Low-Fantasy Occultist

The air in General Nolan’s command pavilion was warm, much warmer than the cold subterranean drafts that flowed around the camp. Silk banners hung from the wooden pillars supporting it, attempting to mask the brutal reality of the cavern, but the illusion failed the moment anyone looked at the slate map dominating the center of the room.

Hundreds, if not thousands, of men had given their lives to see them here.

Eugene stood near the table's edge, his hands clasped behind his back. He watched Nolan trace a silver-tipped pointer along the etched lines of Kadar-Khol, the dark dwarven city they were assaulting.

It wasn’t their capital, but after reviewing historical records, they’d deemed it a worthy enough target for a full push, as it was the second wealthiest city in the dwarven kingdom and the most natural rally point for an attack on Berea.

Without it, their enemy would be much harder pressed to launch another offensive. Even if they failed to hold it, the general consensus was that, with enough damage, it’d take the dwarves many years to pose a threat again.

“The Second Gate is on the verge of cracking,” Nolan said, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone that belonged in a ballroom, not a warzone. He tapped a cluster of figurines on the slate. “Intelligence confirms their psychic-suppression wards are failing in the lower sector, so the breach is imminent. We need a wedge to drive through the gap and hold it while the sappers widen the hole.”

Nolan lifted his gaze, his pale blue eyes sweeping over the assembled nobles before settling on Eugene.

“Lord Crowley,” he purred, a predatory smile tugging at his lips. “Your force and the 13th Royal Knight Corps have seen little action since we crossed the first gate. When men are fresh, the Crown expects them to earn their keep. I want you to lead the assault on the gate.”

A murmur rippled through the assembled commanders. Lord Halford, a man whose golden sword had never drawn a drop of dwarven blood yet had bragged outrageously about his force’s progress, offered a supportive nod.

Eugene kept his expression perfectly neutral. The Second Gate was likely to be a meat grinder, even after all the work to weaken it. Its entrance was a narrow, steep incline choked with defensive emplacements. Sending his men and the 13th Corps in as the first wave was a calculated political maneuver.

Nolan knew the 13th was Eugene’s most reliable asset after himself. Bleeding them dry at the gate would cripple his influence within the expeditionary force, ensuring the lion’s share of the glory—and the spoils—could be claimed by other nobles when the city fell.

“While I will never refuse to lead the charge myself, the 13th is a cavalry-trained shock force, General,” Eugene replied in a conversational tone. “Funneling them down the gate’s incline would negate their momentum. Lord Halford’s heavy infantry are better suited to such a static push, as he’s reminded us.”

Halford’s supportive smile vanished. He bristled, opening his mouth to protest, but Eugene spoke before he could. “However, if my force and Halford’s breach the gate, the dwarven defenders will undoubtedly collapse their western flank to reinforce the chokepoint. That would leave the Lower Foundries vulnerable. Give that to the 13th. That way, we’ll have a fresh force to secure our advance and cut off the defenders' lines from the rear. If our men do their job well enough, we might have the city by nightfall, with only the main fortress left to take.”

Nolan’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t dismiss the change out of hand. He assessed the situation for a long moment, weighing the tactical advantage against his political goals.

Securing the Foundries was a vital objective, arguably more dangerous than the gate because of the unpredictable nature of the dark dwarves' subjugated beasts. If Eugene failed to crack the gates, the blame would fall squarely on him. Even if he succeeded, Nolan would still have won the city, and his force would be ready to storm the main keep.

“Very well, Lord Crowley,” Nolan agreed, setting the silver pointer down. “We will follow your plan, but I expect you to rejoin the 13th and support their assault once the gate is taken. Do not let me down. The Crown is watching.”

Eugene offered a crisp salute and walked out of the pavilion, trading the scented air for the biting chill of the cavern tunnels.

If he weren’t so damn good at keeping all the squabbling nobles in line, I might have been tempted to arrange an accident for Nolan. But he’s still in favor with the Crown, and his personal power is nothing to scoff at. Oh well, if everything goes right, I might be able to leave these godforsaken caverns within a month, and then it won’t be my problem any longer.

He was man enough to admit that it stung to be constantly pushed into danger while the other nobles sat fat and safe behind the command lines, but he had a duty to the King, and by the gods, he’d see it done.

Especially because once this is all over and I’m back home, my reputation will do wonders for our safety. Being disliked by the High Nobles was always going to happen, given our family history, but now they’ll have a healthy dose of caution to go along with it.

Leon waited for him by the staging area, checking the readiness of his company’s horses. They’d seen little use in the early stages of the war, aside from the initial charge on the outer fortifications, but as the caverns kept widening the deeper they went, they all knew it would change soon.

