If there was any advantage to John being so slow compared to the haremettes, then it was that many of them could scout the city before he arrived. In the process, they filled the gaps in the party’s knowledge about the layout and names of the world’s Archduchies, the borders of the Kingdoms, and the location of various landmarks. The map in his head let him track where they were. The red path was group one, the largest part of the harem. The blue line roughly described where Aclysia would move along. That one was up for spontaneous redrawing as the Gamer was neither sure how safe that route would be nor how far east they should go.
The main group was only running at the moment, currently making their way across the destroyed bridge by whatever means were at hand. Meanwhile, the majority of John’s mental capacity lay with the advance of Aclysia and his Extension.
A line of sight to their target was finally confirmed. Before long, Aclysia saw what the Mandala Sphere could see, and the Ironborn leading the migration were able to see them approach as well. Fast as she was, there were still several minutes between a confirmed line of sight in the life-drained plains of the aptly named Greyplain Archduchy.
The sun was setting, drenching the landscape in a red tint. Only the nature of the Ironborn’s physical form would keep it from being the only crimson spilled during the closing hours of the short day.
A row of the metal aristocrats of this world formed at the rear of the caravan. The Gamer used Observe through the Mandala Sphere. ‘Twenty Lords, eight Barons, two Dukes, one Archduke. Highest level is 246. Tear them apart, Aclysia.’
‘As you desire, Master.’ The weaponized maid brandished the smallest of her three arms: Salver. The dagger lay in her hand as she continued charging ahead. The forms of the Ironborn, ranging from simple cast iron to the elaborately decorated, bronze Adonis of an Archduke, emitted magical power. All of them channelled whatever they could.
A barrage of attacks was aimed at Aclysia. Fire, acid, ice, electricity, rocks, arcane, all of that and many other kinds of spells flew right at and then through her. Reality Fracture made her intangible for three seconds, letting her pass through the first wave of attacks without any harm taken. Aclysia whirled out of the way of a delayed projectile and threw Salver at one of the Ironborn. Propelled by her Strength, the mithril weapon cut right through the cast iron heart.
In the place of the dagger, Aclysia conjured Eclys. The katana shimmered with the same silvery-white as the dagger had. A strand of Nathalia’s hair, attached to the handle, fluttered in the draft of her movement.
A second time, Aclysia turned intangible, the second wave of attacks about to hit her. The many coloured projectiles made it difficult to see – until she had charged through and emerged in front of the line of Ironborn. Before the Lords in front of her could react, the weaponized maid slashed through them. The intangible blade passed through without effect. Then Aclysia shifted out of Reality Fracture and unleashed the Delayed Cut. While her blade was replaced with Aclysia’s third and final weapon, three Ironborn dropped down, their cores cleanly cut through in one horizontal line. A well-delivered Servant Strike.
The weight of Tiemarath had once incapacitated Aclysia. Now she could wield the supermassive claymore in one hand, easefully using it to create a slicing shockwave that blasted away the uncoordinated spells now coming her way.
Tiemarath was a weapon elegant in its destructive purpose. The long grip led into a guard that was practically useless for defence. Thick, the area only existed to properly secure the massive blade that extended from it. The majority of it was black, a slab of blackened Mithril that extended upwards until the straight spine of the one-edged blade came to a point. Diagonally, the silvery-white edge slanted, until it hit the main edge of the weapon in a jagged corner. The weapon looked every bit like it belonged in a video game, being taller than Aclysia was. Especially once it started glowing red.
“Obstacles to my Master’s design, lower your head and accept execution,” Aclysia demanded, her diligent voice twisted into a merciless cold. The only response she got was the charging of one of the Ironborn Barons. Scourge activated fully, pulling Aclysia’s lifeforce from her, diminishing her Mental Stats but doubling her Physical Stats in return. Making a mockery of the weapon’s size and weight, she lifted it above her head and brought it down before the Baron had executed his charge. The gold-decorated Ironborn was cut in twain.
A second one tried to use that opportunity to sneak up on the dragon maid, but she effortlessly turned around and dragged her weapon through them. The width of Tiemarath made it so the two halves were stuck to the blade for long enough that they were tossed to the side, rather than fall down on her.
