animals.
Word was sent ahead to the neighbouring region by my familiars and the fastest riders the city could spare, partly so that the road would not be barred to a column of refugees, and partly so that those cities could begin to organise the receiving of them. The order of evacuation was decided. The villages and hamlets south of Sturmkamm, those most directly in the demons' path, were to be cleared first. They would not be brought into the city only to be moved on again. Their inhabitants were to pass through, or skirt the walls outright, and continue along the road, with the Valley Guard waiting at the outer gate to take them into escort.
Sturmkamm itself would empty in waves after, women and children and the infirm at the head of the columns, the able-bodied bringing up the rear. The pace would be set by the slowest of them, and there was no helping that. There was a brief and ugly conversation about livestock and stores. Most of it would have to be left behind, preserved when possible, in hopes of our victory, so that the city won't be crippled by hunger.
The room where the council was held had changed by the time all of this was settled. The clerks' tables had been pushed against the walls, their scattered papers either sorted into neat stacks or removed altogether, and the main table was cleared of everything but the maps, which were weighted at the corners with whatever pointless trinkets had come to hand.
Wooden markers, flat-bottomed and painted in faded regimental colours, sat in clusters across the topography, with a few already positioned along the high passes to the south where I had been updating the positions of the enemy from what my familiars sent back. A set of dividers and a straightedge lay beside them. The magical lanterns Standhaft's men had mounted on iron stands cast a steady, clear light across the table, their ore cores bright enough to read by without squinting and pale enough to make the room feel colder than it was. The window had been shuttered. Someone had thought to bring a second, smaller table for refreshments, a jug of water, a few cups, bread that no one had yet touched, and placed it far enough from the maps that nothing would be spilled on them.
Currently, Stolz, the Valley Guard commander, was reporting on the number of men he still had at his disposal for the fight with Aura, accounting for all the men he had to spare to accompany the refugees.
The numbers weren't promising, but at the very least, he kept whatever elite he still had to spare close by, as well as the stronger adventurers who volunteered to offer the city their swords.
Stolz didn't look good. The man was already in his sixties, normally too old for military duties, but he was too highly respected ever to leave office easily, at least not when he clearly handled the day-to-day bureaucratic routine just fine.
Yet, the stress of today, as well as the obvious guilt that I could practically taste on my tongue from his body language, made the man look older still.
"...in other words, if the Headmaster's intel is right," He spared me a glance, and then, with a brief expression of guilt and regret I barely caught, looked away. This, too, was something I was noticing often today. "...at the very least, we should have the numerical advantage, milord."
Standhaft's face looked as if etched from stone, but he acknowledged the man's words with a brief nod.
The next one to report, unsurprisingly, was Zaudern. The other old man looked a bit shaky as he passed Stolz, glancing across the seated group. When he was offered a chair by one of the bürgermeister's helpers, he simply waved the man away.
"I've had my boys look through the remaining models," He addressed me in particular, and as he talked, the shaking in his arms started to disappear. "Most of the participants never bothered to start doing repairs or implement improvements this soon after the tournament. Only one or two golems are in pristine conditions, prototypes that weren't even fielded in the festival," He explained, his eyes on me. "Maybe a… a fifth could be repaired enough to work to… some extent. If I have most of the older masters from the guild stay and work on it." He then smiled, it was a dry, small gesture, "But I would appreciate it if you lend us a hand too, Albert."
"And your master enchanters… will agree to that?" I asked, after a moment of silence. After all, if they stayed for as long as they can to repair the golems… they will evacuate the city, at best, hours before the enemy arrives. Meaning if Aura wins, they will be chased and slaughtered without a shadow of a chance to escape.
"Sturmkamm is home," Zaudern replied simply. There wasn't anger, nor stubborn defiance in his voice, only conviction, "Most of us never imagined we would have to fight for it… or would be able to fight for it. But here and now, all of a sudden we can. It would be a sad thing for old men like us to run, and leave our young and brightest to die in our stead, don't you think so too?" He asked me, his usual grumpy tone absent, only a shadow of amusement behind each word.
I paused here, unsure of how to address the man.
This was a public speaking space, our very own emergency 'war tent'. No place for a sentimental requestes. Yet, I wanted to tell Zaudern that at least he, himself, should leave the city.
If he were to leave with one of the groups of refugees, they would probably find him a place in the cart. But if he were to try and leave hours before the invasion, there wouldn't be such luxury, and he was far too old to make the trip on horseback, or worse yet, on his own two feet.
Staying to fight was also suicide.
But saying any of it here and now wouldn't be good, reluctantly, I knew I should try to convince him later, in private. Even if, somehow, pattern recognition told me that the man wouldn't listen.
In all likelihood, he resolved to put his life on the line.
"Understood." I said simply, "I will make time tonight, after this council is over." In all likelihood, helping with the golems is the best way to spend my mana with some use, in any case.
It's not like any enhancement worth anything could be made along the walls in the remaining timespan we had, but returning even a single golem to the operational condition could help tremendously.
"This won't be possible." Standhaft's words, which made everyone who was quietly exchanging information quiet down, and turn towards the man.
The Lord noticed the attention, his immaculate moustache twitching, when he looked into my eyes.
"Hear me!" He said simply, standing up, and throwing a long look over everyone who assembled here, "I know what most of you think. This demonic army is here for me. Why else would this attack coincide with my arrival? Why else would it happen right when I let my men inspect their new lands and get to know their new people?" He questioned rhetorically, his voice bombastic and effortlessly charismatic.
"I may not be a great scholar, like some of those present, but I can recognize a basic pattern of cause and effect," He said, giving a solemn nod. "Frankly, I do not know what I might have done to attract the attention of the Enemies of the Goddess. Maybe it's just a coincidence." He gave a long pause, looking into the faces of those gathered here.
