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.

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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.

uneasy as the fog fell upon them, but they could not know what it was that seeped into their lungs, their skin, their very soul. This whole ship would, soon. But just as they surrounded their foes with the brume,

horn, 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

against my allies are greatly weakened!” he shouted, calling upon the Domain of Law. It took shape around them. Argrave knelt to the ground, looking to those around him. “Don’t get distracted for a second. Soon, their spellcasters

paranoidly watching each and every avenue for where an

up the A-rank spell [Heart of the Pack]. Argrave’s Brumesingers had always been bound to him by use of the C-rank [Pack Leader]. He’d clung to this method instead of direct control as Anneliese had over her sparrow for

as a single pack. He became his Brumesingers, experienced all that they did completely. And they became him, knowing and

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 stirred, every figure that walked through it… he knew where they were, what they said. The sensations would’ve overwhelmed his human

brume might’ve been cast away by the wind. But the Sea Dragon was encircled by a great ward, keeping projectiles and tempests from ever gracing its

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 the aid of his

Castro’s ward had shattered, and now Onychinusa created another to hold its place.

much longer,

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

to the front of the 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 in this

fighting a losing battle. Argrave seized upon the opportunity and pooled fog in the area. When she began to notice something was amiss, Argrave conjured a 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 doubted he’d even knocked her unconscious, but the interruption to their command would

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 they told their commanders, they would receive no comfort. Those wearing divine

they would know the wrath of the dryads. Argrave and

the corner. On and on he tracked the chain of command, searching for its heart. He came upon a room—a vast training hall, where amply used training equipment lay untouched.

remain in that wide-open deck… we have no reason not to surround them, wear them down.” He hefted his dadao in his hand. As Argrave looked upon that demonic

eyes wide as

fucking time!” shouted

lead!” Argrave continued, stepping ahead of