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Chapter 33 Rising arc E
🕑 Added 2025-08-06 09:50:08 +0000 UTCPdf and epub versions below. This, she would admit, was one of the creepier things she’d done. Looming over someone’s bed, staring at them,
Pdf and epub versions below.
This, she would admit, was one of the creepier things she’d done. Looming over someone’s bed, staring at them, hoping not to get caught by either himself or others.
Mages had tested her for a whole host of things before she was even allowed to enter, for demonic influence to regular identity verification, so people knew she was here. Yet Marcus looked so peaceful, and she knew he’d been sleeping poorly the last few nights.
Not that she could blame him. She remembered her first close brush with death, and he’d even admitted it was different outside the School of Life. More real.
She could relate, and it was also why she quietly left the tent without waking him up. Vess joined her outside, the demon bowing dramatically, and Elly rolled her eyes.
That's what she got for insisting on proper decorum in a fit of irritation, she supposed. The demon was more than happy to obey in the worst way possible.
Ponn, at least, was more tolerable. A statuesque woman stood beside the demon, nodding in greeting with a smile on her face. Her towering frame and cords of muscle made the genuine smile on her face almost jarring, and the massive hammer on her back made her someone everyone treated with all due respect.
A former housewife, as the woman was more than happy to talk about, before being taken in by Marcus’ Academy. A mage, too, and her frame made the warhammer she wielded seem as light as a feather.
Had that one been capable of Life Enhancement Elly would have done unwise things to get her into her own service.
Unfortunately Marcus got his claws in her long before she could, and though by his own admission they didn’t talk much, the woman seemed utterly convinced he was the best thing to ever happen to their Kingdom.
“He’s still asleep,” Elly said, nodding to both women. Her own guard joined her, men and women capable of both Life Enhancement and magic. “I decided to leave him be.”
Vess frowned. “He won’t be happy with that.”
“No he won’t. But it is my decision, and he is not the kind of man to take his displeasure out on others. Besides, we need him fresh. Well rested. Come, we have things to do.”
Her own warhorse was fetched and mounted in short order, Vess summoning her own as Ponn seated herself on one of their biggest horses. A massive, mean tempered thing, surprisingly docile when faced with something bigger than itself.
The camp vanished soon enough, her party of eighteen riding through the countryside. They’d crossed into Moderate lands two days ago, pushing further and further south, but so far the damage had been non-existent.
That had changed now. Farms had been looted, doors broken open and animals slaughtered. Yet, for all the carnage, there were few dead bodies. Few burned down houses, and the fields themselves were untouched.
Not that there was food to take yet, but when invading hostile lands destroying farmland was always productive. It kept bored soldiers busy, denied the enemy their harvest and supplemented your own supplies.
And yet the Empire hadn’t. Oh, they’d killed the animals, taken easy spoils, but nothing that a year or two wouldn't heal. The few dead she saw usually held weaponry, woodcutting axes or pitchforks, and when they didn’t the slain person’s hands held no weapons at all.
The Empire had taken the swords and spears, left the useful tools, and all of that would suggest they only killed those who had resisted. Those who had fought back.
It made sense if she considered that the Empire wanted to rule this place, make it one of their provinces, but from everything she’d heard the Empire was hard. Not evil, perhaps, but so Hell bent on keeping the dungeon contained that morality was a distant concern.
Which wasn’t the wrong approach, necessarily, but neither was it right. A unique solution to unique circumstances, people tolerating injustice because the alternative was death. Elly had seen enough of that in her homeland, so it all fit.
Except she couldn't help but feel something was missing. Some clue none of them saw.
“This body is fresh,” Vess noted, Elly looking at where the demon was crouched over a dead farmer. “Hours old. The trail is fresh, no more than a dozen men.”
Elly grinned. “Very good. Yiton, Kaltrap, Meri, kill the footsoldiers and bring me their officer for interrogation.”
