Firstborn of the Frontier

They say practice makes perfect, but that ain't true.

If you practicing all the wrong ways, then you ain't ever gonna get better. That's the conclusion I arrive at after blowing 28 Aether on 7 casts of Conjure Weapon and getting nothing for it, but I ain't ready to throw in the towel just yet. I do put a pause on the mindless Spellslinging however, and pull out my real axe to give it a few swings on the practice grounds while trying to figure out the right 'feel'.

Which, when you get right down to it, is half of how magic works. There's the logic of it, and then there's the magic of it. The best of both worlds as it were, with a solid, unchanging foundation of pure mathematics which you can work out for yourself and get the same answer each and every time. It's just numbers after all, and numbers never lie. Then, upon that foundation of numbers, you build a framework, the expression of those numbers which dictate the Flow of Aether and gives you your Spell Structure, but it don't end there. With the Structure in mind, anyone can cast a bog-standard Spell, and they can do it a thousand times over a thousand days without it ever changing one whit. The Structure is the stamp, the Aether the ink, and the Spell is what shows up on the paper after you done pressed down on it.

The real magic though? That's using the same stamp and the same ink as everyone else, but having something different show up on the page.

To take that foundation and framework and change the output as you go, to push, pull, prod, and prompt it to do exactly what you want. To make a Bolt curve in the air and hit a moving target. To Conjure up a living wall of Spiked Growth that spreads up instead of out, or curls over into a dome to protect whatever's inside. To gather up the pulsing waves of Aether given off by Detect Aberration and redirect them into a concentrated pulse. That's the true mark of an accomplished Spellslinger, the ability to take what is there and make it your own, to get more out of your Aether than the average mook can manage, and there's no real way to explain how to do it. What works for one person might not work for another, because it's all about how you perceive the flows and manipulate what only you can see and sense with tools you developed for yourself. It's a mixture of science, faith, willpower, and a je n'est ce quoi which makes it all so very…

Magical.

And yet, at the end of the day, Magic is still grounded in math and adheres to the laws of physics, a realization that sets off a light in my brain as I flex my Wildshaped Hand to shake off the pain. In doing so, the hamster kicks the wheel into high gear as I gaze upon this most magical of Abilities of mine, one which enables me to Conjure up this hand. There's no flesh and blood in my right hand, no tendons to flex or nerves to pinch, and yet it hurts all the same, and flexing it helps relieve that pain. It's a living construct of Ectoplasm masquerading as all of the above, yet one built upon a foundation and framework of wood, brass, and Etches that dictate what the prosthetic can and can't do.

Foundation and framework. Math and magic. Physical and metaphysical. That's the key. With Conjure Weapon, I'm trying too hard to do it all at once, to create a weapon that is both rigid and flexible at the same time, but that's not how things work in physics or arcana. I can't Conjure up a material that can harden and soften with a thought, because one does not exist for Ectoplasm to mimic. What I can do is create an axe with a multi-sectioned, articulating shaft held together by wires, springs, belts, or whatever, thereby creating a construct of Ectoplasm masquerading as machinery.

Or you know. A prosthetic hand shaped like an axe. Sort of.

That's the idea at least, one that seems like it could work, so I take a pause from my vibe based Spellslinging and get to work drawing up a schematic of how I think it might all come together. It doesn't have to be a working mechanical construct like my Automaton Prosthetic; I'm not gonna build this in real life. The schematic simply serves as the foundation for the framework of the Spell I will cast with this image in mind, the inspiration I draw upon and concept I envision while casting Conjure Weapon. I don't gotta Conjure an axe every time after all. Could Conjure a sword, a spear, a mace, almost any simple weapon I can imagine, so the only real issue is stretching that simplicity as far as it will go.

Can't help the perfectionist in me though, as I do my best to make something that is at least remotely functional, even if I'd never be able to get a motor small and strong enough to do any of the sort of work needed to make this work. No, forget motors. The human body doesn't have motors. It has muscles, bones, tendons and ligaments, so that's what I'll use in my axe. The inner workings don't all have to be strong and durable. I'll set a strong core, a spine if you will, held together by soft and flexible connective tissue. Then I'll put a hard shell over it all, one that can snap together with each adjacent section like fitted water pipes, adding strength, stability, and rigidity to the whole thing when I need all those properties.

As soon as I shift over from gears and wires to muscles and tendons, the work becomes that much easier, because while I don't really know how the latter works, I know enough to believe that it will. The magic will handle the rest, or at least that's my hope after drawing, redrawing, and reviewing my work for most of the day. With dinner almost upon us, I take what I have and commit it to memory before reaching out to the familiar Spell Structure once more, all the while holding fast to the memory of how the weapon felt while wielding it in that dream which was not a dream.

