...Outside Hoburns...

When Neia and her band stepped through the gate, they found themselves outside the city. Near to hand was the merchant caravan. It was already being prepared for the next day’s journey. Crates were being loaded, sacks of supplies were present and guards were moving up and down the line of wagons as peasant laborers moved to and from warehouses and shops with wheelbarrows, small carts, and just plain old fashioned muscle to get it all ready. The crack of wood to wood, the smell of sweat, all the noise of a nation slowly returning to life, filled the air.

When the last of her people were through the gate Neia formed them up and said, “You will encamp here outside the city to receive the equipment from the Sorcerer King when it arrives. I must go back into the city and ensure that the uniforms for the soldiers we leave behind are properly prepared.”

There were solemn and silent nods, and the Black Justice team quickly established a small series of encampments in circles and made themselves comfortable.

Among the elites who made themselves comfortable on the warm earth, one of the relatively few women to fill the ranks, sat with her back against a large tree. Her short auburn hair blended in easily against the bark, and her eyes were green as emeralds. However as she sat seemingly at ease, she watched her commander’s back as it withdrew from sight, and smiled warmly. ‘Ahhh,’ Skana thought to herself, closing her lids over her shimmering green, ‘A chance to rise will come soon enough. I can hardly wait.’

Neia, for her part, went into the city and found Robel and Gilcrest, who presented her with one hundred and one uniforms made to her specifications, which were quickly loaded into carts to be ferried out to her waiting band. “Not only do we have enough for you,” Robel said, “But we have enough for all our people, and despite Count Handor trying to cheat us, the quality is very good.”

Neia’s expression turned dark, “Handor? How is it that Count Handor is supplying this?” She asked.

“He won the bid from King Caspond to supply uniforms to us, though how he managed to do it so cheaply, I can’t imagine, still, he did it, the work has been inspected, and it is of good quality. Our people are already sporting them on patrols and guard stations, and it is very effective at deterring criminal behavior.” Gilcrest answered with a broad smile.

Goosebumps rose on Neia’s skin as she glared at the well made material, demanding that the cloth tell her it came from elsewhere. It sat silent in defiance of her wishes.

“I don’t like this, if there were time, I’d go so far as to have all new ones made just so that he didn’t profit from supplying us. I suppose it is too late to worry about that now though.” She shook her head. It was, for lack of a better word, irksome. She was very, very irked to be tied to Handor even remotely, and as she thought on the subject, she considered that perhaps the purpose of his acquiring the contract was more politically motivated than monetarily. After all, it tied him directly to the law enforcement of the city.

She rubbed her forehead; life was easier when problems were solved by arrows. She stopped her contemplation and turned her attention to Robel and Gilcrest. “While I’m gone, expand on the public utility houses and security to avoid any repeats of what happened with the Slane Theocracy, and there is one more thing. Petition the King for permission to build temples of Lord Ainz far beyond the capital. We will need them to praise our god and serve him the way he should be served... everywhere. As for me, I will do as I have done before, and spread his word among the people of this nation.” She smiled with warm affection as she thought of the one king she treasured. ‘Your Majesty… all glory will be yours, all worship will be yours. With peaceful rightness and a strong hand, I will hold out the olive branch of your justice to all this violent world. They will love you as I do, all of them, in time.’

Neither Gilcrest nor Robel tried to argue the point, but Robel asked, “What if there are objections?”

“From anyone other than the King?” She asked.

They nodded.

“No other objections matter. That is how power works.” She said. A scowl replaced the shining warmth that had begun to build on her face, and her cold hard eyes pierced her followers. “Give no ground that belongs to our god, and bear his will into the halls of the king, and out into the streets, let none deny it... or defy Lord Ainz himself.”

“And if it is from the King?” Gilcrest added.

“I am asking as a courtesy, not out of necessity. Our god WILL be properly revered. I am building it with King Caspond, or without him, but given the choice, I would rather it be with him.” Neia did not linger any longer, but as they watched her leave the two looked at one another.

“That must have been one hell of a month, did you FEEL that?” Robel asked.