The three Fearless Fourteen bowed, dismounting and stretching briefly. Ponn clearly wanted to ask when they’d gotten off their horses if they were meant to catch up to the Imperials, and Elly heard her let out a soft ‘oh’ when the trio took off. Energy thrummed in their veins, Elly knew, and while they weren’t quite as fast as a horse going full gallop, they were a lot more maneuverable.
Quieter, too. Vess turned to her when they vanished. “It could be a trap.”
“Which is why I’m not rushing off myself,” Elly replied, shrugging. “And if it is a trap, my Fearless Fourteen know how to escape. Defeating them in combat is one thing, but trying to kill them while they’re fleeing? No. I doubt even a dedicated Imperial effort will be able to accomplish that, not unless they planned for me specifically. And if that was the case, if their intelligence was that all encompassing, this war would already be over.”
Vess didn’t have much to say to that, apparently. Elly suppressed a smug grin, though the feeling of being alive didn’t quite leave. She could do politics, she could do marriage and study and preparations, but this was war. And war was what she did best, what she liked doing best, as horrible as that sounded.
Thousands died, lives were ruined and pain was unavoidable, but nothing made her mind sharper. Nothing forced away all the small annoyances of life like an enemy to fight, an opponent to overcome.
She had an army, she had tools and specialists and mages. Now she needed information, and her personal guard wouldn't fail. Not after everything they’d already been through. Fighting the undead, purging her old home of traitors and madmen, killing and fighting and marching.
Her faith was rewarded not half an hour later, the trio carrying a man over their shoulders. It looked faintly ridiculous, frankly, but she wasn’t going to complain. She sharpened her eyes, noting the soldier’s decorated breastplate, and grinned.
An officer, exactly as she’d requested.
The man was thrown to the floor some distance from her, Elly staring down at the man. Being mounted gave her the ability to loom, though if the soldier was as hard as he looked, breaking him could take time.
Fortunately, she’d brought an interrogator.
Vess strode over like the captured man was the most fascinating thing in existence, gently removing his gag and helping him sit upright. She opened her mouth to speak, but the soldier spoke before she could.
“My name is Maxim Dorus, second son of the House of Dorus. I will not be beguiled by a succubus, nor will I betray the oath I swore when joining the Forty Seventh Legion. That is all I will say.”
And then, in a display so stupid Elly actually blinked in surprise, the man spit in Vess’ face. Kaltrap was a split second away from hitting the man when Vess held up a hand, wiping the spit away without a care.
“Brave soldier,” she cooed, her hand holding a blade between one moment and the next. She almost gently sliced open his forearm, the blade pushing deep enough to show bone, and when Elly blinked the blade was replaced by an unlabeled potion bottle. “I believe you, my brave man. But unfortunately for you, the brave are always the most fun to break.”
Yellow, unknown liquid was poured into the wound, and Elly refused to turn away even when Vess patted the soldier's cheek. Nothing happened for a good few seconds, and then the man screamed. Screamed like Elly had heard very few people scream before.
It cut off after no more than a second, Kaltrap stuffing the man’s gag back into place. Vess stood, her clothing unmarred by filth despite kneeling in the dirt. “Give it a few minutes.”
“A few minutes of what?” Ponn asked, tone horrified. Elly resisted the urge to shake her head. Despite her size, skill and potential, the natural shapeshifter was unhardened. Soft, if she was feeling unkind. The woman shook her head. “He didn-”
Vess talked up to the giant of a woman, putting a hand on her forearm. “This is the same man who killed peaceful farmers, who will kill more civilians, and part of the people who tried to kill Marcus before ever entertaining peace talks. You're a good person, Ponn, but your kindness is wasted on an apathetic soul like his.”
Elly didn’t counter the point, even if it was relatively blunt manipulation. Ponn’s face hardened, though, even if she ultimately turned away from the writhing man on the forest floor. Vess hummed, patting the shapeshifter's arms a few times before turning back to Elly.
“Something is off. The Empire isn’t behaving like we expected, even if we got here earlier than they expected thanks to Marcus’ spatial workings.”
