Nora went over the battle map in a large tent. Thankfully it was enchanted and while not as potent as a heavier and immobile version it still let Nora and her generals see the movements of the Red Mountain Armies as well as the reported movements of the Trelawney Military. The map was far from perfect and did not truly account for terrain and weather, but it was certainly a fair bit better than just having a unenchanted map to look at.

“So, the Army under Raben Hudd is doing its job. Based on our intel, the Trelawney Kingdom’s main army has been following him and his forces for a good 70 days. Not that they will ever catch him, of course. You can’t expect an Army of roughly 170,000 to catch an army of only about 9,000 unless some specific conditions are met.”

Nora looked over the markers and numbers that were changing in (mostly) real time. She could see that she had put her faith in the right man. Raben Hudd was leading the bulk of the Trelawney military, roughly 80% of its total military might, on a wild goose chase. Crossing rivers and streams, moving through forests and dense woodlands and even going so far as to occasionally be just barely out of reach by nightfall only to be several tens of miles away come the morning.

The winding chase was slowly leading the Trelawney soldiers and knights further and further away and, more importantly, into a trap. The idea was to guide the Trelawney military into a deep ravine, block them off from going forwards or backwards and then rain death and destruction down upon them. The ravine would be wide enough for them to send in about forty to fifty thousand troops and even more if they decided to bunch them all way too close before they realized that they were blocked and the trap had to be sprung.

Ideally, the Red Mountain forces left behind would attack the Trelawney forces outside of the ravine and prevent them from interfering while the forces under Raben Hudd used the high sides of the ravine to deliver a potent and lethal surprise to the fools below him. This was the ideal scenario, but the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, so extra insurance was needed.

Thus, Nora authorized use of a special weapon Seivalt had kept locked away. A little… gift that could be given to the enemy. A sticky, smelly, itchy gift that, if set alight, would burn for hours and run into every crack and crevice in the armor of those who had the misfortune of having the substance applied to them. Worse yet, if the flaming goo didn’t kill them, they would suffer terrible side effects anyways. The mixture, stolen from a Hero God that came to the world a long time ago was known by its creator as ‘Green Napalm’, a fusion of the incendiary mixture the Hero God called ‘Napalm’ and the oily extract from dozens of rash-producing plants.

When lit alight, Green Napalm would not only burn someone, but would turn the rash-inducing oils into a airborne nightmare that, if inhaled, caused horrific pain and agony, to say nothing of what it would do to the wounds caused by the Napalm itself and those from arrows, sling stones and other tools that would come during the ambush.

Where one was already bad enough, the Hero God had doubled down and created something even more horrific. And now Nora was breaking open the ‘Never, Ever Use This’ Vault simply to destroy a force that she did not want to deal with normally.

…

Eighty long days and eighty long nights. That was how long they had chased these damn bandits. They had been led over narrow bridges, through dense woodlands and they had been so very close to fighting them so many times, only not be denied at the last moment. Everyone in the army was tired, miserable and hungry. Supply lines had been stretched nearly to the breaking point, and they still had ground to cover.

But at last there was light at the end of the tunnel. The Red Mountain bastards had entered into a deep ravine, one that was notorious for being near impossible to exit the way they wanted to. There was really only one way in and one way out, although you could exit the other side with great effort. Scouts had made a detailed report that the entire roughly 5,000 brigands had entered the ravine, and now the Trelawney Kingdom was camped right outside of it!

He could almost smell the browned trousers of the brigands and bandits now that they realized they were trapped! Tomorrow he would join the group of 65,000 sent into the ravine to end this farce. Maybe he would be the one to slay the Tyrant himself!

Night fell, and for the first time in what felt like forever, John Shoemaker had a good night’s rest. His belly was full of food for the first time in three weeks, and the breakfast the next day was going to be enough to fill him to the bursting if he had heard right. He couldn’t wait to run his state-issued spear through the gut of an evil bandit. He would come home a hero and tell his wife and children the story of how he had helped save the world!

…

Morning came, and the Trelawney kingdom tried to stuff 65,000 men into the ravine. As they marched, none of them noticed how odd it was that the bandits had not set up traps or ambushes to try and delay the inevitable. They only realized that things were bad when the sounds of fighting came from behind them, but by then it was too late to turn back. The entryway behind them erupted with a thunderous noise and was sealed shut by debris.

John Shoemaker felt himself being pushed forwards and into the men in front of him, but they could not move at all. The sea of humanity was then pelted with fragile ceramic pots filled with some kind of irritating jelly that stank and stung to high heavens. With no ranged troops with them, all John and his compatriots could do is try and lift their metal-rimmed wooden shields to try and stave off the incoming archer and slinger fire.

Unfortunately, there was so little room to move that barely anyone could raise their shields at all. This fact made it so that no one was truly safe from the stones and arrows and bolts raining down upon them, let alone the ceramic jars and jugs.

Then, as if the crucible they were in was not bad enough, a few dozen fire arrows began to rain down, followed by lit torches. As if the fires of Hell were lit in the pit they were in, flames of unnatural heat and intensity erupted amongst the soldiers. The gel that stung his eyes and skin and orifices burst into flame and the pain he felt was amplified to an unspeakable degree.

John screamed as hard as he could. He flailed wildly as he attempter to extinguish the liquid fires that seemed in through his clothes and studded leather armor and scorched his flesh. However, no matter where he tried to run, there were more people in the same situation. The pots kept coming, as did the arrows, bolts and sling stones. John panicked and tried to push everyone out of his way, but he was not alone in this action. The mass of people churned and crushed their own, all the while projectiles rained down from on high.

John was struck in the neck with a sling stone and suddenly lost all motor functions. His spinal cord had suffered a very unlucky strike and had rendered him a quadriplegic. With no ability to move anything below his neck, John slumped to the ground, even as more bodies followed suit. What made things worse was that he could see his body being buried under those of his comrades. He could smell the foul odor of the liquid flame and feel its heat upon him. He wanted to scratch the skin that was itching so bad, and he broke into tears as the fumes entered his lungs and the irritation within him made him that much more miserable.

More bodies piled up, and the light of the holy sun was blotted out more and more. The pressure applied by the other corpses built up, as did the heat and soon….

John Shoemaker was no more. In his place was only a broken and burning body lying beneath a pile of flaming corpses. He, like so many others in this war, never got a chance for glory, let alone victory.

At least he never got to see the once massive force of Trelawney soldiers and knights outside of the ravine be reduced to less than 35% of their previous number and routed off the field in disgrace. At least he never lived to see the downfall of the regime he swore his life to and the rising of a former bandit as the new ruler. At least he never got to find out that his wife had already remarried, and to a ‘midget-blooded sub-human’ Dwarf with a heavy foreign accent, no less.

It is as they say. Sometimes, ignorance truly is bliss.