Gilcrest shivered. “I do not want to be the one who has to say no to her, she was different somehow from when she began to prepare for this. When you send your request to the King, please be persuasive.” He shuddered involuntarily as he tried to picture Neia’s response to some attempt at refusal.

“It may not be the King we have to worry about, he’s still grateful to the Sorcerer King. It’s the Paladins we have to worry about. It’s also the corrupt nobles with ties to the temples of the six that may parlay their influence against us. Remedios will not be an obstacle only if the news of the request causes her head to explode with rage, anything less, and she’ll be in the way.” Robel said worriedly.

Gilcrest nodded at that, but there was nothing else to be done.

The uniforms were delivered to the newly commissioned escort forces of Black Justice within the hour. It was with much fanfare they were donned, and they made for an imposing sight, what had been mere peasants, tradesmen, and line soldiers only little better than the troops of other nations, had transformed. What stood there now was a deadly and elite force of hardened veterans with a unique and dangerous combat method.

To a man they had been made ready by a pair of the deadliest denizens of Nazarick and a lizardmen, and their firm, swift, confident strides reflected the change from old to new.

That evening, before the Sun had set, a [Gate] had opened, and Sebas Tian stepped through, followed by wagons loaded with gear.

“Lady Neia,” Sebas said. “I have some equipment for you, as well as some guidance on its uses.” Neia grinned happily, like a schoolgirl finding a beautiful flower or bird. Her hands clapped together and rubbed eagerly in front of her.

“Fantastic! Thank you Lord Sebas!” She said joyfully as she scurried eagerly over to the wagon.

Sebas stepped aside and brought out a chain mail vest. “This is runecrafted to reduce its weight and decrease the impact of blows, the attachments for the arms enhance strength and dexterity, and the helmet is enchanted the same way as the vest. I understand you already have ordinary boots, so I have brought leggings that enhance your speed and your luck. Even without the training you have received, these would make you and your people into very tough targets. As to weapons, since your style has focused upon sword work, your swords have enchantments on them that increase sharpness. You can take the word of the dwarves that these will not dull even if you use them as shields.”

“Furthermore,” the butler added, “some are enchanted with fire, ice, shock, or wind, respectively. I suggest allowing your people to choose which element they favor best for themselves. For bows, the enchantments increase vision capability as well as both the range and impact power of arrows launched from them. You should be well prepared for your mission now, so make the Sorcerer King glad he has placed his faith in you.” Sebas said in his customary serious tone.

Neia was all but bouncing for joy on her heels long after Sebas left, and she quickly queued up her people and conveyed what their benefactor’s servant had said to her. They were as ecstatic as she, and the gear was quickly divided up. Men and women donned it all with the happiness and trepidation usually reserved for brides and grooms on wedding days. Fingers trembled and reverential eyes lingered on every trace and scrap of metal.

When morning came, they were ready. They were so filled with anticipation that they barely slept. Shortly after sunrise, Tinamoc approached Neia, “I see your people are ready to go, my personal guards will be joining us as well, but I will be in your care. Please see to our safety.” The portly merchant had a twinkle to his eye, but his face was grave, serious, and frankly a little frightened.

Neia reached out and shook his hand as she looked him over, his fingertips were calloused from writing, but the rest of his hands were very soft, he was somewhat overweight, to be expected for a middle aged merchant of considerable success, one might even have called him fat. He had neat black hair and wore fine but travel appropriate clothing of mottled greens and blues, and arguably more distinctively, did not wear an abundance of jewelry so as to not stand out too much personally. He had a kind looking face and his eyes had a warm sort of merriment to them that no doubt had charmed many an extra coin out of those with whom he dealt. It was flatly impossible for her to not like the man. Neia however, kept her voice neutral and her tone professional.

“I will,” Neia answered, “but please for the sake of your safety, follow our instructions immediately and without question, the shepherd cannot protect the sheep that wander away from the flock.” Tinamoc nodded gravely and went to the head of his column, and the movement began, Black Justice broke into groups with practiced ease and stayed beside the caravan, and for four days, all was well.

Each night Neia exhorted the virtues of strength and the evil of the sin of weakness, and when camp was made, Black Justice fighters took turns training and resting when not on watch. On the very first night, one of Tinamoc’s guards decided he wished to challenge Neia to combat.

