"You know the camp better than I do, somehow acquired blackmail material on two lieutenants within a day of your arrival and seem unsurprised at essentially everything going on around you."
"What's your point?" Marcus asked, keeping his tone low. The castle rose in the not-so-far distance, fifteen squads lingering just before the end of the trees. He took the time to catch his breath, cursing the fact he couldn't build muscle. The resets took care of his injuries, but they didn't seem fond of positive changes either. Marcus raised an eyebrow. "I assume you have one."
"How are you a veteran soldier and suck so badly at fighting with a sword?"
Marcus looked down, resisting the urge to scowl at Illmar. The man was pretty friendly, though with how little time they had their friendship was naturally limited. "It doesn't seem to agree with me."
"Affinity." Illmar said, nodding. The man put his sword through a downed Orc's neck, gently putting the metal to flesh before pushing. Those usually killed half of Marcus' number if they didn't move early, though with his warning the would-be ambushers had been ambushed. "Some people are good at riding a horse, writing letters or performing magic. What are you good at, Marcus?"
"Not fighting."
Illmar took the short reply in good humor, not seeming particularly disturbed after killing three people. Marcus didn't look at the dead Elf behind him, nor the hastily bandaged cut on his own neck. The loop would reset before the adrenaline wore off, and until then he could manage.
The Elf's death put his number of kills at twenty eight. Only two of those were earned in a fair fight, and both times he'd incurred injuries horrific enough to warrant magical healing.
But fighting, as he was learning, wasn't about fairness. It was about hitting people when their backs were turned, ensuring you never found yourself alone and to never stop moving once arrows started flying.
Illmar drew back as Bobe returned, bringing the rest of the squad with them. Elmus and Krasus were both wounded, though not badly, and Pier seemed out of breath but otherwise unharmed.
The sergeant grunted. "You were right. What was the bet, again?"
"You would listen to Marcus' suggestions no matter how insane they sound." Illmar said happily. "And, considering we would have lost half our people had he not spoken up, I'm good with that."
Which was a nice way of saying that Marcus was now essentially in command, because no one had time to 'listen to suggestions' in the middle of battle. Bobe grunted, taking a long look at the corpses on the floor, then nodded.
"Excellent." Marcus said, already moving. "This way. Bring the ladder."
The group followed him as he moved away from the main assault, one of the lieutenants intercepting them. Always the same one, too. Fraze. Bit of a bitch, if he was honest, but that came in handy.
"You and three of the mages are running unsanctioned healing schemes for money." Marcus said. Fraze's mouth clicked shut, her eyes widening. "Your rank lets you cover it up. Get out of my way, lieutenant."
The lieutenant moved, Bobe alternating his glare between himself and the officer. The sergeant didn't like blackmail, let alone blackmail of a superior officer, but he also knew the commander would have her executed and the mages put under guard.
"Three lieutenants." Illmar corrected himself. "You have dirt on three lieutenants. Do you have a captain, too?"
Technically yes, but that one wasn't useful. The woman was cheating on her wife, who was the daughter of some lesser noble, but the captain didn't care if he told the commander. The one time he'd tried he had been hanged before nightfall, so her not caring seemed fair.
Marcus rubbed his neck, forcefully pulling his mind away from the memory. Somehow, despite being here for damn near two months, he'd only died thirteen times. Only. Marcus snorted, wondering what all that death was doing something to his psyche.
Or maybe all that willpower he'd gained from wrestling the arcane magic into submission was good for something after all.
He slowed as they came to the boulder, pointing. "See that tower? There are five mages inside, including one capable of performing siege magic. They have ten guards, mostly Orcs, and are barricaded inside. We're going to kill the mages."
"That's a horrible plan." Illmar complained. "Seriously. That's a death sentence."
"It would be, but as soon as the fighting starts the guards are drawn away. They somehow didn't expect us to rush the gate with Giants and their own fell sick days ago. Still not entirely sure if that's sabotage, those Giants falling sick. The commander keeps lying in new and interesting ways."
