Charles Diderot, before publishing the Principles of Human Rights, wrote several books about his time as an officer in the Adrestan Army, back when it was the Royal Adrestan Army.

Nick had read quite a few of them. After all, if he read one work by the banned author, why not read the rest?

He expected them to be similar to most of the other war books. Either a dry treatise on stratagems, logistics, and tactics or an over-glorified illustration of conquerors of the past.

What he didn’t expect was a vivid and thorough portrayal of how wars looked from the common soldiery. Of hurdles of common-folk packed together in massed formations by their Innatum and Bracer officers. Most wielding tools barely suited to be called weapons. A lucky few used the arquebus, the predecessor to the aether-muskets, little more than metal tubes loaded with crude gempellets.

The books ignored the duels fought between the most powerful of the opposing Innatum and Bracers. The ones everyone in Vislanda read about. Royal Guard versus the Sultan’s Chosen. Islelander Bracer mercenaries against the Janissaries. Those battles were fought separate from the larger events. Isolated affairs of tradition occurring next to the pitched clash of the commons.

The attacks began as each side lobbed horrendously inaccurate spells lobbed in massed volleys. They would be few in number due to the limited supply of gemstone pellets and precious aether.

A Barkhan officer would rise from the smoke. His white uniform and turban muddled with dust and dirt. The blade of his scimitar gleaming in the desert sun. The Adrestan officer would do the same with his sabre.

A guttural noise would shake the battlefield as the opposing line of soldiers marched then charged forward into a melee. A massed chaos of tattered uniforms and steel.

That was what Nick thought as he watched the swarm of droids marching forward. An overwhelming swarm of gray bodies with gray weapons. Each step in unison with the others. Weapons raised, and their featureless faces all directed to one individual.

Him.

“You said I’d return!” Nick yelled at the ceiling.

No response from the voice. The only sound was the steady thrum and clack of the approaching horde.

His gaze turned forward. This was an impossible situation.

But he had struggled through plenty of impossible situations before, and he wasn’t going to be terminated, which he guessed to be dying, without trying.

Thoughts flickered through his head at lightning speed. Far faster than he was used to. Like a cloud fogging his mind had been removed. Was this another change wrought upon him? Another restraint removed?

If so, he welcomed it, he was going to need all the help he could get.

For starters, he was facing a physical threat, to which the proper response was to defend himself. From the pile of weapons cluttered next to him, he had been provided the means to do so.

Nick picked up a sword from the pile. He flinched as a pale screen prompted in front of him, scrawled with blue letters.

Label: Iron Sword Owner: NEZRA- 14526181

Power- 1

Recommended Class: Generalist

Description: Basic Generation 1 Armament

Nick recovered from the surprise and realized he had seen this before. If only a momentary flicker. When he picked up that breech-loading musket at Sevola.

A note to ponder at a later time. More pressing matters were at hand.

With his other hand he picked up a rectangular shield. Bulky, but still easy to wield. A different panel popped up.

Label: Iron Shield Owner: NEZRA- 14526181

Power- 1

Recommended Class: Generalist

Description: Basic Generation 1 Armament

Now the panels were getting distracting. He tried to wave one away with the sword, but it passed through them like they weren’t there. As he brought his hand back though, a finger slipped on a red X on the top-right corner of the panel, causing it to vanish.

Huh. He pushed the same red button at the top right corner of the other panel and it too vanished.

He had a lot of ways to go before he fully understood how this… whatever it was worked.

Nick down at his lone shield and sword, then back at the mob. There was no way he was going to fend them all off by himself. Whatever power he gained had only boosted his thoughts, and…

His gaze shifted to the twenty droids standing beside him.

Maybe this was the intent of the trial. A test to see how well he could leverage these droids. Like a commander leading soldiers.

Nick was no commander. He read about plenty of commanders, but never had the experience of leading troops himself.

However, if he wanted to survive, it looked like he had better learn fast.

He decided to start off with something simple.

“All of you. Pick up weapons and return to formation.”

The droids swerved and creaked into motion. They walked toward the pile, swarming around it in a neat orderly procession. Each of them grabbed a weapon before stepping back into formation.

They met the intent, to an extent.

Several of them walked off with two weapons. One held two spears, too long to be effectively used single-handed. Another had two shields. Apparently, Nick wasn’t specific enough. He’d need to concentrate more clearly for the next order.

