They reached the outpost to the bustle of other returning centurions. Michael let his recruits continue ahead while he found an isolated area to get himself together. Those last four had been much stronger than he’d expected. He could have lost one of them. He should have seen it coming. He was in charge. He should have dealt with them by himself, he was stronger than his recruits. And if he died, it wasn’t like anyone would miss him. Unlike them, he’d already cheated death once, he didn’t need to—

“Michael,” a rough voice called to him. Michael jumped, then groaned at the pain his side caused him. Astair was next to him, holding him up. He made a face at Michael’s torn side before getting him to sit.

“No.” Michael caught the cleric’s hand before he placed it over his injuries. “Have you seen to everyone else?”

“You’re the prefect, I need to see to you first.”

“Do you have limits on how much you can heal?”

Astair’s sunk-in face was unreadable. “Only the gods are without limits.”

“Then see to the others. If you have any strength left afterward, come heal me. If not, I can wait until you’re rested.” He looked at his hit point bar. He only had one-fifth of it left, but it was holding steady. He’d see how much he healed overnight if Astair didn’t heal him.

Then the consequences of doing that hit him. What if he healed it all? What would the others say?

“That is not how things are done,” the cleric said, derailing Michael's panic, the debuff fading slightly. Maybe he should get healed, to ensure no one noticed.

“See to the others, Astair. If you haven’t gotten to me by then, before I go to sleep you can use what you have left on me.” Michael hung his head. “Right now, I need to be alone.”

“Very well, prefect.” Astair left him.

Why had he sent him away? Because he didn’t want a witness to his breakdown. He cursed. No one had died. Cuts and a broken leg were all that had been suffered. He had no reason to feel like this.

Except he’d screwed up, again. He’d seen the force was stronger than before, and he still brought them for his recruits to deal with. As soon as he’d realized the Gnolls hadn’t fallen for the ruse, he should have attacked, not just separated them, but killed as many as he could before his recruits joined in. It was his job to keep them alive.

He tried to pull his knees to himself, but the motion pulled on his side and the pain almost made him cry out. It did have the advantage of causing his panic debuff to start to fade away.

They were soldiers, Michael reminded himself. They might be green, but they knew the danger. His job was to make sure they came back as intact as possible under the circumstances, not to kill himself literally or figuratively over every injury they got. Men had died under his command before. It didn’t affect him like this then.

He let out a shrill whistle to attract the attention of a centurion heading out of the outpost and got his help to stand. He couldn’t stay alone. He’d just spiral down into another attack or depression. He needed to stay occupied.

He hobbled to the table where Calvisia was looking over maps and reports. Joran was next to her, looking over other papers.

“What’s the result of the day?” Michael asked.

“We did well,” she answered, looking up at him. “Each unit—” her eyes widened at his bloody side.

“Michael?” Joran gasped. He looked around.

“Don’t call Astair,” Michael stopped him. “I sent him to look after the others before he heals me.”

“He needs to heal you,” Joran said, “if you die we’ll be without a commander.”

“I’m not dying. Just cut up a little. It’s not like I’ll die of an infection within the next few hours. Do you know about infections?”

Joran gave him a disbelieving look. “Of course I know about infected wounds. We’re not barbarians. You could be poisoned.”

“I wouldn’t have made it this far if I was.” And he suspected he’d get a debuff icon for that too. “I told him to heal me before I go to sleep, so you don’t have to worry. By morning I’ll be good as new.”

“It isn’t good for morale to see a commanding officer injured,” the outpost leader said.

“I think it’s better for morale if they’re not suffering.” Michael motioned to the papers. “Now, what’s the result of the day?”

She consulted tallies. “With your group, the current estimate is slightly under a hundred dead Gnolls.”

“That means there’s about fifty left in their camp,” Joran said. “We should be able to take them without problems.”

“Any casualties on our side?” Michael asked, wishing Joran didn’t sound so enthusiastic at the prospect of attacking them.

“Three dead.” She motioned and Michael looked in that direction. A group stood around something on the ground. A body, he suspected. They had mugs and were talking.

“What are they doing?”

“Remembering their friend.” Joran looked at Michael strangely. “Isn’t that something you do, where you’re from?”

“We don’t do it over the body.”

“Then how do they know you will remember them?”

Michael almost told his friends the dead didn’t hear anything, but he reminded himself he wasn’t on Earth. Maybe here they did listen. Magic was a thing. Maybe ghosts were too. He settled for a shrug and indicated the maps.

