Castle Terracanum – Royal Quarters
Two days before the battle.
The young red-haired king let out a tired sigh, letting the quill fall off his aching hand and stretching out his arms. He glanced idly about his office, peeking past the mountain of papers on his desk as he confirmed to himself that he had finished the last of the day’s work.
With the recent influx of farmers and the reclamation of enough land to sustain them, the recently re-founded Kingdom of Terracanum was finally beginning to look like a place people actually lived in. Granted, it was still rather more like a farming village with a castle in the centre than a “Kingdom” proper, but at the pace they were going, they would likely get there soon enough.
Of course, as the population increased so did the complexity of managing the settlement, and thus the king found himself being introduced to the soul-numbingly dull practice of administrative paperwork. The old sage Sophos, his adviser, had warned him about enlisting some form of bureaucratic personnel before things got too complex, but that was easier said than done. Literacy, let alone accounting, were not usually among the typical skills found in the sort of people that’d brave crossing the demon-infested wasteland just for the promise of a patch of arable land. Yet, as the workload increased and the castle’s surroundings became busier, the young king finally began to grasp the reality of the situation: he was really in charge of all these people’s well-being.
“Gods help them all,” he muttered.
Standing up from his desk, King Asmodeus the Second looked out his office’s window to the men and women training below. Sixty or so fresh recruits had enlisted in Terracanum’s fledgling military, and Queen – and General – Aura had wasted no time in devising a proper training regimen to whip them into shape, lovingly nicknamed by said recruits as “the grinder”. Whatever their complaints – and there were many – the results were hard to argue with. What few of them managed to make it through more than a couple of months of the not-quite-torture came out the other end as sturdy, exceedingly focused warriors.
The king smiled as he surveyed the swordsmanship practice, catching sight of the diminutive red-haired figures in the back row. His and Aura’s children, Ryn and Ariana, seemed to be playing along with the recruit’s training, swinging around a pair of wooden swords as if imitating the others’ endurance training.
“No, wait, that’s not playing,” he corrected himself as he saw Aura howling instructions at the two children just as she did to the soldiers. Ryn immediately straightened his back and Ariana switched her grip on her sword, both looking wholeheartedly focused as they continued practicing their swings.
”They’re little kids, dear,” the king muttered to himself, shaking his head.
Standing to the side was the only knight not taking part in the training. Sergei, Aura’s gruff second-in-command, had broken his leg when a group of demons ambushed a caravan that he and Deus had been escorting. The king had barely made it in time to crush the attacking Ghast’s skull just as it was trying to bite Sergei’s leg off, and later carried the injured knight back into the castle. The wound had been severe, but nothing Aura’s healing magic couldn’t deal with, and he’d be back in fighting shape in another day or two. Sergei appeared completely unfazed by the experience, and indeed claimed that it wasn’t even the worst he’d ever been wounded, yet, as Deus saw him standing there watching the training, he kept recalling the image of him lying on the ground covered in his own blood. If he had been only a second slower…
“Stop, stop, not again,” he groaned, rubbing his temples. “Stop imagining it already.”
Turning back to his desk, he stared at the long map that had been at the centre of his thoughts for the past days. A drawing of a narrow canyon, and the schematics of their fastidiously planned battle strategy. If they were to carry this operation as planned, he needed to trust his men to do their work while he did his. It was a simple thought to formulate, but doing so did nothing to ease the knot on his stomach every time he recalled just how fragile humans could be.
Sighing, he turned away from the desk and headed out for the training field. Maybe some exercise would take his mind off it.
Two days before the battle.
The young red-haired king let out a tired sigh, letting the quill fall off his aching hand and stretching out his arms. He glanced idly about his office, peeking past the mountain of papers on his desk as he confirmed to himself that he had finished the last of the day’s work.
With the recent influx of farmers and the reclamation of enough land to sustain them, the recently re-founded Kingdom of Terracanum was finally beginning to look like a place people actually lived in. Granted, it was still rather more like a farming village with a castle in the centre than a “Kingdom” proper, but at the pace they were going, they would likely get there soon enough.
Of course, as the population increased so did the complexity of managing the settlement, and thus the king found himself being introduced to the soul-numbingly dull practice of administrative paperwork. The old sage Sophos, his adviser, had warned him about enlisting some form of bureaucratic personnel before things got too complex, but that was easier said than done. Literacy, let alone accounting, were not usually among the typical skills found in the sort of people that’d brave crossing the demon-infested wasteland just for the promise of a patch of arable land. Yet, as the workload increased and the castle’s surroundings became busier, the young king finally began to grasp the reality of the situation: he was really in charge of all these people’s well-being.
“Gods help them all,” he muttered.
Standing up from his desk, King Asmodeus the Second looked out his office’s window to the men and women training below. Sixty or so fresh recruits had enlisted in Terracanum’s fledgling military, and Queen – and General – Aura had wasted no time in devising a proper training regimen to whip them into shape, lovingly nicknamed by said recruits as “the grinder”. Whatever their complaints – and there were many – the results were hard to argue with. What few of them managed to make it through more than a couple of months of the not-quite-torture came out the other end as sturdy, exceedingly focused warriors.
The king smiled as he surveyed the swordsmanship practice, catching sight of the diminutive red-haired figures in the back row. His and Aura’s children, Ryn and Ariana, seemed to be playing along with the recruit’s training, swinging around a pair of wooden swords as if imitating the others’ endurance training.
“No, wait, that’s not playing,” he corrected himself as he saw Aura howling instructions at the two children just as she did to the soldiers. Ryn immediately straightened his back and Ariana switched her grip on her sword, both looking wholeheartedly focused as they continued practicing their swings.
”They’re little kids, dear,” the king muttered to himself, shaking his head.
Standing to the side was the only knight not taking part in the training. Sergei, Aura’s gruff second-in-command, had broken his leg when a group of demons ambushed a caravan that he and Deus had been escorting. The king had barely made it in time to crush the attacking Ghast’s skull just as it was trying to bite Sergei’s leg off, and later carried the injured knight back into the castle. The wound had been severe, but nothing Aura’s healing magic couldn’t deal with, and he’d be back in fighting shape in another day or two. Sergei appeared completely unfazed by the experience, and indeed claimed that it wasn’t even the worst he’d ever been wounded, yet, as Deus saw him standing there watching the training, he kept recalling the image of him lying on the ground covered in his own blood. If he had been only a second slower…
“Stop, stop, not again,” he groaned, rubbing his temples. “Stop imagining it already.”
Turning back to his desk, he stared at the long map that had been at the centre of his thoughts for the past days. A drawing of a narrow canyon, and the schematics of their fastidiously planned battle strategy. If they were to carry this operation as planned, he needed to trust his men to do their work while he did his. It was a simple thought to formulate, but doing so did nothing to ease the knot on his stomach every time he recalled just how fragile humans could be.
Sighing, he turned away from the desk and headed out for the training field. Maybe some exercise would take his mind off it.