⟬ Fifty-nine suns later... in a war tent outside of City-State Forcen. ⟭
"Ahhh..."
Tycondrius ignored the sigh, emitted by the human, Cecil Salt. He continued to review the various missives placed in front of him, ensuring he understood their relevant points.
Commanding from the higher echelons of a combat force involved writing at a desk far more than yelling in a field.
"Pretty funny, I think..." Mused the suspiciously care-free Sergeant, "Naming the operation: World's End, that is."
Tycon closed his eyes, making a checklist in his head. He needed to send at least a dozen more missives before the sun went down-- and, if at all possible, one to his daughter, Sasarame.
"I mean, with how harsh the training is... some of the troops think that's *actually* what's at stake."
"Sergeant."
"Yes, Commander?"
A deep frown cut into Tycon's face as he looked over the battle-scarred veteran.
His uniform was acceptable-- clean, with creases still sharp. The scent of oil on his holstered service pistol implied that to be in good condition, as well.
Of his lax demeanor, though, Tycon chose to take offense.
"Salt," He said... "You used to be terrified of me."
"Aye. Still am, Sir," The bearded Sergeant nodded. "Oh, I got a letter from m'wife this afternoon. Wanna hear about it?"
"No."
"Her son drew a picture for us. Wanna see?"
"Her... what?" Tycon frowned, "Don't you mean *your* son?"
"Aha," Salt laughed, scratching his head in embarrassment. "Yeah, I suppose. He's a good kid-- too young to care. But the picture?"
"My answer remains the same, Sergeant," Tycon glared. "No... But the assumedly positive notion has been received and appreciated."
"Told the kiddo you were a uh... giant snake with a magic disguise."
"Oh, come now, Sergeant," Tycon gently chided. "I find it highly improbably that a mere child can capture the majesty of my true form with what? --sticks of colored wax and unbleached wood pulp?"
"So... you... wanna see?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes.
"...Leave it on the table."
"Can't do that, Commander," Salt pursed his lips and tilted his head. "'Fraid you won't give it back."
"Salt, I can have you court-martialed if I so choose. As we are currently at war, you won't be afforded due process."
Tycon quietly glared at his Sergeant... but only received a slight up-and-down nod.
"Hauh..."
"There will be torture," Tycon added.
"Yer guilt's showin', Sir," Salt grinned.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I am above such petty emotions, Sergeant."
"Is this a bad time, Messieurs?"
An awkward and long-limbed Wizard had entered the Command Tent, a man which Sergeant Salt seemed elated to see.
His thoughts were probably along the line of: 'the Commander cannot court-martial us both.'
His thoughts were wrong.
Despite his height, Mage-Captain Clemont of Guild Staghorn was a soft-spoken gentleman. If anything, his presence was usually overshadowed by Staghorn's boisterous guild leader, Sir Emilien Leserre.
Still... even though the end of the Realm was nigh, Tycon was an idealist.
"Clemont... how did you score on last week's physical exam?"
"Oh?" Clemont jerked in surprise before sucking air through his teeth, "I... I survived-- somehow."
ραпdα Йᴏνê|(сòm) "Survival..." Tycon shook his head, "is the minimum requirement, Captain. I ask again: how did you score?"
Clemont loosed a soft sigh before forcing a smile, "According to our training standards, I received full marks, Sir... I had to train at least that hard to quell my rival Officers' complaints."
Such was laudable. Still, Tycon was in a poor mood.
"And how are your squat and deadlift PR's, Mage-Captain?"
Clemont's face fell, stripped of his earlier pride.
"Sir Baron? You're asking me about... standards our organization does not officially have?"
"Should the Realm *not* be destroyed in the next few weeks," Tycon smirked. "I want you to out-lift Sergeant Salt by year's end."
"Haha. Funny, Sir," Scoffed Salt.
Clemont was not nearly as amused.
"Sir, with all due respect, Salt looks like he's been lifting crates of limes and hardtack since he was 12."
Salt turned away, his gaze distant.
"Sometimes... the crew would fill the crates with rocks and sand, just to f*ck with me," He said, his eyes downcast.
Tycon glanced over, "If you need a therapist, Salt, apply for one through the proper channels... or do what the regulars do: find *friends* --a peer group, you can identify with, or somesuch. "
"Sir, I'd like to remind you that, since you promoted me, you're my only peer in this camp-- and Clemont, I suppose."
Clever bastard.
"Then, I suppose we three should share a drink sometime," Tycon said, his smile forced-- "provided we live that long."
A drink sounded nice. He'd drink share a drink with near anyone.
Surviving the coming conflict, however-- that, would be a complicated ordeal.
"For now, Sergeant Salt... you're dismissed."
After the traumatized former sailor left the tent, Tycon turned his attention to the strongest Wizard in his retinue.
"Good evening, Captain."
"Good evening, Commander."