I got everything I need. The Spell Formula from Sergeant Begaye. The Spell Structure I pieced together myself. The admittedly juvenile and probably impossible schematic I done drew out in amateur fashion. The knowledge that it can and should work, else a Mimic wouldn't tempt me with the concept. The sensation of how it does work with the Second Order Spiritual Weapon. All I gotta do now is piece it all together, hold the image, sensation, and determination in mind as I take a deep breath and Intone, "Arma – Ex – Nihilo — Adesto."

Weapon from nothing, be present.

I take it slow, one word at a time while building the weapon in mind one segmented piece at a time, and I feel the limits of the Spell Structure fast approaching. Conjure Weapon is only a First Order Spell after all, and while it's possible to squeeze more juice outta the Spell than you'd normally get, I'm asking for far too much. So I upcast the Spell on the fly, give it some Second Order levels of Juice, or nine Aether as opposed to four. Might not seem like much, little more than double, but you can do a whole lot with a Second Order Spell. Go from a basic Bolt to a powerful Lance, and you got the Spell with the highest capacity for single target damage under Third Order. You go from Shield to Force Barrier and turn a mobile and personal defensive construct into an immobile defensive fortification for you and however many friends you can squeeze behind a 1x1 m square. Silent Image is a First Order Spell, one that's barely any better than the Minor Illusion Cantrip, but at Second Order, you get Mirror Image, which is heaps better than the predecessor, with so many extra bells and whistles I ain't even gonna try to list them out.

All at a cost, and not just in Aether, but also utility, duration, or Concentration, and I can feel those demands tugging at me as the Spell struggles to conceptualize what I need. I don't want to Concentrate on the Spell though, nor do I want the duration to be all that low, so I split the difference and do what I can to end up with what I hope is a usable Spell.

And when all is said and done, I got me an axe that looks so very similar to the ones Luther helped me requisition. It's 85cm from butt to spike, with a palm-sized blade shaped like a wedge on one side and a flat, compact, circular face on the other. The haft is slightly curved towards the end, and the upper third is covered in segmented plates that slot neatly into one another as it is, similar to the dragonscales on Edward's armour that ain't actually scales. I give the weapon a swing and it feels solid as can be, even when I bring it over to chop a big old log of wood to see how it cuts. Like a hot knife through butter, better than any tool I've ever used, as this baby's got a razor-sharp edge that will can still chip and dull, but will reform and resharpen in time so long as the Spell is active.

For maybe ten minutes would be my guess, as that's how it feels as I gauge how long I got the weapon for. Down from a full hour, though still usable in an extended fight so long as it don't run on too too long. Now comes the real test though, as I move to stand three meters away from a fresh log. Taking a deep breath, I fix the sensation of the weapon in mind once more before winding up for a swing, one that sends the axe head hurtling off towards my target in the distance. The metallic hiss of chains and cables sends a tingle down my spine as I watch my weapon stretch and elongate like a whip, one that bites deep into the wood and is caught in place, but only because I didn't swing hard enough.

So I gotta go and manually extract it from the log, then focus on the weapon to make it reel everything back into place, like fishing line on a pole that pulls each section in tight. With the weapon reset, I take my distance and unleash the weapon at the log again, only this time with a powerful wind-up and follow through like I'm fixing to cleave it in twain.

The axe head shoots out. The chains and cables sing. The edge bites deep into the wood with a thunk, and splits it apart with ease. A flick of my wrist brings the head back towards me, and though I admit I'm a little nervous flinging a heavy, sharp, and pointed implement about, I trust the process the same way I trust my hand not to smack me in the face. The weapon is a part of me, no different from my Mage Hands, one I can feel blazing new neural pathways into my brain as I familiarize myself how to use it.

Mage Hands. Conjure Weapon. Spiritual Weapon. Wildshape Hand. This chain axe here is a combination of all of these Spells and Abilities, part and parcel of them all. Take away one, and I wouldn't have had what I needed to successfully cast the Spell, but this right here is the culmination of everything I've learned before, and will continue to learn moving forward.

Grinning from ear to ear as my axe snaps back into place, I head over to put down a fresh log and play around some more, only to stop in my tracks as a bugle sounds out in what can only be an alarm. If that wasn't enough, the metallic blap-blap-blap of semi-automatic fire rises up from all around as the guards on the walls and watchtower unleash a hail of Bolts at whatever's outside of the walls.