There was Hexe and me, in our own corner, Berg not too far off, wearing his old armour for once, Fährte the Captain of the Huntsmen, Glimpflich the Captain of the City Guard, Stolz the Commander; they had their own space next to the bürgermeister Ahnungslos, then there were Lord Standhaft's own soldiers, and the head priest of the local church.
Everyone who represented any sort of martial power in the city was here - and Standhaft made sure to look them all in the eyes.
"But coincidence or not, I've been given power by the Goddess and Our King, and I've been given those lands to govern and protect. I may not have had the time to establish my rule, yet this does not free me from the obligation." He explained, "So I will fight, and so will my men. We will ride out at sunrise and meet the demonic army here," He pointed towards the map that was on the table between us all. His finger rested right on the field in this valley, near a river crossing, "Where our cavalry is at its strongest."
The way he said it wasn't opening it up for a discussion or questioning; it was a simple statement of fact.
This…
"This isn't what we've agreed on." I spoke, my voice cutting through the ensuing brief silence like a knife, "Whatever advantage could be gained from facing this force in the open field wouldn't matter before-"
"Albert the Hermit," Standhaf spoke, interrupting me. There was a brief spike of murderous rage, more intense than normal, that I had to suppress. The man, meanwhile, continued, "You've been given a lot of leeway. It was in response to your warning that I've answered the summons. It is listening to your tales and experience that I take this threat as seriously as I do." He explained simply, effortlessly looking down and into my eyes, "I know that you are a greatly accomplished man by your fame, I could tell you are a man of decent character personally, and I know of your skill because Entladung believes those skills to be impressive indeed, and he is yet to fail me." The lord nodded towards the mage I briefly knew. We only exchanged short greetings during the GolemWarrior tournament, but this Entladung assured me that he was familiar with my published works, somehow, which I did not expect from a combat mage.
Then he looked back at me.
"I've placed great trust in your knowledge, your warnings, and your capabilities. I've listened and have been more than reasonable, being part of this council rather than simply issuing orders." His eyes narrowed, "So allow me at least some of the same courtesy. You are a scholar, by your own admission, are you not? A man untested by war, as you confessed to me. I do not doubt that amongst the people gathered here," A short gesture to outline the assembled people, "...you hold respect and admiration. In fact, I find it greatly admirable and speaking well of your character that in times of crisis they turn to you, a scholar, for guidance and direction. But this is what you are, a scholar. A hero of the region who clearly rose to the occasion before, yes, but not a soldier, not a commander," His tone turned cutting, "I do not teach you how to hold surveillance over this demon, I was not directing you in your arcane manipulations, because I know your competence likely eclipses what I can conjure even as a suggestion. So why do you dare presume to instruct me on how to wage war? Albert, let me say this once: know your place."
For a few brief, confusing moments, I was simply lost.
Why? Why would this human do this, now, of all times? The immediate response was that this must be pride, or hubris… and yet, I could see neither in his body language.
He was truly convinced that he was right… and it took me a second to recognize why.
And to realize that from his point of view, he likely was in the right.
To him, Greater Demons were myths and legends. He heeded my warnings, but clearly not word for word; he must have believed I was being overcautious. It wasn't his personal failing; it was simply because he didn't know what I am capable of. And what proper Greater Demons who likely still eclipsed me in raw strength were capable of.
It was a jarring realization, suddenly seeing a person who was a big fish in a small pond… incapable of conceiving of the leviathans one could meet in deep waters.
Immediately, my mind snapped to analyzing my mistakes. Could I have presented the danger of Aura better? Maybe if I actually disclosed what I knew of her spell, of how quickly it could be applied? Maybe if I mentioned that she had a dozen other demons under her?
All those thoughts, which I considered one after another, were slowly being swept away by a tidal wave of rage, caused by helplessness and incomprehension, as well as wounded pride.
How dared he challenge me? How dared he take away my control, wrestling resources I needed to win this, threatening my life and my competence?
I wanted to lash out, to stand up and challenge this weakling, who was akin to an insect next to me, and force what I knew to be right, what I knew would increase our chance of survival.
But even in the throes of searing rage, I could recognize it for what it was.
Rage, wounded pride, hubris…
I brought a hand to my face, resting my eyes against the open palm, my lips silently uttering…
Like it always was to combat the temptations of my damned flesh and mind, acting against it felt like a gargantuan effort, greater than moving a mountain. Yet, I forced myself to briefly close my eyes, and to focus, focus on the words, focus on the meanings, focus on the one Above…
'Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; Where there is injury, pardon; Where there is doubt, faith; Where there is despair, hope; Where there is darkness, light; Where there is sadness, joy...'
"You are far too careless, lad," It was Berg's voice this time, the old dwarf was looking up at the lord, "There are things in the world that can't be confronted with strength of arms alone. If Albert said this is one of them, it's one of them." The dwarf explained briskly.
…yet, I was a demon. Even as I echoed the words towards the Lord in my mind, I couldn't tune out the words of men, of their pointless, stupid, asinine bickering that made me want nothing but to bathe in their blood.
'...O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love...'
"Since when are the words of a man called a Hermit law of the lands?" It was one of Standhaft's men who spoke up, the one known as Braveur, or so he was introduced, "Also, take care to keep your tongue leashed, dwarf, a less patient lord would make you shorter still for taking this tone."
Berg laughed.
It wasn't a good-natured chuckle or even an expression of amusement; it was the dark, slow thing that I've heard before, almost a century back at this point, when I was fighting side by side with this dwarf.
"That so?" From the corner of my eye, I could see him stand up, axe in hand, in less than a blink, "Why won't your lord try me then? See how well it'll go for him."
A cacophony of movement, as everyone started to shift, stand up, prepare…
It wasn't any easier. The prayer did not grant peace. But it helped shift my attention away for long enough for the shimmering, murderous rage to be more manageable.
'For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life…'
"Enough."
It was my voice alone that somehow managed to pass through several insults that the lieutenants of Standhaft were preparing; it was louder than the drawn steel, louder than the ringing of glass from the vials Hexe procured from her mantle.
