1 A Skirmish

"So, why did the son of an Alchemist join a mercenary troop?"

"Y'know, I kinda expected people to stop asking me that, after the first week. Guess I underestimated you, Corporal."

"Ah! You'd better not, son. Wouldn't want to see your precious head roll on the ground so soon!"

"What an unpleasant image. But, if I really have to answer, I'd say it was out of boredom. Being stuffed in an Alchemy Sanctum my whole life hardly sounded entertaining."

As the ginger-headed Corporal coughed in the dust of the trench, the Private gripped the shortsword in his hands harder.

"Man, they aren't letting down today, Sir."

"If they did, we'd be charging them, soldier. And no one likes being charged."

The Lieutenant thought himself humorous, but the young Private could barely scoff at that.

"I really wish HQ hurried in sending some reinforcements though." he continued "We can't stay here forever, especially without supplies."

As more artillery fire shook the ground, a man small of stature, with the same dark blue uniform as the Private and the Lieutenant hurried toward them, keeping his body low.

"Message from HQ! Flying Columns Altair and Vega have the enemy artillery unit surrounded! Unit Deneb to charge at the enemy from its position!"

"WHAT!?" blurted the Private "It's a quarter klick from here! They're gonna shred us to--"

"Private! We are a military company, and those are our orders. Junior Corporal Crosslead! Communicate the orders to all team members still capable of engaging, and we go in three!" were the words of the Lieutenant.

Junior Corporal Crosslead exclaimed a "Yes, sir!" and scurried along the trench to spread the orders to all remaining members of Unit Deneb.

"Why are we always the decoy!?" the Private muttered "If only the Sergeant was still..."

"No point indulging in 'if's, Private Stillwinter! Get ready, don't let go of your weapons and kill as many as you can!"

It was the year 3777 of the [Heavenscript calendar], seven years after the start of what would be later called Age of Summer and Winter in the continent called [Great Land], in the nation known as [Directorate of the Five Stars (Dominion of Pleiades)], and in an unnamed region, controlled by some Count or another, a border conflict was underway.

It wasn't surprising, given that most of the countries in the continent consider the Directorate an hostile, heaten-filled error to be razed to the ground before its ways were to spread too much. Pretty much everyday new small battles were fought, mostly by military companies like the [Astrolabos] Corporal Martens, J. Corporal Crosslead and Private Stillwinter were part of.

There were six units in Aquila: [Altair] & [Vega] were two opposite flying columns, made of Mageknights, Rangers, and Light and Heavy Cavalry; [Deneb] was an infantry unit, with an assorted membership mostly made of melee and medium-range combatants; [Thuban] was a unit made up of several scout teams, with an emphasis on speed and range; [Meissa] also known as HQ, had the duty of relying and create orders and manage the whole battle, along with guarding the rear guard; and the last one, [Gienah], was an intelligence unit, comprised of a small number of elites.

"I should have applied to Altair..." the Private sighed, his braided hair bouncing on his chest because of his heavy breath.

"Wouldn't make it: you can't ride an horse to save your life." the Corporal said, as he peeked over the trench, to see if the artillery fire gave any sign of ceasing.

As a shot landed just a few meters short of their position, he knelt back, now back at the same height of the sitting Private.

"Get ready."

The Private nodded, grabbed the cheap shortsword with both hands and assumed position, ready to climb up and begin a mad run in a field bombarded by explosions.

After a few seconds, he heard a sizzling noise, and saw the Corporal with his hand near his temple, pressing a Talisman against it.

"This acting commander of Deneb-4, Corporal Viktor Vonnaut Martens, to all team members. We begin in fifteen seconds the charge forward as per HQ orders. Comm silence from Phase 1 until Phase 4. Those who survive this, I swear I'll pay for all the mead you can drink. Now, go kill those fanatics, boys."

"GO GO GO!"

With an half smile on his face, even the discouraged Stillwinter felt better after the quite unsuccessful attempt at an inspirational speech from his superior, and climbed forward.

In front of them, scorched land and burned remains of vegetation extended before the main camp of the enemy formation, finally in sight after more than two days of siege.

"Run, youngsters, run!"

