As noon turned to evening, Adarin kept inspecting the town. In front of the gates a slaughter ground had been established. The wyverns—especially the elder—were stripped for parts: shock-absorbing ceramic scales, parchment-thin hides tough enough for the sharpest blades, bones stronger than steel yet lighter than wood. Gavin and the mages grew giddy over the bounty.

  Adarin observed as four companies of skeletons dragged the two wyverns that had fallen in the forest up the hillocks. The air reeked of blood and rang with wet cleaving strokes.

  Francesco stood next to him, arm in arm with the flower-crowned redhead. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered something about her mighty mage. Adarin rolled his eyes privately. He turned to Francesco.

  “And you think Rüdiger will be capable of turning them into something special?”

  Francesco nodded eagerly. “I…” He looked down. A brief flicker of shame—no, insecurity. “My talent is with illusion magic. I am not like Liora or Master. They are true necromancers. But yes, those flyers, they are the perfect stock. They might be more valuable than anything else we achieve on this expedition.”

  Adarin nodded and allowed himself a vicious private smile. Rüdiger is brilliant, but blind to the value of close air support. Those wyverns could easily carry several barrels of gunpowder, and with the ignition stones—

  The loud smooching of Francesco kissing the girl, and her giggling as he pawed at her in response, tore him out of his dreams of annihilating his enemy under a relentless rain of bombs. He exchanged a few more words with the young mage but shook his head after a while. Best to leave him to his… entertainments.

  Adarin started walking towards the gates to inspect his next subordinate’s actions.

  Liora reached out to him even before he reached her field hospital, where she was desperately trying to save those lucky enough to receive only light wounds or injuries in the collapsing shelters.

  ‘Adarin, we need to talk.’

  Adarin smirked. Shall I take a guess about what? He considered responding with that, but the wise part in him told him that would be a very poor idea indeed.

  He found Liora, hands glowing with vital green light, elbows deep in the guts of some poor peasant who had been impaled by a beam of a collapsing building. The old man groaned and writhed as the healing alteration magic poured through his wounds and shimmered over his body.

  Adarin waited patiently for nearly a minute until Liora lifted the man out of permanent danger. She got up, poured alcohol over her arms and hands, and took a few deep breaths before stepping up to Adarin and whispering,

  “Adarin, what’s happening with—” she looked to the slaughter ground where Francesco was still overseeing the butchering.

  Adarin smirked, studying the couple. He’s certainly overseeing something.

  Liora swallowed. “The…” She searched for the right word, but her attention was clearly on Francesco. “Fraternization. Isn’t it dangerous? I believe it threatens discipline. You should prohibit our men from doing so.”

  Adarin couldn’t quite hold back a choking laugh, and Liora glared at him, the black threat of death in her eyes.

  “What is so funny about that? This is a legitimate military concern I am raising as an officer of the Order of the Invisible Hand.”

  Adarin clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Liora, this is rest and recreation. After a tough battle, our men and women, our fighters and mages, deserve a good break. This is just about the perfect opportunity.”

  She looked at him, her expression grim. “We conquer a town, and you expect their people to throw themselves at your soldiers?”

  Adarin groaned. “If I see anything that doesn’t look like the natives want it, I will intervene. The provosts have strict instructions, and they have sergeants patrolling the streets during the festival. But—” He pressed his eyes shut and took in a sharp breath. Almost involuntarily he gestured to the slaughter grounds. Fuck. Mistake.

  But it was too late. Liora huffed and turned around. She looked over her shoulder. “Rüdiger will hear of this,” she hissed, and walked over to the next injured person, a kid whose hand had been crushed.

  “Liora—” Adarin took a step forward, but then thought better of it. He turned away from her and began walking towards the market square, a strange anger that he couldn’t quite justify to himself roiling in his mind.

  He walked past the market square and the roasts that were being fed with wyvern meat. He overheard conversations between villagers. The tone was positive and happy. The female sergeant that had been with Francesco during the battle was overseeing the setting up of the roasts.

  “Me wonder’s ho’s gonna be tastin’,” drawled a scarred man in a thick local accent.

  The female sergeant chuckled, touching him gently on the shoulder. “I bet it’s gonna taste like chicken. Things usually do taste like chicken.”

  Laughter erupted among the workers. Adarin smiled when Gavin approached him, bouncing from foot to foot, what was clearly a half-assembled grenade in one hand.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Adarin. Adarin. Adarin. We need to talk.”

  He grabbed Adarin’s thick manipulator, dug his claws into it, and started pulling.

  Adarin pressed his eyes shut and followed. The goblin led him into a side room of the town hall.

  “What is it?”

  Gavin’s eyes grew wide and a strange spicy fragrance erupted from him—a chemical magic. Another thing I need to study.

  “This is an amazing opportunity. Do you understand?” The goblin began speaking, stumbling over his words in the cadence of a machine gun. “The dragon-blooded, the mercenaries—you’ve met them?”

  “Yes. We’ve killed them.”

  “They are superhumans. They somehow use the blood of dragonoids to turn normal humans into super—into amazingly strong, resilient warriors. We can do this too.”