It was also getting difficult to organize them like this. If only there had been an easier way.

The instant he thought that, another tablet flashed in of him. At the top of it was a title. Unit Control Interface. Below it was a series of boxes. One on top titled ‘NEZRA-14526181’.

Below it a single line with a plus between. At the bottom of the line were a series of smaller boxes, each titled ‘Droid Level 1’.

Nick raised an eyebrow and the tip of his sword accidentally brushed one of the boxes. The droid’s name instantly vanished, leaving nothing but a Level 1.

“What?”

The name changed to ‘What Level 1’.

Nick turned around, and saw that the label for the droid in question changed to reflect its new name.

He looked back at the tablet, realizing it was a way to organize these droids. Judging by its sudden appearance, whatever system was at work was responsive to his thoughts.

His attention was interrupted as the clacking steps of the enemy force drew closer. They crossed a quarter of the distance towards him.

Nick quickly went about renaming all of the droids, pushing each box and renaming them in kind.

He gave each a simple title. Footman followed by a numerical designation from one to twenty. The name was drawn from the same unit in Kings and the Dominions. Just one step above a pawn. It also made it easier for him to formulate his thoughts, and give commands to the correct units.

Nick recalled reading an old manuscript, a guideline for new officers in the Imperial army, detailing several steps for success.

The first step was getting their soldiers properly armed.

Nick breathed, focusing clearly on what he wanted.

“Footmen 1 to 20. Equip swords and shields. Exchange if necessary.”

He watched with hope as the droids sprung to motion. They weaved among each other, either exchanging weapons or moving to the pile to grab new ones.

When they stopped moving, all of them had a sword and a shield. None of them held anything ridiculous or unwieldy. Nick sighed with relief.

He came to the realization that the droids were incredibly efficient and obedient. As long as he gave them a physically reasonable task, he himself was able to do. The next step on the Imperial manuscript detailed dealing with insubordination, which he didn’t have to deal with.

He just had to be direct and clear. He could work with that.

The opposing army was nearing the halfway point.

The next step was to understand all the aspects of the battlefield, to which he had to observe a list of factors. Terrain. Time. Weather. Knowing one’s own capabilities versus the enemies. Knowing where one was weak and one was strong. Knowing the same for the foe.

A familiar thought process. He exercised it plenty of times while he was out flying his boat, or when he played Kings and Dominions.

He just never had to do it on an actual battlefield.

There wasn’t much for terrain. As far as his eye could see the entirety of the room was one flat white space. Weather was absent as well, and all he knew about time was he was running out of it.

He had twenty droids, all with roughly the same or lower combat capabilities as himself. If the labels were anything to go off of, the same could be said for the enemy. Both his and theirs were Droid Level 1s.

None of them demonstrated any elemental prowess, nor did any of them carry weapons beyond a simple sword or mace.

He decided to plan on the most likely scenario.

That still left the problem of numbers. Nick didn’t have enough droids to cover the entire length of the room, while the opposing force did. A quick estimate by sight told him they had at least three-fold the number as his own. A general brawl would not work in his favor would result in his side being overrun.

He needed to negate that advantage. Looking at the current armaments, he could use the only Imperial legionary shield square. A tactic used when they subjugated the surrounding human tribes a millennium ago. It was one way of covering all of his flanks.

The problem was the shield square was but a temporary tool. To hold a position and draw out an enemy so another allied force could sweep in from the side. An anvil for a hammer.

And Nick didn’t have a hammer. No additional help besides what he had here.

He had to defeat this foe with what he had available.

Maybe he could back up against the wall. Free up one side of soldiers to layer them up.

The wall.

Nick realized he hadn’t fully considered the terrain they were on. They were in a room. A rectangular room.

And rectangles had corners.

His gaze peered to the nearest one, a short distance to his left. He looked back to his own droids.

It just might work,

“Footmen 8 to 20. Replace weapons for spears.”

About half the droids shuffled out of formation, dropping their swords and shields for spears and returning to formation.

Nick glanced at the enemy force, right as they were now half-way towards him. They stopped.

Then charged.

Shit.

“Form three ranks in corner! Shields and swords front, spears behind!”