The Corporal, wielding a long mace that could have passed for a staff, sprinted forward, gripping more Talismans in his free hand.

Unwilling to end up being hit by enemy fire, Private Stillwinter also ran forward, muttering words that had been burned into his head since childhood.

"Like a Fae in the middle of Spring - Fairy Wind."

He felt his steps becoming lighter, and his body moved faster.

Now, it was only a matter of dodging the enemy spells long enough.

One of the [Five Main Fields of Magic], [Spirit Magic] is the magic obtained through contracts with the natural spirits of the world surrounding oneself.

A Spirit Mage's own Prana, or his internal source of magic, does not need great expenditure, but instead consumes surrounding Mana, the natural magical energy. One can obtain it after contracting with a Spirit, a ritual that joins the two in a vincolating agreement.

As he was distracted thinking of the trajectory of the artillery fire, something hot grazed his side.

He lowered his sight just enough to see that the enemy had already switched to direct fire, and multiple magically-reinforced shells were on their way to make him into minced meat.

(Can't afford to blink, uh...?)

The soldier held his breath as he powered forward, shielding himself with his arms, silently praying for his own safety.

Yet, something occurred to him as he did so. What he was gripping in his hands was not the cheap bronze shortsword given as standard equipment to him by his company, but...

While the most widespread method of creating trenches relies on magic, due to its speed and its relative cheapness, there were always cases where a more delicate touch had to be applied, or where a team had no one skilled enough in spellcasting to manipulate the ground. So, as always, the good companion of a soldier remained the trusted shovel.

(WHY AM I GRIPPING A SHOVEL!?)

It was the height of misfortune. Now without even a proper weapon, left to fend by himself under the enemy spell barrage, and without any real plan, the Private contemplated just leaving himself unto the line of fire and just end such a cycle of bad luck.

Nonetheless, his legs did not stop, and proceeded forward for the final meters that separated himself from the enemy defenses.

(I ain't dying 'fore I get the money...!) he thought.

A typical defense formation used by the [Holy Knightly Cross - Southern Principality of Galicia] would be a large trench, behind which several batteries of Elementalists and Spellcasters would stand while pouring magic attacks on incoming enemies. Furthermore, Guardian Knights, Templars and Apprentice Knights would be camping right behind them and around them, to defend the artillery team.

To say it would be foolish to fight such a formation, with the simple addition of conscripted soldiers, in a defensive battle, would surely be an understatement.

"Ooooh!"

Having survived the nearly-lethal run, Private Halley Stillwinter plunged into the enemy trench, pushing over an enemy soldier with his shovel, nearly decapitating him.

As he was soon surrounded by several foes, each well-armed with actual weapons and with the usual crazy look a Galician would give you before gutting you, he limited himself to a deep sigh.

More than five swords were thrust against him, as his lungs filled with the cold air of his homecountry.

And the Private jumped.

His legs stronger than any springs were high over the heads of his assailants, as he thrusted an hand downward and shouted until he was out of breath: "Eat dirt, assholes!"

"[Alchemical Record of Minerals: Expansion]!"

As he howled such words, the previously dug trench instantly swelled and filled up under him, burying those inside within the ground, leveled and perfectly smooth under his feet when he landed.

As he turned around, he saw other sections of the previously massive, hundreds of meter long trench being filled in dozens of spots, as planned.

Not that he had any time to fool around, as even more scary foes approached from his sides and from behind the trench.

Several, mostly those that were previously behind the trench, had armor, that the normal soldiers lacked.

"Oh my, all those Templars for a lowly newbie merc like me..."

Halley swallowed as he began to frantically move his fingers in front of himself: digging deep into his magic reserve, he was ready to fight 'till the end.

That is, until the armored Templars burst into flames.

The neigh of horses and the clear sound of magic projectiles being fired came from behind him, and soon he was passed by several horse-riding figures wearing blue hoods.

"Wasn't Vega flanking the enemy? ...Tch!"

Deneb-4. A team that specialized in anti-trench operations, made of soldiers with experience in any magic that manipulated one of the six elements, Earth. Spirit Mages, Spellswords, Alchemists, and Elementalists. As long as they could manipulate the ground to null any trench tactic and allow the cavalry to attack head-on, the battles could be won.

