The Oracle Paths

1056 Die With Honor, Commander

As if the gods themselves could sense the impending clash, one destined to result in a cataclysmic loss of life, the previously transparent sky began to cloud over with ominous, storm-laden black clouds. A biting wind, fierce and cold, blew with monstrous intensity, whipping their faces and forcing the remaining to squint against its ferocity.

In the blink of an eye, the once hopeful ambiance had taken a drastic, weighty turn, evident from the grim expressions of each soldier, whether a rookie or a hardened veteran. Without being given any order, they instinctively comprehended that the majority wouldn't make it through the storm to come.

But at least they had a shot... Unlike Jake's ill-fated regiment, wiped out mercilessly before they even got a chance to prove their worth.

Witnessing the weather's unpredictable temperament, many of the Underworld Barbarians started murmuring prayers or desperate chants, calling upon some unknown higher power. This left Jake somewhat puzzled because, as far as he knew, these primitive tribes only worshipped the survival of the fittest and, perhaps, the enigmatic Lumyst River and the twin waterfalls from which their power originated.

Moreover, with Jake's heightened senses, vast knowledge, and cold clarity, he knew that this weather shift had little to do with some divine entity - unless we're talking about those damned Abyssal Revenants and Titans.

Jake initially believed the white cloud mass enveloping Chillmire was

intangible. He was wrong.

Not only was the blizzard very real, but its swirling maelstrom covered a vast expanse. The reason the ground-hugging clouds hadn't reshaped the land's topography despite their insane velocity was because the real clouds were situated much higher. Perhaps it was meant to shield the Duskwight Lands and its inhabitants as best as possible, but now they were witnessing the fallout.

By accumulating, condensing, and pushing the icy clouds within his mental grasp to higher altitudes, they had vertically stacked to become towering storm clouds or cumulonimbus. As soon as Chillmire had gotten wounded by the Celestial and the other three members of the Radiant Conclave, the Abyssal Revenant lost control over a part of these clouds.

And this was the aftermath... Now, this absurdly dense mass of stormy clouds, rising tens, or even hundreds of kilometers into the sky, was free to scatter and unleash its wrath, setting off a chain reaction throughout the local ecosystem, starting with its climate.

"There truly are no gods in this vast universe, just some potent assholes doing as they please, not giving a damn about the millions of ants they crush underfoot without even realizing. Jake sighed, swiftly turning his gaze to Grimstone Keep.

From the inner courtyard of its towering stronghold, the Keep itself, hundreds of ghastly flying creatures, the shade of a dark amphibian gray, took to the sky. From this distance, they looked like mere specks, but instinctively, he could tell they were far more monstrous than they first appeared.

And damn, they flew fast. Terrifyingly fast!

Each wing flap catapulted them hundreds of meters forward, generating a supersonic boom. A quick mental math told Jake that in just a minute or two, they'd be right over them. Another couple of minutes, and they'd be at Havocspire Citadel.

Predictably, just over a minute later, a ghastly shriek - part elephant bellow, part whale song, and something else, more insect-like and primal - tore through the air, making most of the soldiers wince in pain. Hearing it, many recruits and even battle-hardened warriors who'd seen their fair share of wars began to quake in their boots, sweating buckets.

As for those in the know, like General Torvi or Soulmancer Meribelle,

their faces turned even more grim and foreboding.

"They're already here... The Vorzhul Riders Legion..." the imposing General announced, his expression dead serious and devoid of any enthusiasm. Addressing his still-alive regimental, company, and platoon commanders, he barked, "Be ready to take up arms at a moment's notice. This battle will be bloody hell. I fear it'll be a massacre, not just for our rookies but our vets too. Our seasoned troops are invaluable... So, when the order comes, you know which regiment to send to the front."

Jake and Sank-Uk, who had been entirely overlooked since General Torvi and his army's arrival, had heard every cold-hearted command.

