Prologue

Prologue

Leif fidgeted at the edge of the army camp atop a grassy hill not quite tall enough to be considered a mountain. He did so in the way he had been taught growing up, without any movements of his body or any nervousness reaching his face.

The kind of fidgeting only possible if you get beaten for appearing to not pay attention to lessons by the family tutor. The kind of fidgeting that involved mentally pushing and pulling small, mostly opaque grey rectangles with gold and red trimmings.

Now you might feel concerned at the idea of boxes only visible within your mind's eye, doubly so if they had letters, numbers and words on them. These weren’t hallucinations caused by schizophrenia but instead perfectly normal.

The young man moved and adjusted the system windows he had pulled up so they might block out the source of his worry. On another hill of similar size and shape were the enemy. The Enslaved Legion crawled over the almost mountain like the ant-like monsters their black carapace armour represented.

Leif had heard many soldiers doubt the invaders were human at all. They were, he knew, at least some of them. Though he suspected come morning he would be intimately familiar with just what kind of people they were.

“Captain sir!” Came a shout from behind along with running footsteps. Leif turned away from the enemy encampment, blinking the system out of his vision. As he did so sunlight glinted off his polished bronze breastplate, red and gold half cape fluttering in the wind.

“At ease.” Leif said, his tone not hinting at any lack of confidence.

His second in command, a tall man from a northern border city squinted at the light and shuffled so he was parallel to Leif. He stood up straight and saluted, fist to heart. “Captain sir! Orders from above, squads are to muster and report to their captains... Sir.”

Leif nodded and followed the other man's wandering gaze, back to the legion encampment. At the small groups of black figures that were beginning to dig entrenched positions in the valley between both forces.

“Are we... Ya know. Actually gonna fight them? A real pitched battle?” He asked. The two armies had been shadowing each other for the better part of a month, lightly skirmishing over position and resources so the question wasn’t as strange as it might sound.

“Yes, I’m afraid so Heffnir. The generals and seers are planning something for tonight. At least that was the conclusion reached in the officers meeting earlier today.”

“Fuck. Uh, I mean... How are the omens?”

“The omens are good, as to be expected I suppose. Shall we go?”

Heffnir nodded, the taller man followed briskly behind Leif as they wove through brightly coloured tents and below equally vibrant banners depicting noble heraldry. As the two departed dark clouds moved in front of the sun.

===

Rain fell in heavy sheets against the single file column of cloaked soldiers as they rounded the foot of the hill, the ground slick with muddy run-off. Above, fires raged from campfires and torches both, a reminder of warmth and comfort every man and woman taking part in the upcoming assault wouldn’t experience until the battle was won.

Leif marched ahead of his squad, twelve men and women trudged through deep mud thoroughly worked by those that had been before them. Head down as rain soaked his hood, Leif pulsed his aura in short guiding bursts. The invisible echo of power rolling off his shoulders, moving as far back along the column as his level and attributes could allow, just enough to reach the next squad leader, hopefully anyway.

Visibility had plummeted as night had fallen and the rain had gone from light drizzle to a suffocating blanket of liquid. Leif could barely see five metres ahead, the backs of the soldiers he was trailing seeming to meld into the murky darkness.

Two more bursts, quick succession. None of his squad had aura skills but they could still feel the aura of those who did. An innate sense possessed by all living beings. Leif’s [Noble] class, inherited from his father, had granted him a social aura when he had reached the second level. Intended to be used within courts and high society gatherings, the skill [Aura of Nobility] had fast tracked him into being an officer when the war broke out, though he supposed nepotism did most of the heavy lifting.

Unfortunately mud and rain don’t care about one’s birthright or caste. He cursed as part of the hillside slid out from under him making him slide over three metres and out of the single file marching formation.

Three short pulses followed by a fourth longer one. “Wait”, the message said, conveying patience and apology. Using the light from the campsite above and the faint echoes of the advanced squad’s aura pulses he re-orientated and continued onwards into the night. To battle.

===

The Varan camp was alight with controlled flame and bustling with activity. This activity however wasn’t from the usual bustle of soldiers. The kingdom's forces had slowly departed down the back of the hill to avoid detection from the Enslaved on the opposite side of the valley.

The activity was camp followers intentionally making themselves visible so scouts and lookouts with perception skills from the legion camp wouldn’t see that business wasn’t as usual. If all went well, the enemy wouldn’t suspect anything until it was too late.

Legionnaires in dark carapace toiled in the valley below, creating makeshift earthwork fortifications, pits and low walls. This was standard for the legion, the two armies had shadowed one another like timid dancers around the narrow stretch of tamed land between rugged wilderness and a vast lake for a little over a month. During this time the Enslaved would entrench themselves to withstand harassment by the less orderly but more mobile Varan forces.

It was this consistent military doctrine the Varan army intended to take advantage of.

Flares of light magic intermittently lit up the night, fired in high arcs so as to not reveal the many snaking tendrils of soldiers from the assault force creeping forward. Light attuned mages within the Varan camp illuminating the legion’s camp every five or so minutes, it was something the army did every night when the enemy was nearby. To scout, certainly. But the constant bright flashes were an indirect sort of attack, intended to prevent sleep and constantly distract.

A vibrant flash of green. Five minutes. Another, then yellow. “Advance.” The message hidden within the colours relayed. And over a thousand soldiers obeyed. They would defeat the invaders here and now, or die trying.

===T/his chapter is updated by nov(ê(l)biin.co/m

Green, green, yellow.

Green, green, yellow.

Red, green, yellow.

Leif crouched in the mud, his squad fanned out behind him in a loose formation. He squinted into the night, trying to make out the legions earthen walls. When the red flare had been fired, mages with classes attuned to earth had begun creeping forward, their spells and skills evening out the final stretch of ground and filling in the newly dug moat.