That surprises me. Somewhat, somehow, I was not expecting to be heard.
In just an instant, I found myself in the absolute center of attention.
"This is no time to fight amongst ourselves. Everyone gathered here is invaluable for us to win." I stated the simple truth, meeting the Lord's eyes, "I fear this is a disagreement we can't solve with words. Lord Standhaft, take your men, and wage this battle as you see fit. In truth, if you can buy us even a few extra hours, we will likely be able to evacuate more people, and prepare our defences more; it will be invaluable… yet, if you take this fight, your men, and you, will most likely die." I told him simply, each word, despite the seething rage, despite deep down wishing to tear this man apart, was genuine. "So please, I beg you, do not do this. I have a plan to handle Aura, the Greater Demon, but until you swear to abandon this folly… I can't reveal it to you, else I risk her knowing of it if you are to be captured."
After all, even if I could be angered, even if I could rage, even if I wished to kill, it wasn't ever malicious. The deep-rooted hatred and distaste humans formed for one another… wasn't something I, as a demon, possessed.
It was remarkable in that respect, how easily a demon could forgive… or to be more precise, how utterly incapable my kind was of being resentful.
The lord measured me with a look for a few moments.
"I see." He seemed to hesitate for a moment, "And what if I order you to come fight by my side?"
I tilted my head, a moment of genuine confusion at the pointless question, and a familiar heat of rage.
"I would refuse."
The man chuckled; somehow, it seemed like a completely genuine expression. In that one instant, I've seen him more relaxed than ever before.
"And if I force the issue?"
His voice echoed out, across his frozen lieutenants, across the Valley Guard captains and commander who stood with their swords drawn on our side, across the still seated Bürgermeister, and Berg who, as always, stood right in front, as if trying to shield me with his small body. Even the head priest from the local church seemed about ready to interfere.
I looked the man in the eyes.
And for the first time in almost a century, I let go.
The explosion of mana was visible only to mages and those who had trained with folk spells enough to be capable of sensing mana well enough. Naturally, Hexe froze, so did Standhaft's mage, and the priests trained in divine magic.
But I knew that warriors, too, could feel it. Not quite like mages, but Berg described it to me once, a weight on their very bones, the dread of standing before a calamity that your body instinctively understands as such, that's what it felt like to face truly powerful monsters.
And I was likely the strongest thing even Berg could have ever faced.
As I saw everyone freeze, colour draining from their faces, I allowed myself to reply simply.
"You can try."
The newly appointed lord of the Donnergipfel region just laughed.
"I see… and even someone like you can't see a straightforward victory?" He wondered, and I could see it, as he collected himself even as I reined my mana back in, "Tell me, Hermit… would I be more useful here, manning the walls, or facing the army in the field?" He asked, but it sounded like his interest was mere polite curiosity.
For a human it must have taken some effort to ask a question such as this so casually.
I considered lying for one brief moment.
A lie to save a life.
But I decided against doing so, as this could truly decide the battle, and I couldn't afford to lose.
"If you face Aura, and your men perform as I expect on the field of battle… it will help tremendously." After all, I couldn't see Aura being able to enslave enough of them to make up for the losses in her puppets. But what was even more important was if they could cut into the number of demons serving Aura, and let me get a feel of their mana, see their magic, and plan… "It may decide victory."
The man nodded before turning towards the exit and gesturing for his men to follow.
"We will need a scout in the morning who can show us the terrain… so we can prepare. Those demons are here for me. I will not cower behind walls." He said, "Consider the matter settled until this is over." And just like that, he exited.
This wasn't unexpected. A demonstration of strength on my part, especially as vague as it had been, combined with a direct challenge to his claim on the lands… it wasn't surprising that he didn't change his mind.
For a few seconds, no one said a thing.
"Oh goddess, yes, thank you!" Ahnungslos stood up, throwing up a fist.
"Ahnungslos, this is in poor taste," Bohren, I believe, the oldest priest present, finally found his voice and chided the man.
Bürgermeister waved the older man away.
"Peace, peace, I am just happy this didn't grow into a slaughter of over a hundred elite soldiers inside our own walls." He explained, likely lying.
No one seemed overly convinced.
Soon enough, the meeting was concluded, as most of those gathered were still mortal and needed to rest.
I, however, had time to work on some golems.
***
Despite the rather dramatic conclusion to the shared council of the Sturmkamm's finest and Lord Standhaft, this wasn't an end to the cooperation or communication between both parties.
There was a genuine fundamental disagreement on account of authority and trust that couldn't be mended easily, and which was the reason why both sides ended up acting mostly independently of one another, yet help was still rendered.
Albert has been asked to answer the summons the morning after, and spent a substantial amount of time explaining in great detail how one would fight a demon, and what he suspects Aura's puppets to be like. He also repeated his warnings, which weren't as much dismissed… as simply taken with a grain of salt.
A few men from amongst the Valley Guard's huntsman division were tasked to help Lord Standhaft pick a battlefield, which they did.
The place lay perhaps five kilometres south of Sturmkamm along the trade road, where the valley narrowed before opening out again, and where the river that ran along its length bent sharply about a long crescent of open ground before broadening across a gravelled shallow. The shallow served as the only ford for several kilometres in either direction, the stones at its bottom worn smooth by generations of cart wheels and shod hooves. In summers, it lay barely deep enough to wet a horseman's toes. Even now, in the cool months, the water came no higher than a tall man's knee.
The meadow within the bend had not been put to plough in living memory. The Valley Guard's huntsmen knew it as old grazing ground, and the locals as a place where, in better seasons, the wildflowers came up thick along the river's edge. It was firm-turfed and level, broad enough that a man on the far side appeared no more than a small dark figure against the line of the trees, and bordered along the eastern half of its arc by the river itself and along the west by the rising ground of the valley wall, which climbed steep and densely forested into the mountainside. The forest on the far bank, across the ford, rose much the same way, old growth with little undergrowth beneath the canopy and the litter of needles soft underfoot for as far as one could see.
