Chapter 1 - Business as Usual

My name is Rose Thorne and I kill people for money. Most people would attempt to sugarcoat it, but the truth is that the mercenary occupation boils down to just that. It doesn't matter if you're an infantryman, a mage, a tactician, an engineer, or whatever. In the end, you get paid to achieve an end result, which is killing, destroying and coercing. The better you are at it, the more specialized you are, the more you get paid.

I get paid a lot.

It goes without saying that being a merc is not easy, nor is it pretty. It is exhausting, bleak, disgusting, and you get blood on your hands all the time. Not to mention the sizable chances of straight up being killed in combat. So, does the money make it worth it?

Probably. In my experience, money could make anything worth it as long as there's a lot of it.

Either way, this line of work is all I know, and so far, it seems it will be all that I will ever know. We've been bogged down in a brutal war of attrition against our neighboring country, Sulost, ever since before I was born, and this lifestyle allows me to thrive in this god-awful status quo of prolonged conflict.

I guess when war becomes routine, people find a way to get used to it. This stupid war has become so integral to the daily lives of my people, that many have found ways to adapt and make a living out of it. The truth is that, at this point, I am bored and sick to the core of the brutal mundanity of warfare.

Boredom. I feel nothing but boredom as I lay on my makeshift bed and hear the sounds of explosions and terrible screams in the distance. It's early in the morning and it's time for me to go to work. Once I force myself to get out of bed, I painstakingly clean myself thoroughly and put on my mage robes. They are worn and their color has faded from the constant use, but I try my best to keep them clean. After that's done, I grab my magic staff and head out. 

Outside the little miserable tent that I've called home for more than two years there is 

nothing but despair as far as I'm concerned. 

I already feel disgusted by the heavy smell of ash and sulfur that plagues the air despite it being so early in the morning. The sky above has corroded into a gross shade of what I can only describe as crimson-brown from all the fires and smoke in the distance. Below the dusty clouds, lies the camp of the mercenary company I work for, and further ahead, the walled town it's besieging. A wasteland if there ever was one. 

I can't help but groan in resignation from having no choice but to endure this stupid routine day after day. Wake up, take part in the company's attempts at breaching the besieged walls, and then going to sleep at night over and over again. I'm tired of this. I yearn for something else. The problem is that I'm legally bound to work for this company by a five-year contract I've regretfully signed.

I'm itching to get lost and go somewhere far away from this place, but leaving is not an option.

So, I set forth, my boots sinking into the thick mud with each step, to yet another day of repetition. As I walk, I notice that the camp is livelier than usual. Supplies have finally arrived: food, weapons, magic batteries, coal… these supplies were supposed to arrive a week ago. New siege machines have also arrived: siege engines, trebuchets and one or two catapults. 

These were supposed to arrive three months ago. We've had to delay countless attacks because of shortages. We waste too much time, and the company isn't doing itself any fucking favors. Aside from that, the mercs also seem to be gathering just outside the camp and preparing their weapons. An attack on the enemy town is nigh and I don't look forward to it at all.

I have an unappetizing and bland breakfast, and once I've cleared my plate, I head out to join my unit on duty as usual. However, before I can do that, I have to report to my superiors. Yesterday, I received a notice that the Operations Overseer, the highest authority in this merc camp, had summoned me to his office early in the morning.

Why?

I have no idea. I am a foot soldier and as such I have nothing to do with the commanding wing of the company. Being summoned by a superior usually means a pay rise or an ascension, but that's usually done by the Chief of Staff or some commanding officer. Being called directly by the Overseer himself is not a good sign. At all.

There have been rumors of strife within the officer corps of the company and of the Overseer's alleged 'harsh treatment' of personnel. Getting involved with company politics is the last thing I want to do.

I swallow my concerns and make sure my uniform is as tidy as possible before walking over to the Overseer's tent. I can't help but feel a bit jealous, seeing that his tent is way bigger and has more accommodations than mine, or any other merc's. His pay must be at least five times bigger than mine too.

One can only dream.

I make my way inside after wiping the mud off my boots and I spot the Operations Overseer sitting at a makeshift desk while having a smoke. He does not seem pleased.

"Mr. Overseer." I greet him.