“Do we have enough centurions to surround their camp?”

“The clearing is fairly large. I don’t think we can create a noose that will catch every fleeing Gnoll.”

“Do we care if Gnolls flee?” Michael asked. “If they make it back where they came from, will they return with a stronger army?”

“There’s no way to know,” She answered. “We don’t know where they came from. We know very little about what is out there.” She searched through the maps, pulled one with hastily made marks on it. “One of the teams came across markers left on the path the Gnolls took to get here, it could be to trace their route back to where they came from.”

"Or more likely," Joran said, "for other to follow. An advanced party would have another one following."

"How far?" Michael asked. Joran shrugged. “Then I suggest we surround the clearing early in the morning, killing any remaining scout parties as we take position, once in place we attack as one. We’ll have the numbers and hopefully the element of surprise, and prevent any from running off to warn whoever is following.” Michael looked at the other two.

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Joran answered the look.

Calvisia looked at the map. “My only concern is that they know we’ve killed a lot of them, they might decide to move in the night.”

“Can we spare a few groups to keep an eye on them? Let us know in the morning if they moved?”

“I wouldn’t be comfortable losing more than two contuberniums to go up against fifty opponents,” the outpost leader said. “If you want them in teams of four, that is four teams.”

Michael considered the situation. They wouldn’t fight except in dire circumstances, but if they did have to fight, he couldn’t have them be too easy to pick off.

“Four teams will be enough, I think. All they’ll do is keep an eye on them, not engage anyone. I’ll leave you to decide who.”

“The rest of us should go eat,” Joran said, “and those who need it, get healed.” The centurion looked pointedly at Michael.

“Once Astair is—”

The centurion grabbed Michael by the arm, making him yelp in pain, and dragged him to the cleric.

* * * * *

The Gnoll camp was nothing more than a collection of shelters made of furs stretched over a frame of angled branches, with more furs on the ground for them to sleep on. A quick look told him there were twenty-two with one larger shelter, that one almost a tent. That one would house the leader.

Michael was by himself; the clearing was large enough that it required everyone to be alone, which made him uncomfortable. Many of the centurions were green enough that even with the day of taking down the scouts, he didn’t think they were ready for this attack without close support, but while they didn’t mind if some Gnolls ran off, Calvisia had pointed out that if too many joined the other group they suspected was behind this one, it would make them tough to take on.

Even with the sun just cresting over the trees, the Gnolls were moving about, and while Michael knew nothing about them as people, he thought they were alert, weapons kept close at hand; and they all had weapons. Fifty-three Gnolls, each fit, muscular, and in hide armor, and definitely alert, he thought, as a few eyed the tree line warily. There could be more in the shelters he couldn’t see into.

For some reasons, they had stayed camped here even after losing their scouts. Michael didn't like it. A force suffering these many losses should retreat; that they did went against what he knew of warfare. He still didn’t like the odds, but they were in position and Granius had given them orders.

He let out a breath, quietly pulled the sword out of its sheath, unhooked the shield off his back and slipped it over his arm. When they’d discussed attack signals, they’d mentioned bird calls and a variety of animal cries, all of which left Michael baffled. It sunk in they had no way to talk over even short distances. He wished he could have brought a few radios. He also understood why they trained so hard to work as tight units. Unfortunately, the recruits didn’t have much of that training.

So Michael decided he’d be the signal. Once he launched himself into the camp, the others were to attack. He would do as much damage by himself so the others had more of a chance to survive.

His nerves rattled. That voice at the back of his head began telling him all the ways in which this could go wrong. The damned panic icon even started manifesting. With a scream, he ran in the clearing slashing at one Gnoll, then another. He didn’t aim to kill. His goal was to hurt as many of them before the other centurions joined in.

The yells of the others came after he’d injured twenty Gnolls. Far too few as far as Michael was concerned, but how a battle behaved was rarely in the hands of the combatants, he’d learned while in the army. This was when those who believed in god, or gods here, began to pray.

He just hoped really hard he wouldn’t lose any recruits today.

Ten more injured Gnolls took him to his target, the larger tent, as four of the biggest, meanest Gnolls he’d seen to date stepped out. Michael stopped in his tracks and for a moment considered this had been a mistake. The smallest of the five was a head taller than Michael, holding a black stone sword and covered in sewed together leather armor.