A ghastly chorus of moans sounds out, and I double time it over to Chrissy's side, who's already gathered up the kiccaws and is taking cover with Cowie. This ain't the time to hide though, not here and now, because as I turn to look back at the walls, I spot a mass of undead flesh poking their heads up over top them at speed. Not shambling Zombies, but ravenous, energized ones, empowered by their dark magics to give them strength and maybe even Haste to get them up over the wall en masse. They ain't climbing. They're hurtling over them, clambering up vertical walls like running across flat ground in numbers so great the guards and Wards can't do nothing to slow them down as they tumble over the top and drop into the compound like water flooding over a dam.

"Time to go Princess," I say, helping her up onto her feet just as the first Zombie rises up from the heap of bodies splatted all over the grounds. With jerky, erratic, inhuman movements no less, pulled back up by invisible strings as its flesh and bones mend before my eyes. Its sightless orbs fixate on me, the closest moving target to it, and it opens its mouth in a ghastly howl that shakes me to my bones. "Guard Chrissy," I say to Cowie, letting go of her arm while turning to face the threat. "Find Edward."

My furry white partner moos in acknowledgement and I move backwards alongside him and Chrissy both. Showing some more of that initiative that she's been exercising of late, she turns to touch my shoulder and bestow a Mental Fortress upon me, a shield that solidifies around my thoughts to ward off the dark sensation of impending doom. It's not imagined either, which tells me there's dark magics afoot, a sense of dread and trepidation stemming from these Unhallowed Grounds of the Central Deadlands, one that's punched through the Wards of the compound meant to keep that sort of magic out. Or maybe not. Maybe the Wards were only meant to dampen the effect, and they're less able to do so with the source here inside the walls, namely the feral Zombie running headlong towards me with a couple friends only a few steps behind.

All I got is my Conjured Axe in hand, a spare real axe, and the Shortsword six shooter on my hip. Two weeks ago, I would've hightailed it out of here quick as a bunny, but that was before I got a good bit of practice in and a brand, spanking new chain-axe. Axe-flail. Morning Moon? You know. Because a Morning Star is a mace head on a chain, so if it's an axe head…

Whatever. It's sharp. It's pointy. It's got a good bit of heft, and while these Zombies be zooming over at me right quick, they ain't took quick to handle nice and easy. Rather than open up with the whip, I focus my mind on keeping the inner workings taut and stiff as I take up my Conjured Weapon in both hands, pick my mark, and strike with purpose. A far cry from swinging for the fences like I was my first day, because I know just how much power I need to crack a Zombie skull and exactly where to aim to make it easy.

Not only does this mean I can fight for longer before running out of gas, it also gives me leeway enough to recover and redirect my next attack at another Zombie who done come sprinting in with arms outstretched. It's not the fastest Zombie I seen, as the ones besieging the Métis patrol were a fair bit faster, but its still faster than I expected. Got in a bit too close for the sweet spot on my swing, so I choke up on the axe and give it a good push-pull strike to the crown of the head to kill it just as its fingers brush against my duster.

Without any armour on underneath, as I didn't think to throw it on when I first saw the threat. Least I got my Mage Armour up, but I'm thinking I'm too conservative with the Conjured Armour, as I don't want to waste the Spell if it ain't necessary. Thing is, now that I need it, I don't got time to cast it, as I do gotta strike the pose to get it going, or enhance it with Still Metamagic from my beaded bracelet. A potion would be even quicker, as I do have a few Barkskins in my pouch, but no time for either option as the Zombies keep coming in hard and fast.

So I get to hacking, slashing, and thrusting for all I'm worth while backpedalling away towards safety. Or at least I hope that's where we're headed, as I'm counting on Cowie to lead us out of all this, tracking his hindquarters out of the corner of my eye as I beat on every Zombie that comes within reach. Luckily I ain't the only target moving around anymore, as Protectorate Pages, Squires, and Knights sally forth to do battle against the Soulless.

Now, I stand by my assertion that melee combat is less than optimal. Ranged combat is objectively the superior option. Always has been and always will be, because if shooting don't solve your problem, then you ain't shooting fast or hard enough. The Protectorate think otherwise. They'll use guns, bows, and any other sort of ranged weapons they can get their hands on, but from the lowliest raw recruit to their High Marshal or even the Queen and Commander-in-Chief herself, they all take lessons on fighting with sword and board.

