Chapter 38: Generals

"Granos, how many have gathered here?"

The elderly figured glanced over at Eshent, smiling genially. "On our side, dearest Visionary, four-hundred. Many of us are still acting outside of Shadowhaunt. On their side, perhaps not even one-hundred."

"We outnumber them, but do we still have enough? Considering their traits… it still may be difficult."

"Our Lord will ensure our victory, as long as we can deprive Him of His troubles."

I am so generously filled with necessity. I need to drink… I need to kill myself… why have I been endowed with purpose when I should have simply died?

Eshent stared over the field of yellow, a harsh, calculating expression obscuring him. He let out an annoyed sigh.

Let's get to work…

Hundreds of figures had gathered on the field ahead. Enshrouded by the strange mist, the compendium of horrors, cloaks of crimson and yellow waved in the evening wind, casting the field in stark division. It wasn't just the Reapers in red that bore weaponry. Eshent had made sure the priests each paid a visit to the Nocturne Spire's armoury. 

There were several figures standing behind him on the fortification atop the hill. These were the Generals he had appointed, he who was unaccustomed to war, merely because they were priests, the antithesis of it all. At least he had once been noble, he had been in the presence of soldiers. The people around him had only ever known their Lord. 

So, he led them the best he could, only fifteen years of age, and demanded the lives of those twice or thrice his senior. 

Of course, these Generals were figures with special ability, he did not just pick at random. After all, he had four-hundred priests to pick from, it was certain that there were at least a few who were capable. 

A giant greathammer nestled itself into the stone below, cracking and warping it considerably. Tufts of steam burst out from behind a visor, and spiked armour came into Eshent's view.

Ashburn, the figure in towering black armour, bore a yellow cape. In actuality, it was the same yellow cloak that they all wore, he was simply too large to wear it normally, and so it was draped over his back and shoulder. There was a simple darkness that peered through the T-shaped hole in his helmet, but Eshent could feel his piercing gaze. His unseen eyes were like daggers. 

Eisel, a rather cunning figure, was the only one amongst them who chose not to wear the cloak. He said it simply wasn't his colour, although he was happy enough to witness the Lord's Sign as much as would satisfy his peers. He was dressed in pitch-black attire, enough to blend into the nightly atmosphere of Shadowhaunt, and had a complexion the colour of milk, cheeks like honey, and eyes akin to roses in bloom, accentuated by the silver monocle worn on his left eye. 

Actually, when had this person come to the Nocturne Spire? Eshent couldn't recall seeing him amidst the sea of yellow-cloaked priests, although it would definitely be hard to pick out a single person amidst so many, he thought he would definitely notice such a distinctive visage. However, he had been useful enough, and Eshent anticipated that the Lord would not allow any one person to interfere with his plans, so it really didn't matter who he allowed in his proximity. 

It was the woman to his right that had initially caught his eye, causing him to lead her to his service. She, who had been wearing a pale-white plain mask over her face underneath her yellow hood, suddenly took it off, letting out a soft sigh as she glanced over in Eshent's direction.

She had pale flaxen hair that dropped down past her shoulders, her hood obscuring her amber-coloured skin. Her eyes, gorgeous emeralds, were only further accentuated by her elongated eyelashes and the sharpened corners of her eyelids. 

She was Farsa, and she had shown keen interest in Eshent. Of course, this was something that all the priests had initially done. After all, the Shepherd that had been promised to them, the Visionary who would lead them had appeared. But Farsa was different, she differentiated the ideals of the Visionary and Eshent as a person, and inquired into who he truly was from the start. If the others, including Granos, were his generals, then Farsa was his true friend.

"Ashburn, can you guide them there?" Eshent pointed towards the ravine that separated the two gathered parties, the sea of red and yellow. There was a large slice within the plain, which they had taken the time to fill with fallen logs and trees that had been cut to shape. This was a crucial part of their plot, one that would assist their Lord in his weaving of their Fates. 

The armoured figure slowly tilted its head downward, nodding. His gauntlets curled around the greathammer's pommel, as if he would crush the steel with sheer strength. He looked over questioningly at Eshent, obedient, but eternally quiet. 

"You just need to lead the Reapers to the ravine. Once you're there, Farsa will set it ablaze."

Farsa had a distinct Spirit Contract. It wasn't like Masha's strength-enhancement, or Eshent's visions, she had gained the ability to manipulate flames. At the cost of the pain that would surge through her blood like it had been set alight, she could instantly weave a pre-existing flame into any sort of shape, increasing or decreasing its velocity as she threw it. However, because the Lord had relieved her of this pain, she was free to weave the flames as she saw fit. Thus, she had the time to calculate the thrown flame, and her accuracy was astounding. Like a trebuchet, she would hurl fire into the ravine, setting alight the trees they had thrown onto its floor. 

Then, the Reapers would be led towards this flame, and they would burn. 

"Eshent, won't it prove difficult to actually get them into the ravine?"

"Have you never shoved someone before, Farsa?" Eshent retorted jokingly. "It is only a matter of getting them there, and afterwards, using whatever method you can think of to overwhelm them. Perhaps the fall will kill them, but otherwise, the fire will be too much for their Lord to renew. Then, we're free to take Anor Ligrisia. Our Lord's Will shall be done."

He spun on his heels, facing his three generals as he put on a confident facade. 

"You will all need to prepare yourselves considerably. There may be contingencies that we cannot yet see, but the Lord will guide us past them. Our aim is to lighten His load, to try and relieve some of the things He must do to ensure our victory. Swing your blade, it will strike. Walk forward, you shall not trip. Our victory is assured."

He did not know what else to say to the priests. Only weeks earlier, he had been preparing to enter the workforce alongside his brother, Masha. This was not the sort of work he had anticipated doing. However, that wasn't an excuse he could simply employ. He had been tasked with far too much to say he was 'incompetent' or 'unfit' for his role. 

Eisel echoed Eshent's assurances. 

"Our Lord is quite capable, isn't He? To think that a single figure could be responsible for so many things… rather, to think that there is such a world beyond this little cavern, isn't it quite interesting?"

Eshent shook his head. "I try not to think about it. After all, whatever world is beyond here doesn't matter. We aren't soldiers in a war in that world, we're participating in a war here. Our lives are here. All things are at stake here. There is no point in thinking of other things, I think."

"You're too serious sometimes, dear Visionary." Granos crooned, smiling. 

Eshent's eyebrow twitched. You were the one who brought me here and demanded I lead… how can you tell me to act otherwise…?

"In any case, war is ahead…" His voice suddenly trailed off. 

Eshent stared blankly ahead, almost as if he were looking straight through Eisel. Eisel raised his hand, waving it in front of Eshent, but there was no reaction from the Visionary. 

"Ah, I see…" Eisel suddenly realised what was occurring. Blood had begun to stream from Eshent's left eye, silver swirling within its golden radiance. 

Visions flashed through his mind once more. The pain was mostly relieved by the Lord, but he couldn't be relieved of the sights he saw. Eshent immediately keeled over, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground. 

Farsa rushed to his side, placing a hand on his back as her expression wavered, her gaze filled with worry. He reached upwards, not pushing her away, rather embracing her as he grimaced. 

"Why are you… interfering…?"

Eshent's hand curled up into a fist. He felt his rage boil up, his heart pulsating wildly.

"Who is interfering? The Red Prince?" Farsa asked worriedly. 

Eshent shook his head, biting at his lip.

"August Lunastre…"