"I'll grant you the benefit of the doubt, Monsieur," Tycon smiled. "In all the years I've known you, you've been a paragon of excellence both as a scholar and a gentleman."
The corner of the Wizard's mouth twitched, "Permission to speak freely, Sir?"
"Go ahead."
"I'm honestly rather terrified of you."
"Thank you," Tycon nodded, "As you should be."
Though he'd never admit it to present company, his smile had transitioned from forced to honest. "Now then, Clemont... Why in the seven hells are you here?"
Throughout the past week, Tycon had already met with his leaders, either in-person or via long-distance communication.
The Kingdom's Royal Marines were tasked to raid settlements near the mountainous regions the lizards liked to hold. Considering the powerhouses that were Sea Wolf Sect Leader, High-Captain Lang Hai; and literal god of the sea, High-Captain Krysaos; those operations would come along swimmingly.
If not, Tycon planned to kill both of those fools, himself.
--somehow.
Centurion Zenon and the Holy Country's forces would be linking up with Centurion Januarius and Guild Metal Wolf. A small force of less than 10 Divine Armors was given the task to attack a small lizard-controlled fortress in an undisclosed location.
...Zenon promised he'd keep Haelvia safe.
Tycon was confident she could do so on her own. He told Zenon as such... but nonetheless, was thankful for the notion.
Athena of House Vanzano, the leader of Guild Letalis Serpentis and the future Matriarch of the Frozen Cairn Sect, chose not to participate in the anti-lizard operations.
Separate missives were addressed to her husband, Tanamar-- but they went unanswered.
The Hidden Sects had their own prophecies... However, if Jiang Ying Yue and her Hidden Lake Sect were any indication, the lizards heavily influenced those.
Tycon was certain he'd meet the husband and wife pair again... and soon.
As for the other Holy Country forces... the Basilica's reserves were set to participate in operations near the Eastern States' southern coast. The fighting there would be minimal to nonexistent.
Sasarame would still be subject to the horrors of war. Such was necessary despite her age... especially considering her rare Class and high Rank... as well as her father's profession.
Her skill at healing and divine magic would make her a hero, of sorts However, the volume of rotated troops would also ensure she experiences failure and its cost.
But trauma aside, her experiences would allow her to grow into a more complete, more compassionate young lady.
Then before the Realm ended properly, Tycon would take the young lady and force her off-Realm to ensure her survival. He hadn't yet planned that far, but he was willing to combat any number of gods or Gatekeepers to do so.
Tycon's daughter was... one of the few things remaining in the Realm that brought him joy. The occasional letter he received from her did wonders warming his figuratively cold-blooded heart.
Cecil Salt had reported on the readiness of the six companies of Staghorn, comprising primarily humans from the Kingdom and the northern part of the Eastern States.
They completed Tycon's assigned training. After seeing his neatly structured eighth hell, they no longer feared death on the battlefield
...Should they survive and eventually retire, their suns training in-garrison would haunt their nightmares.
And along with Guild Staghorn... several core members of Sol Invictus were set to fly east via airship to the contested border between the Eastern States and the northern, lizard-controlled territories. There, they would take part in a major offensive to retake several industrial lizard-controlled cities.
Sol Invictus would be participating in that main assault. Should their forces succeed, it would be a crippling blow to the lizard god's human/tree-abomination army, cutting their numbers and seizing consequential military assets.
However, Tycon would be elsewhere.
Soon, he'd involve himself with forces hailing from the Free Nation. Sol Invictus members Dragan and Lulu had already confirmed their participation.
To not alert the lizard leadership to the fact that Tycon was absent... one of Sol Invictus' newer members, Edge, would be donning Tycon's dark armor and signature white Commander's helmet.
Edge was horrified by his orders-- which was reasonable.
Tycon felt no guilt over the assignment.
As an extension of their regular duties, Sorina Capulet and Maeve Leserre handled a majority of Quartermaster duties. The two were uniquely qualified to keep their forces supplied. Moving a proper army required more food and medical supplies than it did courage and drive.
That army-- the various company leaders of which, already had their orders.
In order for Edge to be an effective 'Commander'... all he had to do was survive.
Provided he avoid magical scrying and subsequent long-distance artillery strikes, repeated assassination attempts by camouflaging tree-lizard abominations, and... as long as any enemy casters capable of death-curse magic were so contemptibly stupid that their very existence could be classified as malice, the boy had nothing to fear.
After all, dominating the front lines were the likes of Flaming Rage Knight Korr, High Wizard Clemont, and to a lesser, but still significant extent... the Armored Knight, Emilien Leserre...
Tycon narrowed his eyes at his Mage-Captain. He had yet to elaborate on his presence, instead choosing to dart his eyes around the insides of the command tent while fidgeting awkwardly.
"Clemont..." Tycon frowned.
"Monsieur Baron?"
"Where is Knight Leserre?"
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