Grand Magister Tordal seethed, but he held his temper in check as he looked out across the camp. There were hundreds of white-and-silver tents arrayed in a precise grid. Each one was topped with the streaming flag of Adontis, giving the entire camp an air of extreme organization.

Which was as it should be.

The men, though, they were the source of Tordal’s ire. Most of them were perfectly well groomed, with shining armor and pristine clothing. Those, he looked upon favorably. However, the other ones – the dirty and dented wounded they’d taken in from the most recent stronghold to fall – were a different story altogether. Never had the saying “one bad apple spoils the bunch” been more appropriate. The outliers were a stain on the reputation of the entirety of Adontis, and Tordal desperately wanted to execute every last one of them.

Yet, he could not.

In the past, he would not have hesitated to make examples of the disgraceful and poor excuses for Knights. Doing so was a perfect opportunity to teach his people a lesson. The strength of the Knights was built upon perfection in all things, and tolerating even the slightest deviation from that tenet would undermine their entire philosophy.

In this instance, though, the idea of punishing the men who’d so recently been defeated in battle would be akin to cutting off his nose to spite his face. The reality of Adontis’ situation was that, with the enemy knocking at their gates, they needed every last body they could muster. Even failures like the men who’d come trudging in, battered and broken and begging for help.

Of course, Tordal had executed their commander. It was the least he could do, and it had served to briefly satisfy his need to administer harsh punishment. Yet, he longed to extend that retribution to the dirty and decrepit degenerates who’d sullied their own identities with laziness, lack of decorum, and, worst of all, failure. They were disgraces, one and all.

Yet, Tordal needed them.

“How far?” he asked without glancing at his advisor, Merame. She was one of the few female Knights, and she’d gotten her position not through the strength of her arm – as was proper – but via her cunning mind. Most commanders would not have tolerated her weakness, but Tordal recognized the benefits to be gained by using her strengths to his, and by extension, Adontis’s, benefit. Sometimes, he regretted his progressive nature, though.

She answered, “The enemy has advanced at least to Fort Timber, but we are having trouble tracking their movements.”

“They are an army of tens of thousands. Surely our scouts are not so incompetent that they cannot find such a large force,” Tordal stated. That was one of the issues they’d encountered with the enemy. Often, they would simply appear without warning, almost as if the entire force had been teleported from one place to another. That was not the case, not least because there was no known skill that would allow for such unfettered teleportation.

The second issue was that the pattern of the army’s advance suggested that they were moving on foot. The pace was more rapid than any Tordal had ever seen, but it was a force of monsters, which were well known to be at home in the wilderness. No – it was far more likely that the army had some sort of cloaking ability – either from an individual perspective or a collective skill – combined with an ability that affected their movement speed. Neither was entirely unheard-of, especially when dealing with monsters.

That anyone could wrangle such despicable creatures under one banner was a disturbing turn of events. The world had dealt with powerful monsters for all of history, and usually at significant cost. However, the one thing that kept humanity – and the lesser races, Tordal supposed – from being overwhelmed was the monsters’ inability to work together toward a common goal. The sapient races all had that advantage, and so, they could collectively stand toe-to-toe with even the strongest monsters.

So, the notion that someone – monster or man, Tordal still wasn’t sure – had wrangled those monsters into submission was cause for serious concern.

“At their current pace, how long do we have before they reach Ivern?” he asked.

The aide said, “Two weeks, at most. Preparations to defend the fortress have already been completed. Civilian population has been evacuated to Fairen. Food should not be an issue in the case of a siege.”

“Do you believe they can take the keep?”

She answered, “I do not know, your grace.”

Tordal’s fist tightened in frustration. He was surrounded by incompetence. Even those that appeared capable – like the aide – were barely better than the rest.

“What of the Imperium?” he asked, referring to the state dominated by the Radiant Host. It seemed that they’d discarded all pretense and taken it over, renaming their new territory the Imperium. It was about time, too. That such a blessed force had been subservient – even if it was only a charade – to anyone was a travesty of epic proportions.