“I noticed that too,” Elly replied, flicking her hand. Kaltrap and Meri held the soldier tight, stopping the man from lunging for a dagger. He wouldn't have made it far, of course, but him committing suicide now would be unideal. “I hope we caught them out of position, but it doesn’t explain everything else. The low number of civilian casualties, unburned farms, the relatively intact infrastructure. This is not how you lead a subjugation campaign, not even if you wish to remain in the native population's good graces.”
Vess hummed, speaking up after a moment. “You want to ask.”
“I do.” Elly folded her arms, watching the Imperial soldier grow redder and redder. “Fine, fine. What did you pour into his wound?”
The demon smiled, seemingly honestly proud of herself. “I made it myself about a century ago. It enhances the senses, specifically touch, though with almost everything else I grow in the Hells, it's quite poisonous for humans. If taken in moderate doses, though, many of my customers have achieved quite a bit of fun with it.”
“He isn’t having fun.”
“No,” Vess allowed. “I did say moderate. Usually paired with wine, a few drops to a goblet and drunk over a few hours, slowly absorbed by the body. Not, as I did, injected directly into the bloodstream. Right about now this gentle breeze feels like knives on his skin, his heartbeat like the crush of a hammer, blinking like moving your eyes through sand. He is a tough looking soul, though. I might have to get creative.”
Elly wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to find out what creative meant, but apparently it was said for the benefit of the listening captive. Someone who had just heard them make plans, plans that couldn't get back to the Empire.
The man knew he was dead. Elly could see it in the way he struggled, pain forcing him to continue but his eyes growing dull. Vess calmly poured another potion into the man’s wounds another few minutes later, found he wasn’t sitting still, and Elly clicked her tongue.
Guards held the man down and Vess administered what Elly was going to call the anti-dote. The demon smiled, and if Vess didn’t know better she seemed perfectly sympathetic.
“Welcome back,” she all but whispered, leaning closer. Elly sharpened her hearing to listen. “I know some people who would pay good money to go through what you just did. Alas, to you this is just torture. You’re going to die here, Maxim. You know that. Tell us what we want to know, and you will die easily.”
The soldier, to Elly’s disbelief, weakly shook his head. Vess smiled a sad smile, hand twisting to show another bottle. Maxim glanced at it, growing pale despite his bravado.
Yet he remained silent. Vess shrugged. “Brave indeed. Well, this one is something special. It will attune your soul to my Hell before you die, which won’t happen for quite a few hours, and we can continue playing there. Remove his gag.”
“No,” Maxim barked, eyes wide with panic. “No, not that. You can’- My faith is eternal. Unending.”
Vess smiled. “Your faith might be, but your soul isn’t. I would know, I’ve done this several times. If you can summon the willpower to resist the side-effects of corruption, and by that I mostly mean telling us what we want to know, we can continue it at home. No death there, not for you.”
Elly didn’t quite blame the man for talking after that.
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
“I’m willing to overlook you not waking me up,” Marcus said, tone more controlled than usual. Elly suppressed a wince. He was not happy, clearly. “I am. But why, exactly, am I staying behind on the first real battle of this invasion?”
Elly sighed. “We only found a half legion, approximately two thousand men. Showing all our cards now would be foolish, and I can handle it myself with four thousand men. I want you to take the other sixteen thousand and keep pushing south.”
“Something which your commanders can do without my presence.”
“They could,” she replied, folding her arms. “But I want you there to make sure it all goes smoothly. To be the highest authority in case the nobles start politicking. Frankly, Marcus, I don’t need you to win this, and while you might reduce casualties by a fair margin, that isn’t worth the information the Empire will get. I won’t be deploying the undead either, nor will I use my more powerful weapons.”
Marcus grunted. “I still think it's a risk.”
