Morgana: Everybody Loves Large Chests (Vol.4)

by Iliev, Neven

  “What?” Keira was taken aback.

  “I mean, you hit it off so well with them it’s almost like they’re your actual kids. I’m sure you’ll make a great mother someday.”

  “Ah… yeah…”

  The catgirl’s dispirited response and diminishing smile seemed to raise the ire of the dryads, who glared at Faehorn with angry frowns. For the briefest moment, the Ranger felt like he saw the titanic trees in the distance shift slightly out of the corner of his eye. The distant rumbling was barely audible even to his excessively sharp ears and even more worrisome. Thankfully, nothing of real consequence happened as his pupil trotted off towards her quarters. The quintuplets followed, though it was impossible not to notice that she no longer had that spring in her step.

  “Hey, Keira! Heading back to the barracks?”

  The beastkin passed by Lia on the way, but responded to the elf girl’s greeting with a lazy wave of her hand and a lifeless, ‘Hey, yeah.’ Noticing her friend’s sour mood, her green-haired classmate looked in the direction she came from, and her eyes met Faehorn’s dumbfounded stare. She approached the older Ranger with a displeased look, and the man braced for an argument.

  “Mister Faehorn? What did you do to upset Keira so badly?”

  Sure enough, the first thing Lia did was accuse him of wrongdoing.

  “For the last time, miss Torlee, I don’t bully my students for my own amusement,” he frowned at her unspoken accusation.

  True, he was a strict and uncompromising teacher, but it was for their own good. The life of an adventurer was harsh, and he prepared the youngsters harshly. This method had been doubly necessary with this unfortunate war business looming over everyone’s heads.

  “Oh, uh, of course,” Lia backtracked a little. “Still, you clearly said something that hurt her feelings.”

  “I did no such thing. We just had a brief chat regarding those dryads, and then she started sulking when I complimented her on being a good mother figure to them.”

  Lia closed her eyes, drooped her shoulders, and sighed heavily. She had stepped in that particular trap herself, earlier that day. Keira felt rather depressed that she’d never have children of her own. After all, her romance with Rowana would never bear that sort of fruit no matter how intense or passionate they felt. The two of them couldn’t even adopt unless they were officially married, which was unlikely to happen when considering the current laws and culture of the Republic.

  Of course, there was no way Faehorn would know all this, and Lia didn’t feel like explaining it to him. Not only would spilling the beans on Keira’s private life be a violation of her trust, but she was sure he wouldn’t understand and would somehow make things worse if she told him.

  “Honestly, this is why men are…”

  In the end she just walked off while muttering under her breath and shaking her head, leaving the old elf in an even more confused state of mind.

  “… What?” he asked the air around him. “What did I say?”

  Chapter Six

  Veni, Vidi, Edi

  Part One

  Fort Yimin was built within the only hylt tree grove in the Clattering Plains, which consisted of exactly five of the titanic trees. It stood out like a sore thumb amidst the grassy open fields surrounding it for at least a dozen kilometers in every direction. The fort existed on that spot for three hundred years, yet hadn’t been attacked even once. Though there were numerous armed conflicts between the Lodrak Empire and Ishigar Republic since its construction, the border had simply been too far away for the fort to be in any real danger.

  However, on this morning, that centuries-old eyesore would finally be put to its intended use. The Empire had arrived with a force of thirty thousand soldiers, who were currently forming ranks on the surrounding plains. Fort Yimin’s defenders lined up atop and behind the walls. None of them were strangers to combat, but this would be the first real taste of open warfare for many. It was only natural they would be nervous or frightened.

  Such individuals were far and few between among these thirteen thousand defenders. Over half of them were professional soldiers belonging to the 3rd Republic Legion. Another two thousand were part of the garrison detachment normally stationed at the fort. These troops had been temporarily assimilated into the Legion’s command structure. The remaining four thousand were adventurers drafted into service by the government. Compared to the opposing force over twice the size and comprised entirely of military personnel, they were outclassed and outnumbered. Yet, most of them were calm and resolute.