“The Radiant Host has refused to assist, sending a message that our problems are our own, and that we must meet it with whatever strength we can muster,” she answered. “In that way, we can prove ourselves worthy of the Sun Goddess’s favor.”

Tordal gritted his teeth.

It was not an unexpected response. The Radiant Host had always made it abundantly clear that Adontis was a vassal nation and that the Knights were expected to defend their own borders. Of course, they were given access to training as well as the Lunar path that was an off-shoot of the path of Radiance. In addition, they received trade concessions in exchange for allowing the Radiant Host to make use of their dungeon.

Presumably, they would also respond if Adontis was threatened by a common enemy such as the undead scourge of El’Kireth. Yet, the threat posed by a few monsters was entirely beneath the Radiant Host.

It was supposed to be beneath Adontis, too.

Yet, more than a dozen forts had fallen. They’d lost access to the dungeon as well. And the horde of monsters had begun to strike deeper into the heart of Adontis. Tordal was a proud man, and he was confident in both his own abilities as well as the might of his Knights. However, he was also a realist, and he could see the tone of the war to come.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“What do you suggest?” he asked, finally looking at the woman. She was plain-faced, with a too-large nose and a squarish jaw. Disgusting. She clearly hadn’t distinguished herself enough to earn the right to visit a {Flesh Shaper}. Or perhaps she’d opted out of it. Some did, preferring their own hideous imperfections to the masterpieces a skilled {Flesh Shaper} could create. Tordal did not understand that attitude, largely because he never truly tried. Anyone who would make that choice was so far beneath him that they didn’t warrant more than a stray thought.

The aide was the lone exception. Perhaps he would force her to fix her face once the horde of monsters was taken care of. After all, if she was going to walk in his shadow, her appearance reflected on him. And that face, as detestable as it was, was not something he wanted associated with his own sterling reputation.

Besides, she was too talented to waste away with such a mundane appearance.

It was a shame she was a woman. If she’d been born a man, then she would’ve already achieved some degree of prominence, if only because of her keen mind. However, as a female, she’d been playing catch-up since the very beginning. That she’d climbed as high as she had was only because of chance, talent, and Tordal’s sponsorship.

“We should pull back to Ivern and raise The Barrier,” she advised. “In the meantime, send a fleet of airships across the labyrinth and into the Mukti Plains to harass the centaurs. With any luck –”

“There is no such thing as luck,” Tordal said.

“As you say, your grace,” she said, bowing her head. “With the grace of the Sun Goddess, our efforts will merit a response from the allied centaurs. Perhaps even from the main force of monsters. That will give us time to regroup.”

“And the men we sent to the plains?” Tordal asked.

“A sacrifice for the greater good,” the aide stated with some vehemence. “There is no greater honor.”

“Indeed,” Tordal said.

It was a bold plan, and one that could easily go wrong. Yet, he was enough of a realist to understand the dangers of continuing on their present course. Meeting the monster horde in the field was a mistake. He’d known that from the very beginning. Yet, honor dictated that he do something other than cower in his fortress and let the monsters roam through Adontis unfettered.

Sending a fleet to the plains would send the message that he was no coward, but keeping the bulk of his people safe behind The Barrier would allow him to prolong the war long enough for the monster horde to turn on one another.

Because he knew that would happen. Monsters were not like people. They couldn’t work together – not truly. Instead, it was only a matter of time before the leader who’d managed to wrangle them all together was challenged by another powerful member of the horde. And then another. And another after that. Because every victory brought those monsters more power, and eventually, that meant they would all be on even ground. Or close enough that the differences didn’t matter.

When that happened, they would battle amongst one another in an attempt to achieve primacy. So, Tordal knew he only needed to stall. To delay. But he had to do it in such a way that he didn’t appear to be a coward, lest his own challengers appear to tear him down.

“Is there any word from Keleton?”

She shook her head. “The capital has not contacted us since we left the Verinar Forest,” she stated. “Would you like to send a message?”

