Accidental Reaver

Chapter 205 - 204: Clarity of Mind

Stepping out into the early morning, Luke passed the gates separating the Defier's guild from the rest of the desolate city.

The black metal building behind him sucked in the faint morning sunlight. Red rays blessed the lands with their mocking welcome. Harmless birds and insects migrated en masse through the air, like a mismatched blanket. Their fleeing acted as a fear-ridden cacophony.

Sooty was unnaturally on edge, flapping her wings, and making her full range of bird complaints. Luke slowly drew his attention to the distant giant walls to the north. There, under all the distracting noise, he already heard the faint twang of bowstrings, the firing of low ranked spells, and the snarl of the weakest scouting monsters.

Hunters, guardsmen, or other residents in Sylen held grim expressions. Those with fragile minds threatened to break down on the spot. In particular, hunters under tier 1 looked like dead people walking. They all knew the casualty rates rose in an inverse relationship. The higher your tier or level, the greater your chance of survival, while the lower…

A blue scaled whelp managed to get through the arrow fire, skewering an archer, killing the monic before others could save him.

The first of many.

Flying with righteous fury, a yellow glowing arrow with self-contained radiance struck the whelp, melting it away. It attempted to heal the monic, unfortunately too far gone. His slim body dropped like a sack, and his cheek runes ceased glowing.

The Reaver recognized that arrow ability. It belonged to an archer he owed a favor.

"Veyri." He tore all attention away from the walls. From the looks of it, none of the top powers in Sylen stationed themselves there yet. The two sides were probing the other out. To be a casualty so early was a matter of either weakness or extreme bad luck. The monic happened to be a cursed mixture of both, relatively speaking.

Beyond the walls, the Reaver's blood sensed the disgusting holiness building on that side. The ground shook underneath the weight of the innumerable number of monsters, Ichor blessed and not. Outside of medical or supply tents spread out through Sylen, Luke couldn't spot a single civilian or noncombatant. The already sparse animal life fled the city entirely.

The scent of smoke, blood, and Luke couldn't quite place the last one, sandalwood maybe, spread in the streets. A pulsing sensation rose at the back of his hand, the Defier's mark—a black pentagram with red dots and a yellow mark at its center—tugged. A white tether overtook the Reaver's vision, leading toward the north wall.

Sounds in the Southern Quadrant distracted him, fires blazed, and the syndicates looted. City guards put out the chaos, killing any thieves too slow to retreat. A massive beast hopped from the northern gate, appearing similar to a fiend with horns, brown furred skin, and legs far too overdeveloped. Its form aimed to smash into a building near the orphanage.

Widening his eyes, Luke thought, NO.

Triple Step flooded into his feet. He sprang forward, calculating the proper meeting point in the sky to intercept the beast. A disdainful scoff rang throughout Sylen's entirety. Sound waves rippled like whips, shredding apart the airborne field beast. They bypassed its toughened skin, inflating it from the inside. It burst apart into a rain of guts, blood, and entrails. Another gentler sound ripple carried the aftermath out and over the Southern Gate, dropping it like refuse.

Stopping himself, the Reaver formed an ice platform to find a foothold. He scratched his neck, feeling a little silly and relieved. Of course, this place had other capable people besides himself.

Xera shook in her sheath. "Drat, I wanted to slice up that monster for myself. When do you think I can move on my own like Cedric does?"

Chewing on the question, the Reaver's train of thought got interrupted by Wayfinder, and another's voice soon after. Tugging his chain over Luke's neck a bit, Wayfinder said, "It's your lucky day, reckon you'll have your fill of carnage, two-formed missy. Might grow sick to your metal right after, careful what you wish for."

"Me? Sick of any of this? It's the only thing that makes the whispers go away."

Ophelia Cyrn's voice echoed, an application of sound and aura whispering at a massive scale. Those without specific orders to do otherwise, report to the mustering points near the northern wall. May the World Spirit gift you another day.

Clutching a hand between Wayfinder and Xera, Luke got their attention, even Whispering Tome solemnly settled on the ice platform. Sooty clamped her claws onto her Reaver's shoulder so firmly they scratched the living ice skin underneath the armor.

