Chapter 17 Repetition legitimizes[1], the content and context irrelevant. That is because repetition legitimizes, and therefore by repeating it, it will legitimize the phrase, so that with enough repetition, the words will become… legitimate.

“Connect me… final check-up, all members call in.”

“Alfa Team, positions go.”

“Bravo Team, ready.”

“Charlie Team, positions go.”

“Delta Team, good to go boss.”

“Echo Team, awaiting command.

“Foxtrot Team, in position.”

“Operation Infernal, Lieutenant Colonel Tim, poised and primed.”

“Problems?”

“No factor.”

“Able Team, oggin and gibbering.”

"Baker Team, ready to dive.”

“Dog Team, ready.”

“Easy Team, in position.”

“Operational Janus, Major Jen, swimming in style~”

“Problems?”

“Just the mission.”

“ET1, ready.”

“ET2, no problems.”

“ET3…

… ET13, ready to support.

“Operation Octavius, Second Lieutenant Riley, ready to raid[2].”

“Problems?”

“None.”

“Commence battle. All members beneath captain rank – edict.

Main objective – eliminate all members of the Gunder Rebellion Army. Prioritise reducing friendly casualties to the minimum. The Corpses are the high value targets, but avoid direct confrontation with Serophe Gunder. By the books, lads. Infernal up front, Janus at the flanks, Octavius to prepare for hostage rescue. Communicate any deviations immediately.

First out. Tim, lead them to victory.”

“Roger roger. Heading out.”

“Give us a signal.”

“You’ll see it. Impact two minutes.”

JanZe – three squadrons, roughly 350 JanZe and 500 apprentices.

Gunder Rebels – estimated 2’000 mercenaries, 13’000 conscripts, 12’000 miscellaneous personnel, 40’000 civilians and 9 Corpses.

Hostages – approximately 250’000.

Honestly, this is an absolute overkill. I’d be severely disappointed if any proper JanZe fell here against this makeshift militia. To call them conscripts was to truly stretch out the meaning of the word to its fullest. They were simple farmers, hunters and amateur bandits.

Civilians often never truly understood warfare until disaster was upon them. There are a few, mostly those who survived one, and those who studied history. What is the difference between war, and a total war? What are the factors behind the changes?

In the rare case where a Hero survived his or her early life, long enough to be associated with us JanZe, one of the few questions we’d often use to test them included their views on war.

Is it like a real-time strategy game, similar to titles such as Age of E*pires or C*vilisation? Or hack and slash type like M*unt and Blade or B*oodborne?

Is it like those movies and tv shows, with their romanticised heroism and justified violence?

The likelihood of a Hero from Earth being a historian or a veteran of war was so miniscule, not even a million years came close to receiving one. Mostly, they referred to S*ving Private Ryan as if it’s a guidebook to war.

It’s why they keep dying. They forget that this isn’t Earth.

Ha… My mood’s been about as stable as my internet provider during an important ranked match. Suffer my rant as I have suffered from lag, for I am not done.

War is a complicated mess, like a blender designed for humanity. It’s not just two groups, whether they’re factions or nations, fighting each other. Too often do people brush off the concept of death by war. ‘They’re just numbers’, ‘they’re soldiers and warriors’, ‘they’re martyrs and patriots’…

It’s infuriating to us fighting with our lives on the line, to hear such empty gestures by spoilt civilians. It’s an equivalent of giving a like to those prayer and best wish messages on social media. I hope they could take their thumbs-up icons and shove it up their own asses, perhaps they’ll gain even more self-pleasure that way.

But as soon as a civilian die as a casualty of war, the entire attitude changes.

‘A total war is against the rules’, ‘innocents are dying to the hands of evil’, ‘our peace is being endangered’.

Before, the civilians could easily overlook and miss the effects of war. Perhaps they get taxed a bit, or have some food rationed away. They might get some more job opportunities; they might get more boastful stories to tell. The war was for glory, for the wellbeing of the land and their people.

So, when the war affected them directly and they become involved, all of a sudden, they’re indignant.

Rebellions are even more messy. There are those who are committed to their cause, and fight with the intention of die trying. However, those situations are rare. More often than not, rebels carry the same indignant feeling as the civilians, thinking that they are justified to fight because they are ‘fighting back’.

For some reason, they never seem to understand that fairness didn’t matter.

These amateurs, who think rebelling against an oppressive force is a matter of honour or some other bullshit, who think they are fighting for freedom when they’re really fighting for profits, they are the worst.

The most disgusting, selfish idiots. Sheep that follows a shepherd to be slaughtered.

They are not human, for they have not the prerequisite intellect to qualify them as human.

They are the ones that could commit the most horrendous acts, yet screams the loudest at the smallest injustice against them.

They demand for their rights to live, never mentioning whom it was that protected those rights.

They screamed for their rights to speech, neglecting whom it was that gave them those rights.

They march for their rights to freedom, forgetting whom it was that permitted them those rights.

Fuckers.

They trample on the weak, twist the truths, slaughter the opposition, all in the name of their rights to survive.

SURVIVE?