Tordal answered, “No. They have entrusted us with this mission, and we shall complete it without assistance or advice from our betters.”

Even as he said the words, Tordal clenched his fists once again. The High Lord Adontis himself had tasked him with putting down the “monstrous rabble,” and Tordal had accepted that mission with every intention of accomplishing it quickly and efficiently. However, because of the complications, he knew he needed help. That would not be forthcoming, though. After all, that wasn’t the Adontis way.

If he asked for help, he would almost assuredly be replaced. That would be disastrous for his career. Certainly, there weren’t many men within the kingdom who could boast a higher level – three that he knew of – but levels were not everything. Individual power wasn’t precisely easy to attain. It required significant commitment and quite a lot of work. However, it was much easier than gaining social or hierarchical power. Those were the results of a long and perfect career.

Tordal feared that, by taking the mission, he had doomed himself.

“Very well,” he said, deciding that bold choices were necessary. “Send the Moonlight Warriors.”

“Lord Karik?”

“Yes. Him as well.”

“But your grace, he is one of our most powerful –”

Tordal’s hand lashed out, carrying with it every ounce of his frustration. He had just enough time to recognize the subtly widening eyes before his knuckles hit her ridiculously plain face. Bones shattered, and the light in those wide eyes extinguished. She’d never stood a chance. The moment Tordal had struck, she was going to die.

She – or rather, her corpse – went limp, collapsing to the ground with a clatter of armor, and he felt the tiniest bit of kill energy wash through his body. It was barely even noticeable. But then again, she had only been level thirty – barely out of training – and he was level seventy-six. As such, he could have killed her with a sharp look.

He looked down on the body of the once-promising aide. If they’d been alone, he might have let her questioning his orders pass. After all, he was a reasonable man. However, with so many people around, he could not let that go unpunished. Couple that with her unimpressive looks and low level of personal power, and Tordal’s course was clear. Yet, he did regret that it had been so necessary. He’d hoped that one day she could become another pillar on which the nation of Adontis could lean.

With that, he turned to the next aide. He was a properly handsome young man with blonde hair. A quick use of [Eyes of the Moon] told Tordal that he was level forty-eight. A reasonable degree of progression for someone his age. Satisfied, Tordal said, “Inform Lord Karik that he is to attend me in my tent. I have a mission for him.”

“Yes, your grace,” the young man said, bowing low. Then, he was off and running through the collection of tents. That brought a smile to Tordal’s face. He’d been like that once himself, responding to his orders with verve and alacrity. Perhaps this new aide would be more successful than the last.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, he looked down at the corpse and said, “Someone remove this trash.”

With that, he strode into his tent while his attendants took care of the corpse. It was a shame that her armor was not salvageable, but each suit was bound to the intended wearer the moment they achieved knighthood. A waste, if there ever was one, but changing that was bound to be met with stiff resistance. Tordal didn’t have the cache to embark on that particular quest, so he pushed it from his mind. Instead, he settled into the uncomfortable camp chair behind his portable desk and made a show of perusing the maps laid before him.

That was how, a few minutes later, Lord Karik found him. The hulking bear of a man looked as if he couldn’t be contained by his armor. He was over seven feet tall and as broad as any monster, with a great, bushy beard that spilled out of his helmet. Moreover, he was one of the few powerful Knights who’d never taken the services of a {Flesh Shaper}.

As a result, he looked just as plain-faced as the aide Tordal had just killed.

However, despite his uncouth appearance and ridiculous size, the man was ridiculously strong. At level seventy-eight, he was the third-most powerful man in Adontis. Though unless someone passed him by, that wasn’t going to soon change, because there were ten levels between him and the next. And more than fifteen until he matched High Lord Adontis himself.

“What is it, your grace?” the man asked, the words sounding more like a demand.

“I have a mission for you, Lord Karik. How would you like to kill some centaurs?”

Karik only grinned, telling Tordal all he needed to know.