The droids must have detected the urgency in his voice, because they ran. Nick sprinted past, reaching the corner before any of them.

His own units shuffled into place in front of him, forming into three ranks.

Seven in front with swords and shields. Six behind, crammed closer together by the narrowing walls. Each droid in the second rank held spears with both hands, leveling them past the shield-bearers ahead. A third rank of five stood behind, doing the same.

At the rear and backed into the corner was Nick and Footmen 19 and 20. His reserves.

The third step of the Imperial Commander was to allocate soldiers to the reserves. To maneuver them as necessary to changing conditions on the battlefield.

The formation was a mix of an Imperial shieldwall and a Voratian phalanx. Front rank of shield-bearers would keep the enemy at bay while the spearmen behind attacked from safety. Vulnerable to range, but there didn’t seem to be any ranged attackers in the enemy force.

Their flanks were secure by walls to the right and left.

The encroaching horde of enemy droids pivoted in Nick’s direction. They drew closer, the creaks of their joints and clacks of their steps growing louder and louder.

As they did so however, the shrinking space between the walls funneled them in, until the front rank had as many droids as Nick’s own.

There didn’t seem to be any greater thought given to their movements, nothing indicating they adapted to the altered circumstances of Nick’s position.

Nick could feel his heart beat in anticipation. The blood pounded in his head. The side of his mouth quirked up. This was exactly as he expected. Now all he could do was put faith in the combat prowess of his droids.

No, his soldiers.

There was no need to give any additional orders, but he decided to indulge.

After all, if he was going to die, he may as well have some fun on the way out.

“Give no ground!”

In response a wave of sound passed through the formation, the droids shifting into combat stances for the looming fight. The front row crouched, preparing to channel the impact against their shields. The rest drew their spears back, readying to lunge them forward.

Nick knew of a common saying among Bracers, and Innatum. The purpose of the saying was to ensure accuracy in their attacks, but it also served as a reminder to prepare oneself. To brace oneself to the understanding, they were about to take another life.

“Do not fire until you see the lights of their eyes.”

There were no eyes on those featureless faces, but Nick was prepared nonetheless. The impending horde sallied forth into range, and the first row of spears whipped forth.

Violet light erupted as speartips sheared through bodies, striking arms, legs, waists, and chests. Half the front rank of enemy droids fell. The rest trudged forward, weapons raised, when they ran into the second row of spears.

Another series of violet flashes followed as more bodies fell in a shattered gray mass.

Nick noted their names vanished every time one fell. He made note of the connection. It would be an easy way to verify their death from wounded. If the droids could be healed, or feel pain for that matter.

From the looks of how they fought, they didn’t appear to feel much of anything. No sign of grief at their fallen comrades. No hesitation as they trudged through the destroyed bodies.

More mechanical beings than anything human. Like an Islelander gimmick. A tool given to execute commands. It made him feel a bit better about this.

What was left of the front row of enemy droids reached Nick’s rank of shield-bearers. Maces and swords swerved down upon the shields.

The shield-bearing footmen held. After bracing a couple of blows, their arm dipped their shields up, catching their opponent’s arm and throwing them off-guard. Their other arm thrust their swords forward. Violet light burst as the blades impacted the metallic bodies. The shield-bearers then brought their shields down for the next wave.

It was just like how Valdric taught Nick. He recalled hating the practice of those legion stances, but it all turned out to be useful, as the droids repeated them in perfect precision.

The cycle repeated itself with the next wave of enemy droids. Spears thinned the ranks while the shield-bearers defended and finished off the remnants. Broken bodies of fallen droids cluttered the space, hampering the next wave of attackers. Enemy droids were slowed, making them easier targets for the spearmen to pick off.

The fighting continued, and Nick stood back and watched. Preparing to adjust course with the changing nature of the battlefield. Unnecessary, as it turned out, as the enemy force continued to throw more bodies forward like a mindless mob.

The last fledgling remnants of the enemy horde sallied forth. Falling in a barrage of spear thrusts and flashes of violet light. With that, Nick leaned back against the corner in relief.

Another screen flashed in front of him.

Task Complete. Setting Era to Generation 1… Generation 1 constructs now active.

Wait, what?

Returning Mechanar Candidate to training grounds… Location invalid…

Overriding…

The tablet flared, the white light overwhelming everything in his vision.