You are now level 27

Michael ignored the message. He’d ponder how he’d gained a level while standing there later because the two on either side of that Gnoll had armor that incorporated chain mail into the leather, and held metal swords, not iron like his, something orangy. The fourth Gnoll had plates of metal held with leather straps over its chest and arms, and held a massive hammer that, if Michael had seen on it Earth, would easily weight fifty pounds.

Four pairs of eyes fixed on him and growls came from the Gnolls. Michael realized these were the guards to whoever led them, then he had no time to think as they attacked.

Michael dodged, parried, and attacked, doing all he could to force them to get in each other’s way, but they didn’t. They stepped nimbly out of their comrade’s attack or blocked Micheal’s even if he wasn’t targeting them.

He tried to work out their strategy for attacking, they definitely had trained together and anytime a group trained they found a rhythm that worked for them, if he could work that out, he’d be able to figure out how to take advantage of it.

You have gained a level

Tactics

level 3

Too low a level then. He’d have to work on that after the fight was over. A sword got by his defenses and his armor, bringing his hit point bar down to three quarters.

If he survived the fight.

He was doing damage. The four of them were bleeding, but anytime he lined up a killing blow, another got in the way; either taking the hit which wasn’t aimed properly to kill them, or deflecting it enough it didn’t kill its intended target.

In a four against one battle of attrition, Michael wouldn’t win, but he’d be damned if he was going to go down easy.

The hammer came down toward his head, and Michael raised his shield quickly throwing ten-point in his strength to increase his chances of taking the blow. The impact resounded through his entire body and he dropped to a knee as the red bar dropped below half, but the Gnoll’s stomach was before him without anyone to intervene.

With a scream to drown his pain, Michael thrust his sword in and stood, raising his sword before pulling it out. The Gnoll staggered back before falling.

You are now level 28

In the seconds that followed he glanced at the flashing red icon next to his bleeding ones.

Numb

Debuff

Stackable

You have taken a blow in such a way that a limb is now numb and unresponsive. Duration 1 minute. Only one such debuff can be gained per limb, but subsequent hits will reset the timer.

Micheal had no problem figuring out which limb was affected since he couldn’t even feel the shield hanging on his arm. He looked at his stunned opponents, ignoring the sounds of the ongoing battle.

“I have no idea if you understand me, but surrender, and I will spare your lives.” He put all the confidence he could muster in the words. It was still the three of them against one of him, and he had less than half his hit points left. If he couldn’t intimidate them into giving up, he was going to die.

You have learned a skill

Intimidation

level 1

The snarls told him his new skill hadn’t been enough to scare them. A glance at the numb icon showed it still had forty-five seconds to go, then he was fighting again.

His hit points dropped steadily as he took hits after hits. It was close to the quarter mark when he killed the Gnoll with the stone sword. His shield arm had regained function halfway through that and saved his life.

Two against one. Below a hundred hit points, Michael guessed. He added ten to his endurance and hoped it would help. The bar showed no noticeable changes.

Oh well. He grinned at the remaining Gnolls and wondered how scary he looked to them, covered in their companion’s blood. Not scary enough, he decided as the two charged him.

Michael blocked, parried, and dodged as he looked for an opening. He couldn’t afford to take any hits since only a few of them would drop him to zero hit points, and Micheal suspected that was his death. A sword got through his defense and the red bar dropped below a fifth.

He was dead.

Michael accepted that. And with that out of the way, his goal became to remove one of the two Gnoll from the battle. Each would get through too many of the centurions. He had to make sure his allies could win this.

He threw himself at the closest Gnoll, blocking as best as he could, but not bothering avoiding the hits. His bar dropped to almost nothing as he planted his sword in the Gnoll’s chest, watching the other come at him.

Michael closed his eyes and waited for death to claim him.

In the dark, he couldn’t miss his hit point bar flash and begin to fill.

He opened his eyes in surprise as the sword pierced his side. The pain made him back away, pulling his sword out of the Gnoll and the one out of him. A new bleeding debuff appeared in the top right corner. The only one there. Where had the others…

Micheal looked around and saw Astair, hands glowing, and a look of determination on his face. What was the cleric doing there? He’d given orders for him to stay in the woods.

His hit point bar flashed again and filled to the quarter mark.

A roar and motion made Michael move as the cleric dropped to a knee. The sword cut him instead of stabbing through. And Micheal smiled at the Gnoll. Astair might have disobeyed orders, but he’d just given him the victory. One on one, the Gnoll was dead.

And then the Gnoll began glowing.

With a curse Michael rushed him, noting that the Gnoll’s wounds were closing. The Gnoll batted Michael aside, and he went flying, managing to avoid landing on his shield but losing his sword.