He was a large, beefy man with considerable muscle to his frame, he wore chainmail armor and carried a large round shield paired with a simple but effective longsword. He had a thick beard that was neatly trimmed and piercing eyes that appeared only on veterans who have seen great hardship. He was the incarnation of what one thought of when the phrase ‘born for war’ was uttered.

“I know of your reputation, Neia Baraja,” he said with a gruff voice, “but I always thought of you as being... rather taller.” He laughed. His laughter was echoed by some of the other guards, and he looked around to savor their amusement.

Neia smiled ever so sweetly, removed her visor and with her normally scary eyes filled with mirth, said, “A big body and a little brain is easily struck by both wit and steel, but a little body and a big brain is not easily struck by either. All things considered, I prefer being me to being you.” She laughed, and a number of ‘ooohs’ came from the men around the camp, both Black Justice and Tinamoc’s elites had their eyes go wide at her witty reply, and the behemoth of a man went purple with rage.

“Big talk from a little girl.” He said and held the pommel of his sword in one hand.

She shrugged, “Maybe so, but the little can talk big when they can back it up, while the big who can’t, should talk very little.” She again turned his own words on him, and he began to draw his sword. A crowd began to form in a circle around them, but Neia did not flinch.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Neia asked.

“Someone needs a lesson in manners.” He said with a rough, angry voice.

“Agreed.” Neia said, “First blood, unconsciousness, or death, it’s your call.” She said.

“Unconsciousness will do. You can apologize when you wake up.” He said arrogantly. Neia gave a polite bow of her head.

“As you wish.” She said and took out her own shorter blade. “Then I’ll need to replace these.” She took off her quiver and held it out to one of her people. “Give me blunted arrows, wooden heads.” She said, and a few moments later she was handed a quiver full of blunted training arrows.

More and more people gathered by this time, and cheers began to go up, it drew more and more attention, and merchants began to take notice, some of whom began to take bets. Neia then had a pleasant idea, and she held up her hand and wagered the price of a beer from the commissary wagon against everyone who bet on her opponent’s victory.

Neia gave him a smile as he held out sword and shield with his arms wide apart and began to strut, exhorting his people to cheer for him and calling out his name over and over. “Zagan! Zagan! Zagan!” His people took up the cheer, while Neia simply stretched quietly and waited for him to be ready. At first glance, it appeared to be intimidation, it was as if she were afraid to boast, but to those who knew her, it was the opposite. She did not need the psychological boost of cheers and exhortations for herself, the quietness of battle’s imminence was enough for her to focus her mind.

When he turned back to her to give an arrogant smile, it quickly ran away from his face, her eyes had a different look, they no longer danced with happy whimsy or wit, they bore the look of night’s cloak, as if death had blessed her as its acolyte. He did not have an opportunity to rethink his choice to challenge her, because someone stepped forward and shouted, “Begin!”

Neia wasted no time, she snapped out her bow and fired three arrows in rapid succession, while Zagan raised his shield in front of him and started his charge. He stopped the arrows but he lost sight of Neia who was also already charging, she slid low, under the shield and smacked his knee with the pommel of her sword even as she went past him.

Zagan tumbled forward face first at the painful blow and Neia used her free hand to slow her slide along the ground, rolled over to her belly, sprang up to the sprinter’s starting position and rushed at his back. Zagan rolled out of the way just before her sword could connect, already through his mind the knowledge ran that she could have severed his leg if she had used the edge instead of the pommel, but experience defeated intimidation and he rose back to his feet. She, however, was moving as well and as he rose to his knees, but before he could get the rest of the way up, a martially enhanced hand grabbed onto the shield and yanked it out of the way. His eyes had not even finished going wide when the hand grabbed his perfect beard and pulled his face painfully hard towards a quickly advancing knee. It connected right in the face three times in rapid succession, spraying blood and blinding him. He tried to bring his sword to bear, but her weapon deflected it. As it flew to out of the way, she kicked him in the face, this time sending him onto his back. She jumped forward slightly landing with feet on either side of his body, and he found himself looking up at her face, while her sword’s tip was at his throat. He relaxed and let his sword drop.