Vega, particularly Vega-1 and Vega-2, cavalry units tasked to charge the enemy, made up mostly of Mageknights and Light Cavalry.

While those units were supposed to work in synergy...

"GOD-FUCKING-DAMNIT!" Lieutenant Martens shouted as the 26 men of Deneb-4 assembled inside the enemy camp.

"Those assholes of Vega again! Just because they're faster they think they can get all of the spoils!"

Halley slumped over an half-smashed crate, feeling more tired than he ever had been before.

Yet, out of 26 people the most dejected was the young messenger, Junior Corporal Adim Crosslead, his long black hair covering his mourning face as he muttered curses.

Halley turned his head toward his superior, and asked "Is he still depressed about 'that'?"

The man nodded "He was looking forward to it."

It had happened about half an hour before, as the battle ended and the raiding begun.

As the three groups, Altair, Vega and Deneb approached the enemy base, that consisted mostly of the command and the clergy encampment, they were stopped by the Vega commander, looking at them with grave eyes.

Unlike most armies on the continent, the mercenary troops of the Directorate employed female soldiers with no real discrimination, as long as they could be useful in any way, and it was even more so in the extremely meritocratic Astrolabos. And so, it wasn't weird for the commander of a company like Vega to be a woman, but nonetheless it pissed off some.

Especially so, when said commander, her stout and unladylike presence, stopped them with cold fury as they were to take for themselves a unit of nuns and nurses that had come along with the enemy forces.

"Pillage! Rape! Kill!" shouted the black-haired youngster "That's why I became a soldier! And that bitch denies me a third of the experience!"

As far as Halley knew, it wasn't the first of Arim's outbursts against Commander Weissjäger, a woman he was almost terrified of.

"I swear one of those nights I'm going to sneak into her tent and get her instead!"

"If you want to become shattered ice, go forward." Halley said, his expression betraying his exasperation, as he further slouched.

"Would kind of miss such a good messenger. Nothing that can't be replaced, though." Martens added.

"Very helpful, thanks. Who knows, maybe some dick is what she needs. A nice ride of this Adamhad stallion and she's going to melt and go mellow!"

"Wasn't your father an Oldefort count or something?" Halley pointed out.

"Ah! You shouldn't underestimate the Adamhad blood!" he said.

"Man, I was also looking forward to some juicy, virgin nun, but that's that, y'know?" Halley slumped even more "I'll just go to the brothel af--"

Before he could end his phrase, the crate creaked and, under Halley's weight, crashed down completely, making him fall down to the ground.

Five states, with extremely different histories from each other, forming a federation. That was the force known as Dominion of the Pleiades, made of five regions, two on the other side of the sea, two in the Great Land continent.

The [Adamhad Oligarchy]. The [Oldefort Monarchy]. The [Republik der Schwartzdonner]. The [Vikland Kingdom]. [The Nocturnal Lands]. Five countries spanning over half a continent, united together by legend, myths, and the Directorate of the Five Stars, a government corp that safeguarded their interests.

Both Adim and Martens laughed hard at Halley's figure, but the man smiled as he got up.

"I can't believed those assholes got fooled by a double back!" he said, and the laughed together with his fellows of the Deneb-4.

"Three books?" Martens said as he stared as Halley dug through the crate's remains.

"Probably grimoires of some Spellcaster or the holy books of a Priest. Anyone here can read Galician?"

The two shook their heads, and even when Halley asked other members of Deneb-4, no one had any comprehension of written Galician.

As he returned, he sighed "The language itself is dull and incomprehensible enough to listen to, I certainly never expected to have to read it!"

"Well, we can still inspect the books." Martens suggested "Like, that one. It has some sort of golden embroidery on the cover, it must be worth something. Or it's just a fancy book."

"That one's got a white cover, it might be what they call 'white magic' over there, right?" Adim added "Or just a fancy book."

"Thank you both for your insight, sirs."

The two higher ranked soldiers smiled, and then each added that it would be better if the team split, much to the agreement of everyone, since there might be more stuff the 'assholes' overlooked.

Halley was left alone, in the middle of a camp just lightly on fire, and with a feeling of clear discontent floating around him.