Pier frowned. "You've never spoken to the commander."
"Exactly. Get the ladder ready. As soon as I say 'go' we move to the wall. Quietly."
Marcus heard the tell-tale drone of a Giant smashing a tree-sized club against the reinforced gate, waited another few seconds, then started moving. The squad followed him, hesitant but obeying.
Good enough.
The ladder was set up, they climbed, the door was slightly ajar. Marcus waved Krasus through, the man being their best fighter, and followed close behind. The inside was more brightly lit than the outside, which made spotting the enemy easy, but also made it easy for the enemy to spot them in turn.
Pier threw a dagger, the mage clutching at his chest as it sank deep, and Krasus killed the two remaining guards with Elmus' help. Marcus ran up the stairs, feeling some blood leak from his bandage. He ignored it.
The siege mage was exactly where she always was, looking through the arrowslit and at the gate. The woman turned with a start, Marcus already having closed half the distance. He threw a small axe but it went wide, cursing and trying to put on more speed.
It wasn't fast enough. She muttered something in a strange language and power filled the room, a flash of ice-cold wind covering every surface. Marcus could hear the rest of his squad shout in surprise at the top of the stairs, lowering his hand even as the ice thickened.
Thickened and crept up his frame, freezing him in place, though his eyes and mouth were free for now. He glared at the woman even though hypothermia this severe was a relatively quick and pain-free way to die. "One of these days I'm going to put a fucking knife through your neck."
Marcus felt the cold sink into his bones, blinking once to find Bobe barking at him to get up.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"So we're good?" Marcus asked, hope rising. "Honest?"
Captain Tay looked at him, her eyes searching his face. What she was looking for he had no idea, but apparently she found it. "We're good. Lieutenant Fraze, you and your men will follow Marcus and complete his objective. You too, Bax."
Fraze didn't like that, but she was a good soldier despite the whole mage-healing scheme. So she and fifteen men, including Marcus' own squad, moved to the side. The Elf joined them.
Four months. Four months until he knew the battle well enough, knew the people involved well enough, to convince one of the captains to listen to him. Four months of barely productive training, endless death and more chores than he could have ever imagined doing.
That siege mage was going to die. She was finally, brutally, going to die. One could only be killed by someone so many times before developing a grudge, Marcus found. He snorted, waving away a few questioning looks.
The lieutenant was still technically in charge, no one was going to trust someone they'd known for three days in command, but it didn't matter. The siege mage would die, the Giants would break through the gate and they'd stand an actually good chance at winning.
How much did he suck at this that it was taking so long?
Twelve weeks of attempts. Not wholly, and in truth not every loop ended with him assaulting the castle, but roughly every other attempt was one where he at least tried. He'd failed dozens of times, but he kept gathering intelligence all the while.
They could have made it easier on him. If he could work with the commander without causing a reset this would have been over a while ago, but no. Rain postponed the assault too easily, which meant Marcus had to work around the man.
Blackmail helped to get people out of the way, but motivate them it did not. Figure that.
The same song and dance. It would have almost gotten boring, really, if it wasn't for the authenticity. The smell of blood and the sound of battle. The screams and whimpers and whistling arrows. But it was routine, now, so Marcus waited in the trees.
"Not yet." He said, holding up a hand. The lieutenant glared, Bobe glared and Marcus ignored them both. "Wait until the Giants attack the gate. And I'm still not sure how Rain poisoned the enemy's walking siege engines. Ah, there we go."
Marcus took off in a sprint, overtaken by nearly everyone else by the time he got to the wall. But all the same his back hit stone and he looked up as shadows passed overhead.
That would be the Orcs running to reinforce the gate. Marcus waved at the ladder-carrying soldiers, climbing up not seconds later. His feet hit the rampart and he dashed through the gate, leaving his squad to deal with those below.
One of the mages shot fire at him, which Marcus scrambled away from, but nothing more. Up the stairs and there she was. The siege mage.