The army didn’t possess many [Terramancer]s, so those they did have would be burning through their energy as quickly as possible to ready the ground ahead.

Footsteps from behind, hostile intent focused on him. A legionnaire missing an arm and with several arrows sticking from their armour rushed him. Half of a snapped spear was thrust at Leif’s neck as he jerked backwards. Phantom echoes of the same attack materialised chaotically around the enslaved strike, the skill used was faint, its form barely coherent for more than a second, a sure sign of the user's exhaustion.

Anger, hatred and not a little desperation radiated off the enslaved as they attacked again and again in furiously wide motions. Leif stepped into an overhead swipe and planted his fist into the gut of his attacker. Air whooshed from the legionaries lungs before a horizontal slash enhanced by [Duellist's Focus] removed their head.

Leif sagged to the ground as the enslaved toppled back, torso becoming obscured by mist. Some sort of enhancing or empowering skill leaked from the corpse, mixing into the air. No wonder they were somehow moving with that injury. He thought numbly.

For several minutes Leif stayed still, propped up by his sword he listened to the ever quieting sounds of battle. A scream, and then nothing. Steel ringing against steel, and then silence. All was quiet.

Is it over? Is it finally done? Thoughts ran through Leif’s exhausted mind. How could he regroup with survivors? Would others come to find him? Had they even won? Or was the legion finishing off Varan stragglers?

A riderless horse came screaming out of the fog, hooves kicking up mud as it rushed past. Leif made to grab for its reins but flinched back as the beast tripped, leg snapping under its own weight as it fell hard into the mud.

Not riderless. Two dog sized insects retracted their mandibles from where they had latched onto the now dead animal’s flank. Their emotionless eyes fell onto Leif as the two monsters swivelled their bodies to face him.

They rushed forward, legs skittering over the churned ground. Leif rolled to the side from his kneeling position. A Projected Shield snapped up around his back as he heard a crunch from a heavy impact. He spun up to his feet but screamed as mandibles latched around his forearm. Dropping his sword from the pain he stepped back and drew his dagger.

The short blade pierced the ant's eye, it went limp, but the mandibles stayed clamped firmly around his arm. The second monster, dazed from running head first into the now dissipated shield gathered itself before coming right at him.

Leif panicked, one arm was useless, likely broken, muscles and tendons severed by insectile blades. His sword lay submerged in mud and his dagger was stuck fast as he tried to yank it free from the insect’s corpse. Pain lanced up his leg as the remaining ant bit through his boot and severed his achilles tendon. Leif fell hard on his side but impacting the ground was enough to let his dagger slip free.

Death rushed for his neck but he twisted, blocking the attack with the dead ant still latched onto his arm. The monster’s body was dislodged from the blow, its vice grip on his forearm slackened. Leif kicked out with his one good leg and sent both carapaced forms tumbling.

He sucked in a breath but there was no relief from the pain. [Recovery Breath] was overused, the effect all but null. His physical attributes dropped, no longer enhanced from being in a combat stance. The ant came again, but the monster's fixation on his neck made dispatching it simple enough.

Leif’s head fell back, a mix of blood and mud instantly soaking his short dark hair. His vision began to fade as blood loss took its toll.

I’m going to die. He thought blankly, but there wasn’t enough energy left for any particular emotion to take root. Fear had long ago fled in the face of exhausted acceptance.

Death came slowly, or slower than one might expect. A mix of increased vitality from attributes and the desperate intakes of healing breaths made the minutes crawl into an hour, then two. His consciousness flickered in and out. Each bout of darkness interrupted by a reflexive gasp and a spasm of pain.

At some point the mist began to burn away as the morning sun rose. In the few moments he could focus Leif saw the aftermath of battle stretching off into the distance. In the dawn light figures stalked the battlefield. Tall and slender with inhumanly twisted limbs, they stopped at corpses and the dying, hunched over as if feeding.

Growling came from his left but Leif was too weak to move. Something bit into his thigh but he could barely feel the pain. Two wolves with mangy coats and sunken features began to tug at his limp body. Feebly he pulsed his aura, but [Aura of Nobility] had no combat potential, it was simply a final, desperate attempt to survive.

An inhuman hiss sent the two beasts whining and scampering away. Dark muttering in a language Leif wouldn’t have recognised even if he were fully lucid drew closer. A figure, taller than any human and twice as thin stood over him. Glowing red eyes bore down from a face lacking any distinct features except for ash grey bark in the place of skin.

It spoke in a guttural hiss and knelt down. A crack formed on the creature's mask-like face in a mock imitation of a smile. An elongated, crooked finger pressed into Leif's chest, the sharpened claw-like end penetrated his battered armour as if it were heated butter and sunk into flesh.

Then something was pushed into him, rushing through his veins and pushing aside organs as it twisted and grew. Leif screamed as his soul was ripped apart.

You have lost 5 levels in the [Fighter] class! -5 to all attributes!

You have lost 5 levels in the [Guard] class! -5 to all attributes!

Warning! You have lost class levels, skills connected to classes with lost levels may be unstable!

You have lost 0 levels in the [Noble] class! Inheritant classes cannot lose levels!

You have lost 4 levels in the [Fighter] class! -4 to all attributes!

You have lost 1 level in the [Guard] class! -1 to all attributes!

You have lost all levels in the [Fighter] class! All skills lost, class perk lost, base stats lost!

You have lost all levels in the [Guard] class! All skills lost, class perk lost, base stats lost!

Warning! You have suffered devastating soul trauma!

Warning! Your body is being forcibly transformed!

Warning! Your body has been irrevocably changed!

Warning! You are no longer a human! You are no longer an enlightened race! You may no longer gain non monster classes!

Error! Inheritant class detected. Class restrictions negated!