How dare they gloze over all the misery they caused to achieve their own desires? Shifting the responsibility and blame on the very people they aim to kill and get rid of, how fucking convenient.

Just because we protected them, they believed it to be their right and our duty.

Unforgivable…

UNFORGIVEBABLE.

“Heard you beat Cyclops Jack in training! That’s massive! How did you do it?”

“Hahaha, I just got stronger! What else?”

“If we could just ‘get stronger’, we’d have beaten those fucking yannies a long time ago.”

“Well, you’d better start trying harder!”

“Or I’ll just stand behind ya. Protect me like how you would your daughter, will ya?”

“Hey, don’t you compare yourself to my Cassy. She’ll probably whoop your ass too.”

“Runs in the family, eh? That beastman blood of yours.”

“Don’t you fucking say that.”

“A-alright, cool man, it was just a joke.”

“I ain’t no fucking dogshagger spawn. You say that again, I dare ya.”

“Cool down man, you know me, I’m not like that man.”

“I ain’t no halfrace.”

“Yeah, I get it, yeah. Talk about the fight, your fight! What was it like?”

“Oh? Oh yeah, it was brutal. Jack ain’t go’ shit on me, I just smashed at him and he buckled.”

“He must be getting old, losing to strength alone.”

"Old? Bah, ain’t he sixty? That’s his prime, and I beat him at his prime.”

“His mana’s weak, sixty is old for him.”

“Then that’s just his fault. No way I’m getting weak at only sixty.”

“I don’t really care either way, as long as I outlive those yannies.”

“Don’t they say their ruler is some thousand years bugger?”

“Thousand isn’t all that impressive, there are them Inquisitors above that number.”

“A’ight then, ten thousand? Wouldn’t he be bones and dust by now?”

“He must’ve used some dark rituals to extend his life. It isn’t natural to live that long.”

“Evil fuckers.”

“Evil fuckers.”

The two were resting near the fire, in a makeshift central plaza that was their leisure area. The stink of sweat and alcohol was almost visible to the eye, but the men and women of this camp had long since adapted to it. As it was midday, the camp was thriving with activity. Sounds of metal and wood could be heard from the practice arena as well as the blacksmith area, whilst moans of depravity and lechery wormed its way out of the living area.

The brute on the right, Tharok, and his slim buddy, Leon, were loved by the healers of the camp. They were one of the groups that sought strength, and earned their reputation through their trials and tribulations at the arena. Their opponents often went off stage with broken limbs and ambitions. Their dreams, the healers could do nothing for, but they’ll be sure to leap at the opportunity to heal their wounds in exchange for some coin.

At the lower echelons of the rebel army, Tharok and Leon were known as the Demon Duo. One had the raw strength of an ox, the other a magical fire that melted iron. They had a surprisingly good coordination as a team, though those with a keener sight, mainly the ones in a high position, could tell that rather than coordination, their teamwork was more akin to bull-riding.

Some even had prospects for Leon, the one capable of directing Tharok’s madness and recklessness.

Their status was rising. Soon, they’d be able to climb the ranks and command others.

Leon took a large gulp of the cheap wine in his mug that was looted from some village a long time ago, and dragged all the way to the front lines for his leisure.

Satisfying. Not the wine, but the symbolic power that was luxury of the living.

“Say, when we start fighting, don’t start running off like usual. We’ll have to take it seriously. Them yannies fight like cowards even though they’re weak.”

“Bahh, you keep sayin’ that, I keep tellin’ ya, it ain’t a thing. You think too much.”

“Someone has to do the brainwork here.”

“What brainwork, I’ll smash the brains to bits.”

“Who helped you during our last training, eh? You’d still be running around chasing shadows if it weren’t for me!”

“Ah… hmm, fine. Brainwork can be good sometimes.”

Another mouthful stoked the growing flame in their stomachs.

“I may be strong, but ain’t the people here too weak? Will they be able to do anything other than wasting our food and making good soil with their blood?”

“Fodder and meat shields can be us-“

“ENEMY ATTACK!”

Near the central area of the camp, where the biggest tent filled with important members of high ranking, a single scream resonated out. Not many actually managed to hear it over the noise of the bustling lifestyle around them, but those that did stopped what they were doing and looked over in confusion.

They heard the content, but couldn’t comprehend it.

However, moments later, their faces began to change. Especially those well-versatile in mana control. They sensed something absurd heading their way.

Leon, being one of those mages, looked to the south, his eyes staring in disbelief at the sky.

Despite the warm sunlight and the cloudless sky, a white streak could be seen traversing in an arc towards their camp.

Wait… not one, but five.

The closer he looked, the colder he felt. An aura of shivering ice appeared to traverse through space straight into the core of his being. This overwhelming concentration of mana was unlike anything he had ever experienced, or even dreamed of.

The normal folks around him never thought to look upwards. They didn’t even notice how dire the situation was. For the first time in a long while, Leon felt scared. No… terrified. Speechlessly petrified.

Nothing could stop those projectiles.

Vaguely, he heard the camp bell ringing and the repetition of the first scream, that an enemy was attacking, but his brain couldn’t handle so much at the same time.

