Chapter 194: 68 Gaw: Forgot

“Well, they’re not attacking anyone. Still, maybe you shouldn’t have led them into camp.”

Rathos grunts, acknowledging Doreson’s opinion. He watches with a critical eye as the large beasts scare the living hell out of the [Soldiers] merely by the virtue of their presence. Though the wyverns only sniffed and snuffled the grooms who brought them their dinner, the spectacle of them tearing apart and chomping down whole animals lends the beasts a predatory air.

But, they aren't attacking the [Soldiers], nor are the men striking out. Unless a provocation is thrown, there will be no violence. The wyverns are curious but do not sense a threat.

“This won't last,” Doreson adds. “If the [Soldiers] get aggressive, then this could quickly turn into a bloodbath.”

Rathos sighs and rubs his temples. A hundred wyverns he could handle. Non-aggressive beasts can be effectively intimidated and tamed with a strong aura, but unless you have a class that specializes in controlling beasts, then anything beyond a certain threshold is impossible.

Five thousand wyverns is a number far, far above his threshold. He has little chance of cowing the pugnacious beasts on his own. His mind whirls, trying to think of a plan, but nothing comes to mind. Never has he been forced to deal with a potential disaster like this, which is causing him distress.

He would have hired professionals like [Beast Masters] or [Tamers], but they are only useful for dogs, horses, or the occasional small, cuddly monster. He doubts anyone here has any experience in taming wyverns.

Rathos closes his eyes, despairing at what he may be forced to do. He does not wish to ride back to ask Alba for help, but with the way things are…

“Something’s coming.” Doreson interrupts Rathos from his misfortune with a warning.

Rathos opens his eyes and looks where the centaur is pointing.

He squints to see through the sunlight and watches the winged silhouette soar overhead. The wyvern slows as it arrives above the camp, and only then can Rathos truly see the size of the newcomer.

It inhales then releases a mighty roar. The sound spreads over the camp like a warhorn, and every wyvern perks up at the clarion call to arms. In seconds, they’re aloft, mighty wings beating the air as they flock around their larger brethren.

The larger wyvern gazes down upon the camp, and Rathos specifically. It flaps once, and swoops toward him.

Rathos takes a moment to use [Silent Analyze] on the beast.

Nyxina

Level 307 [Tempest Wyvern]

He reflexively grabs Joy at his hip. Named monsters come in two categories: Either those trained by [Beastmasters], or those who have grown and evolved to such a degree that they’ve gained intellect.

Of the two, the latter is a very dangerous prospect. A high level mercenary team might defeat a nascent named monster, but a mature specimen might only be vanquished by an army, if at all.

Of all those named monsters, wyverns are arguably the most challenging. Powerful, mobile, airborn, smart, and capable of leading flocks of their weaker kin.

Yet through his dread, Rathos can’t help but wonder at Nyxina’s terrible beauty as she glides down upon him. Violet lines of fractal bent trace the length of her sinuous body, peeking out from between her alabaster scales. With wings spread wide, she dominates Rathos’ vision and reaches down with monstrous talons to land gently, firmly, silently in front of him.

The world stills. Not a breath of wind ruffles Rathos or disperses the wisps of purple mist that leak from Nyxina’s narrow muzzle. She bends her slender neck and regards the [General] with amethyst eyes.

“[General] Rathos,” she utters without moving her lips, “this one's name is Nyxina. Mistress Alba has sent me to assist with instructing the young ones.”

Rathos freezes as his thoughts grind to a halt. A monster spoke to him. A named monster is capable of communication. He knew they were intelligent, but he never imagined they could, or would, talk.

His [Battlefield Calm] skill keeps him grounded, and he shelves his thoughts for later examination. He removes his hand from Joy.

“Nyxina, I thank you for your presence. Your assistance will be most welcome.” he says, determining that the wyvern is simply a new ally in his already motley army. At this point, it means little to him what his allies look like or even are.

Rathos feels a slight shift in the mana. “Then assist I shall. What is it you require of these children?”

Rathos grunts, glancing up at the circling reptiles, and then the dumbfounded [Soldiers] wondering whether or not they should be doing something.

“For upcoming battles, I want to have [Wyvern Riders], though I only will be making one hundred. We don’t have enough [Soldiers] with riding skills for more.”