  Adarin inclined his wooden head. “Consider me interested. What do you need?”

  “We need to preserve the blood. Well, we are already doing that. I’ve added anticoagulants. Now we only need children, and the blood needs to be fresh. So I’m thinking we could just buy some of the poor farmers’ children here and—”

  “No.” Adarin hissed, taking a step back.

  Gavin sighed and shook his head. “Well, if you don’t want to spend money, I could just order some men to abduct a few children if that’s the problem.”

  Adarin froze and stared at the goblin alchemist, studying him for real for the first time. I thought you were just a harmless maniac, but you’re so much more dangerous, aren’t you, Gavin?

  Adarin slapped the manipulator to the wooden floor, resulting in a loud sudden crash. “No. And that’s final. You’re not buying children. You’re not abducting children. For that matter, you’re also not buying or abducting adults. Is that understood?”

  Gavin’s face set into an angry mask. “But Rüdiger—”

  “But I am not Rüdiger,” Adarin hissed. He let out an angry breath. Whatever he was about to say… I should have heard him out. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  The goblin’s eyes grew pleading, and he tilted his head like a little puppy.

  “Please.”

  “No. And that’s final.”

  Adarin stalked out of the hall. On the way, he found a sergeant. “Keep an eye on the goblin. He might be up to untoward things. I will hold you responsible if something goes wrong.”

  The sergeant—no, Adarin noted the naval uniform, senior boatsmate—saluted smartly and took up position at the building.

  Adarin ground his teeth. One subordinate love struck, the next one not talking to me, the other one wants to buy human test subjects. Well, only two more to go. What else could possibly go wrong?

  He walked off into the town. The sounds of the developing festival, the rich smells of mead and ale, and slowly roasting wyvern meat which gently sizzled on spits, washed over him. He walked through the crowd, it parting for him out of fear, out of respect, out of whatever. He didn’t care. Everything has moved too fast. I’ve neglected the Imperial Truth that guided me all my life. This republic of Rüdiger’s… He shook himself out of his dark ruminations and let the festive mood wash over him.

  When he found Commodore Ashfield, he was sitting in a corner that vaguely smelled of fish.

  “And then after the broadside,” he spoke, slamming down a tankard of ale so that some of the ale splashed onto the table, “we of course jumped the deck. And I, young and spry—”

  Chuckles and catcalls erupted from the fishermen and even from several naval officers sitting nearby.

  “—gave the first three green-skinned bastards what they’d earned. The first two of ’em shot. Final one, I just ran him through. From behind, mind ya.” He smiled viciously. “What? Think me a coward for that? No good fighter in a real war ignores an advantage. Consider our good commander here.”

  A cheer erupted and tankards were raised and drained.

  “To the commander!” the Commodore cried out, and a raucous cheer erupted all over the market square.

  In the dying light of the day, a faint smile played over Adarin’s avatar’s face.

  Ashfield pinged him. ‘Commander, you should give a speech.’

  Adarin swallowed hard. Oh yes. Great. He suddenly felt the attention of everyone on him, and he climbed onto the table, ignoring the wood’s ominous creaking and swaying.

  “Soldiers of the Order. People of Oakridge.” He paused and emphasized the last words. “Citizens of the Republic! Today—today destiny was forged in tragedy, blood, and magic. But from the fire we have emerged stronger, united. The death, the losses—” His voice grew somber and the raucous cheering fell into a heavy silence. “They will not have been in vain. Oakridge will become the center of these lands again. We shall drain the swamps, we shall restore the farmlands, and this glorious town—I shall make sure it will become the center of the region. This I promise.”

  Tankards were slammed, a cheer erupted, and Adarin roared over the din of the crowd. “Enjoy the enemy’s flesh! Enjoy the evening!”

  Cheers erupted and crashed against him like the waves of an ocean storm. Gingerly, he stepped off the table and, through people slapping his wooden body, disappeared back into the crowd and found a dark corner.

  It comes so easy to me. But what is this heaviness… Do I just do what is my duty— He considered the day's events, running his mind and his actions through several evaluation protocols. I delivered a performance that even in the old Imperium would have been considered admirable. But Liora’s angry glare flashed in front of his eyes. Then he recalled Gavin’s manic gleam. He shook his head. Something’s wrong with me. I need to meditate. He lost himself into memories and mantras.

  “Not enjoying the festivities, Sir Adarin?”

  Duchess Viola appeared beside him a long time later, as evening had well and truly taken hold of the town and the darkness of night was in ascension.

  He turned around. “Duchess Viola.” He wanted to say more, but some of his words failed him.

  The Duchess, wearing a leather corset and short dress that was somehow both formal and militarily appropriate, smiled at him. “The day weighs heavy on you, Commander, does it not?”

  Adarin nodded. “It’s strange.” Deciding to admit it to himself, to her. “It’s not the losses. They were within expected parameters. It’s… the others... Victory should feel better.”

  A sad smile played over the Duchess’ face. She nodded, opened her mouth to speak—when the temple bell rang, and the gentle murmur of festivities turned into cries of panic as a black swarm descended from the sky.