Along the northern edge of the meadow, where it met the lower skirts of the wooded rise, the ground ran in a long uneven line of copses and old hedgerow.
The river itself ran clear and very quick, fed by the snows higher up. At the hour before dawn, the air above it held the white mist. It came up off the water in long drifting banks, and on still mornings it filled the bowl of the meadow to the height of a man's shoulders and obscured the line of the trees behind.
Lord Standhaft was by no means a fool, nor was he an inexperienced man; he had his own plan to win the battle, and the location was about as perfect for it as it could be. As he ordered the things he needed from Sturmkamm, there, in a neighbouring poorly-populated valley that had already been evacuated, Aura's forces reached the first abandoned village.
Naturally, that immediately alerted Aura that she had been discovered.
From the perspective of Albert, who kept watch over the approaching force via his familiars, it became considerably more difficult to track the movement of the enemy, as his familiars were now hunted and destroyed.
His efforts at establishing far-sight spells also weren't overly successful, mostly because he never had much practice with those in the first place.
He could still roughly estimate where Aura's forces were moving and how fast, but it became impossible for him to count the number of, or try to look for, demons amongst the enemy forces anymore.
Albert simply didn't have enough reagents stored up to produce enough familiars to not care for their destruction, not to mention that the actual process of summoning took up valuable time.
Aura's army accelerated and clearly changed formation somehow, but beyond that, Albert could provide little intel, and he had forewarned against using living hunters as scouts, remembering that Aura's mana sense was supposed to be especially refined… and knowing that even if such scouts could observe something essential, they still wouldn't be able to get to Sturmkamm faster than Aura's marching forces that barely cared about exhaustion.
And then it was time.
***
It was a last-minute decision.
Standhaft knew the worth of heavy cavalry on the battlefield, especially of said cavalry manned by people with the blessed constitution of the warrior-trained.
It wasn't strictly the mass and the sheer intimidation factor of the heavily armoured rider, which was the decisive strength of 'normal' heavy cavalry, which wasn't composed of people who treated their bodies as a temple.
It was simply the speed at which the riders could engage and disengage. A man trained in the warrior arts could be quick and could match a galloping horse, but at the same time, that man would tire out.
However, if that same man rode a sufficiently armoured horse into battle, he wasn't even out of breath when in the midst of enemies, and he grew no weaker if dragged down from his mount.
Essentially, while fighting atop a good destrier didn't make Standhaft's own soldiers any weaker, it still provided noticeable benefits, which is why, outside of urban environments, he usually had his most trusted men fight mounted.
This wasn't how he decided to take this fight.
From Albert's words, Standhaft knew that the enemy would be puppets, enslaved men and maybe women, bound by a demonic spell to fight even beyond death. From Albert's words, he knew that demons themselves may be an even more dangerous enemy. From Albert's words, he knew he would likely be targeted as the man with the highest mana aside from his faithful advisor, Entladung, to whom he offered to stay in Sturmkamm, only to receive a firm refusal. He also heard the Hermit's speculations on the nature of the Greater Demon's spell, that she would need at least to see him, in all likelihood.
That was ultimately the problem, too much information was based on Hermit's words alone. If not for the context of what was happening, one could question if demons existed and were present at all, as the only proof of what was coming was the men's own words…
…no, of course, Entladung inspected Albert's illusions and proofs and conclusively told Standhaft that those were no forgeries, but still, too much had to be taken on faith.
Which was the reason for him being here now.
Because between the words of a man Standhaft didn't truly know and his own life experience and knowledge of war, he naturally had to trust the second more.
It was for that reason that he wasn't nearly as angry at the elf as he should have been, even if it galled him that a mage would rebel so easily; he understood, because everything the elf had built was housed in those mountains.
Which was why the decision that Standhaft ended up making was so odd. Normally, he would still have his men ride to battle; this was just the conventional wisdom of war. Yet, the Hermit insisted on this Greater Demon being the single largest threat, and that mobility and the ability to simply hide and maneuver were much more important.
It was this advice that, this morning, Standhaft decided to take to heart, for no other reason but a gut feeling.
Out of all his entourage, only he himself was in a saddle. His men stood armoured in a battleline, with their banner held high, on the high point above the meadow, waiting.
Standhaft wasn't riding his usual partner, but a breed he'd only heard stories about. A genuine Gaul.
Normally, a better-bred stallion wouldn't be worth riding into battle untested, but… Gauls were to normal destriers what destriers were to half-dead work horses.
This horse could jump twenty meters and kick with enough strength to turn a person into minced meat. Even if it didn't feel like an extension of him, it was too powerful to ignore, and the beast itself was eager, almost as if knowing the reason it was being ridden into the battle.
He could also understand why the grieving father had given him that horse — he would face the killer of his son, who had perished in the mountains, soon enough, and bring the abomination to the Goddess's Justice.
A mist was trailing above the river this morning, and the men were chatting casually, quietly. Some traded morbid jokes, some merely talked about their experience in this backwards region so far.
The men were calm; to them, this wasn't anything special. Every one of them was in a dozen fights just like this one.
Yet, Standhaft felt unease.
"Are we certain this is the place?" Braveur mused, sounding more amused than anything. "It would be incredibly humorous if that elf saw the enemy head to one of the neighbouring valleys and just never informed us."
Standhaft didn't care to demand silence just yet; idle chatter to ease the nerves was expected.
"I am still sensing them," Entladung reported, "They are still in the canopy on the other side. Probably waiting for our move… or are observing us from the treelines." That was true enough, as Standhaft didn't see a single demon fly above the forest yet.
The mage's eyes met Standhaft's.
"I can order the release of the first batch, but…" Standhaft knew precisely what the man meant; if the demons would just decide to wait, then the batch would be wasted for nothing.