Two more attacks descended on Aclysia, both of the Dukes attempting to do what their lessers could not. One had their attack blocked by Tiemarath’s Swordmind, the weapon moving on its own to protect its wielder. The other found himself absolutely overwhelmed not only by Aclysia’s superior Agility, but the further boost of True Block.
That he was a melee fighter who could be blocked by grabbing his face was to his detriment. “Die,” Aclysia said, black dragon claws crushing the Duke’s face into a grabbable clump. In two brutal movements, the first maid smashed one Ironborn into the other and then chopped through both of them with Tiemarath. Little puffs of mist accompanied each of Aclysia’s exhales, the cold inside her clashing with the heat rising from the life-absorbing blade.
By now the Ironborn had realized that they were completely outmatched. They refused to attack, only kept their battle formation. There was a sole exception to this. The Archduke was slowly stepping backwards, until he hit an obstacle.
John: Could be an elaborate ruse to pull our attention west or mean there is something terrible happening there.
Nia: I think the latter.
Nia: I am looking through the Greyfort now.
Nia: I will contact you again when I find something.
John: Please do.
Nia: <3
John: Love you too.
The Creator Puppet dismissed the console and turned his attention back to the work at hand. Primarily, he was observing Medelnick, as he inspected Mettle under a simple lens. It was one of a series of practically or actually mundane tools that he managed to take with him on his person. “Does that lens even do anything for you?” the Gamer wondered, looking at the green-tinted glasses that sat at the centre of the metal constructs that acted as the Apothecary’s eyes.
“It bundles light,” Medelnick responded aggressively. Whether he was schooling John or just reprimanding for the distraction, his tone was entirely inappropriate. As much as John wanted to grab the man and shake him until he decided to speak in a way John’s pride demanded, Medelnick could get away with his choice of words and tone. His competency made him too valuable to John.
Medelnick pulled a stack of paper out of the slender box he had carried inside his lab coat and shuffled through it. Eventually, he took one of them and dripped some of the Mettle onto it. The noxious green seeped into the paper and formed a translucent drop at the bottom. Medelnick made note of that and moved onto a series of other experiments.
After about an hour of observing that, the Gamer dared to present another question. “Any progress?”
“It is a fascinating liquid,” Medelnick responded, still bothered but at least willing to talk about his work. “The lifeforce bound in it is unleashed on contact with organic material. In the process, it unleashes mild necromantic energies, causing tissue damage and, if ingested rapidly, a drug-like high. It keeps people alive. If used on plants, it would make them bear poisonous fruits. Very effective method to keep people desperate.”
“Alright, but can you reverse the effect?” the Creator Puppet wanted to know. What he needed from Medelnick most of all was a way to turn Mettle back into the vitality robbed from the soil to make it. They could not manually restore every bit of land to a fertile status where it could sustain more than patches of grass. In order to feed all those remained after the rebellion was over, they would have to effectively grow and spread the seeds they had brought with them.
“I’d need a proper laboratory to research that,” Medelnick responded. “I could improvise many of the tools by reforging the bodies of the Ironborn. However, I will need a power source.”
The Creator Puppet rubbed his forehead and pondered. An obvious power source was available. Not too far from their current location was a Mettle plant, left intact because they needed the drug to feed the people in the interim. Taking out one of the cores would work. ‘They’re doomed to suffer in the service of my design whether they are Medelnick’s power source or produce Mettle,’ the Gamer deemed, bitter as the thought made him.
Alternative solutions rushed through his mind. He could provide the mana himself? No, there were no mana batteries around, so whatever was the power source needed to be available consistently. The soldiers would not have the necessary output. An Ironborn core could be used instead, but John would need to come back and deliver it. Plus, the only difference between the cores of Ironborn and the cores inside the Mettle plants was that John knew the former deserved some payback. All he knew about the latter was that they had fallen out of favour with Arkeidos. That could have many reasons, including many that were not worthy of John’s forgiveness.
‘I’m just trying to rationalize,’ he caught himself. ‘Truth is, it’s just more convenient to use one from the Mettle plant. Sadly, convenience is something I require right now. Whoever was inside the core, they’ll suffer either way. I wish it wasn’t directly by my decision, but the world is as it is.’ “I’ll get you a power source,” the Creator Puppet promised. “Prepare everything else.”