Nyxina tilts her head. “That seems reasonable. Any wyvern that forms a bond with a rider can grow much stronger. Then, they can lead their own flock.”

The [General] touches his chin in thought. The whole point of having lone [Wyvern Riders] is to have fast moving scouts. A swarm of Wyverns could indeed cover more area, and it would increase the combat power of a [Wyvern Rider] by an order of magnitude.

“More of your wyverns will be put in danger.”

“Good,” Nyxina announces without even a pause for thought. “The young ones are too inexperienced. They must learn to hunt, to fight, to kill. If they fall, then they were too weak. Only the strong should survive.”

Rathos is taken aback, as is Doreson. The statement is so direct and remorseless, reminding Rathos that he is speaking with a monster; they do not value life the same way people do.

“So be it.” he states and turns to Doreson. “Send an order to the [Smiths] to prepare molds for wyvern armor”

Doreson frowns. “The [Smiths] are already swamped with just making enough armor for the [Soldiers]. It may be better to ask the [Crafters]-”

Rathos already starts shaking his head. “No [Crafters]. They have limited supplies that would be better used for our elites that I am more confident in keeping alive. I can't promise that I can keep all the wyverns alive with or without armor.”

“With respect,” Nyxina interjects, “Our speed and our agility are our greatest weapons and the Sky is our best protector. Your metal will only slow us down.”

Rathos takes a moment to study Nyxina.

“Noted.” He turns to Doreson, “Inform the [Enchanters] that wyvern armor will need to be enchanted with [Lightening].”

Doreson rolls his eyes. He’s experienced war between centaur herds, and no [Herd Master] would ever speak of sparing lives. Hell, the thought of an absolute victory with only a few casualties would be derided… but with Rathos, he can’t imagine him accepting any less.

“Fine. I’ll send them the order, but I doubt they can do much.”

Rathos grunts and folds his arms. He looks up at the wyverns once again, staring at the different types and colors. Aggressive fire and frost constantly growl at each other, while the bulky browns drift lazily and the pearlescent white flutter erratically. Four kinds of wyverns, each one with clearly distinct features and temperaments.

As he watches the wyverns swirl above, a centaur arrives with a message.

“[General]! [Captain] Manos requests your immediate return to the city. They found something they wish to consult you about.”

______________________________________

Crusix stands tall and proud on the broad, triple summit of a mighty mountain. Its walls stretch from peak to peak without gate or break, enclosing the small massif and crowning the sheer cliffs below. Secure in its impenetrable fortress, the mighty city of wyverns flourishes, more vibrant and populous than its rival, Kuwidal.

The walls and guards secure the ground and [Wyvern Riders] patrol the skies. No army can threaten Crusix, and indeed, no army has tried. To challenge both mountains and wyverns would be the height of folly.

Yet, this kingdom in the sky depends upon the sky. The city depends entirely upon its [Wyvern Riders] to reach the outside world, and when their beasts are in short supply, so too is food.

Crus the Seventh, called the great and benevolent [King] by his allies, and called “that fat prick” behind closed doors, takes a bite of his delicious meal: roasted Grayhorn leg, seasoned with a mix of foreign spices imported from across the continent, only to end up in his greasy jowls. He chews slowly, ignoring hard work his chefs put in, to tell off his advisor.

“Grakus,” he finishes chewing and swallows, “let the people be upset. As always, the peasants will scavenge and survive. The baby wyverns need the food more than those layabouts.”

“My [King], I understand the need for more [Wyvern Riders], but the rationing imposed is too harsh.” Grakus points at the large number of [Guards] in the throne room. “What if Crusix is attacked? You have most of our ground defense here.”

Crus takes another slow bite. The plump [King] chews loudly before swallowing. “Grakus, you’re a [Wyvern Lord] and you killed their [Griffin Champion] in single combat. There’s no doubt you’ve scared those griffin-loving ninnies away for now.”

Grakus nods, but does not voice his opinion further. He may have defeated Kuwidal’s champion, but it came at a cost. Crusix lost so many wyverns in that final battle that the remnant of their air force is outnumbered by Kuwidal’s griffons. Thankfully, wyverns breed much faster than griffins, so this weakness will not last.

Crus’s fleshy lips curve into something like a smile. “Well, if there’s nothing else you ask me about, I will retire to my roo-”

The ground trembles. Grakus draws his sword, with the [Guards] and [Knights] following suit a moment later. They survey the room, apprehensive.