Michael got to his feet. In the doorway of the large shelter stood a smaller, older, Gnoll wearing a loincloth made of furs, bones knotted in his short fur, some sort of white, glowing, collar, and holding a staff with the skull of some sort of rodent at the end, which was glowing.

Glowing and a healing Gnoll. That meant a cleric of some sort.

Michael got to his feet and looked for his sword. Not finding it, he settled for the stone one. A look to Astair, who was panting on a knee, told him he wasn’t getting any more help. The Gnoll’s armor mended itself. More than simple healing, then.

Michael ran for the Gnoll cleric. Disrupt the support system, best way to win a war. Unfortunately, the still glowing Gnoll didn’t make it easy on him; intercepting Michael halfway there.

Michael blocked the sword, and the impact forced him back. The Gnoll was stronger than before. Definitely more than healing. He had to take out the cleric if he wanted any chance of winning this. A quarter of his hit points wasn’t going to do him much good if the Gnoll kept healing the damage he received.

Michael tried to outmaneuver the Gnoll, but he wouldn’t let him. He knew where his strength came from and wasn’t going to let Michael get to the cleric. He blocked three more swings and Michael began to see light through his shield; it wasn’t going to last long.

Throwing himself aside, Michael swung hard, cutting through the armor and the Gnoll’s side. He deflected a blow with his shield as he got to his feet and swung again, the Gnoll stepping back in time to only lose a few fingers on his off-hand, then he was swinging at Michael.

He jumped back, letting go of the shield for more maneuverability. He couldn’t afford even small cuts, those bleed debuffs would kill him in time. He saw a sword lying on the ground and grabbed it, barely turning in time to parry with it.

You have learned a skill

Parry, Off-Hand, One-Handed Sword

level 1

The motions had come too easily to be just level one, but he didn’t have the time to question it. He slashed with the stone sword, and that cut closed immediately.

He parried and slashed with the other sword, making a long cut on the Gnoll’s chest.

You have learned a skill

Slash, Off-Hand, One-Handed Sword

level 1

The message, as well as the Gnoll’s free hand, distracted him. He barely moved in time for the Gnoll’s sword to slice his side instead of running him through. The hit point bar was close to one fifth.

There was something odd with the Gnoll’s hand, the fingers were of even length. As if they’d been sliced off.

They had. Michael had sliced the fingers off, and while they weren’t bleeding, they hadn’t regrown. If he could cut off the Gnoll’s limbs, he wouldn’t get it back.

Michael blocked the swing coming down at his head by crossing his swords and kicked the Gnoll back. When the Gnoll returned, Michael sidestepped him and swing at the wrist of his sword hand, but the Gnoll was too quick and he only sliced it half off. The Gnoll still lost his sword, but the injury was healing.

Michael pressed his advantage, slashing and thrusting quickly, forcing the Gnoll away from his weapon.

You have learned a skill

Thrust, Off-Hand, One-Handed Sword

level 1

You have gained a level

Thrust, Off-Hand, One-Handed Sword

level 2

You have gained a level

Slash, Off-Hand, One-Handed Sword

level 2

Michael grinned at the Gnoll and jumped to the side, running at the cleric who was so focused on keeping the glow going he didn’t notice him until Michael ran him through with his sword.

A scream sounded behind him and Michael turned as the no longer glowing Gnoll rushed him, claws and fangs bared. Michael waited, and sliced with both swords quickly, cutting the hands off, and then the Gnoll's head with a last swing.

You are now level 29

Michael dropped to a knee, using the stone sword to prop himself up. The sounds of battle weren’t as loud as he expected, now that he could pay attention to them. Looking around, he could see mainly centurions, with a few Gnolls going down.

Coughing next to him made him look at the Gnoll cleric, he looked to have difficulty breathing, blood pouring from his mouth, but his eyes were fixed on Michael.

“This isn’t over,” a voice, with what Michael thought was a French accent, seeth from the unmoving mouth, “I will make you pay for breaking my things.”

The Gnoll’s eyes turned glassy as the white collar glowed brighter, then disappeared in a flash of light.

“Dhomis protect us,” Astair said.

Quest

Protect Cosconius, 3

Type

Path, Continuation

You have defeated the intruding Gnolls, but they were acting under someone else’s instructions, and that person is now aware of your intervention. It’s now a question of if you can find and stop them before they find and stop you.

This quest is automatically accepted as part of the path