“You win.” He said resignedly. The fight was over and Neia stepped back. “You have the body of a sapling and the spirit of a warrior, I retract my previous remarks, your reputation is well earned.” Zagan said and started to laugh. “If I live through this mission, I’ll tell my grandchildren that Neia Baraja kicked my ass.”

Neia stepped back and put up her sword, then reached down and offered her hand to help him up. He took it, and she pulled, as he got to his feet she said, “Your beard is very nice, but it made for an easy weakness to exploit, I’d shave it before you go on future missions.”

Zagan nodded, “Good advice.” He said, wiping the blood from his nose and his beard.

As people grumbled, Neia shouted, “Since I won, well... drinks are on me! A beer for every man and woman who bet against me... after all, you kind of bought it anyway!” She laughed good naturedly, and it drew favorable laughs in return. Goodwill began to grow from the bout thereafter.

Others among the elite guards of Tinamoc began to challenge Black Justice members to combat but were uniformly smashed with the unusual and flexible combat methods that Black Justice employed. Neia took advantage of those times to preach to the defeated guards, and first among them to pay close mind to what she had to say, was the defeated Zagan.

“What if we had been demihumans eager to take your lives, what if you were all there was between your children and death at our hands, you would have been guilty of failure, the sin of weakness would have caused the blood of your loved ones to be spilled. Weakness is the greatest sin because it is the greatest obstacle to justice...” On and on, she spoke and some of the guards of Tinamoc became nightly visitors to listen to Neia speak.

However, it was the fifth day that saw Black Justice put to the test. They had just left a village behind the day before, a village Neia had spent hours preaching in, telling stories of the heroism and justice of Ainz Ooal Gown, and she was just about to make camp when a scout approached.

“Demihuman bandits are coming, several hundred of them.” The scout reported, “They’re moving through the woods on either side of the road, Skana is making noise and distractions to delay them to buy us time to prepare, but they will be here within the hour.”

Neia quickly barked orders. “Circle the caravan as tightly as you can, close formation, noncombatants, hide yourselves, send a rider back to the village to warn them about the attack, tell them we will fight, but in case any enemies circle around us, they must be prepared!”

Her voice boomed out as if she were preaching to her flock, and with the practiced ease of a year of training, the wagons were circled close, the guards of Tinamoc were in the rear position, while Black Justice fanned out in a line, with two short wings hidden in the woods on either side.

When the bandits saw them, it was immediately obvious that the jig was up. For a moment, Neia thought they may withdraw rather than attack a prepared position. However, as if she were in his head, she could hear the commander saying to himself, “A fat prize, and what good are a few lazy guards against us?”

“Fool.” She thought with a shake of her head. She looked over their numbers, they were made up of snakemen, tigermen, and ogres, among a few others she didn’t recognize, ‘they must have be survivors of Jaldabaoth’s defeat that could not go home and had chosen to live off the humans they could overpower. Doesn’t look like that’s worked out very well for them.’ Neia pondered as she looked them over. They weren’t in the best of shape, but they were still demihumans and were used to being able to defeat ordinary humans.

As they charged, she shouted, “Loose!” and those who were best at archery fired at a distance, arrows flew faster and faster, piercing demihuman flesh, and as they closed, those who were better with a sword, but could still use the bow, drew and fired a series of volleys, before Neia shouted, “Charge!” and to the shock of the demihumans still standing, humans came charging at them.

Black Justice was fast and precise, as demihuman weapons came down, either swords blocked blows, or hands caught and threw the monsters off balance, the warriors on the wings charged and hit the flanks of the demihumans and folded inward from the rear, and the fearless humans began to make short work of the demihuman raiders.

Tinamoc and his guards were watching the conflict, as were the laborers who traveled with him, and they watched as if spellbound to do so, as humans became monsters in the eyes of monsters, Neia confronted the apparent chief of the band, a tigerman that fought with claws and teeth and raw physical strength as his tools. Neia however, used her sword for darting blows that pained and distracted him, and used her speed and monk enhanced grip from her free hand to grab and squeeze the trachea of the monster so tight that it was crushed. It towered over her but collapsed in her hand as its neck was snapped in her grip, and when he went limp, any remaining fight went out of the remaining demihumans.