And by God does it show as them Brits turn out covered from head to toe in armoured plate Looking all resplendent in them shiny, chrome suits, six armoured bodies group together to form a battleline, and I mean line, standing shoulder to shoulder with no room for anyone to squeeze in between. Especially not after they raise their shields to form a wall of steel and flesh, with short swords held overhead and ready to plunge down in a stab. The clank-clank-clank of armoured bodies moving in lockstep is a sound you ain't ever gonna forget, and while they ain't moving all that fast, they do be advancing with ease, bracing to catch Zombies on their shields before dispatching them with a quick killing thrust.

All while the leader amongst them sounds out the march with a booming, "Left. Right. Left. Right."

Course that's only one group of Protectorate soldiers, probably just Squires and Pages with maybe a Knight to lead them. Hard to tell, as their armour ain't real armour, but rather Conjured up from Ablative Armour, meaning the caster gets to pick and choose what it looks like. Same as me and my Conjured Armour, except my Spell is just better. Truth is, the Conjure Armour Spell looks more or less like the Conjure Weapon with, with only minor changes here and there that have to do with fitting, comfort, and most important of all, durability. Conjured Armour can block a Zombie's claws, a Bug's thrusting talons, and even turn aside an axe or club wielded by an Orc. The Conjured Armour is about as powerful as a steel breastplate, which is good and bad. Good in that a steel breastplate is pretty decent protection against close combat weapons and even some more primitive ranged weapons like bows. Bad in that anything stronger, like say a half-decent gun, will punch right through the armour with enough momentum to give you internal bleeding or bruising at the very least.

Not so with Ablative Armour, which is pretty tough, but not exactly tougher than Conjured Armour. The key lies in the name, Ablative, meaning it's less like a traditional suit of armour and more like a protective bubble of Ectoplasm that keeps you safe. Similar to the Aid Spell, it sheathes you in magical padding, condensed Aether that absorbs any sort of force that could cause harm and ablates away before it ever reaches you. While a singular cast of Ablative Armour ain't all that and a bag of chips, you can stack the Spell as many times as you can cast it, which gives you a much higher ceiling for survival for an equivalently high cost of investment.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Heard tell the Nipponese Immortal Monarch even survived the Aetheric Bomb the Americans dropped on his head thanks to Ablative, only to die shortly after due to radiation poisoning or whatever. I don't buy it though. Even if it did happen, how would anyone know? Any witnesses to the event would've died long before he did, so ain't no way the story would've ever gotten out.

Ablative Armour has the added effect of allowing the caster to choose the shape of the armour without affecting how it works, so most go for something cool and flashy. Like the one fella whose armour is gilded with Tudor roses, fleur-de-lis, and a whole bunch of stylistic E's in honour of the Queen. Looks more like a poker card than an actual bonafide Knight, but it works well enough I suppose. There's another fella in armoured plate with a roman flair, and one fitted with golden pinstripes to offset the polished chrome, while my favourite is the guy with a white surcoat over his shiny silver armour and a greathelm with big, honking wings sticking out the sides. Some are clad in armour that looks more futuristic, but most go with the classic tin can look that is so difficult to improve upon without venturing into the realm of the ridiculous.

Either way, they're all using Ablative Armour, and I get to see it at work firsthand as them speedy Zombies crash into the line of armoured soldiers I been watching. Soon as they're attacked in numbers enough, there's no way for the soldiers to kill them Zombies before they get off a few good hits, meaning at least one or two get in close enough to lay hand on their shields. Metal shields, or treated wood at the very least, but still fairly durable and heavy to boot, meaning it's pretty hard to hold them up when you got a walking corpse hanging onto the frame.

Leaving space enough for other Zombies to dig their claws into the soldiers themselves. Now if that was me, I'm fairly confident most their blackened nails would just slide right off the steel of my breastplate, assuming I had it Conjured up of course. Thing is, that won't do nothing in the Zombie done tries to grab me, as it's Ectoplasm masquerading as solid steel. Even if you were wearing full plate mail, a Zombie can still grab you by the arm and give you a good shake. Not so with Ablative Armour, as their full-plate armour is mostly for show, with the appearance of steel but none of the physical attributes. Therefore, when a Zombie tries to grab a soldier festooned in Ablative Armour, that piece they done grabbed just comes away in its hand, like a pulling pieces off a roll of cotton candy with your teeth, only for it to immediately dissolve away in your mouth.