  A single glance at one of the titanic hylt trees was enough to fill them with the courage to push down their fear. They had five of the legendary dryads on their side. A simple glance at the stoic, unflinching hylt trees was enough to help steel their hearts and minds for what was to come. It was atop a relatively low, but practically high branch, that Faehorn made his roost. He used his Skills to carefully observe the enemy and reported what he saw through the Comm-crystal in his hand. He looked without having to aim, which allowed him to focus entirely on peering into the distance to such a fine degree that he could easily see the faces of people that were over a kilometer away.

  “I’ve confirmed the presence of three VIPs,” he said matter-of-factly. “One of them’s that ‘Holy Necromancer,’ and he’s got his own division of roughly a hundred death knights.”

  The man in question was draped head-to-toe in a long, pale robe with bits of metal armor on top. A hood covered his ashen hair, while a cloth mask concealed all but the pale skin around his dull red eyes. His arms held onto a bone staff that was modeled to look like a scythe. As for his rather absurd moniker, that was something he earned because of the rather unorthodox way he practiced necromancy. For one thing, he always made sure to get permission before using a corpse, either from the individual themselves while they were still alive, or from their next of kin. He then performed secret rituals to sanctify the remains before reanimating them.

  All in all, it was a long-winded process that was lengthy and expensive, but the result was the creation of Hallowed Dead. One could easily tell these apart from regular undead because their forms and armor were bleached pure white, as opposed to the dark and gloomy hues one would expect. Not only that, but the living didn’t feel any of the revulsion one would expect. The Hallowed Dead weren’t particularly stronger or tougher than regular undead, but the nature of their creation gave them two distinct advantages. The first was that their master would not suffer the wrath of Mortimer, God of Death and Commerce, and could avoid being branded with the stigma of Taboo. The other was that these Hallowed Dead were far less vulnerable to holy and fire magic, mitigating the undead’s major weakness.

  “The second is the ‘Loose Cannon,’ Lerion,” Faehorn continued his report.

  This one was known to be a dangerous Wizard that specialized in long-range, wide-area magical attacks. He was essentially a piece of artillery that walked on two legs. He was one of the few VIPs whose Ultimate Skill was known—a nasty piece of magic called Particle Cannon. It was an energy beam powerful enough to punch a hole clean through Fort Yimin’s walls in one go, perhaps even breaching the keep itself.

  “The last confirmed sighting is that ‘Black Tower’ fellow, Ruk’lunda.”

  Next in the Ranger’s sights was a Shaman whose nickname came from his towering build, dark skin, and tendency to fight topless. His upper body was covered in various ritualistic tattoos and markings. His weapon of choice was a massive wooden pillar almost as tall as him with various animal shapes carved into it like a totem pole.

  What truly set him apart from the others was that he was known to be an adventurer and wasn’t technically part of the Imperial army. It was unclear how the Empire persuaded him to show up, as his reputation made it clear he wasn’t easily motivated by gold or glory. In fact, the Republic’s Foreign Intelligence Bureau had at one time suspected him of being the Sandman due to his abnormally large build and altruistic nature. That theory had gone out
the window the instant the vigilante had sent the elves his invoice, but that was beside the point.

  “I see a possible fourth one,” Faehorn added as he peered at the enemy formations. “A woman in dark-colored light armor and a blue tabard. She’s holding a metal staff, black with gold-colored detailing at both ends. I can’t see much of her face because of that hood she has on, but the insignia on her shoulder is clearly that of the Gilded Hand.”

  “Understood,” Underwood answered through the cube in his hand. “Keep an eye out for the remaining two.”

  The fifth ‘VIP’ the Republic expected was a certain nobleman with a questionable reputation, a Warlock that went by the name of Arakawa Shinji. He was supposed to be an old man in a dark robe accompanied by a demonic entourage, but the elf saw no one that fit the description. There were quite a few Warlocks with familiars among their ranks, but none of them really stood out. Typically, the VIPs would receive preferential treatment and be put up on a pedestal to inspire the troops around them. If Shinji chose to hide away among his lower-Leveled colleagues, confirming his presence was impossible by sight alone.