The young knight looked worn, his armor scratched and dented from months of constant warfare, yet a powerful vitality thrummed just beneath his skin. His status as a Prestige warrior remained a secret, known only to Eugene and a few trusted lieutenants, though that was unlikely to remain the case for long.

“Is it the Foundries, then?” Leon asked, falling into step beside him as they headed toward their staging grounds.

“It is for you. Halford and I will take the gate,” Eugene confirmed. “Nolan tried to feed us to the grinder, but I think it was mostly a ploy to ensure he couldn’t be criticized later. He didn’t fight very hard when I proposed a change.”

Leon’s scowl deepened as the harsh light of the lumen-stones cast shadows across his face. “How long are we going to play this game, Eugene? You and I can take the gate on our own. We’re risking the lives of many good men.”

“You know what would happen,” Eugene countered, lowering his voice even as he spread his [Aura] to keep anyone from overhearing. “The moment you reveal your rank, Nolan will invoke the Crown’s Privilege, requisition you as a strategic asset, reassign the 13th to his personal guard, and strip me off the command structure. We’d lose our autonomy, and you’d be even farther from any fighting.”

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Leon tightened his jaw, staring down the long, descending tunnel toward the dwarven city. The distant rumble of artillery shook dust from the ceiling. “It still feels like a betrayal.”

“You know it’s necessary,” Eugene said softly. “You will fight, Leon. As long as you keep your output within mortal limits, you will be able to participate in the fighting this way, and I doubt you’ll need to pretend for too long. My instincts tell me the dwarves haven’t shown us everything they can do yet, and if you happen to rank up during the fighting… Well, it’ll be too late to change plans then.”

Leon gave a stiff nod, and Eugene patted his shoulder. He didn’t like the subterfuge either, but they’d be in a much worse position if they’d been open from the start.

They reached their forces, where two thousand armored men and women sat in the gloom, checking their weapons and packing handfuls of dried ghostgrass into the padded liners of their helmets.

The herb had a pungent, biting odor that stung the nostrils and served as a crude defense, but its properties created a layer of static in the human brain that offered a crucial buffer against the dark dwarves' psychic intrusions. There was no way they could equip the entire army with the enchanted helmets given to the commanders.

Eugene drew his blade, a sleek length of red steel that glowed in the gloom, and drew everyone’s attention. Once the knights were mounted and his men were ready, he signaled the advance.

From the other side of the camp, he saw Halford’s commanders do the same, though the man himself was nowhere in sight.

He’ll stay back until he knows it’s safe.

The descent began without incident, but as they reached the artillery lines, the tunnel sloped sharply downward, and the air grew hotter with every yard. Rivers of molten rock flowed through deep trenches on either side of the path, casting the cavern in a hellish, flickering orange glow.

The heat was oppressive, baking the soldiers in their armor, and only Eugene’s presence kept any real damage from occurring. As a fire-based Prestige class, he had little trouble absorbing the worst of it.

Then, the whispers began.

It began as a scratchy sensation behind the eyes, a subtle itch the ghostgrass struggled to suppress. Even Eugene felt the psychic pressure probing his mind, searching for insecurities, fears, and regrets. As a Prestige warrior, he possessed mental fortitude far surpassing that of mortals, and he casually swatted the intrusion away, but the regular soldiers groaned, shaking their heads as blood began to trickle from their noses.

At his signal, Leon and his company fell back, taking over a low rise to prepare for their push.

“Shield up!” Eugene roared, feeling Halford’s forces prepare as well.

At least whoever he left in charge isn’t as much of a coward as their Lord is.

The Second Gate was a dark mass of obsidian, reinforced by centuries of wards and enchantments. It wasn’t a place he would have wanted to attack even with twice the men he had, but the artillery had done its job well.

For a week, they’d battered its defenses, cracking the wards and leaving gaps in the dark crystal.

If they waited much longer, the dwarves would receive reinforcements, and they couldn’t allow that, so with a roar, he led the assault.

From the shadows above the gate, the defenders struck.

Enchanted bolts rained down from the darkness, piercing steel and bone. The dark dwarves moved like spiders across the vertical rock faces, almost melting into the gloom, visible only by their glowing eyes. They fought in silence, communicating through their telepathic network.

It had once been intimidating and was still eerie, but Eugene needed only to release great gouts of flame from his sword to send them fleeing.

His men knew their job well by now, and, led by Sir Poules, they began making their way toward the cracked gate, unleashing waves of skill to weaken it.

Halford’s joined in, and with Eugene covering their attack, it wasn’t long before the massive construct began to give way.

Just before the gate fell, it opened from within.