"It's here in full." Luke saw the masses of monsters out in the northern wooded and hilly fields, most of it flattened by hulking abominations. Far as he could tell, the Tide deserved its name, an ocean of beasts coming in waves. From the cute in comparison level ten gray-skinned ogres, to the Apostle with withered wings responsible for them all, Yuriel. Fourteen other presences, Luke assumed them to be diplomats, an uncanny mix of holy and unholy, directed the Tides. Thousands of lesser monsters bashed into the walls, dying to the ranged attacks of the defenders. An Envoy landed onto the battlement, barely pushed off by a tier 3 guardian that slammed into it, both falling into the washing waves of monsters below.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The city shook from its center, and the Silver Black Tower lit up. Ether flooded in from every corner for miles. Luke saw the energy density in the air notably nosedive. A thin silver black flecked barrier clamped down on Sylen. Other monsters trying to infiltrate the city smashed into it. Weaker ones became blots of blood. The stronger tier 2 beasts strained the barrier. The measure worked to keep out the masses or stem them, but it'd be a foolish hope to think it'd stave off the invasion alone.

Arrow and spell fire met against the hordes of creatures in the skies. City defense weaponry, like alchemy vats, spell ring formations, and portals, peppered the battlements. tier 2 commanders yelled orders in the distance, directing the thousands of people manning the walls. Runes, mana lines, and brands emblazoned on the walls, reinforcing them against the oncoming sieges.

A sickening thud smashed against the massive gate that kept out the Tide. Luke saw a giant Envoy, a creature of muscle, titanic proportion, and building Divinity, ram its bone-laden body against the magically reinforced metal. An alchemy vat of deterring oil spilled from above, its potency melted into the god blessed beast. It hissed, a significant portion of its body sloughed off, wriggling. White aura blasted out from the wounded location, rapidly regenerating the critical injury. Healed up, it tensed its back legs, ready to besiege the gates once more.

Taking the ice platform he created, Luke sat on it, drifting the elemental creation to where the white tether guided him, somewhere in the northwest, to a command tent, from the looks of it. It was dressed in blue and silver cloth, holding the city emblem on a flag on top of the central tent arch. Dispersing the frosting construct, the Reaver glided from high above, using bursts of mist to soften the landing.

There wasn't a tier 1 or lower in sight, all assigned already to either the northern gate or a much smaller detachment to the southern gate, where a single middling tier 3 commanded the still peaceful back entryway. One had to remember that Sylen sat between two nearly impassible ridges that pierced beyond the cloud line. While the Tides had some sort of method to bypass the ridges, it wasn't at scale, and the majority of that went straight into the underbelly of the inner valley, preferring softer prey than the tough meat of Sylen. The detachment was more to keep the still criminally controlled Southern Quadrant from going full rogue than to stave off whatever remnants of tidal wisps decided to attack the southern gate instead of the juicier towns, cities, or villages in the Duchy's blissfully ignorant interior.

As Luke wondered exactly why the powers that be allowed the underworld kingpins to pillage, admittedly only in the Southern Quadrant, he snapped out of his reverie. Musai's aura whisper carried from within the central tent. He'd been too caught up to register the exact words, the environmental stimulation, screams at the nearby northern gate, and just how fast the city transformed now that the Tide actually arrived—it boggled his senses somewhat.

Gathering himself, the Reaver headed in, patting Sooty in reassurance as he did so. He kept the usual aura radiating from him to a minimum; all eyes were on him anyway. The inside of the tent held far more space than he'd expected based on the outside structure. Spatial manipulation had to be at play. A handful of tier 2 hunters or guardsmen were inside. Other than them, all other souls were tier 3, or, well, whatever Musai was. Luke still wasn't entirely sure after all this time, a humanistic creature that no one else in this city could compare to.

Huddled over a map with hundreds of markings, the Reaver recognized Jordis, the giant blond woman with scars on her face, dissuading a tier 3 hunter from deploying yet. She wore white and gold plate, with a sun blazing greatsword on her back. Stopping himself from greeting her, as Rune met her, and not Luke, the Reaver instead let the tier 3 commanders argue between themselves.