"Do it." Standhaft said, after a moment of hesitation, "If this will stall them and make them wait and waste time, all the better for us."
The mage simply nodded before shouting a command.
"Throooweeers!" His voice rang out, carried by magic, which was a common spell even Standhaft himself learned during the campaign. "Poootions preee-paaare!"
The men who looked relaxed a second before snapped to attention seamlessly, the ones trusted with the concoctions that the elf's busty mistress had handed Entladung, just like they were shown, shook them.
"Coooorks aaawaaay!" Bottle stoppers were popped away at Entladung's command, as the men prepared.
"Throooow!"
A dozen or so potions arced in the air before impacting the water. Then there was an explosion.
Not of fire, smoke, and debris, but of steam… or so it appeared, before the tidal wave of it washed over their forces, proving to be not a scorching steam, but a cool mist.
"At least the elf didn't lie about this…" Braveur mused, impressed, likely despite himself.
"Potions of this quality…" Entladung just laughed, sounding not simply nervous, but outright disbelieving, "What in Goddess's name are those mountains? Sir Albert, being a genuine monster, is one thing, but potions of this quality… I don't think money can buy-..." Then Entladung paused, his eyes widening, as he turned to Standhaft.
"My lord, movement! Enemy incoming!" The mage closed his eyes briefly before his voice thundered once again, "Meeen, preeepaaare!"
Standhaft simply nodded. He didn't expect demons to just throw caution to the wind; he expected a battle an hour later or so, but this was well within expectations.
"Time it well." He asked Entladung softly.
Entladung was the only one who could sense the enemy. Naturally, when this was planned, Entladung was also intended to be the one to give the command to charge when the enemy crossed.
Normally, splitting the fighting force to outflank the enemy would have been a smart move. But Standhaft didn't do this, forewarned as he was about demons' inherent mana sensitivity that would let them sense any ambushing or flanking force well in advance. The Greater Demon's slaves would also, in all likelihood, react instantly to the changing situation as they were puppeted by that 'Aura', so splitting his own forces, especially with limited visibility, was more dangerous for Standhaft's own men than the enemy.
"Men! Chaaarge!" Entladung commanded, even as his signature balls of lightning condensed atop his extended staff, and shot into the mist with a cracking echo.
And so, the men did.
"Braveur, take care." Standhaft commanded, seeing his long-time friend nod, as he positioned himself to defend Entladung.
This was enough; in the next instant, Lord Standhaft of Donnergipfel and Spiegelsee set spurs to his horse.
"For Strhal and the Crown!" He bellowed, easily getting ahead of his men, spearheading the assault.
After the first few strides down off the rise, the mist closed over them entirely.
Standhaft's Gaul did not need to be told the way. The beast broke from a trot into a canter into a gallop, hooves striking the firm turf of the meadow with a sound that, in this thickness, came back at him from every direction at once. Behind him, he could hear his men coming, the regular clatter of armoured boots on grass. He could not see them. He could not see beyond his Gaul's ears.
Then the lightning.
Three of Entladung's bolts cracked into the mist ahead of him in quick succession, and for the briefest moment each one lit the field. Standhaft saw silhouettes. Armoured, dark figures.
The limited visibility was horrible, especially accounting for the fact that the enemies could receive orders near-instantly. However, this was also the only way for an enemy that could enslave anyone to be faced.
Then the ford was on him.
Standhaft set himself in the saddle, dropped the point of the lance, and let the Gaul take him into the water.
The impact was a long muffled crash. His lance took the first figure square in the chest and drove through, taking the body off its feet. The Gaul did not wait for him to recover the shaft. It drove its weight into the man behind that one and put him under the water. Standhaft felt the bone go through his stirrups. He let the lance go where it had stuck, drew his sword, and took the next head off at the throat in the same motion.
It was only because he was prepared that he managed to deflect a sword strike from the now headless corpse.
The elf had been right. They were warrior-trained.
Then the smell had hit Standhaft's nose… subtle as it was, rot.
His men hit the waterline a heartbeat behind him.
It was not much of a fight, in truth. Standhaft had been in enough of these to know that the first half-minute was for the work, not for thinking about it. The enemy stood knee-deep in cold water on rounded stones, in heavy plate, and his men came onto them off firm grass at the speed of a cavalry charge.
The enemy was quick. Quicker than a man in that armour at that depth had any business being. On dry, steady ground, any of them, Standhaft was sure, would have given his men real trouble. None of them had dry ground.
They also weren't quick enough to form a proper formation, if they even intended to do so.
His Gaul carried him three lengths into the press, turned almost off its hind legs in a half-circle the size of a small room, and brought its rear hooves up under the breastplate of a man about to put a sword through Standhaft's knee.
The cuirass gave.
The body folded, and was gone under the water before he had finished the turn. The horse did not slow.
And yet, as he glanced around at the figures, Standhaft felt a sense of profound wrongness. This plate armour the enemy wore… he saw symbols inscribed on it, and it gave off a feeling. Then there was the smell…
Shaking away those thoughts, he bellowed.
"To me, men! To me! Keep them off the stable ground!" The Gaul under Standhaft finally retreated backwards, letting the lord bisect two more figures right through the armour, his heirloom longsword gleaming.
The first wave broke before the mist had settled back over the water.
He brought the Gaul about, blood spattered across the horse's neck and his own cuirass, and looked across the ford for what would come next.
The second wave was upon them without a single second for the men to catch their breath, or to finish off the corpses that kept moving even without a head or limbs.
He heard them before he saw them.
"Mercy, mercy, please." A man's voice, somewhere on his left. Hoarse, the throat behind it long past the point where it should have been resting.
"Spare me. Spare me. I have done nothing." Another voice, further out. The words were clear enough, but the breath between them fell in the wrong places.
"I have a wife. I have a son. Please." This one was up the line, and the speaker was not far from finished.
