Victoire liked what she saw.

She overlooked Promesse's training ground from her window, where Lord Raymond drilled new recruits in the arts of small unit tactics. Rows after rows of werelings stabbed mannequins with spears while others ran across a yard with a crushing weight of supplies on their back. Learning how to endure and wield one's equipment like a second skin was a key aspect of the soldier experience. The sight filled Victoire with nostalgia. She had been in these recruits' place once, sweating and struggling until she couldn't feel her legs.

For all of Lord Raymond's prejudice, he didn't believe in favoritism. He treated human, wereling, and even giant recruits with equal strictness. He had to. The Glarmes usually trained for at least four months—learning how to march, use their weapons, and fight—before they were considered ready to be deployed in the field in any capacity. Cramming how to do the entire thing in a week's time was near impossible, so her former commander and his fellow instructors stuck to the basics.

The only troops capable of more complex battle formations would be the giants and the surviving Glarmes, with the rest sticking to basics. The andvari engineers Victoire met promised her that their golems could execute difficult tactical maneuvers under the right commander, but the dwarves were late on the shipment. Victoire hoped they would arrive in time for the end of Peridot's ultimatum so she could test them thoroughly.

Some of us are ready for more advanced exercises, she thought upon looking up at the sky. Her squire rode one of those 'elephant' creatures Lord Wepwawet had begun to summon. These creatures reminded Victoire of Grudu, albeit with a pale white hide rather than wool fur and four legs rather than arms. Their immense ears—each almost the size of their entire body—flapped quickly enough to whip up a small whirlwind beneath them. Filou hung on the back of one as it flew from one side of the yard to the other with far more skill than she would have expected from him.

He's growing fast, and not just thanks to Lord Wepwawet's blessings. Victoire felt quite proud of her squire's progress. To think he was scared silly of asking me to train him once…

"Victoire?" She turned her head to find Kale stepping up to her side. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"It is fine. I did not want our inspection to delay your preparations." She studied her old friend head-to-toe. His eyes were blackened by fatigue, his skin paler than usual. "Are you getting enough sleep, Kale?"

"No," he joked back with a small chuckle. "I'm fine."

"You don't look that way to me," Victoire insisted. She knew her friend well enough to tell when he lied. "You've been working around the clock without respite to build up our armies' logistics. You won't be able to help anyone if you collapse from exhaustion."

An army marched on its stomach, so Lord Wepwawet had put Kale and Alpine in charge of developing the Verglane army's supply system, from standardizing rations that could be used by their motley group of werelings, giants, and humans, to training cooks and foragers. Kale had almost always been put on kitchen duty when she was still a part of the Order and was first in line to replace their old quartermaster before the Beelzebub incident, so he had thrown himself at the task with aplomb; doubly so since Lord Wepwawet's Masterworker blessing furthered his understanding of nutrition.

Nonetheless, while Victoire knew her friend was a diligent man, she feared he might be stretching himself too thin.

"I appreciate the thought, Victoire, but… I need work." Kale avoided her gaze. "It helps me focus on what matters."

Victoire bit her lip. She had been dreading this conversation for some time. "What happened to Promesse wasn't your fault, Kale."

"I know, Victoire. It's just… Constance and I… we were growing close before the attack. I'd hoped we could…" Kale closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"For what? Being alive?" Victoire argued. "I'm sure Constance would be happy to know that you are alive and doing good work."

"But she's gone now, and so are many others," Kale replied with a deep sigh. "We've lost so many good people, I can't imagine how we'll ever bounce back from it."

Victoire clenched her jaw. It was always a terrible burden to be the last one standing. "Kale–"

Kale didn't let her finish. "I can't imagine it… but you and Lord Wepwawet can," he said with a small smile. "I couldn't imagine what to do, and I don't think Lord Raymond did either, yet you gave us all tasks to rebuild from the ground up because you have a vision for this country. That must sound pathetic, but I feel I've been more useful cooking for werewolves than I ever was fighting in the field."

"It's not pathetic at all, Kale," Victoire reassured him. "There is no big or small task. Your work will save lives and make a difference."

"Yes, and that's why I want to give my all." Kale pumped his fist. "Work gives me hope again."

"It's still no excuse for burning out." Victoire cracked a smile. "Go take a nap, Kale. That's an order."

"Ah! I would be a poor knight if I said no to a superior officer." Kale smiled back at her. "You know, we're proud of you."

She frowned. "Whom?"

"Lord Raymond, me, everyone. Some will never say it, but they all feel that way. You've fought monsters, saved our lives, and now you're leading us into a war bigger than anything the Glarmes could imagine. Nobody knows how high your star will rise."

"You are too kind, Kale." Victoire suppressed a blush. Part of her wanted to insist that most of her successes were the result of receiving Lord Wepwawet's blessings, but it felt good to be praised for her achievements.

After sending Kale to his well-earned rest, Victoire walked into the meeting room alone; a walled room with a single table at its center which the Glarmes' leadership used for private meetings. Slimon, Alpine, Bernard, Wintresse, and Lourson were already seated there, with the latter two arguing.