"Ahh, Rose Thorne. Quite a beautiful morning today, ay?" His tone is laced with sarcasm.

The Overseer is an old man with a lot of scars on his face and a raspy voice. He has a distinctive black uniform, typical to the commanding wing of the company and many insignias that signify his position of authority.

"Quite the contrary." I reply drily.

"Heh."

He takes a long puff from his cigar. I just stand there at full attention not knowing what to do or say.

"Let me inspect your staff." He commands with a gesture.

I am taken by surprise but have no choice but to obey and hand him my weapon. I do it in an almost automatic manner and he takes a good look at it, inspecting it from all angles.

My heavy-duty magic staff consists of a long handle made out of hardened wood that has long been blackened from constant exposure to heat. It smells like charcoal and has a manatite core contained by a recoil mechanism at one of its ends. A specialized tool of war, this staff is capable of casting extremely energetic spells, measuring up to four thousand aether units, without breaking. It can take and give a beating for sure.

"You keep it clean and well maintained. As expected of a professional."

He compliments me on my discipline but seems to get distracted by the multiple marks on the wooden handle of the staff. I used to carve them using a knife each time I got a confirmed kill, but I stopped doing it a while ago simply because I ran out of space.

"You seem to be a prolific killer."

"Aren't we all?"

He sighs. I keep my poker face.

"Listen, Thorne. I'll get straight to the point. I've called you here because I am frankly out of options, and I could enlist your help."

I raise my eyebrows. I definitely did not expect that.

"...As you're probably informed, I was hired by the company to manage this merc army's effort to capture this damned town about two years ago. Two entire years ago."

I look out a small opening in the tent that serves as a window. The walls of the town still stand tall stubbornly. It wouldn't take a genius to notice that our efforts have been a complete failure so far. The Overseer lights another cigar out of pure frustration.

"Yeah."

"So many men, so much time, and most importantly, so much money, has been wasted on this endeavor without seeing any results. The higher ups at the Council for Ulterior Lucre and Traffic have noticed our failure to end the siege. My position as Operations Overseer is threatened."

The CULT is the state organization that regulates all mercenary companies and related work in Stracia, my country, and its mere mention makes me uneasy. I somewhat sympathize with the Overseer, as I know first-hand how cutthroat that organization can be, especially since the war was outsourced to them.

"That's a shame, Sir. I fail to see how this has anything to do with me though."

"I have a special, rather interesting offer for you, Thorne. That's why I called you here. I've been informed that you're among the top mages on this camp by both skill and seniority. Your work ethic is respectable too, which is why I'm sure you'll be of great use for me… And the company."

Now having piqued my curiosity, the Overseer puts away his cigar and leans forward a bit, a rather serious expression plastered on his face.

"...But before giving you the details, you must agree to keep these matters undisclosed to our colleagues. It is a delicate topic and I promise you there will be consequences if you run your mouth."

"Like being killed and thrown in a wet ditch?"

The Overseer's silence confirms my suspicions.

"Fine. I accept. What is it about?"

The Overseer coughs and clears his throat.

"The reason we haven't been able to take the town is that my officers are sabotaging me."

"Huh?"

"Yeah. Unbelievable, right? They want the higher ups to get rid of me so one of them can take my position, and they do everything in their power to mess with my plans. They fuck up the logistics, give contradicting orders, delay attacks on purpose, use stupid tactics and so on. I can't fire them because of company bureaucracy and other political bullshit. My hands are tied."

I am initially surprised, but it honestly makes sense. I had noticed many critical flaws in the management of the siege from the very beginning, and some of them were too blatant to not be intentional. The delay in the arrival of the supplies, for example.

"Huh. So, you want me to get rid of them? That'll cost extra. My class doesn't specialize in assassination. I am an artillery mage." I state.

"No. That has been arranged with someone else. What I want you to do is breach those walls." He shrugs.

I'm honestly shocked and confused at this request. We've done nothing but attempt to do exactly that for two years and it's not like I'm going to be able to accomplish that by myself.

"I beg your pardon…?" 

"Say, Thorne. If I put you in a position of authority, as a sub-officer, maybe, and gave you all the resources necessary to arrange a parallel special operation, would you be able to put a hole in those walls?"