"Please. Please. Please." Just the one word now, somewhere on his right, the voice was tearful.
The pleas… were all off. Some sounded way too emotionless, almost mechanical, some with despair so profound it borders on cries, and some voices simply broke at the wrong points of please; everything about this begging was wrong.
The figures poured out of the mist - and they were quick, and armed with good steel, and clad in the same armour… except they had no helmets.
"Steady!" Standhaft commanded desperately, before meeting the charge, many of the attacking slaves outright jumped from the water to give their advance at least some momentum, in a suicidal move… and yet, still begging, without ever breaking pace.
Standhaft's steady hand acted almost on its own, as he simply brought his sword up, and one of the bodies impaled itself on it… and attempted to impale him anyway.
The hero of the Civil War barely managed to block the sword with a gauntlet before landing a devastating punch to the skeletal, tear-streaked face of the unfortunate soul, his punch powerful enough to produce a boom and clear the mist around, and to force the body to fly back into the mist.
"Don't listen to them!" He ordered, "Steady hearts, men!" With a swing, he parried a strike from another pleading man… this one was strong. Close to being a proper warrior. "A demon, a fiend, is speaking through their lips! The souls of those men beg for honorable release, give them their peace!"
Simultaneously with his last command, Standhaft pushed himself and the Gaul forth, bisecting the nameless knight in front of him from shoulder to groin, as his Gaul kicked another figure further into the mist.
"Push forth, men! The victory is-!" A ball of fire flew from above, but Standhaft felt it well in advance, deflecting it with his sword.
As he did…
"Demons!" As agreed before the combat started, Entladung gave his warning.
Standhaft had but a breath, when he heard something was wrong more than saw. The piercing screams of his men on his left and his right, just beyond his sight.
"Keep together, men!" He bellowed, fighting off three separate pleading damned souls, unable to push them, as he was waiting for another sneak magical attack. "Stand your ground! For the Goddess! For your freedom!"
Standhaft knew that something was terribly wrong on both of his flanks, even if he was unable to see them, as lightning periodically rained on them. But he couldn't order a retreat. The Demonic army was a match for his in size, and this was the advantageous terrain; if they couldn't win here and were to be routed back, this would be the end.
He managed to cut the leg from one of his enemies, even as a few more figures appeared from the mist when…
The horse beneath him suddenly, for no reason whatsoever, stood on its hind legs, trying to throw him off.
Such was Standhaft's surprise that he barely managed to react to his own intuition screaming danger and blocking a strike from a clawed hand.
The lord's own sword struck him across his chestplate and tore him out of his saddle, and into the shallow water, but despite the air being briefly punched out of his lungs, Standhaft recovered with a roll, standing firm with his longsword in hand.
In front of him, a demon with crimson hair landed, a sense of power briefly flaring around him.
"You are good," The demon said, tilting its head, "If not for the horse I-"
Standhaft didn't listen. He was in the demon's face in an instant, the water exploding around him as he moved.
The talking monster's eyes didn't widen, but his arms did move, attempting to intercept; clearly, he could react. Yet his face still was casual. This alone, even if Standhaft didn't understand it at the time, felt incredibly uncanny.
The longsword cut the demon in half, bisecting its torso right through the heart, and utilizing the momentum of his dash, Standhaft's sabatons sliding across water, producing small fountains, as he swung, clean across two other slaves, before reversing the momentum and cutting them again, effectively parting away the torso from the head and the legs.
This way, even if they can move around, they won't be able to exert any force.
He paused just in time to see a man with a face much less tortured than the rest strike the Gaul in the neck, before beheading it.
The man was also crying.
"I am sorry…"
The realization of the identity of the knight struck Standhaft; but before it did, trusting his instinct, he had thrust the sword behind his back.
"Ah…" Another horned figure, this time it looked female, like a young woman at the age of fourteen, perhaps. She looked almost confused at the sword in her chest. "Please, don't kill me!"
It begged, tears appearing on its eyes.
Standhaft swung upwards, parting its head to extract the sword, tearing himself away from the stupor, and snarling.
He knew to expect this, and still…
"You are powerful." Two more demons landed in front of him; those ones weren't cowardly, trying to strike him in the back. He could feel them both. "No wonder Flüstern and Dorn failed…"
Standhaft only allowed them to talk so he could take a breath and plan.
He needed to get back to his men; clearly, he was being targeted and was too far ahead. One of those two must be the one who shot a fireball at him. The other, he wasn't sure about.
The bestial one, that stood three meters tall and wielded an oversized mace, didn't look like a mage. That meant that the blonde one with green eyes was the one who used fire.
The decision was made in a heartbeat.
'Mage dies first.'
'...which is why we can come to agree-" The more human-looking demon shut up, as if cut off, when it noticed Standhaft rush towards him.
"Fool." The bigger abomination growled, winding back the strike, clearly expecting Standhaft to try and dodge.
The Lord didn't.
The thundering strike fell, and Standhaft blocked.
This way, the three-meter-tall body shielded him from the caster.
"Wha-" The abomination, which had teeth sticking out in all directions from its mouth, looked confused, its eyes a bit too big to belong on a human, widened even more unnaturally.
Standhaft clenched and grabbed the club with one hand, and with the other swung his sword into the confused demon's face.
"Green," Standhaft muttered to himself.
Three demons already. He could tell all of them individually were strong and fast, not much weaker than he was himself, but every single one fell to one oversight or another.
Releasing the mana with a warrior move, Standhaft's thrust extended past the sword and into the mage behind the first demon, who also did not react in time. A clawed hand was cut clean off.
Standhaft dashed towards the mage.
"Wait-!" The demon begged, even as another ball of fire ignited in its free hand.
The lord didn't listen, merely bisected the creature.
Standhaft took a step back, exhaling, his breath creating visible steam as he glanced around, but there were no slaves of the enemy within his field of vision anymore, even if the mist parted enough to let him see for over five meters.
