153 Chapter 8.8 - Behind the Scenes

Two more battalions of Forged Warhounds had joined the fray. They were incapable of doing much against the bone flyers spewing from the blood gate or the flesh giants crawling out, but these were bring handled by the Thulian dragonriders and the Haven's Golems respectively.

These hounds were given a single battle plan. Move in with uncanny speed. Collar and secure an enemy combatant. Retreat. Strike teams were pulling enemy soldiers from the battle by the dozens, where there commanders did not even bother with changing tactics. For frontline enemy commanders, for every footsoldier lost, two more stepped out of the gate. Haven had reduced the Cults's ability to use its obvious numerical advantage, but even so, the Cult was sure they would eventually wear down their opponents. Even now Cult Commanders could see as every now and then a spell would successfully strike down a Haven soldier, where they would be pulled from the defensive line. It took a few moments to replace them. Their numbers were not endless.

The blood gate would continue to spew forth enemies. So what if a larger and larger percentage of soldiers were being pulled from the field of battle? When their enemies killed them, their souls would release and go into their waiting half-life in its blood sac. In an hour they would be armed and armored again and ready to fight.

This way their troop count was theoretically twice as high, and not an army in the world could withstand the onslaught of 2 million troops.

On the other side of the blood gate, readied battalions of foot soldiers prepared to fight. Reports from the hatchery indicated that the Cult's losses during battle, as made apparent by the amount of soldiers being revived into their half-lives, as within acceptable levels.

There was a communication breakdown for some reason. The Grand Herald had not been able to reach back and contact the pontificate, the leader of the Cult as well as the defacto leader of the GWA. But this was also within expected parameters.

This was war.

This was the Cult's way of communicating without communications. If the rate of soldiers bursting from bloodsacs was too high, it was their visual indicator that the losses incurred was too high.

The Offensive against the Collective had failed, as almost all at once the entire division sent through their gate had come back almost all at once.

The Offensive against the City of Ston had gone off without any serious casualties and at this time was considered a success.

The Offensive against Thul had also failed, not only that but halfway into the offensive the Pontificate himself received a revelation from her divine flame to cease all activities against Thul. Forever.

Then there was the Corvid Society. It was considered a success, but must have been a slog, as there were few being pulled into their half-lives, but communication mirrors had not been set up.

Although two of their offensives had failed, that was a problem for another day. Once Haven was destroyed by the flood of zealots, mopping up the remnant apostates of humanity could take as much time as needed.

Yes, the Cult was aware that Haven could steal souls, but this was onle able to be performed by a handful of people who had to do so *by hand*. So unless the soul thieves of Haven, Jan Kopek or the defiled king himself, were individually killing the majority of the soldiers during the offensive, their offensive was a success.

***

"Another batch has arrived, your grace."

Serin surveyed the warhound handler. It was a forged bipedal, just with the ability to communicate instead of tagging.

"I would ask that you begin dispatching, as we are running out of collars. Battalions 3 and 6 can do two more runs before they run out of tags. Additionally, I request to send Battalions 1 and 2 back to the factory for controlled exchange of components, as they are starting to have critical systems exposed to enemy fire."

Serin stood at the amphitheater. Originally it was designed for two purposes. The first was for plays, theater, musicals, and symphonies to be performed.

The second was for the trial by combat for those guilty of breaking Haven's Laws. Because of this, it was designed with a rather ingenious system of cleaning sprayers that ensured that a backup of blood, icor, and brain did not happen.

Today that system was being put to the test.

The Warhounds of Haven had specially trained for their task. Unless their enemies wore the thickest of high quality armor, they would fall to the Warhounds' bite. And the Warhounds had practiced their methods, specifically:

Tackle the opponent.

Disable the human enemy by use of forepaw or nose spike to sever spine between the C4-C5, as indicated by the ancient charts provided by Lord Harkonin.

Collar enemy.

Drag enemy from battlefield to casualty collection point.

Serin looked at the organized platform of bodies. The moans of thousands were heard. Soldiers unable to move beyond breaking and speaking. But still very much alive.

Serin had left the management of the battlefield to his War Council. Everyone had a part to play in this war. And even as the Sovereign of this land he was no exception.

Haven had received reports of the enemy's ability to 'revive the dead'. He had also learned through painful knowledge that the souls held in bondage by another could not be revived. And other than divines, the only two people in the world that could bind souls were in this amphitheater.

Serin walked with his scepter. Well, less a scepter, and more of an executioner's tool. It looked no more than a fancy golden staff, adorned with a massive magical stone on the top. Its enchantment was simple. Upon command, it shot a 25 centimeter spike out of the bottom of the staff, then retracted it.

Serin walked between rows of bodies, ignoring the pleas and insults, bringing the forever quiet of death with him. Take a few steps. Fire a rod. Check soul count. Fire a rode, check soul count. Repeat.

As Serin finished with bodies, they were quickly carried off by Jan's many assistants who moved the corpses moved to three piles: The majority turned into food for dragons, dhamphir, and changlings, a small portion moved into a pile for fertilizer to grow Dryad trees, and an even smaller amount sent to Jan Kopek's lab, where they would be converted into Mana stones.

Sadly, Half-life soldier bodies produced magic stones half the size of comparably leveled humans.

Jan jotted these findings in his notes, but did not have time to experiment.

There were too many dead to process.