Reborn From the Cosmos

Miniarc-Villains-30

Despite spending hours in the ruins the day before, Samuel wasn’t used to the assault on his senses that came with the grisly work; each putrid scent caused his stomach to turn, and the most pitiful corpses squeezed his heart. The dull roar of hundreds of people working toward a single goal was worse than a mob of insects buzzing about his ears. It was miserable. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand what facet of a life of service had enthralled Cecilia. For him, it was unappealing from every angle. Still, he endured, mindful of the sorrow surrounding him despite being detached from it.

He expected trouble and it found them. They’d only been working for a few hours when Ewan sidled up to him, ducking his head to whisper in Samuel’s ear as he sorted belongings. “There’s a commotion at the northern side of the work area. A group making a commotion and harassing the workers.”

“Do I need to move?”

“They don’t appear dangerous. For now, they’re making nuisances of themselves. I’ll alert you if that changes.”

The knight was telling him to be ready to take cover. A luxury the people to either side of him didn’t have. Samuel discreetly glanced at them. To his left was an older man with a liberal amount of gray in his hair, lean like the rest of the refugees and soft, too soft to be wielding a shovel and pick with gusto. Too slow to avoid a sudden attack.

To his right, was a young man. Not old enough that the prince would consider him an adult but too old to be dismissed as a boy, especially under the circumstances. Of all the people working on the line, he wore his emotions the plainest, his smooth face wrinkled by a deep frown. More than once, the prince noticed him wiping the corner of his eyes with his sleeve. Still, he was diligent in his efforts, handling each item that came into his hands with extreme care.

He looked a little thin, but Samuel would wager that he had the strength to rabbit away from any danger. Physically. Mentally, the consequences of a group of people snatching away the first ray of hope for the refugees in weeks would be drastic. It was possible the young man would never dare to hope again.

So many lives that hung in the balance. Samuel could feel it keenly. He was standing in the middle of history. For the moment, an unwilling participant, but soon to be an ambivalent observer. He could feel the significance of the moment; the air was charged with the energy of…something. The prickle of something passing to close. The heavy tension that proceeded powerful momentum. The prince felt like he and the refugees were stuck in the way of a stampede, except they didn’t have the safety of two trained knights watching over them.

Samuel didn’t care for their fates. He couldn’t. Yet, a melancholic feeling tickled a corner of his heart as the commotion grew loud enough for him to hear. As those working alongside him paused, turning in the direction of the noise, Samuel followed a soft direction from Ewan and backed away. He retreated while they pushed forward, the soldiers positioned throughout the area closing in. They didn’t draw their weapons, not wanting to cause an undue panic, as they formed a defensive circle, the veterans prepared for anything.

The conflict escalated suddenly. One moment, Samuel was straining his ears to make out the sounds on the wind more clearly. The next, there was a scream as flames burst into existence, a shifting column of light and heat that captured every gaze.

A very flashy spell with little power behind it. Samuel knew as much from how quickly the frightened screams died down, replaced by the rallying shouts and roars of those ready to do battle. Men wearing white cloths around their upper arms dispersed amongst the group, directing the aimless herd to form up into something easier to defend.

Samuel watched with muted admiration as the hunters-turned-guards began to erect their defenses. He recalled the many conversations he had with his brother about the measure of an army. Sometimes, Dowager argued for the tip of the spear, the strongest combatant, being the most important. The right caster could change the flow of a battle. Sometimes, a single spell could be the difference between victory and defeat.

The royal knight’s ideology, demanding excellence from every member, was rare. Politics and necessity played greater roles in territories where the lords in need of martial help didn’t have the abundance of choice that the crown enjoyed. It wasn’t rare for a house to pour most of the funds it made available for its private forces into a talented individual or two. The orders would then plan its strategies around their champions.

Another school of thought said that an army’s measure was determined by how well its lowliest members could work together, using training and coordination to overcome a difference in power. A master caster was a treasure of the kingdom. A hundred soldiers might not match their expertise and finesse, but they dwarfed any single caster’s mana core. In the present, when the continent had been rid of all but the direst of threats, heroes that could fight living tragedies toe-to-toe were the standard of combat, but in the past, when everyday was war, a hundred competent men that could fight for days was more effective than a strong caster that tired after a few hours.

As the hunters worked, Samuel saw the wisdom of the old ways. The earth casters, a dozen of them working in concert, raised walls. Each of them were only a few handspans wide and barely just taller than the prince. Something anyone with the right affinity and a modicum of talent could accomplish. Raising a ring of twelve might have been a strain on the average caster. Certainly, raising the second ring of a dozen and a half slabs would have caused the first stirrings of mana strain. A master like Ewan could manage it easily, though he’d feel it in his core. However, with the burden spread across twelve individuals, it was more than manageable.