The total focus left him, allowing him to hear it all again.
Shouts, pleas for mercy, battlecries, just screams of pain, he was certain he even heard 'commander' amongst it all.
'Too much sound,' - Standhaft understood immediately.
It must be the enslaved warriors - Aura must have ordered them to be as loud as possible to disrupt the command… she must have done so after she understood how his side issued orders.
Normally, doing something like that without training your men prior, making them tear their throats open, wouldn't have been possible; this just wasn't the level of casual coordination one can expect in war, in a battle that was designed by Standhaft to be as disorganized as possible…
This was something he was warned about, too.
"To me, men! To me!" He shouted, throwing himself backwards, "Form u-" And then, Standhaft froze, turning towards the enemy he neither saw nor heard… but rather felt.
A step. Then another. Then another.
Standhaft didn't understand how he could hear the steps through the cacophony. Then he realized that he didn't hear the steps; rather, he felt the tremors beneath his boots. And in the water that was up to his shin, that rippled.
Then the steps ceased.
"You… are the one leading this force?" The voice that spoke from the mist, from the direction that led to the other side of the river… sounded polite. Nothing that he would've expected from a demon. "You are strong."
As a knight, Standhaft wasn't trained in sensing mana directly. Knights were a special training path popular in the central regions of the Middle Lands, so it was only natural. His training consisted mostly of warrior conditioning, with a few popular utility-based spells that mages barely counted as spells.
But from sensation alone, Standhaft could still tell how dangerous an enemy was. This monster, that made another step forth, and finally revealed itself…
…was the second strongest thing Standhaft saw in his life, past the elf himself.
The demon's visage took Standhaft aback. It was a creature that seemed to be composed of arms… no, this wasn't quite right.
Pale, unnaturally proportioned arms covered all of its body, swaying gently, as if caressing it. Four of its arms were sticking out of the mass, almost like normal limbs, for the given definition of such. The demon's torso was outlined by the appendages, but visible, as were its legs; it appeared to be naked. The head of the demon was also covered by its palms; only a pair of clear, repulsively beautiful blue eyes with defined, feminine eyelashes were visible upon its head, as well as the flowing, messy hair, bright yellow like egg yolk.
"For dishonourable curs only willing to strike in the back, you abominations are talkative," Standhaft said, buying himself just a second to think.
Should he run? His gut was telling him he can't afford to turn his back on that thing. Could he win? He didn't know, but if that thing reached his men, it would carve a bloody trail through them, he could tell.
He needed to face it now. With some luck, Entladung could feel this thing, and he and Braveur were already on the way.
Fight. He had to fight.
"Forgive the young ones," The demon offered, gesturing with one of its separate four hands, bringing the palm up, "They are eager, and you are powerful for a human. The best of them who wished to prove their worth to Lady Aura wanted your head to justify their use."
…and as Standhaft feared, the elf seemed to be right once again, this enemy… wasn't even the Greater Demon.
"You truly are monsters incapable of understanding the meaning of the words you speak," Standhaft said, shifting his stance to Nebenhut, sword held low to his left, "Daring to call yourself lords and ladies when you are little better than wild beasts."
"Daring," The demon commented, the fingers on its left upper hand uncurled, and then grasped the non-existent handle of an absent sword… which a moment later appeared, igniting into existence. "But if you would prefer we fight…"
A sword, made out of buzzing, flowing, bluish energy visible to the naked eye.
The monstrosity, two heads taller than Standhaft, shifted into a stance that the knight briefly managed to recognize as the one for a rapier, and then, in the next instant, it felt like the demon was upon him.
It must be by the Goddess's own miracle that Standhaft managed to take a step back and to the side in time, managing to dodge the strike that passed centimeters from his face.
Immediately, the lord attempted to retaliate, his sword in Nebenhut was in a decent enough position for a swing, but once again, a brief flash of intuition and understanding of something being subtly wrong had him retreat instead, and bring his sword up and twisting it just in time to set a hanging parry…
As a second buzzing sword, from the monstrosity's other hand, impacted the guard.
"Up left," The demon commented with a helpful tone, before striking from the left, but from a low point, forcing Standhaft to jump backwards, into the fog, ten or so meters to open the distance altogether.
Immediately before even touching ground, Standhaft reoriented himself. Four hands, currently two held the blades, but all four could. He couldn't afford to play from the defence. If he were to assume that those magical spell-swords could cut through his armour, and he was sure they must be able to, then playing this from the defence was pointless.
In a swordfight between humans, the dual-wielder only had the advantage in the fact that he could strike two sectors at once. While a man wielding a two-handed sword would have the advantage in both strength and leverage, as well as reach.
The opponent was two heads taller, and his arms were also wrong; Standhaft instinctively could tell that he had no advantage in reach. So his only chance to win was hoping that he had an advantage in leverage.
Meaning he had to attack and try to strike through the demon's defence. Even if his goal was to merely buy time, no matter how risky, staking it all on defence was the only chance.
Standhaft realized that he should abandon any caution and push hard enough to threaten the enemy with a mutual hit, in other words, fight recklessly, and force the demon to block even when he had the opportunity to hit him, or risk being skewered.
For a seasoned swordmaster such as Standhaft, all those thoughts, observations, and conclusions narrowed down to a few associations flaring brightly in his mind. It took him barely over a second.
By the time Standhaft's sabatons touched on the mud, he angled himself forward and threw himself towards a demon who was rushing after him.
The demon reacted instantaneously, its momentum halting, both swords crossing above its head and stopping Standhaft's own blade.
The strength of the impact created an explosion of air that cleared the mist for twenty or so meters around them, revealing bodies and the river stained red.
"Raaaaaagh!" Mana ignited around Standhaft as he executed a technique from the clinch, hammering the demon away, who calmly, and weightlessly, landed on the water.