They who had been predators, became as prey and tried to flee... but failed. Arrows took down the few who managed to break away from combat, and the entire business was over faster than an evening meal. Howls of pain and screams of agony rent the air, and bodies fell into the warm dust of the earth, never to move again.

“Check for survivors, secure the area, and conduct accountability, there may be more, scouts, check the area and return in no later than a quarter hour!” Neia barked out her orders as she kicked a corpse out of the way, her cloak flapped behind her as a breeze picked up and she looked back over the caravan she guarded. “Check each other! Ensure nobody has been injured!”

The guards of Tinamoc quickly followed her orders and began checking everyone, and within an hour, the scouts had returned, the rest had checked for survivors, among the dead, and among them there lay but one, a bearman whose growl of defiance died when he looked into the eyes of Neia Baraja.

“You’re about to die, justice demands it.” She said with ice in her voice. “The only question is, how much will it hurt before you do. If you want it to hurt substantially less, you will answer what I ask you. How many others are there?”

He looked at her dumbfounded. She responded to his silence by grabbing the furry wrist and twisting with inhuman strength, prompting a cry of pain. Her eyes loomed large as she drew her body closer to his fear and pain filled face.

“I will have answers, or I will have screams, either will do for me, but only one of those is better for you. What will it be?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” He asked in a shaky voice.

She grabbed an arrow and stabbed it through his hand, eliciting a pained yelp from the bearman. “How many other bands like yours are there? The demihuman army is destroyed, Jaldabaoth is dead, the only way for a band like yours to survive in a hostile land is to work with others of your ilk, that means you’ve met them before. Now answer me or I’ll cut out your eyes and send you blind to face the justice of Lord Ainz Ooal Gown.” That did it, the bearman wet himself, and began to tell her everything he knew.

After thirty minutes, she put an arrow in his eye, keeping her promise of a swift death. As she looked over his corpse she thought about who she’d been just a few years earlier, happier perhaps, more smiling, even if she hadn’t really had any comrades, looking back she remembered a sweeter and more innocent version of herself. The loss of that sense of self, and the awareness of what replaced it in the form of who she was now, was not as troubling as she thought it should have been. ‘I’m a better shield when I’m harder anyway.’ She thought, shrugging the brief regret off like a wayward fly.

She went back to Tinamoc and reported what she had learned. “There are a dozen or so demihuman bands around the Holy Kingdom, some larger than others, none big enough to constitute an army, but they’ve been surviving by staying in the wilds or in areas where humans were depopulated. They meet each other to trade, chiefly in forests, and they avoid the roads except when there is no other choice. Though they do take isolated travelers from the road when opportunity permits. In all probability, they were not targeting us, they were likely going to strike the village. If we have the time, I would like to carry the demihuman bodies back to the village for use, they can gain some wealth from harvesting materials from the various corpses.”

Tinamoc nodded with his face pale, “Had you not been here, I’d be in one of their bellies now, I would say that two days is the least I owe you.”

Some of the wagons were temporarily emptied and the bodies were loaded into them. Then Neia and a handful of her people took the corpses back to the shocked village. Neia arrived as the people were preparing to flee, and they paused only when they saw that it was wagons driven by people, and when Neia threw back the hood of her black cloak revealing her humanity, a collective sigh of relief was expelled.

“In accordance with the justice of Ainz Ooal Gown, ruler of the Sorcerous Kingdom, the predators who had turned to evil have been killed. Black Justice has exterminated all this band, you are most fortunate, had they not come until we were beyond them then you would all be for the afterlife. You would be dead because you are sinners!” She pointed at each of them as she stood atop her wagon. “The sin of weakness would have killed your children, your loved ones, you would have fought bravely, died quickly, and been delicious as your infants and elderly alike slid into the bellies of this!” She reached back and grabbed the corpse of the lionman and threw it into the dirt in front of her.