Jake remained cool as a cucumber, knowing he had nothing to fear, but the same couldn't be uttered for the commander. His face paled in fury to the point of going white, and his fingers squeaked as he gripped his guandao's hilt so hard.

Jake wanted to subtly advise the fuming barbarian to pull himself together, but it was too late. Perhaps the General felt his killing intent, or maybe it was the squeak of his knuckles, but the General's murderous gaze suddenly locked onto them.

"Hmmm? Almost forgot we had two other soldiers here," the man in gleaming plate armor remarked sarcastically. "I slipped up. My bad. Apologies if my words came off strong, but that's the responsibility of command. Next to my elites, your lives are, indeed, worthless."

Jake stood unfazed, barely keeping his contempt in check. Sank-Uk, however, at his breaking point and recognizing the hierarchy gap between them, forced himself to swallow his pride and clasped his hands. With a voice laced with thinly veiled threat and hatred, he retorted, "With all due respect, I'm also a 3000-Man Commander, and I don't think the lives of my recruits were disposable. Failing the baptism is one thing, but today they met their end without even getting a chance to fight. Who's to say one of them wasn't the future savior of the Duskwight Lands? Maybe we just lost our only hope. While it's good to cherish our elites, the new blood should also get a chance to rise. Sacrificing them the instant stakes go high defeats the very purpose of our rigorous training. A more capable soldier should shoulder more, not less."

A brief, tense silence followed his fervent plea, only to be shattered by the boisterous laughter of the bulky General and his officers. It lasted but a brief moment, just long enough to drain all of Sank-Uk's righteous anger, leaving only a somber disappointment behind.

As General Torvi was about to retort, an even more bloodcurdling scream than before pierced the air, closely followed by the blaring of a war horn. At the sound, even the fearless warrior's expression turned sour.

One of the massive, hideous flying creatures Jake had seen departing from Grimstone Keep suddenly swooped down over them, coming so close that the supersonic shockwave accompanying its flight nearly burst everyone's eardrums. Had the squad of Soulmancers not promptly shielded most of the army with a protective magical formation, many soldiers would've suffered severe injuries.

"That's downright nasty!" Meribell shouted, deactivating the long- range spell once the Vorzhul and its rider were at a safe distance.

However, when the dust settled and their attention shifted back to whatever General Torvi was going to retort, they found his eyes already glued to a parchment he had just darkly unfurled. After skimming through it for a few tense moments, an irate snort escaped his lips.

Turning towards Sank-Uk with a dire expression, he snapped, "So, you're all about protecting the rookies? I'll grant your wish. You were a 3000-Man Commander, right? Your regiment's no more, and lucky for you, I lost a good number of officers during our retreat from Havocspire Citadel. I could assign you another, but since you believe the strong should shelter the weak, 'rewarding' you after your failure in such a manner would go against your principles, wouldn't it?"

"..."

From this point on, anyone with half a brain could discern the General's intentions. Sank-Uk might not have been the sharpest blade in the Duskwight arsenal, but he definitely wasn't a dull one either. As he was gearing up to retort, a telepathic message from Jake stopped him cold.

'Let it slide. We'll survive anyway!

...So you'll fight on the front lines with the other recruits, exactly as you wish," General Torvi initially terminated in a condescending tone. His demeanour then changed drastically, a shadow flitting briefly across his eyes, "But, you're sorely mistaken if you believe that we, the higher-ups and elite troops, are not putting our lives on the line. Our lives are far too valuable to be used as cannon fodder..."

He then flung the unrolled parchment with the missive at Sank-Uk, revealing the orders he'd just received for all to see. In bold letters, it clearly stated that he and his force were tasked with taking down at least one of the enemy Generals.

Deflated yet resolute, the haughty General then spat out coldly, "So go on, die with honor, Commander. Ensure that you and your precious recruits create an opening for us that makes your deaths worthwhile. Because make no mistake, in the grand scheme of things, it's us, the elites, who will be diving headfirst into the jaws of the enemy."