Somehow finding the ability to meditate in all of this, Musai was in the back corner of the tent, both swords on his lap. He snapped open his eyes, gray hair wisped against his aged features. The body language conveyed expectation, so the Reaver obliged, arriving next to the Grandmaster Swordsman.

"You called, High Defier?" Luke said, unsure if using the old blade moniker fit the situation.

"Sit, young leaf. You may not have another opportunity for a great span afterward."

Thrown off by how Musai was almost casual in this chaotic situation, or composed, Luke sat beside the most powerful living human he knew about. Musai touched all ten fingers together at their tips, taking on a calming pose.

"You've allowed your mind to unravel, ninth seedling. A common occurrence for witnessing a Tide. A luxury beneath you."

Luke instinctively wanted to argue, but Musai read him so thoroughly and quickly that he nodded despite himself.

"Any advice? How do you block out the entire city erupting in war? Just one of those Envoys put a serious dent in the gates before the engineers patched it back together with their combined efforts."

"Do not block it. Let it in, embrace the fear, it is part of you—a small part. The sagacious well of clarity deep within all enlightened races drowns it out. The waves outside are a drop to the depths slumbering in the mind and soul."

Luke experienced tons of desperate combat up to this step in the journey. With a hint of guidance from Musai, he let in the emotion. Bits of the foundational soldier training took over as well. Soon, the confusion crushed in on itself, fear for fuel, and craze for calm.

Taking in measured breaths, sharp air layered around Musai. Luke felt like it could slice him apart if the Swordsman desired it. Concepts. A layer the Reaver brushed upon, expertly interwoven into Musai's outer Domain and inner vessel. Luke knew this wasn't the time, but asked anyway.

"Why do you stay? These lands stifle your growth. What keeps you here?"

A solemn hint pervaded from Musai. "A mantle of guardianship. The purpose the Edgelands hold, where the richer lands steal it with the false promise. The whetstone of burden hones my blades. The joy to garden the leaves under my stewardship. My wife waiting in realms left only for the eternal rest would be beside herself, should I break my promise to her. Branchling, I serve these lands and its people, and will do so until I no longer draw breath from its clean air."

Musai certainly spoke in a roundabout way. But Luke nodded, seeing a familiar soul in the man. He thought, Ah, a promise to family. We're not so different after all. Since the High Defier gave no further instruction, the Reaver meditated beside him.

The echoing sounds of struggle faded. Scents burrowing into his nose turned to nothingness. Vision faded to black, the sixth sense tugged at his nape. A beating Spectral Heart smoothed in cadence. Time lost meaning.

Eventually, Musai put a rough hand on Luke's shoulder, snapping him from the trance. Eyes darting around, the tent held two tier 3 commanders, Jordis, and a tier 3 hunter. They used an Interface driven command network. For information where that method didn't work, messenger hawks, or tier 1 couriers ran orders where they needed to go.

"The seven Defiers further along the path than you have already engaged the Diplomats and Envoys in the center. Aruna captains the far eastern flank, her job to handle the worst foes in that area. Your assignment is the same at the western edge of the battlefield. Trust in others to handle the Diplomats. Be it at the cost of death, you stop the Envoys at your edge. If none stop them, a breach is certain."

Musai cut into the air with a finger, showing the Western Front Luke needed to oversee. Teams rotated out to keep back the sieges. Multiple corpses littered the ground. An Ichor blessed, hulking siege beast Envoy charged into the wall wards, causing them to waver and sputter. Waves of arrows, alchemical and magical means, tried to batter back the beast, to little avail. Confident Luke witnessed enough, Musai shredded the passage in the etherweave.

"The shield strains. It requires another spear. Be the spear. Slay what many cannot, ninth branch. With your mind prepared, any further sacrifices are wasteful. Rise to the demands set upon you the day you became a Defier." Musai abruptly stood, about to exit the tent. "Yuriel is my barrier to break. His banner forestalls the Defiling Barrier's weakening over the blessed. If he dies, the Tide will find its waves crash against impenetrable walls."

A sword howl rang throughout Sylen. The Reaver's hairs stood up on their ends. Musai unveiled an eager smile.

"Death comes to us all, sin. But it is blind in the moment, make its gaze open on your enemy instead of yourself."