She turned, lips moving, and Markus shot his crossbow. The miniature, nearly useless trinket he'd taken from the armory accelerated the bolt rapidly, though it wasn't nearly enough to piece armor. It also wasn't enough to kill her, because the bolt skittered off her body like it was made out of stone.
A shield. Yes, he'd figured. But the bolt made her flinch, which bought him a second.
Marcus threw his axe, hitting her in the leg for much the same result, and moved. One step and she recovered, two steps and she started speaking again. Three steps and she was forming words, and he knew that by step five he'd be dead.
Not quick enough. He wasn't ever quick enough. But now he had more men, enough that not all of them were busy downstairs, and an arrow skittered off her face. The Elf shot another arrow a split second later, and the siege mage lost concentration.
The spell fizzled out, though she was skilled enough the backlash didn't kill her. No matter. Marcus rammed her at full speed, the half-plate he wore giving him the mass he needed. She impacted the wall, which didn't hurt her, but it did make her lose her balance.
On the floor and mentally off balance, she didn't react before Marcus brought the mace down on her head. It bounced off, because magical shields were bullshit, so he hit her again.
Magic shields were bullshit, but they also weren't all powerful. There was a formula to calculate how much force each square inch of the technique could take, but he wasn't thinking about that.
Marcus brought the mace up then down again, over and over. Each time she flinched, arrows were still hitting her and finally something shattered.
Then her skull cracked a moment later, Marcus hitting her again for good measure. An arrow entered her eye and he straightened, instinctively looking out through the arrowslit.
He flinched back, a projectile entering it from outside not a second later. Right, stupid. If they'd gotten him like that twice he would never forgive himself. The arrow snapped as it hit the wall, Bax taking a step to the side.
The Elf drew and fired, stepping back out of view as someone screamed in pain. He nodded to Marcus as more men thundered up the stairs, Pier the first of them. The soldier slowed, looking between the very dead siege mage and Marcus.
"Damn." Pier whistled. "She must have really pissed you off."
Marcus sighed. "You have no idea. Now let's go help the captain, and th-"
Magic filled the air, arcane fire washing over the Giants at the gate. Dwarves cooked alive in their armor as the entire assault staggered, even Imperial soldiers flinching at the sheer brutality. Marcus watched it wordlessly.
Two. There were at least two siege mages.
Oh come on!
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"This is quite simple, captain." Marcus explained again. "We take this tower, kill the siege mage, and Brakkus will do the same here and here. If all three of them die the Giants will pass the gate, at which point we'll win."
Captain Brakkus looked at captain Tay, as if unsure how he ended up being a part of their shadow cabal. Tay grunted, eyes narrowed. "And why can't we go to the commander with this?"
"He's busy." Marcus soothed. "And he's asked me to make sure this gets done. Alpha code nine, captain."
The captain stiffened, just like she did every time he spoke that code. Bless you commander Rain for being such a paranoid bastard.
Four lieutenants were with them, over a dozen Orcs making sure they weren't disturbed. Soldiers who had ignored, insulted or even beaten him in the past, now shooting him fearful glances. Such an interesting thing, really, pretending to be a Hunter.
He'd only found out about those a month ago. Some kind of assassin order loosely created by those opposing the Empire. Apparently necessary because the Empire had too many mages, though he wasn't sure about the details.
They also had a reputation. A very, very hard one. Convincing these soldiers he was part of their ranks always resulted in the same thing. Fear and obedience.
He wasn't one, of course, but apparently he had this air of slightly unhinged bloodlust about him. After six months of this he'd dare anyone not to get a little focused.
Now, he didn't actually have the skills of a Hunter. Luckily, no one really knew what a Hunter was supposed to be able to do anyway, and the information he'd gathered seemed good enough to lend credit to his claim.
Or not claim, as the case was. Telling people rarely worked out. Hinting at it then acting smug when someone pointed out the obvious worked far better. Everyone lied, but so very few realize they lied to themselves most of all.
Marcus looked at the castle, humming. He really did need to get out of here. Dying was starting to wear on him even after he'd found efficient, quick ways of suicide.