  Far less was known about the Empire’s sixth and final powerhouse. In fact, the only information the FIB unearthed about him was that he was a dwarven adventurer who had no affiliations with the military or the nobility. Faehorn made a token attempt to locate anyone who fit that description, but gave up soon after. He instead focused his efforts onto trying to spot any deception or ruse within the Empire’s movements. It seemed, however, that they were not planning anything clever, as they finalized their formations and began a steady march towards the fort.

  Their blue tabards, cloaks, robes, and flags with griffin imprints clearly demonstrated their allegiance. Even the demons, undead, and war beasts had some blue trappings or war paint. This was good, because those dryads struggled to tell people apart based on facial features. Something Faehorn found slightly ironic when considering they all looked identical. Keira was the only one with a firm grasp on which of them was which, though that was hardly surprising. She’d spent nearly every waking moment of the past few days with those immature tree spirits, after all.

  As for the beastkin’s role in the siege, she was to be a coordinator far from the front lines. She was presently nestled somewhere in the trees along with the dryads in question, and it was her job to make sure they stuck to the plan without going berserk. Their trees were bound to suffer some damage, so they might take action on their own if she wasn’t around to hold them back. Faehorn suspected the catgirl was just worried about them and wanted to be there to guide them through this turbulent time. His lips curled into a smile as he once again thought she’d make a truly great wife and mother someday, though he kept his opinion to himself.

  Such idle thoughts swam around the back of his mind as he watched the steadily approaching enemy force. As expected about half of them were durable close-combat units. The rest were split between magical support, healers, and what was left of their Rogues and Rangers. Faehorn and his scouts may not have been able to do much to stall them over the past week, but had still racked up nearly five hundred confirmed kills all together.

  Once the Imperial army passed the three-hundred-meter mark, both sides deployed a number of large-scale magical barriers to protect themselves from long distance attacks. In the Empire’s case, they relied on personnel, while the Republic used large barrier-generating magic items built into the fortifications. The latter were stronger and had more MP stored up than the former, but were too large and heavy for the invading force to have them along.

  “Archers, at the ready!”

  A dozen loud voices rang out among the silence that gripped Fort Yimin, followed by a momentary avalanche of clattering as seven thousand arrows were nocked. Even though it may not have been the main weapon of choice for all of them, the vast majority of elven soldiers had received training in using a longbow and had at least 15 Levels in the Ranger Job. It would be foolish to limit an able-bodied fighter to just close-ranged weaponry, after all.

  “Take aim!”

  The ones atop the walls lined up their shots, while those on the ground behind them aimed at the sky. Even if their Attributes sucked, even if the power behind their shots was weak, even if their aim was lacking, even if they couldn’t see their intended targets—none of that mattered in a siege. As long as they shot in the general direction of the enemy, they were bound to hit something. Admittedly these blind attacks would accomplish very little in the grand scheme of things, but it was better to have them than not.

  When the forefront of the enemy vanguard crossed the one-hundred-and-fifty-meter mark, the battle finally began in earnest.

  “Loose!”

  A sea of arrows flew up into the air, glimmering with various colors as numerous enhancements, Martial Arts, and other effects imbued power into each projectile. They passed effortlessly through the massive one-way barriers around the fort and drew grand arcs through the air before raining down on the approaching Imperial forces. The Imperial Wizards, Priests, and Shamans gritted their teeth as the onslaught of projectiles clashed against their defensive Spells. The outcome was the total deflection of the first volley at the cost of the Casters’ collective MP.

  “Loose!”

  The second volley came several seconds later, once more filling the air with crackling sparks army as countless arrows smashed into the projected barriers.

  “Loose!”