“The great god of justice, Ainz Ooal Gown, exercised his strength to save us sinners so that we may grow strong enough to save ourselves, and today I worked his will to preserve you and my charge, but who will save you tomorrow if not you? Who will protect your pregnant women, your mothers and fathers bowed by age and too slow to flee, your sick bound to their beds, your wives and husbands, your children and grandchildren, if not you? If all you do is wait to be saved, why should anyone save you?! Come to the faith of Black Justice, and sin NO MORE!” she shouted.

She turned to the men behind her, “Get the bodies down and pile them in the center of the village.” As they obeyed, she leapt down from the wagon and approached the lionman’s corpse and severed its head in a single blow.

“I will claim this head for my own use, but you may skin the bodies of the rest and use the parts of them however you wish, that should yield enough wealth to buy weapons. If you have heard my message and have taken it into your hearts, send a representative to the capital, ask for Robel or Gilcrest, tell them you want Black Justice to send a representative to aid you in growing strong, and it will be done.” Neia said, and when the bodies were dumped and the village expressed their awe and gratitude, Neia was quick to depart.

When she returned to the caravan, she sat down to write while she waited for the wagons to be reloaded. She wrote two missives, one to the Sorcerer King, and one to the people of the Holy Kingdom’s capital.

The former sought his counsel on matters of war, when it was just to fight and not to fight, when it was just to show mercy and when it was just to leave survivors, and how to know who deserved to survive. The latter informed the people of their actions, and she dispatched a rider with the letter and the severed head of a lionman as proof of her actions. The former letter would wait until an agent of the Sorcerer King delivered supplies, but the latter would be read to the people immediately.

A few days later, when the letters arrived, the response was overwhelming. Hundreds of demihumans dead, a demihuman chieftain slaughtered and his severed head on display, the reputation of Black Justice was now surpassing that of the Paladin order, and people flocked to their ranks. But all was not as well as it seemed. In the palace, Remedios tried to keep her tone with the King even. “Majesty you MUST send us out to deal with these troubles, these people may tie us to the Sorcerer King for resources, but they are traitors one and all.”

“Yesssss...” Count Handor said with his hands wringing in front of him, “Our noble head of the Paladin Order is completely correct, such people represent a rogue element, the open fighting in the streets, the summary execution of one of our own guards, and now these wild tales of demihuman bands... it’s all too much! I suggest we immediately send out the Paladin Order, if for no other reason than that finding this danger and eliminating it is exactly why they exist, their reputation must be improved to secure the trust of the people.”

Dopple-Caspond stroked his chin in thought, “I would prefer not to send you personally, however sending out a thousand paladins and two thousand squires should be sufficient to handle most bands that they might encounter. How soon can you have them ready to depart?” He asked.

Remedios Custodio was not known for her great intellect, but as an experienced campaigner she had a rough idea of what was necessary based on past practices. “I can have them ready in roughly one month assuming all goes well. Two months if there are delays in supplies.” She said confidently.

“See to it then, I authorize the requisitioning of all the supplies you need from our current stores, your order’s mission is the rooting out of evil in our Holy Kingdom. Have them depart as soon as you are able.” The King said confidently. Remedios left the throne room with a bow and a smile she hadn’t worn in some time.

Count Handor seized the opportunity presented, “Majesty, as the best members of Black Justice have now departed, and the head of the Paladin Order is sending away many more of our soldiers, might I suggest that the nobles be given the charge of supply reception and distribution. We can supply our own people at our own cost, true it is a sacrifice, but it is one we can and should make for the sake of our Holy Kingdom and its suffering population.”

The King considered it for a moment, and then nodded, “Very well, select a group of nobles who would excel at this kind of thing, and submit the list for my approval, you will handle the distribution of various goods to the population and to the rebuilding effort.” Doppel-Caspond was not nearly the fool the real Caspond was, when he gave that order, he saw the slight widening of the eyes in Count Handor, that he knew to be a sign of greed, though he pretended not to see it, and yawned instead, vaguely remembering a phrase he had heard Lord Ainz use once long ago, about giving someone enough rope to hang themselves with. At the time it did not make sense, but now... he thought he understood.

He reached over and took a goblet of wine, and drank as a member of Black Justice, the former Captain Robel, entered and approached with a petition. As the man did so, Doppel-Caspond wondered how much chaos could exist in a few ounces of ink.