Behind their conjured walls, the hunters stood ready to defend the less able workers, their eyes glowing with channeled magic. Yet, the fight didn’t reach them.

With the crowd cleared away, Samuel could see the chaos. The details were fuzzy, but the happenings were quite clear. Two sides were clashing with all means available to them. On one side were the workers, ill-equipped but full of vigor. They seemed eager for a brawl, the men rushing at their opponents, dashing through projectiles and spells with what seemed like no regard for their lives. There were casters amongst them, separated into two groups. The first were relatively close to the melee fighters. From what Samuel could see, their role was to intercept enemy spells, usually by hitting them with another spell.

The second group stood further back, spread out from each other. They were attacking, launching spells toward the back at the enemy’s formation, generally aimed at their counterpart but they only seemed to care that the magic travelled far enough that they didn’t risk hitting their allies.

Their job was complicated by having to dodge enemy spells; they were priority targets. Normally, it would be the role of the earth casters to build fortifications that would protect them, but with them preoccupied, the men had to fend for themselves.

Few fared well. Samuel noticed a group obscured by a thin mist and wondered if it was more help than hindrance. A few of the hunters were agile, never staying in one place long enough to be caught in the haphazardly aimed.

The majority seemed to rely on nothing but the saints’ blessings, firing off their magic until a stray spell struck them down. Samuel watched with enforced apathy as bodies were flung about. That seemed to be the rebels plan of attack, wide area of effect spells that separated and disorientated the hunter, with alchemical assistance.

The prince’s gaze was drawn to the sky as streaks of green smoke trailed vague projectiles. They sailed over the melee, landing amongst the casters and exploding on impact. Those caught in the clouds they created started coughing, the fits doubling them over and sending them to their knees.

“Ewan.”

“The situation is under control, highness,” the royal knight answered, spine as stiff as a post. The prince couldn’t imagine how the soldier that had spent years defending the people of the kingdom felt watching those same people tear themselves apart.

“I see that, but I would prefer you take action before it becomes uncomfortable. That smoke is spreading. Aside from the fact that I would rather not cough up a lung, the lack of visibility makes it hard to see incoming threats to my person, doesn’t it?”

The knight eyed him before inclining his head. Samuel couldn’t be sure, but he thought the man was holding back a smile. “Right you are. Men! Interference on the smoke. I want a gust to the east, sweeping from the friendly casters!”

Two of the soldiers surrounding Samuel sprinted off, their gear and helmets making it easy to distinguish them in the crowd. The moment they reached the casters, Samuel’s hair was gently lifted by a breeze as the smoke flowed away from them. The casters quickly recovered, a few of them taking their own defensive measures. The soldiers lingered, far enough away that they couldn’t be roped into the conflict but ready to take action should the smoke become unmanageable.

It was a small thing. One that hardly counted in the grand scheme of the battle. It wouldn’t blind the refugees to the fact that the significant power of the royal knights that could have saved lives remained put. By the end of the day, no one would be calling Samuel a hero. It was annoying that the thought sparked disappointment.

No, that honor would surely go to Kern. He couldn’t see the man, but it was easy to imagine him on the front lines, fighting shoulder to shoulder with the brave and desperate to protect the innocent. He probably led the charge that broke the rebels’ lines, changing the pace of the fighting from a slog to a victorious charge.

“It seems the hunters will prevail,” Ewan commented, his tone pleased.

“Maybe but this is only the beginning of their problems.” The wounded would have to be tended by too few healers with lacking supplies, meaning the men could die from even simple wounds. There was also the dead to consider, as Samuel was sure at least a few had perished in the chaos. He doubted the hunters would want to leave their comrades to the scavengers. Maybe not even their enemies. If they weren’t brought back to the camp, they’d have to be buried. The noncombatants were full of health and vigor, but they might not be up to the task of cleaning up blood and guts.

Then there was the matter of the living enemies.

Samuel pursed his lips as he noticed the rebels being forced to the ground, as if the hunters meant to take them captive. Except, that was impossible. The camp was already strained. It didn’t have the resources to detain what looked like several dozen men. The hunters would have to take on the burden. He didn’t know the exact ratio, but it was common knowledge that detaining a caster required several jailers per prisoner to overpower them. It also required attentive minds, as the only thing that could keep an enemy caster contained was constant vigilance. There were also the concerns of where to keep them, whether to feed them, and dealing with their undoubtedly rude behavior.@@novelbin@@

There was only one solution to the problem, but no one would suggest it. It was cruel in its rationality. A practical course of action that only a villain could think of. None of the brave men had the kind of cold heart capable of it.

Fine. After standing by and doing nothing while they fought for their futures, he was villain enough. Samuel would do this small thing for them before turning his back on the situation for good.