Which again, is good and bad. That armour will also dissolve away from impacts, like fists slamming into their chests, and Elemental effects, like a gout of flame from a powerful Knight wielding a bona-fide Flamethrower in the distance. All without injuring the person underneath mind you, as that Ecto do be protecting them in magical ways, absorbing all that harmful force and taking it with it as it dissipates back into the Immaterium. Once that Ecto runs out though, then they'll be exposed to whatever dangers there be on the battlefield, a limit that's much lower than the physical durability of my Conjured Armour, but until it does, the caster is more or less invulnerable to attacks.

Even Bolts fired from a weapon that been Metamagicked to the gills. Sure, the Bolt will pop that protective bubble in a heartbeat, but there won't be no momentum to carry through and hurt you. The energy is shunted off into the Immaterium, leaving you free and clear to go about your day, or in all likelihood, recast Ablative Armour because a second shot will surely kill you.

That's how the Protectorate Knights fight, with sword, board, and Ablative Armour. Course it ain't always a sword, as there do be Knights with spears, polearms, and even punching daggers, because I guess it's easier to deliver a right straight than hold a sword overhead. While I wouldn't want to try it against a group of Orcs or Swarmlings, the tactic is proving deadly effective against the Zombies, who keep rushing forward in waves to crash and break against steel and Ectoplasm.

Course, there are those who buck the trend even more by fighting all by their lonesome, and those fellas are the proven Knight-Banneret. Warriors who done shown themselves to have skills enough to fight under their own banner, which I always took to be figurative, but is far more literal amongst the Protectorate. Those armoured forms dealing death on their lonesome all got banners sticking up out from behind them, each one bearing a coat of arms that looks far too convoluted to even explain. They got bears and shields and swords crossed with axes or spears, and all manner of flowers and text that I ain't gonna bother to read, with each one being unique and identifiable to someone who cares enough to memorize things like that.

Ridiculous as their whole schtick might be, the Knight-Bannerets are nothing to sneeze at. While they're not Captain equivalents, they're close combat specialists who could give even the best Rangers a run for their money in hand to hand, if not dominate the field altogether. Maybe a few standouts could do more than hold their own, like Drex Durden out of Memphis with his magical scimitars, but I can't think of a second name that could stride into a horde of magically enhanced Zombies and cut them down like wheat before the scythe.

Whereas here? I see no less than five Knight Bannerets doing just that.

It's taking everything I got to hold my own against the fistful of stragglers who come my way, but I would've had to resort to dire measures long ago if it wasn't for the Knight-Bannerets taking on the bulk of the pressure. They dive right in with their honking big greatswords or giant steel mauls, weapons so large and heavy them Knights gotta be magically enhanced just to wield them. Even then, they swing their weapons with deceptive ease as they bring them out and about in giant swings and twirls that mow down every Abby within reach. They might be fighting Zombies, but they make it look like they fighting the elderly, aged, decrepit fellas who're one stiff breeze from toppling over and breaking a hip.

And the Spells. Good lord, the Spells. I thought that Qin Scout Yihan was pretty impressive slinging his flaming sabre around like a Living Whip, but there are Knight-Bannerets who've elevated close combat Spell Slinging to an art form. One fella bearing a coat of arms depicting a flame-breathing horse is encased in a shell of Fiery Ecto, one which ignites every Zombie within 3m meters as he runs headlong through the horde of Zombies unimpeded. Another wields a spear of dripping Acid which he hurls out and transforms into a giant snake, an Elemental creature that punches through whole swathes of the Soulless and leaves little to nothing behind. There's a Knight-Banneret who splits into 8 mirror images to distract and beguile. Another with an Elemental Weapon of crackling lightning which jumps from his target to strike three more. And one brave son of a gun who uses Jump to leap into the thick of things before unleashing a massive Nova of chilling frost that freezes everything around him in a ten-metre radius, only for those frozen Zombies to shatter apart when they inevitably topple over to the ground.

But impressive as all this might be, don't none of them hold a candle to the inferno that is Lord Edward Elton of Chelveston, the Sovereign's Talon, Harbinger of the Crown, current generation Jack the Ripper, and maybe the most powerful Spellslinger on the Frontier.

During the fight with the Métis, I knew he was sandbagging the moment I laid eyes on him struggling to punch his way through, except I couldn't figure out why. Figured I should hold back some too, though the rest of my group didn't get the message no matter how loudly I shouted to conserve their Spells. I've seen Edward tear through Umber Hulks the way Marcus could tear through a pack of goblins, which is to say with laughable ease, so how could a bunch of Zombies, even souped-up speedy ones, slow him down?

