Jackal Among Snakes

Emperor Ji Meng waved away the servant that was attempting to help him with his armor, and pulled the strap tight on his own. He walked to the decadent mannequin holding up his armor and pulled the last piece of equipment free—the helmet with its great crescent moon perched atop and his demon-like mask. He fitted the helm over his head, while the mask hung loosely from his left hand. His armor had grown somewhat loose over these years where nothing stimulated his appetite, so he tightened it yet further.

Ji Meng walked to the wall where his formidable dadao hung. Long ago, his court had insisted he discard this ‘peasant weapon.’ In response, he’d had one of the divine weapons of the Great Chu reforged inside it. He felt unfathomable strength surge as he took hold of it. He called upon the vital force within him, feeling it rumble like a storm.

“If the enemy has boarded, I will meet them,” he declared, turning around to where one of his bodyguards stood. “With spell and blade, I will cast their bodies into the sea. I will overturn this ambush, and slay them to the last.” He hefted the large blade over his shoulder and walked to the door. “I will take command. If they came here, they seek to cut off the head. They seek either Admiral Tan Shu or myself. I will have an ambush of my own ready. You—relay my orders,” he pointed to one of his men.

Emperor Ji Meng lifted the mask in his left hand up to his face, and it slotted into the helmet perfectly. The demonic face that it depicted hid something of an eager, if nervous, smile on his face. Even if he himself had not known it, he’d longed for the feeling of being near death once again. He felt fear at the coordination, the ferocity, and the sheer strangeness of his foes.

That fear was turning out to be sweeter than any food in the imperial court, and his hunger was finally roused.

#####

The Great Chu had two sorts of spellcaster combatants. There were those who used traditional magic; namely, spells cast from matrixes. And then there were those who used weaponry to manifest the magic within themselves. It was not so dissimilar to enchanted weaponry within Vasquer, yet rather than implant the magic through [Imbuing], each and every combatant imbued the weapon with their own magic to enact the blade’s enchantment—though they called magic ‘vital force.’ In turn, these weapons were not called ‘enchanted.’ They were so common in the Great Chu that they did not have a name at all. It spoke to their power.

The sheer number of troops that ran to confront them when they landed was so overwhelming that Argrave knew any attempts to be mobile initially would be utterly fruitless. Hundreds of archers took their place on elevated positions all around them. Soldiers wearing the lamellar armor of the Great Chu ran up from the deck, forming disciplined ranks. These were no raiders—they would not rush foolhardily, but instead intended to gather their forces in a defensible location before they had forces enough to ensure a rapid and total victory.

But their time to gather played into Argrave’s plans, too. When they landed on the deck the first thing that Argrave did was call upon his Brumesingers. They scrambled from his heavy coat, bounding across the deck while singing their chiming, melodious song. Their barely-perceptible gray mist blessed by the dryads spread out all around them. Everyone in this group had been touched by the dryads, and so this mist would not affect them… yet for all others, it would be a plague unlike any others.

The faint gray wisps of the Brumesingers burst out across the deck. For two years they’d been feasting on the souls of the greatest warriors, and now that gathered power made its grandest entrance yet. The Brumesingers used this fog to protect themselves in the wild, but Argrave had been filling that role for them. As such, they’d built a glut of power within themselves—a glut that Argrave felt was perfect to spend here.

Indeed, the timing was so perfect that out of everyone, these Brumesingers would be most vital for this entire operation.

into the fortress. The troops seemed uneasy as the fog fell upon them, but they could not know what it was that seeped into their lungs, their skin,

the archers began their first barrage at the heart of Argrave’s small party. Each of the archers here possessed the magic capacity of a B-rank spellcaster, and each of their weapons were capable of harnessing magic. In response, Castro cast the S-rank [Cradle

Law. It took shape around them. Argrave knelt to the ground, looking to those

and every avenue

[Heart of the Pack]. Argrave’s Brumesingers had always been bound to him by use of the C-rank

and yet he was five—and five were one as a single pack. He became his Brumesingers, experienced all that they did completely.

reach. He sung the song that he had only before heard, filling barracks, filling dormitories, filling the palatial rooms where the S-rank spellcasters of the Great Chu resided. Argrave could feel the brume. It was not merely a fog to him anymore—it was like a vast network that his brain was attached to. Everywhere it

the wind. But the Sea Dragon was encircled by a great ward, keeping projectiles and tempests from ever gracing its deck. What was a marvel of magic engineering

a network within his domain of fog. It was commands, orders, all rippling outward from a central point. The imprecision of it and the slow movement of the fog made it incredibly difficult to discern their source… but Argrave pressed ever onward, consuming more of the ship with

concentration. Argrave opened his eyes to see the dim afterimage of incredibly powerful lightning. Castro’s ward had shattered, and now Onychinusa created another to hold its place. Even with the brume dampening the power of magic, and with

hold much longer, Argrave,” Anneliese informed

his eyes and lapsed back into the heart of the pack. He desperately listened to all of the words, the commands, as the faint mist crept its way up the giant square building before them. Meanwhile, yet more made its way to the front of the boat. It was coming together—bits and pieces there, a commander here, and Argrave managed to isolate the officers

Sea Dragon, yet another deafening crack disturbed his thoughts. He didn’t open his eyes, but he heard yet more pleading. They could not remain

single shade from the mist. It was a great Veidimen warrior wielding a maul, and it clubbed her in the back of the head. She slammed against the railing, then tipped over and fell off the side. She wore divine gear and Argrave

thought it was merely mist from the ocean. Now, the brightest few had other ideas about what it might be. They said the vital force within them was disturbed. They felt malaise—weakness, failing sight, nausea. They heard the eerie chiming spreading throughout the ship, without an obvious source yet without an obvious end… but even if they knew, it was far too late for that. Perhaps they dismissed it as anxiety. Perhaps adrenaline hid the feelings. If

wrath of the dryads. Argrave and his pack had nearly permeated

searching for its heart. He came upon a room—a vast training hall, where amply used training equipment lay untouched. And there, partially hidden… Argrave spotted Emperor Ji

down.” He hefted his dadao in his hand. As

his eyes wide as a ward scattered around him in golden fragments. He stood up. “I’ve found

time!”

continued, stepping ahead of everyone.