“War is a risk.” She shrugged, favoring him with a smile. “Look, we caught them out of position and rapidly trying to return to their main army, your own summons confirmed as much. We got here quickly, we got the numbers, now we need to be smart about pressing the advantage. I’ll take three fourths of fresh recruits, make sure they are properly blooded, you take the remaining sixteen thousand and find their main army.”
He shifted, and Elly saw him accept her reason. Just in time, too. The thought of them going into battle together was more appealing than it probably should have been.
He turned, his demon horse bowing its head at her, and Elly resisted the urge to sigh. Oh well, so much for the faintly romantic image of them killing Imperial soldiers together.
Elly cleared her throat, more than happy to never admit that to anyone. Liking war, in her opinion, was fine, but being seen to like war tended to make people uncomfortable. And if one thing eroded an army's unity, it was losing faith in its highest commander.
“General,” A voice greeted, Elly turning to see commander Zotor reining in his horse. The Baron had done well in her army, well enough she felt confident to put him in charge of her splinter force. General Pater would be running the army under Marcus, which also allowed her to see how Zotor acted in the field. “The men have been assembled and are starting to move.”
She hummed. “Very good, commander. Eskna has joined you?”
“Yes ma’am,” the command replied. “Commander Eskna is directing the captains as we speak.”
“The bridge?”
Zotor grinned, an expression of emotion he wiped from his face at her raised eyebrow. “Apologies, general. The bridge is confirmed to be destroyed. We anticipate that they will attempt to use magic to freeze the river, but it will take them hours. Many hours.”
“Enough to force them to fight us or risk being caught between our army and the water. Very good, commander. Let’s move out.”
The man fell in behind her as she started moving, Elly slightly regretting not taking up Marcus’ offer of getting her her very own demonic horse. They were, she was forced to admit, very useful.
But as her commander demonstrated, it wasn’t actually all that useful. Not when everyone else but her had regular horses, limiting her own travel speed. She’d also need a mage permanently on standby, one strong enough to summon one of the demons, and overall it wasn’t feasible.
That didn’t mean Xathar wasn’t growing on her, though. The bowing helped.
Still, a regular horse was fast enough that the camp was soon behind them, Elly and her personal guard arriving at her splinter force within half an hour. They’d made good progress, wagons and baggage being left with the main army, and commander Eskna was a solid officer.
Not the most brilliant tactician, but an army didn’t actually need a lot of those. It mostly needed solid, steadfast officers that knew what they were doing, guiding thousands of soldiers through rough terrain in the smoothest way possible.
And this was rough terrain now. The road had been abandoned two days ago, Marcus proving to be a godsend and managing to make another three semi-levitating, expanded space wagons, but mud and trees still fought them at every turn.
Yet not as much as it would have had they been forced to drag hundreds of wagons with them, which would probably have delayed them long enough the Imperial half legion would have managed to return back to their main army already.
Elly reined in her horse as she approached commander Eskna, the woman bowing her head and pausing a talk with a small group of her captains. Zotor joined them, hundreds of soldiers marching deeper into the small forest in the distance.
Formation tended to suffer while travelling through rough terrain, but Elly’s people were experienced. They knew how important speed was for any army, and keeping ahead of untiring undead forced innovation. The soldiers marched quickly, their formation loose but still close together.
At any point they could snap together into a cohesive unit, just as they’d been trained to do. Until then sandals would allow their feet to dry quickly, and while their shields were large, extensive drilling would allow them to carry on for hours.
She watched a group of ten war mages move in the distance, captains and lieutenants maintain order and scouts filtering in and out of the army near constantly.
Elly breathed in, her mental map of the surrounding area updating as her vision sharpened. The Imperial legion was trapped, even if they’d known by now that Elly was coming, and their only move was to stand and fight. Trying to slip away would see them butchered, forcing their crossing over the river would split their army, surrender was possible but highly unlikely.
Eight thousand feet marched into the forest, and soon enough they would be marching into battle. She rolled her shoulder, patting her warhorse reassuringly as a stone elemental lumbered past.
No feeling quite like the calm before the storm.
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