They can't, which is how I knew he wasn't giving it his all, except here and now, I'm learning that he wasn't giving his all against them Umber Hulks either. Gone is the refined nobleman in dragonscale plate, and in his place is a hulking, armoured, reptilian form that stands well over eight-feet tall. His face ain't visible, encased a stylistic helm that looks like a grinning dragon, with each fang almost as long as my forearm and giving him plenty of room to breathe while protecting his best features. He don't need the protection though, because don't nothing even come close to laying a finger on him. Forget swords, spears, or even hammers, as the Sovereign's Talon is an apt moniker as he tears into the horde with claw and fury. A light touch is all it takes to shred those hardy Zombies apart, even easier than my new Conjured axe cut through wood, and he moves with speed and grace that is literally inhuman. He doesn't run on two feet, but bounds about on armoured hind legs that have grown talons of their own, while his hulking form crashes into his foes with no regard for his safety, for his body is so thick with Ablative Armour he could go swimming in lava and probably survive for a good minute at least.

That's how he's gotten so huge, but he's also made use of his new shape to extend his weapons and make himself that much more threatening. Or maybe he didn't, and this is some combination of Transmutation Spells to go along with. Haste for sure, because he's moving faster than humanly possible, darting about from here to there in the blink of an eye, and Jump to leap over buildings and allies alike. When he comes crashing down amidst his foes, the mud beneath him Erupts into churned Earth that crushes any Zombies caught within, and I imagine he's got something like Gift of Alacrity going too, else I'd have no idea how he's tracking all his foes so quickly.

I'm having trouble just following his movements while watching him from afar. He's in the thick of things and diving headlong into the most dangerous fights while killing the biggest threats right from the get go. Blink and I would've missed it, as a Ghoul comes leaping out from the crowd only to catch a back-hand from Edward's talons that shreds it apart, cut so finely its body comes apart in a mist despite there only being five edges to strike with. Then he's back to shredding Zombies without pause, making the rounds around the outpost not once, not twice, but three times in less than a minute when I'd probably need longer to run it just the once.

And the only reason he stops is because there ain't no more Abby inside the compound to kill, so he surges up over the wall and out into the swamp to hunt down any stragglers.

It all feels so surreal, to be standing here with my Conjured axe in hand, with a few minutes still left on its ten-minute duration. That's how short the fight was, an intense three minutes of heart-pounding tension followed by an almost anti-climatic release as Edward showed up and cleaned everything up in the blink of an eye. He showed up like a force of nature and wiped all them Abby out, then popped on over the 6m walls to go kill some more, and I'm still struggling to figure out how he got all big and… dragony. No wings, but he had a definite lizard-like look to his helm, one that was a fair few feet higher than where it usually sits.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say he Polymorphed, but that there is a Fourth Order Spell that ain't available on the Frontier. Haste. Jump. Erupting Earth. Maybe Gift of Alacrity. Probably an enhancement Spell or two from Aaron and Luther, like Bull's Strength and Cat's Grace. And Lord knows how many instances of Ablative Armour stacked on top of each other to clad him in Ecto so thick it made him several feet taller. How much Aether did he use in this fight? More than the 60 I can spend without sleep at the very least, because there were most certainly Spells I could not identify being used in the fight, one that has opened my eyes to just how high the ceiling really is when it comes to Slinging Spells on the Frontier.

All this time, I thought I been slowly but surely catching up to the previous generation. Makes sense, don't it? If everyone's limited to Third Order Spells, then there's only so much progress they can make while I move on up to join them. As a peer, I figured, but now I know I figured wrong. Even though I'm a bonafide Magus, I'm no more a peer to the likes of Edward Elton than I am Ranger ready. Less so, in fact, because I can see myself making the cut in a couple more years if I apply myself and learn the lessons I need to. I don't ever see myself catching up to Edward, not with only Third Order Spells, and he'll just keep getting stronger and stronger when more Spells are available to him, leaving me far behind in his dust.

Which don't bother me all that much, because Edward's always been larger than life in my eyes. Now I know he gonna stay that way from now until forevermore, and I bet it's the same for the others too. Here I've been thinking there ain't all that much of a difference between me and any other Magus, that the only thing separating us was accessibility to Big Spells, but now I know how much farther I still have yet to go, and it's got me burning to learn more than ever before.

A damn shame Uncle Teddy ain't my Mentor no more. My decision that, not his, because even though we haven't talked in months, I get the feeling he'd take me back under his wing if I just showed some contrition. I won't though, because I can't be honest about it, and I won't take advantage of his good nature any more than I already have. My actions have damaged his otherwise sterling reputation, and I ain't gonna let no one else badmouth him for teaching a no-good reprobate like me.