"I'll need my squad to provide support." Marcus continued. They weren't here, of course, and in truth he'd barely spoken to them this reset. Still, he knew how they fought and knew they fought hard. "Captain Tay and I will deal with this siege mage ourselves."
The ice specialist. He didn't know her well, but any time he failed to kill her she killed hundreds in turn. One wielding fire, one wielding ice and one wielding stone. Elementalism, as Marcus had found, was more popular here than it was in his time.
The group broke up, Marcus drifting back to his own squad. Who, perhaps for the first time, treated him with the utmost respect. It felt wrong. Hollow. But Bobe had good instincts, and he'd seen the way people glanced at Marcus.
Marcus who had been hated, tolerated, cared for and respected. Pitied, too, but never feared. Never treated like some creature from the woods able to snap at any moment. Honestly, it stung. But he couldn't do this forever, and this was as good a path as he could find.
Reputation. The illusion of power, and right now it was firmly in place.
Sparring was out of the question, not that it would do much good, though even Marcus had to admit he'd been improving. Somewhat. He could count himself well above pathetic, these days.
He snorted again. Yeah, average summed it up. He could throw an axe, wield a knife and take on most soldiers one on one. He wasn't green, couldn't be green after this long, but he would never have what Krasus and the sergeant did. That instinct for battle and blood.
But that's what he needed to take the castle, and he sincerely hoped the death of all three siege mages would be enough to win. Because if not, he wasn't sure how long he was going to have to spend here. How long it would be until his nerve broke and progress ground to a halt.
How many years would it take to become a swordsman? How long until he found a reliable way to work with commander Rain? How far gone would he be by then?
It didn't matter. Killing the siege mages would work, and now he had a plan to kill all three at once. Assuming it didn't implode before the assault again, of course.
Turned out pretending to be some scary boogeyman came with risks. Risks like someone snitching to the commander, who wasn't particularly intimidated by an unconfirmed assumption. Risks like doubt, greed and fear.
But he had a good feeling about this one. Brakkus and Tay were the easiest captains to convince, the former having met a proper Hunter and the latter wishing to be one, and the plan was good.
So that's where he found himself, moving through the forest again. His squad was with him, hands on their weapons, and Marcus didn't pay them too much attention.
He considered them friends, but it was hard to be friends with those who didn't remember you. Didn't remember all that they'd been through together.
"Hold here." Marcus called. The captain held up a fist, shooting him a questioning look. "There is an ambush party we're going to ambush. Quick and quiet now."
Fifteen squads followed him into the dark, Marcus' feet knowing the path better than his eyes did. Out and away, taking a somewhat inefficient path to their objective. It also, however, led them very close to one of the enemies' staging grounds.
The captain took over as Marcus slowly drew his knife, sixty soldiers closing the distance towards the enemy. Who didn't have sentries, high as they were on their own hunt. Why fear those you deem prey, after all?
Twenty feet. They got within twenty feet before someone stepped on a branch. It was by far the closest Marcus had ever managed to get the group, and he sprung forward. He pushed his legs as hard as they could go, the Orc he'd targeted only halfway through drawing his weapon.
Marcus sliced up and sideways, opening the Orc's throat wide. The Orc gurgled, clutching at the wound, but Marcus was already moving on. Threw the knife and watched it go wide, burying his mace in some woman's skull.
The rest of his men weren't far behind, and it was a slaughter. They had the momentum, the surprise, and by the time those advantages were spent only two dozen enemies were left. A little under half of what they started with.
Marcus grunted as the twenty huddled close, a strange pause coming over the battlefield, and he glanced at the captain. "Have them shot and be done with it."
The four Elves started shooting even before the captain confirmed the order, which was new, but Marcus didn't have time to think on it. They were already running behind, and the wounded needed to be cared for.
Eleven dead. Not bad to kill four times that number. "Two minutes, then we continue."
Two minutes and they got moving again, leaving the dead where they fell. Cold, but there would be time after the battle to burn the bodies. If there ever was an after.