“What is-” the [King] begins, but another shake cuts him off.

“Are we being attacked?” Grakus asks.

Before anyone can answer, three simultaneous explosions go off at each corner of the city.

“Shit,” Grakus curses as the warning bells go off.

The [Wyvern Knights] rush from the room towards the pens to find their mounts.

“It's an attack, my [King]!” Grakus warns the upset [King]. “Stay here and stay safe. I’m going to see what's happening.” With those words, he follows the [Knights] to meet his own mount. Meferos, largest of the wyverns, dips his head as Grakus arrives. With a single hop, the [Wyvern Lord] lands upon his old friend’s back and grabs the reins. Without a word, the wyvern flaps its wings and they soar into the skies above the city.

His mount roars out a challenge as he looks through the skies, ready to face a flock of griffins.

But, all there is to see is clear blue and a few errant clouds.

Grakus frowns. Where are they? They should be-

He looks down at the city. Three giant worm-like monsters have burrowed up from the mountains and are laying waste to the city. Civilians scream and flee, while the [Guards] are nowhere near enough to help.

The other [Wyvern Knights] swoop down to combat the threat, but it is clear to Grakus that they are ill-suited for these monsters. Swaths of fiery breath scour the stone but leave the worms unscorched, and the lances of the [Wyvern Knights] shatter on impact.

“Meferos! Dive!” he orders his partner as he couches a lance from his mount’s side. The wyvern tucks in his wings, and down they plummet.

“[Ripping Thrust]!” Grakus roars the skill name, and his lance strikes the monster through the head. It passes through, tearing a hole through the worm the size of his own body.

He feels satisfied until he looks at the damage. There’s a large gash in the monster’s body, but no blood leaks. Nothing. All he sees is-

“[Necromancer]!” he shouts. “Find the [Necroma-”

His voice catches as his mount swerves, dodging a swarm of arrows that were about to pierce him. He hears the other riders scream, but their mounts are not nearly fast enough. Riders and wyverns go down together in a deluge of cold steel and hot blood.

Up the [Wyvern Lord] goes, and down he looks. From the holes the undead tore through the ground, out pours a ramshackle army, firing arrows up at the unprepared wyverns. Normally, the [Guards] would be here, ready to engage, but too many were positioned inside and around the castle. This is bad, Grakus realizes. This is very, very bad.

With a tightened grip, he swerves past an onslaught of arrows. “[Daring Dive],” is all he says before his wyvern blurs downward, then flattens out before he hits the street. He weaves between buildings, using them as cover until he reaches the [Archers]. Meferos roars and unleashes fiery death from his great maw. Rows of archers scream and fall under the onslaught, those not dead are left severely burned

He rises again, preparing for another strafing run. If Grakus can take out their ranged combatants, then they will still have a chance. He dives again, but before he can reach another pocket of [Archers], two chains blast through a building and into Meferos’ wing. The wyvern screams as it is pulled down, and Grakus leaps from his back. The mount crashes to the ground. Grakus lands with a roll. He stands, lance dropped, and takes out his sword and shield.

He turns towards the direction that the chains retract. He knows his partner is injured, but not grievously. Meferos will stand in a moment.

“So, is that it?” a woman calls as she steps out from the building, the two chains writhing about her like snakes. She rests a greathammer across her shoulders almost lazily and looks down upon Grakus from atop a pile of rubble.

“Are you really the strongest that Crusix has to offer?” she continues. “It’s not nice to wind a girl up and then let her down.”

Small is the first thought that comes to Grakus mind when he sees the short woman carrying the abnormally large hammer with ease. His second thought is that of a warning as his senses perceive her as a major threat.

“I am Grakus, [Wyvern Lord] of [King] Crus. State your name and affiliation. Why are you attacking Crusix?” he asks, hoping to buy time.

“Me? Why, I’m just a little ol’ [Death Archknight]. And the mother of the [Queen].”

‘[Queen]?’he thinks, before focusing on the first thing she said. “You created the undead.”

She smiles, revealing pearly white teeth. “No, the [King] raised these cuties. I’m just their handler.”

Grakus frowns, trying to fit the pieces together. The [King] of Kuwidal isn’t a [Necromancer], which means she is from a foreign nation.