No matter though. I'll still get there eventually, albeit slower than I might otherwise could. With no Zombies left for me to kill, I turn to Chrissy who's cuddling the kiccaws and staring off at where we last saw Edward, no doubt entranced by the memory of seeing him all lit up in Aetheric flows from Lord know how many Spells surging around him. Seeing that she ain't all that scared, I heave a sigh of relief and bring her back to our cabin where I give Cowie some much deserved treats. Gunnar is mighty glad to see me, and Astrid bombards me with all sorts of questions about the fight, which I answer as best I can. I got a recording of the whole thing, but without Aunty Ray or a Major Illusion Artifact around, I can't really show Astrid the big fight.

And honestly? I'm not sure if I should. I'm pretty okay with Edward turning into a big magicked lizard-dragon-man-thing, but the Askefjords are still pretty jumpy around him even though he's been on his best behaviour all week. He didn't lose his temper even once, or talk about all the different ways he can kill a man, nor did he fixate on something that was almost dead and slowly tear it apart to see how much suffering it could take.

So yeah, he's got a thing about death, which I suppose is why they put him here in the Deadlands to begin with. Lotta people are fascinated by death, and not all of them become serial killers. Granted, not all of them are as well-equipped to become serial killers like Edward Elton, but I think he's doing just fine and the Askefjords are being a little rude by worrying so much about him.

To hammer the point home, Edward even showers and cleans up before returning to our cabin, though Aaron and Luther are still muddied and bloodied from the fight. Didn't even see them in all the hubbub, but they had to be close, as they always are when it comes to Edward. "Howard," he says, greeting me with a big smile, but no open arms, which is odd. So I back away from the stove where I'm making dinner and head over for a hug, one he accepts with a sigh, and a chuckle when Chrissy shows up to pile on in. "Glad to see you're both unharmed."

"Ain't gonna lie," I drawl, shaking my head with a sigh. "Got a little dicey back there, and wasn't all that sure we'd make it out unscathed, but it's been a while since I seen some real professionals at work." Not since Pleasant Dunes, I reckon, and even then, I didn't get to see much, nothing like I seen here today. "You Protectorate Knights sure know your business, I'll say that much." Seeing a flash of worry in Edward's eyes, I cut myself short from talking about his big, lizardy form and follow up with, "And you ain't no slouch yourself. Not like Aaron and Luther who either didn't show up or were slacking off the whole while."

"Just because you dinna see nothing don't mean there wasn't nothing to see," Luther replies, reaching out with his grimy hands to knuckle my shoulder. "Saw you, didn't I, fightin' all by yer lonesome with the Princess behind you instead of takin' cover with a group of Knights. Your father, he was the same, always one to go his own way, a Knight Banneret in spirit if there ever was one."

Yeah, the Protectorate ain't like the Rangers, with each person having their own set of roles. With the Brits, it's specialists all the way down, even if most specialize in being meat shields at best, like all them Pages and Squires forming shield walls in the yard. Impressive as they were, they're there to hold the line and be an obstacle while the real killers do the work, the Knights-Bannerets and other heavy hitters ranking above them. Course, they got dedicated leaders too, people who oversee the fight, but they're typically senior Squires given brevet ranks like Sergeant-At-Arms or what not. Long story short is that in the Protectorate, you don't rise through the ranks without an appropriate amount of personal strength.

Which, in retrospect, makes the fact that Aaron went along with Edward to keep Knight Commander Blythe's head attached something of a relief. Not because I like the man, as I've never met him, but rather because even a Captain Level Protectorate Knight like Blythe has got to walk softly around Edward. Means I don't gotta feel so bad about being so far behind him, though I'm still hoping there gonna come a day when Edward pays me the highest of compliments and says that I'm as deadly as he is.

Now that Edward's back and properly greeted, I get back to cooking dinner while talking shop. "This happen often round these parts?" I ask, after fanning the pot of stew to keep it from bubbling over. "An all-out Abby attack on a fortified outpost?"

"Hardly," Edward replies with a shake of head while sitting all prim and proper with one leg crossed over the other and not a sign of the hulking lizardman in sight. "With all the money and effort that goes into Wards, the Soulless at are a distinct disadvantage inside our walls, one that is only mildly mitigated by the foul magics tainting these lands." That Unhallowed Ground as it were, which might well be why the Zombies were fast, but not speedy fast. They were empowered by Spells and the location, but hindered by the Wards, so they weren't full on slow and clumsy like the Zombies we fought inside a Protection From Abby Ward, but not as fast as they might be if not for the Wards in the outpost.