"–I do not care," Wintresse said with a hint of annoyance. "The next worker to mishandle our limited blackstone supply will lose their hand."

"If you take their hand, they cannot work," Lourson argued.

"Mutilation sounds barbaric," Alpine protested.

"Would you rather that I take their head?" Wintresse retorted. "At best those fools were incompetent, and at worst thieves."

"I have no hands and I've never suffered from it," Slimon argued. The slime was the only one without a seat, since his mere touch damaged wood on contact. "You bipeds will learn to live without them."

"What's going on here?" Victoire asked upon intruding into the conversation.

"Ah, Victoire, perfect." Wintresse's smile never failed to seem sharper than a sword. "How did your Order handle workers mishandling critical supplies?"

"With more chores." Victoire crossed her arms. "No hand-cutting, except for theft."

Wintresse scoffed. "I find your lack of discipline baffling. That is not how we run things in Shadazar, I can tell you that much."

"This is not Shadazar," Victoire replied sternly. "This is Verglane. Our land, our laws."

Stolen story; please report.

"We could assign slackers to den-cleaning duties," Bernard suggested. "That's how we punish those in our tribe, and I assure you they will beg for us to cut off their hands and feet over being sent there again."

"The question of discipline will wait for another time," Victoire decided as she took her seat at the table. A set of items lay on it, including a small bag filled with biscuits, dry beef, and bottled water; a sharpened and rune-carved stick of blackstone no longer than a finger; various weapons carved from a bonelike substance; and a… a glass sphere filled with mushroom spores of all things. The slime's work no doubt. "I sent Kale to rest today, so I hope you can pick up the slack, Alpine."

"Leave it to me," Alpine replied with a chuckle. "I'm glad that boy can rest. He's pushing himself too hard."

"He is pushing himself enough," Wintresse conceded; a rare show of praise coming from her.

"Anyway, this is our new standard ration package," Alpine explained upon presenting the bag of supplies and its contents to Victoire. "Kale and I have worked on new kinds of conservation methods to preserve food. These biscuits should be edible for all our soldiers, and the dry meat will feed the carnivores among us. Each package should last around two weeks without spoiling."

"What about the water?" Victoire asked. The Glarmes usually favored alcoholic beverages since they were better sanitized and local water sources could be unreliable.

"We've experimented with filters that should help sanitize snow," Alpine replied. "That should take care of the issue, at least within Verglane."

Victoire nodded sharply. "I don't think we'll need to push beyond our borders. We lack the troops to foray into Lavaland itself, and securing Citadel Sapphire should cripple their ability to project force into our territory."

"Speaking of Citadel Sapphire, here is our solution to the issue of their walls," Wintresse said as she grabbed her blackstone stick. "Do you know the difference between a staff and a wand, Victoire?"

Victoire nodded sharply. "A staff allows a sorcerer to better channel their magic and improve their spells, while a wand is charged with a limited number of engraved spells."

"Quite astute." Wintresse sounded genuinely impressed. "I didn't expect you to know such information."

"The Glarmes used to have battle mages among its numbers before the flies decimated the order," Victoire replied. "Our instructors also taught us how to fight against spellcasters."

"Did they now?" the changeling scoffed in amusement, her hand caressing the skull on top of her staff. "I wouldn't rely too much on basic training, since we spellcasters are full of surprises."

"I would love to field large numbers of sorcerers if we had any," Victoire replied sharply. Verglane's magical traditions were usually limited to tribe shamans or the occasional autodidact like Renarde and Sagesse.

"Our issue exactly," Lourson said. "While we can fashion a number of blackstone staves, we lack the mages to outfit them with."

Winteresse smiled ear to ear. "Hence I came up with an alternative solution. Since it's especially sensitive to thoughts due to its focus on psychic sorcery, blackstone wands should answer to their wielder's mental commands even when they cannot cast spells themselves."

Victoire's eyes widened when she put two and two together. "You want to outfit soldiers with wands and have them fire spell barrages at our enemies."

"Indeed," Wintresse confirmed. "The grimoire you kindly provided us contains a relatively simple blasting spell which I can infuse into the wands."

"I think we can produce around a hundred wands, each capable of firing five blasting spells before fizzling out," Lourson explained. "We won't reach that threshold in time unless we dedicate all our smiths to it, so we'll need your authorization before we can proceed with the project."

"I can train a group of wandcasters within that time," Wintresse promised. "They should disrupt any conventional military formation with magical bombardments and blast Citadel Sapphire's walls to bits."

Victoire met her gaze, knowing full well what the changeling had in mind. "Eager to command your own private force?"

"I wouldn't be so bold as to privatize the army, but surely an experienced commander should lead troops worthy of her," Wintresse replied.

Bernard remained skeptical. "I'm not so sure these wands will deliver as promised. Monsters with fiery abilities usually nest in lairs that can withstand extreme conditions. It would surprise me if a magmorian citadel didn't have explosion-proof enchantments in place."

"Even with protections, focused impacts might weaken the walls enough for sappers to finish them off," Victoire said. She didn't need to think twice about this project, even when considering Wintresse's ambitions. Victoire owed the changeling her life during the Battle of Promesse and was willing to give her a chance. "Very well, you may proceed."