  A third volley followed, then a fourth, and a fifth. The repeated strain on the Empire’s magic users became apparent as their defenses waned. Of course, the attackers’ Rangers and Rogues fired back, but they lacked the firepower to punch through the fort’s tougher barriers. Then, on the sixth volley, the protective Spells above the center of the Imperial army caved in. There were numerous sounds like glass shattering the defensive Spells were broken one after the other, and the arrows finally reached the soldiers underneath. They raised their shields, and braced themselves, but still suffered injuries.

  Various hit confirmation messages flooded the minds of the Republic troops, signifying the Spells had broken through.

  “Faehorn, you’re up.”

  Up in the lower branches of the hylt tree, a certain Comm-crystal relayed the orders that its owner had been waiting for.

  “Snipe!”

  Immediately after, his spectral arrow shot forward like a beam of light, instantly piercing one of the Empire’s Priests through the head. Hundreds of similar blue streaks of light flew out of the surrounding canopy, targeting physically weak magic users. The soldiers in front attempted to cover for their comrades using their shields and various Skills, but the high angle of the attacks rendered most of their efforts moot. A number of the robe-wearing twinkle-fingers resorted to quite literally crawling between the armored grunts’ legs.

  “Snipe! Snipe! Snipe! Snipe! Snipe!”

  Even that seemingly cowardly act wouldn’t save them from the stream of arrows flowing from Faehorn’s ‘nest.’ Snipe was a Martial Art that imbued a Ranger’s shots with immense penetrative power and speed. As expected of a Level 100 wielding an Artifact-grade bow, his attacks punched clean through shields, armor and people as if they were paper. He also took potshots at the VIPs, but their defenses were far more formidable.

  The Imperial army suffered casualties, but endured as the distance between them and the walls shortened to about sixty meters. Meteorites of fire, comets of ice, and solidified lumps of darkness rained down from the heavens on both sides as their Pyromancers, Cryomancers, Wizards and Warlocks traded long-range Spells. The fort’s barriers deflected all of the invaders’ magic while the attacking force’s unevenly distributed defenses only blocked about half of them, resulting in heavy damage to the Imperial infantry.

  The Republic was definitely ahead in this early exchange since they had the fortified position, but it wouldn’t last for long. Siege weapons were completed with dizzying speed at the far back of the Imperial formation. These unleashed
a barrage of enchanted stones that slammed heavily against the fort’s magical defenses, then burst into shockwaves of thunderous force that rattled the bones and shook the soul. The repeated onslaught caused large cracks to spread through the bubble-like shields, a sign they were about to break. The fervent exchanges of arrows and Spells hadn’t yet ceased, but the Empire’s foot soldiers had reached the base of the walls all the same.

  While all of that was going on, a certain cat-eared beastkin sat cross-legged amidst a mess of bark and lives with five child-like dryads huddled around her. The three of them closest to the invading force gritted their teeth, as their exposed trunks received damage from a myriad of sources. Of course, they would be hit. They were the quite literal cornerstones of the base’s fortifications, so it was only natural the Empire’s attacks would affect them even if they weren’t the focus of the offensive.

  “Mummy… It’s itchy…” one of them whined.

  “I know, sweetie,” Keira comforted her. “Please bear with it a while longer.”

  Although they appeared as ‘just giant trees’ at first glance, hylt trunks were actually far, far sturdier than any stone walls or magical barriers. The dryads still the felt arrows, Spells, and stones crashing against their Ironbark, but it was only at the stage of irritation and itchiness. They probably didn’t even take any actual damage. If this was all there was to the Empire’s offensive, then it wouldn’t have been enough to rouse the quintuplets from their slumber had they not been awakened by the Authority.

  The blue crystal cube in Keira hands lit up, and she answered it to find herself staring at the projected image of Vera, the Prefect in charge of Fort Yimin.

  “Decanus, begin phase one,” the officer ordered.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Keira saluted, then turned to the dryads. “Alright, girls. It’s time to play ‘Catch’ with the blue people!”

  “Yaaay!” the dryads cried out in unison.