"Ehh…I'm not sure, sir. As I've said, I'm just an artillery mage, not a career tactician or an officer. I don't think I'm up to the task."

The Overseer scoffs. He then retrieves a hefty book and several documents out of a drawer and loudly deposits them on his desk.

"I've done a little background check on you, Thorne. These are your documents. Here it says that you were taken in by the Jan Noble House as a child to receive education as part of a program to create a division of elite artillery mages for the noble paramilitary. It also mentions why you left." He remarks with an ominous tone.

Hearing the Overseer lay my past flat in front of me freaked me out a little. So many memories I've been doing my best to forget and crimes I've been burying since I was younger.

"I'd appreciate your discretion, Sir…" I reply, concealing my uneasiness. I don't need anyone to know the details of my departure from the Jan Academy.

"We'll see. Whatever, my point is that you surely have the knowledge, experience and attributes necessary for this, given that the Jan House is known for producing the best, deadliest and most educated mages in this country. So, I'll ask again: can you breach those fucking walls?"

I am forced to fold. 

"There are some things I could do. But what is it in for me?" 

The Overseer grins.

"I've been orchestrating a decisive attack soon, but before that, I need you to put together a strike group and find a way to breach those walls. That way we will be able to take the town after the issue with my officers is resolved. The deadline is by the end of the month. Do it and I'll release you from your five year contract. You'll be free to leave this lovely place." he emphasizes the last part with the same cynical tone as the one he used at the beginning of the conversation.

It is a juicy offer for sure; my contract still has three years left and no amount of money that the company pays me would make me look forward to them. However, I have my reservations. In Stracian military doctrine, a strike group is a small squadron conformed by specialists of different classes that operates independently from the main army. I have a lot of experience working within strike groups, but I've never actually led or coordinated one, not to mention not in the context of siege warfare. I'm not a leader, I just follow orders and get paid.

Seeing my reluctance, the Overseer pressures me further.

"I'll handle all the annoying logistics and bureaucracy for you. You will also be provided the commodities of a commanding officer, rather than a mage. Tired of sleeping in a little dirty tent, Thorne? Come on, this is a bargain."

Aside from my doubts about my ability to actually do what the Overseer is requesting, I know that there are likely some ulterior motives behind this proposal. If he's outsourcing the task of breaching the walls to me, it's probably for a reason.

"You should know that you are asking a fish to climb a tree."

"Professionals adapt."

I think about the proposal and the options at hand really carefully. It's a huge opportunity, but it's high risk. In the end, I decided to accept after realizing that high risk, high reward scenarios are the bread and butter of my profession. 

However, I attempt to extract at least one concession from the Overseer before agreeing.

"Double my wages and I'll do it."

"Deal." He replies in an instant.

We shake hands and materialize our agreement into a written document, which is then signed by both of us. The die is cast.

"I expect you to write a separate document detailing what plans you might have and the assets you will need. I need it by sunset. I'll transfer you to your new sleeping grounds and make all of this official tomorrow."

"As you wish, Mr. Overseer."

"You'll be hearing from me. You're dismissed, Thorne."

Once outside the Overseer's tent, I tried to convince myself that this was a good decision and went on my way. While I walked the muddy, barren wasteland that is our camp, I bit my finger and reviewed mentally what I had learned about siege warfare in the Jan academy all those years ago.

It's doable, I think.

Still, coming up with my own plans proves to be a total pain in the ass for me. I am a foot soldier, I receive orders, not give them. Even with all the theoretical and practical knowledge I have, it would be no use since I have no experience being a leader and my charisma is practically nonexistent.

I think that it would be prudent to return to my tent to think and start writing the document the Overseer asked, it would take a lot of time and thought to design a plan.

Suddenly as I walk, bells and loud horns are heard all around the camp. Everything is thrown into commotion as the officers start barking and the mercs grab their weapons. The attack is about to begin.

"Soldiers to arms! Everyone find their unit and await orders!" An officer yells.

I attempt to explain to the officers that I won't be able to participate in the assault because I have been given a special assignment by the Overseer, but they don't care. The army will move out and they need me to be there with the other mages.

Having no other fucking choice, I put on my combat gear and fall in formation with my unit. This is a huge nuisance, but there's nothing I can really do. I'll write the document the Overseer requested later, right now, survival is my priority.