"Wonderful," Wintresse replied. "I would swear to you that you won't be disappointed, but that should already be a given."

"As for me, I've finished crafting a few weapons from Zelesto's remains," Bernard said. "A bow for Viviane, a new sword for Goreville, and an axe for myself. They should be lighter and superior to steel weapons."

Victoire studied his weaponry, testing the axe and sword in particular. Both were so light and sharp that the blades seemed to sing when she swung them.

"Impressive craftsmanship," Victoire congratulated Bernard before moving on to the final item to review. "And this is–"

"Death in a jar!" Slimon boasted. "Bipeds and quadrupeds, let me introduce you to the Dehydration-Rapid Yeast, or DRY! The cost-effective and lethally efficient solution to the magmorian problem!"

"That's a tall order," Victoire replied calmly. She had heard enough explosions rocking the castle lately to take the slime's promises with a pinch of salt.

"First, a tiny show of storytelling!" Slimon hopped into place, and only proceeded with his explanation once everyone looked at him. "I was working day and night on designing a secret weapon for our purpose—one violent explosion of scientific genius at a time—when a strange question coursed through my mind with the lightning of inspiration: what do all living creatures need?"

"Food?" Lourson asked.

"Love?" Alpine inquired.

"Faith, maybe?" Bernard suggested. "Can't be air for sure."

"Ambition," Wintresse stated more firmly than all the others.

"Nope! It is water, water!" Slimon glowed in place, literally. His golden surface glittered in the light of their torches. "Hence my creation of DRY: a particular brand of dehydrated mushrooms capable of absorbing gallons upon gallons of water and humidity the moment it comes in contact with the air! We only need to throw the sample inside the magmorians' camp, let it consume their water supply, and then watch them desiccate in the sun! We'll win without firing a single arrow!"

A long and heavy silence fell around the table, quickly broken by the sound of Victoire's palm massaging her forehead.

"You do realize that the magmorians don't need water to live, my dear marmalade?" Wintresse asked with amusement. "They eat magma for breakfast, after all."

"Their wyrms and kobold auxiliaries do need water though," Bernard countered. "This invention could prove situationally useful."

"Situationally?" Slimon turned red, steam rising from his gooey surface. "This world is seventy percent water, so my creation is applicable seventy percent of the time! How's that situational?!"

"This is…" Victoire struggled to find the right words. Underwhelming? This invention would be a terrifyingly dangerous alchemical weapon against most conventional armies, just… not in this particular case. "Unexpected."

"I am not impressed," Lourson said flatly.

"I'll show you!" Slimon snapped back. "I'll show you all the depth of my genius! I could turn lead to gold if I wanted to–"

A thump echoed in the distance, then another, and then a third.

Victoire barely had time to look over her shoulder when a giant reptilian head crashed through the nearest wall and startled everyone. Stones flew in all directions on impact, one of them nearly smashing the DRY container until Alpine swept it off at the last second.

"I have heard everything!" Insupportable snapped, his tongue sticking out like a dog hungry for a meal. "Where is the gold-maker?!"

How did… there were at least three inches of thick stone walls between this room and the outside world!

"It was a jest, Your Glorious Majesty!" Bernard said while he and his colleagues had all taken a step back. The dragon's eyes burned with an almost frightening intensity. "A mere daydream!"

"What?!" Insupportable's greed turned to annoyance, his reptilian eyes glaring at a frightened Slimon. "How dare you joke about such things! This is a dichotomy! A dichotomy!"

Victoire squinted at the dragon. "You mean an indignity?"

"A dichotomy is whatever His Glorious Majesty Insupportable says it is," Bernard replied obsequiously.

"I-I wasn't joking!" Slimon insisted in spite of his terror, proving to be as tone-deaf as could be expected from an earless bubble of slime. "I-I could totally alter matter at will with my superior non-euclidian intellect if I wanted to…"

Victoire clenched her teeth and prepared to scold the slime for his misplaced arrogance when the room's door opened. A werewolf stepped inside, froze upon noticing the dragon head sticking from the wall to his left, and then glanced at Victoire with a puzzled expression.

"What is it?" Victoire snapped in annoyance. Insupportable's presence never failed to sour her mood, even after he had lost interest in her.

"I bring dire news from the border, milady," the werewolf said, his knee hitting the floor. "Our scouts report movement at Citadel Sapphire. The magmorians have sent out a large contingent from the west to reinforce General Peridot."

This caught Victoire's full attention. "How large?"

"Thousands, according to early estimates," the scout replied. "According to our spies, Princess Topaz herself is leading them on behalf of her father."

Victoire's blood ran cold as she suddenly realized the scaled danger in the room. The dragon turned his head to look at the messenger, his eyes gleaming with greed.

"There is a princess in the west?" Insupportable asked very calmly.

…

Shit.

Victoire barely had time to duck for cover when the dragon hastily took flight—destroying half the ceiling while he was at it—and then fled west towards the clouds.

"Mine!" Insupportable shouted so loudly all of Promesse trembled. "Mine, mine, mine!"

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.