"You truly are impressive," The creature commented, even as Standhaft threw himself forward once more, "I, Schrägstrich of the million hands, commend you."
The lord struck over and over, but each time a blade intercepted and then… Standhaft barely managed to glimpse when two more swords ignited in the remaining free hands of the demon.
Realizing he couldn't retaliate now, Standhaft attempted to make distance by stepping back, and still brought his hands up, trying to shield his head and torso with his vambraces.
Crash.
Standhaft couldn't have explained what happened at that moment. The impact of the strike was so powerful that the man simply passed out for a second.
But in truth, all that happened was that the demon named Schrägstrich slashed down with both of his newly made swords.
Those swords thickened and lengthened at the moment of the strike, each reaching the length of ten or so meters, and hammered upon the human, who attempted to shield himself, like a colossal guillotine.
The blades made of mana created a shockwave of energy that carried the human to the shore, much like a wave, making his body create a furrow as he traveled, until his back struck the rise.
The man was dragged for almost a hundred meters in the blink of an eye.
Somehow, Standhaft regained consciousness almost instantly, coughing violently, as he stood back up, his gauntlets smoking, thick slashes cutting through his shoulders and forearms.
"Currently, I am the best swordsman alive." The demon said, cutting his flight short and landing a few steps away from Standhaft. His tone casual, conversational, "You will be wise to surrender."
Standhaft looked upon the beast with hatred.
"Why, so you can use me as a bartering item before my King? I know you demons are here for me. I would rather die," Standhaft replied, shifting his guard in a closed position.
Schrägstrich tilted its head. Not by much, it was a tiny angle, but for a swordsman, it was impossible to miss.
"Here for you? Whatever gave you that idea, human?"
Standhaft opened his mouth to snarl back, trying to buy just a second more and… froze, gasping.
He felt it.
Hollowness in his chest, sudden sensation of powerlessness.
A breath left his chest, as he looked to his left where… where… a horror stood.
"You did well to stall for me and leave this one alive, Schrägstrich. He is strong enough." The otherwise beautiful woman said, casually looking from Standhaft to… a ball of light that left his chest, and landed on the scales in her hand. A similar ball left her own chest. The scales tipped. "Human, freeze. The only thing you are permitted to do in the next hour is things that are necessary for your immediate survival, such as breathing." She commented casually, with a tone of someone who had given this hour often enough.
She turned to the hooded figure by her side.
"Put him to sleep. I want you to look through his memories and make sure there are no mental blocks. Inform me of the results." She tossed off absent-mindedly, and the hooded feminine figure started to walk uncertainly towards Standhaft, who stood there, frozen,
By the demon's side… he saw Braveur and Entladung… both motionless.
No… he couldn't lose like this. His men would not become slaves… he can't afford to…
"Lady Aura, are you certain this is worth it?" The sword-wielding demon asked, feigned concern in his voice, "Those humans seemed resistant enough to your usual tactics. Is it worth keeping them alive?"
The demoness merely waved him off; the gesture looked so natural.
"It's fine, it's fine. They fight better while alive, and it may still cause some of them to hesitate. Besides, with this one…" Aura patted the hooded woman, who had stopped in front of Standhaft, on the head, like a pet, "And our usual methods, there is practically no risk. Who knew humans had advanced so much in that magic?"
Standhaft saw a ring pointed at his face, and then he saw no more.
***
A gust of wind blew, gently clearing more of the steam, and the Greater Demon known as Aura furrowed her brows.
"Something that matters?" Schrägstrich asked, which was to be expected, as he was ordered to be an attentive servant.
For a moment, the pink-haired demon stood there frozen, looking from side to side.
"There was something to this mist. Something sentient. We were being watched. But it is gone now." She explained simply, exhaling, "This is why I wanted to end this fight quickly. Elves are dangerous."
Schrägstrich tilted his head in agreement.
"Ah, that explains your orders to attack…" The demon swordsman commented, folding the four arms it used in a fight back towards its body with crunching, broken sounds, "But this danger is why you had us choose this prey, was it not, my lady?"
Aura didn't comment; instead, she glanced towards the still-going fight and headed there to pick up more toys.
***
On a mountain cliff nearby, a figure sat perfectly still. Birds were sitting on its shoulders, and a tiny monster that looked like an armadillo covered in stone was curiously poking his leg.
Quietly, he spoke, repeating the same verse over and over.
"...St. Michael the Archangel, defend them in battle, be their protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him I humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly host, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls…"
Then a gust of wind, thick with mana, and the birds flew away panicked, and the monster hissed, rolling down.
The figure brought a hand up, two rings gleaming, one with a deep crimson ruby, the other with a colourless gem that looked like glass.
"Amen." He finished, before patting empty air in front of him, "You did well, Ziz," Emotionless words, and mana from the sitting figure twisted into odd shapes.
The whistling, bell-like sounds rang out, and the wind seemed to press into the cloak and under the man's clothing, throwing his hood away, revealing the horns and the blonde hair, as well as the blank face.
For just a moment, the currents of the wind grew strong enough to outline the shape of a bird.
"Not now," The man chided, bringing up his right hand again, his mana drawing a shape with him, "For all your affection, I can't play with you right now, it's dangerous. Get back."
A command seemed to calm the wind, and in the next instant, it flowed into the colourless gem, making it burn bright, sky-like azure in just a second.
The demon named Albert simply dusted off his clothes and closed his eyes for a moment.
"Resonant Soul."
He would have to make the most out of the sacrifice.
----
Author Notes: I worked really hard on this chapter, particularly I had a lot of trouble with the first scene just because of how informationally dense and yet comprehensive I had to make it for people who would bother making sense of what's going on - logistically and otherwise.
I think the chapter is, in all honesty, pretty kino, but please do share what you think yourselves. I am incredibly curious.
The next chapter is even bigger and in my opinion is very cool. It's on Patreon and is 15k words, please do check it out if you are interested.