There was a moment of confusion, but it was quickly replaced by wariness as maddened howls echoed through the cavern.

Ah, so they expected a multipronged attack and decided to make their stand here.

Indeed, pale, eyeless horrors with segmented chitinous armor and jaws strong enough to snap a horse in two flooded out. They charged the Berean lines, driven into a frenzy by the psychic whips wielded by their dwarven masters.

The front line buckled, unprepared for such an attack.

Eugene took a moment to send a signal flare to Leon to charge, since their plan to divide their forces and take the Foundry separately was shot, before diving into the mass of flesh and steel himself.

The first dwarf to spot him died before he could speak. Soon, he was dancing around them with minimal movements, swinging his fiery blade and severing the psychic tethers binding the monsters to their handlers.

Freed from mind control, three of the pale beasts shrieked in confusion and turned on the nearest dark dwarves, tearing into their former masters with blinding ferocity.

The 13th slammed into them, led by Leon and his glowing sword. He cleaved through armor and chitin alike, doing his best to hold his power within the bounds of a mortal knight, but his martial skill was flawless.

They passed through the gate with only minimal losses, as Eugene’s fiery walls kept the murder holes from being put to work, and pushed deeper into the city, driving the defenders back toward the primary magma reservoirs. Victory seemed within their grasp.

Then, the temperature in the cavern plummeted.

The molten rock flowing through the trenches abruptly solidified, turning black and brittle. The ambient mana warped, bending inward toward a single point on a high balcony overlooking the foundry floor.

A dwarf stepped to the edge. He was ancient, his long beard braided with glowing purple stones. He wore no armor, only a simple tunic of spun silver thread, and he wielded an oversized mattock.

The psychic static in the air vanished, replaced by a crushing pressure.

Eugene felt his boots grind against the stone. Several soldiers in the vanguard collapsed, their armor crumpling under the sheer telekinetic force.

A Champion of their own. I knew they weren’t done yet.

The dwarf raised his mattock and brought it down on the balcony, and the cavern floor buckled.

Sharp spikes of solid bedrock erupted from the ground, skewering a dozen men in a fraction of a second. The dwarven champion leaped from the balcony, plummeting eighty feet to the foundry floor and landing with the force of a meteor, sending a shockwave through the Berean lines.

Eugene stepped in front of his breaking ranks.

“For the King!” he bellowed, expanding his aura to shield his men from the worst of the psychic crush.

He engaged the champion, blurring forward and thrusting his blade at the dwarf’s throat.

The elder lazily gestured with a gnarled hand, and a thick slab of bedrock shot upward, intercepting Eugene’s sword.

He cut through it with ease, yet his enemy was gone.

Trusting his instincts, he leaped high into the air, narrowly avoiding an explosion of telekinetic energy that reduced the boulder’s two halves to dust.

The dwarf reappeared above him, swinging the mattock down.

Eugene twisted in the air, sending a wave of golden fire as the stone weapon sheared the top off a nearby stalagmite.

The dwarf coated himself in purple mana and pushed through the fire, followed by a psychic spike.

Eugene’s mind reeled under the blow. For a split second, his vision swam, and he plummeted.

As the old dwarf prepared to fall upon him, a blinding column of golden light erupted from the gloom, ripping the psychic static apart and allowing Eugene to flip out of the strike's path.

Leon shone with a radiance that stung the eyes, and his broadsword hummed with barely contained light. The might of his aura washed over the battlefield, an immovable bulwark of righteous fury.

All around them, men fought and died, but Eugene knew the secret was out.

As Leon raised his glowing sword, catching the descending mattock, he unleashed a shockwave that knocked the surrounding dwarves off their feet.

The stone mattock groaned as a hairline fracture appeared on its surface.

That gave Eugene time to burn several more creatures to ash, relieve the pressure on the Halford men, and rejoin the fight.

Leon applied relentless frontal pressure, his golden light searing the dwarf’s skin and forcing the enemy champion to commit all his strength to holding the knight at bay. The dwarf gritted his teeth, the purple stones in his beard flashing frantically as he tried to crush Leon’s mind, but the holy aura burned the psychic intrusions to ash.

Fire pooled around Eugene, growing strong enough to glow white-hot, and he struck from the blind spot the moment he saw an opening.

The dwarf gasped, his eyes widening as his heart was pierced. The mattock in his hands suddenly fell.

The remaining dark dwarves, seeing their invincible elder fall, broke. They abandoned their positions and fled deeper into the tunnels.

The Second Gate was taken, and the Foundries fell to Berea. Yet as Eugene watched the light fade from the old dwarf’s eyes and heard the groans of his dying men, he didn’t feel all that victorious.

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