This is bad, very bad, but at least she gave him time.

“Meferos, [Raging Ram],” he says.

The wyvern barrels straight toward the woman, smashing through the stone walls in his path.

One thing that people don't realise is that even while running, wyverns are much faster than horses. When bolstered further by a skill, their momentum becomes overwhelming.

As Meferos arrives, the woman's chains whip into the ground beneath her and launch her upwards. Meferos misses her by inches, but the woman isn't done. She raises her hammer and her chains grab the wyvern, pulling her down at him.

“[Black Breaker].”

The hammer trails dark plumes in its descent; its landing welcomed by shattered scales and cracking bones. Meferos screams in pain as he falls. The beast loses his footing and crashes into another building.

This time, the wyvern’s wounds are much more serious.

Cursing internally for his weakness in ground combat, Grakus rushes the [Archknight], his sword stabbing for her heart. “[Ten-fold Stab]” he whispers as he lunges.

The woman's chains writhe back, seemingly on their own. “[Chain-Bound Maiden],” she calls. She drops her hammer and in a blur, the two chains wrap around her body. When Grakus’s skill lands, all nine spectral blades and one real one are stopped cold by the impromptu armor. The woman remains unscathed.

He hops back as soon as his skills ends, but the chains follow. They disperse from her body, revealing once again that mocking smile. They flash forward, he blocks with his shield, but instead of bouncing off, they flow around it and begin to wrap. He drops his shield and jumps left to avoid the second chain.

Then he feels it wrap around his leg. He loses his footing and falls. He glances at her, finds that same smile and a third chain originating from her foot. A fourth rises from her other foot just as the first two chains arrive and wrap around him. He drops his sword, knowing that he has lost. With Meferos unable to move because of a broken spine and his body fettered, he stops his struggles as the fourth chain also wraps around him for good measure.

She walks to his side, the smile still on her face.

“What kingdom do you serve?” he asks, no longer having any fight left in him. He’d lost the moment he was unmounted. Maybe it would have been better to attempt to take flight where he could have used most of his skills.

She tilts her head and touches her chin. Her smile fades.

“You know… we haven’t actually named it, now that I think about it.”

____________________________

Quasi stretches, then frowns as his carriage continues to mosey along. He turns to study the new companion by his side. His wife… queen… thing… whatever.

“You know you don't need to come with me, right?

Fiona blushes slightly. “I know, but I’d rather not do [Queen] things… and,” she blushes harder, which for some odd reason causes Jessica to glare at him, “you should have your wife at your side.”

“Haaaaa,” Quasi exhales. He adjusts his legs, foot constantly tapping as he frowns.

“You know, our relationship, our marriage, only exists because I wanted your kingdom.”

She nods, still blushing. Jessica is still glaring, all while Abernick enjoys listening in on this conversation that doesn’t involve himself.

Quasi shuffles again. He quickly points at Jessica. “And you, stop goddamn glaring. It's making me uncomfortable.”

She folds her arms, nonplussed.

Deflon clears his throat. “Bone,- er, Quasi. You seem stressed, a lot more than usual. Is there something wrong?”

Quasi opens his mind to say no, but frowns. “Hmmm… maybe. I don't know why, but I just feel like I’m forgetting something very important.”

“Something with the war?” Abernick chimes in, but Quasi shakes his head.

“The plan’s well made and I left my [Corrosive Boneworms] with Misty. They should take over Crusix by tomorrow. Then they can go to work on Kuwidal after they get the city settled.”

Abernick lends forward. “I thought you would want to be part of taking over the city.”

Quasi shifts again, uncomfortable. “I’ve taken hundreds, if not thousands of cities before. It won't be anything new,” he sighs and shifts again.

“Yeah, something feels really wrong,” he groans, “it's like, right at the tip of my tongue, er-memory.”

Quasi grumbles and continues to shift in his seat. The carriage continues on.

____________________________

Rathos arrives, a [Solder] leading him towards a building. He guides him underground, the [General]’s eyes staring at the cleanly cut and clearly new stone.

There, at the final entry to the highest security cells, [Captain] Manos stands at the ready.

“Manos, you said you have something interesting for me?” Rathos prompts his subordinate.

The [Captain] nods and leads him through the hallways. They reach the end and Manos opens the cell door.

Rathos walks into the cell, empty except for the resplendent, undamaged throne.