Finally, and behind schedule, they got to their position near the towers. Marcus waved the squad of Elves his way, confirmed they knew the plan, and spent a few seconds listening to the battle. The Giants were already attacking the gate. No time to catch their breath, then. It would have to do.
Make it to the wall, wait for the ice mage's guards to leave, put up the ladder. Up and over, ignoring the way Elves seemed to glide rather than climb, go through the door.
Marcus turned left, one of the Elves going with him as the rest slaughtered the mages inside. The siege mage was already looking at them when they made it up, which was unfortunate, but the Elf he'd brought didn't mourn the loss of surprise.
The arrow took her in the neck, skittering away, and Marcus sprinted forward. Threw his axe, then his knife, just barely managed to avoid being skewered by an icicle before finally being close enough to hit her in the face.
His mace threw her to the ground, the sheer blunt force of the weapon capable of overcoming the inertia dampeners on her shield, and he kept hitting her until the shield failed. Then hit her some more, because fuck siege mages.
Marcus straightened, blood dripping from his weapon, and turned to the Elf. "Take her head and throw it in the courtyard."
The man nodded, drawing his knife and moving towards the corpse, and Marcus moved downstairs. Found the other Elves already gone to continue their objective, replaced by his old squad. The sergeant glanced at the mace, straightening slightly.
"We have one more thing to do, sergeant." Marcus said, angling towards the door. "The gate is already broken, but the gatehouse is still filled with soldiers. We're going to clear it out. Which, assuming captain Brakkus did his job, will end the battle."
His people fell in line, following as Marcus stepped outside. The squad of enemy Elves gutting people with arrows was nowhere to be found, another problem solved by convincing a lieutenant to follow his orders instead of her captain's, and it left their path relatively free.
But even as they fought their way through, Marcus earning a deep cut on his arm along the way, it turned out to be unnecessary. The fire mage was dead, the Giants were tearing through the enemy, the enemy Giants were still as sickly as they'd always been.
He never did find out why that happened to them.
Marcus shrugged, watching hundreds flood through the gate. More were climbing up the wall, and even as the death toll rose Marcus saw the battle shift.
And this battle was very familiar to him. Marcus narrowed his eyes, looking at the keep's entrance. Was that the enemy commander?
"Pier, shoot the idiot in the fancy armor standing by that door."
Pier pivoted, taking the crossbow from his back and aiming in one smooth motion, but another arrow beat him to it. Pier shot anyway, his aim a little low, but they were close enough it punched through armor.
The enemy commander staggered, Marcus could almost feel soldiers begin to panic, and then it was over. A critical number of their own soldiers got inside, Dwarves and Elves and Humans, and even as a stray bolt took him in the leg Marcus couldn't stop smiling.
Wounded, tired, crippled until he got to a very good healer and probably bleeding out, but victorious. His squad shielded him as the battle wound down, and Marcus smiled a bloody smile.
They were his friends, no matter that they didn't remember him. He could feel it, though. Feel it in his bones. They'd won, and now he could finally get out of here.
"Goodbye, my friends." Marcus said, blood leaking past his lips. That isn't good. "You are long dead if you ever existed at all, but it was a privilege to ser-"
Marcus blinked, the change more jarring than usual, and found himself at the entrance to a small mountain town. His confusion, dread and rage was undercut when he felt the block on his magic, the block he'd long since given up on overcoming, come undone.
It wasn't over. Six months of war and it wasn't over. But, as Marcus snapped a shield around himself and let fire dance over his palm, this time he had his greatest weapon.
This time he had that which he specialized in, what he excelled in, and those siege mages were going to look like stumbling children next to the sheer mastery he'd achieved over magic.
Then a villager, some old man with missing teeth and comically wrinkled skin, spotted him. Looked at the fire in his hands, eyes growing wide and fearful. "Sorcery? Sorcery. Guards!"
Marcus blinked, finding himself at the entrance to a small mountain town. Then he blinked again, never having taken a single step and somehow already having failed.
Oh come on!
Afterword
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