Protection from Abby Wards work against all sorts of Abby, but I hear it's most effective against the Soulless. That makes them the worst of the bunch when it comes to attacking human settlements that've been properly fortified, of which there are fewer than you think. Fortifications costs resources, expertise, and manpower, all of which do be in short supply. The fact that they got so many fortified outposts and waystations here in the Deadlands shows just how seriously the four nations are treating this threat, one they would very much like to put down before the Watershed.

Which could still happen. All they gotta do is find the Proggie, and then throw a whole lot of money and manpower into killing it dead. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, so long as you gloss over all the hard parts.

Before I can ask, Edward answers the question on everyone's mind. "High Command has no earthly idea what's got the Soulless all stirred up," he begins, which is an odd way to phrase it until he continues, "They've attacked outposts all along the eastern border of the Central Deadlands, with several stations Radioing out for aid. I'm afraid this means we must part ways for a time, while Aaron, Luther, and I see to our beleaguered countrymen and allies alike."

Without dragging behind a kid who's still wet behind the ears, much less a family of Alchemists and a Princess who got no place being here. "Well, duty calls," I say, doing my best to sound understanding with a touch of regret, like I'm wishing I could go with and holding myself back from asking to come along. Not because I'm trying to guilt him into bringing me. I just don't want him to notice that I'm actually rather pleased with this development. Well, not pleased per se, as people have died and more will in days to come, but it does make things easier on me.

Because there's still the matter of picking up them packages from the outskirts of some town called Fairhaven, to say nothing of a meeting I'm supposed to make at a waystation close to it. Wasn't entirely sure how I was gonna finagle it so I could do all that without Edward scaring off my Serbian contact, or having to explain to him how I knew where to find a package hidden out in the swamp, or what said package might contain.

So after carrying on a bit more conversation, I say, "So the Askefjords and Chrissy are alright to stay here in this outpost?"

"Of course," Edward says, blinking as he looks me up and down. "You are welcome to stay as well, but I suppose you've other plans?"

"Gotta take off the training wheels at some point," I say, before cocking my head and changing the subject some. "Never really thought to ask, but what are training wheels?"

"I believe one uses them when learning how to ride a bicycle," Edward supplies, but he's not so easily distracted. "I take this to mean you intend to head out and hunt by youself?"

"I'll bring Cowie along," I say with a smile. "He's had my back for the last four years and ain't let me down the once. Saved my bacon more times than I care to count even."

I can tell Edward ain't pleased to hear it, but only because he's worried about me. He ain't one to smother though, so he simply nods and says, "Very well then Howard. Do remember that discretion is the better part of valour, so tread lightly and exercise caution. Something has stirred the Soulless into a frenzy, and High Command is of the opinion that this might well be the start of a coordinated attack, one led by a Synapse for reasons unknown."

"I'll switch out somethin' fer Settle in Shadows after dinner," I say. "Probably Spiritual Weapon. Oh, I didn't tell you did I? I Conjured me up an Axe Whip. Chain-Axe? I dunno what to call it, but you'll understand soon as you see it."

Intoning the chant, I Conjure up the flexible axe for everyone to see, but in my excitement, I must've gotten something wrong, because what comes out is more whip than axe. A sad, droopy whip that don't got no stiffness to it, which elicits a round of laughs and bawdy jokes about how I'm much too young to be having these sorts of problem. Fact is, this worked out better than I could've hoped, because I only wasted the Aether to change the topic. Feels a little bad to distract Edward like this and keep him from asking why I want to head out into the swamp with Abby all riled up like they are. Thing is, if he don't ask, then I don't gotta lie, and he don't gotta pretend to believe me. Fact is, I'm pretty sure he already suspects there's something up, but so long as I ain't acting against the four nations or endangering the people he's been charged to protect, then he don't really care what I do out here. Hell, I could probably come clean and tell it to him straight, and he wouldn't bat an eye. Nor stop me from doing what I came here to do, though my greatest fear is that he'll follow me out and do something to the Manfredis and Slavs who done stitched me up like this.

Which couldn't happen to better people, but strong as Edward is, he's still as mortal as the rest of us, and I'd never forgive myself if he came to harm because of me. Or more likely gets in trouble with the higher ups, who can't really punish him per-se, but can make his life just a little more miserable. Won't be an issue though, because I'm a big boy who can take care of himself. A quick jaunt in the swamp with Cowie at my side, and I'll have both packages in hand, which I'll then deliver to the two formidable gangs with no fuss or muss to be had.

Right. And if you believe that, then boy do I got the bridge to sell you…