He watched, powerlessly, as the small streaks grew steadily larger.

Oh… they were javelins. His brain somehow managed to match the shape to an object he recognised.

Javelins were weapons. Someone was using weapons against them. He was in danger.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get his consciousness to work. It’s almost as if the power of ice invaded into his mind.

He watched the attack land at the front of the camp.

He watched, even as Tharok was busily shaking him and asking him what was going on.

The javelins struck the ground and sank. No… it compressed the ground with its sheer weight and power.

The earth quaked and rumbled as it struggled to receive the impact. Everything in the immediate surrounding of the javelins, each over 15 meters long in size, froze. Not just in movement, but literally became ice. Almost at the same time, they shattered from the vibrations of the impact, as if god turned the land into a snow globe and shook it.

The ice didn’t reach where he stood, but the hysteria and confusion definitely did. People were screaming and running, but there were also those who walked around aimlessly, in denial of reality.

In addition to the frosty aura, the ice javelins shattered into countless shrapnel, slicing through the air and whatever else that stood in its way. Walls were shredded, people were minced. Like a thorny rose, the ice javelins bloomed in gentle blue and gruesome red.

Tharok tried once more to awaken his friend, to no avail. He couldn’t understand why Leon was acting so stupid when he was usually the smart one of the two.

Tharok didn’t understand the power of ignorance.

Leon felt it. Forget the control of magic and powers, simply the difference in mana volume alone made his jaw drop. The chances of having five ice-type mana users firing off the same ability was slim. Leon understood that it was more likely a single mana user performing this attack.

As his brain slowly came to this conclusion, another Javelin struck. Then another... Time slowed as he watched the same scene occur for the fifth time. Even worse, when the last shrapenel finally lost its momentum, 17 JanZe clad in black, tightly-fit clothing that masked their faces, landed from the sky like meteors. Their presence was hidden amongst the ice attack, and as they struck the earth, they took down dozens with them.

Power enhancement mana users, most likely close-combat specialists. The thunderous boom of their landings added to the chaos around them, causing more to lose their will to fight and flee.

Not that it matters. As Leon watched on, anyone and everyone that crossed their paths died in vain. The enemy were too fast, too strong and too… indifferent. Leon couldn’t see any facial expressions on the enemies, only their cold, calculative eyes, as if the leagues of existence between the rebels and the JanZe were simply not in the same playing field. Indeed, they were not.

“We have hostages! Sto- arghhhh!”

The leaders of the camp, the specialists, the combat instructors… Leon couldn’t tell the differences between them.

Yannies… were weak, weren’t they? Leon asked himself once again, but felt melancholy instead of reassurance. The enemy rushed through the crowd, seemingly massacring random people… wait. No. They were after the ones who recovered from the shock.

They ignored everyone that was panicking. They also ignored the ones in a stupor, like Leon.

That meant… he needed to warn him!

“…rok…”

But his mouth won’t move. His voice couldn’t surpass the denial and fear in his head. Some part of him believed this to be an illusion, whilst another part hoped it was a nightmare.

Sound became meaningless, and Leon transcended the realm of reality. He felt like he was watching the scene in third-person. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

He felt nothing as he watched the fellow rebels bisected around him.

He felt nothing as Tharok charged forward, only to be flattened into paste by some invisible power.

He didn’t know which enemy had what power, what strengths they had… nothing.

He knew nothing.

He… why was he still here?

What’s the point?

Why… is he still alive?

A small sense of hope, one that seemed too good to be true, yet so precious that Leon couldn’t simply abandon it, began to build in his heart.

But alas, that was not to be.

As the JanZe ran past, more and more arrived to the scene. Each and every one of them ignored the ones deemed harmless, like Leon, and travelled past them. Some were using powers to speed their companions, others had gadgets or other strategies… Leon couldn’t begin to understand how they were able to do what they are doing.

Finally, when the stream of enemies lessened into a trickle, one of the final few JanZe stopped a few steps away from Leon.

They were at the central plaza, so it was a good place for that JanZe to begin the clean-up.

Said-JanZe waited for his companions to leave the area, his eyes flickering between each survivor, calculating the likelihood of a fight. Moments later, he raised both arms to the side, and spun like a spinning-top.

With that, flames seized the entire area.

Leon watched as the unknown being in front of him utilised mana in a way he had never seen. He witnessed the torrent of fire writhing and dancing at that being’s whim. The ease of it, the beauty of it, the destructiveness of it…

Leon thought of his own power, and laughed maniacally. He felt like a flint in a contest against molten lava.

Even as his pupils were melted, his blood evaporated, his bones incinerated… the pain that he was supposed to feel was instead, drowned out by delirious laughter.

Just… what is this?

Though the camp was nicknamed the Vanguard of the Rebels, acting as the frontline against the JanZe, in truth they were nothing more than canaries for the ones behind the strings.

Unfortunately, they failed even as a sacrificial alarm.

The entire camp, filled with over 700 people, was eradicated within 14 minutes.

[1] Phrase popularised by Adam Neely in the context of musical writing. https://youtu.be/LlmTWlaWs_o?t=155

[2] Press Yes to confirm your age.