Chapter 19: The Nerve of War (2/2)

“Proof of who the necromancers were,” he explained. She remembered that inspection had mentioned ‘deposed ruler’ in its list of attributes. Perhaps some noble assholes somewhere would be glad to know that Viv and Cernit had found their missing murderous psychopaths.

Then, Cernit hit the jackpot. The pair had a coffer, which he opened before her. It was filled to the brim with precious metal minted in a wide variety of denominations.

“You keep,” he told her.

She considered refusing, but both Solfis and the knight insisted that it was hers by right of conquest or something.

//Cernit informs me that the coins were most likely looted from revenants.

//Those who fall in the wilderness often do so with their money unspent, and carry their purses here.

//You will have to change this into money you can use in the city we will go to, Kazar.

And that led to plenty of questions, which she asked Cernit with Solfis acting as an interpreter. They talked as they went on, the knight ignoring the occasional yoinky interruptions.

“Baran lies in the far east of the continent, as I mentioned. Kazar belongs to the local kingdom of Enoria, which used to be a major player until it broke into two, fifteen years ago.”

“What — yoink — happened?”

“The king went too far trying to purge the nobility after a failed coup. He had replaced a third of them with sycophants when one of his most supportive allies rebelled against him. They fought a bloody civil war for two years until the king died. He was succeeded by his son, and both sides retreated to lick their wounds.”

“Is that sort of thing common?”

“No. The longer a war is, and the more resources are diverted from monster hunting. Kingdoms embroiled in long wars stand the risk of losing entire cities.”

“People knew that and still revolted?”

She was not being judgemental, she was just curious. Cernit didn’t seem to mind. In fact, talking made him sit straighter. Perhaps it took his mind off the loss of his fellow knights.

“A country cannot survive if you kill of too many nobles. It is not just a question of administration. Nobles follow noble paths for which they are trained from early on. Lines of militias are well and good, but without commanders to bolster them, they are not used to their full potential. You can have as much light infantry as you want. An elite group of knights following a captain will plow right through it without stopping. It’s the same with monsters. Spears can keep them at bay, but you need archers wielding heavy bows to put arrow after arrow into their thick hides. Dedicated fighter who can split boulders with a single blow. Or mages.”

“Why follow the path of the militiamen or the soldier? Would it not make sense to have all-knights armies?” she asked as a formality, though she was reasonably certain of the answer. Cernit did not disappoint.

“Your family must have followed a merchant path,” he said without malice. “The armed forces have limited access to resources, always. It takes over twenty ingots of steel to outfit a single heavy infantry soldier like Jor used to be.”

To her surprise, Old Empire knowledge came with meanings associated with the word ‘ingot’. She judged that the full armor represented at least a hundred kilograms, perhaps more. It was insane.

“There is not enough metal to go around, even if kingdoms stockpile as much as possible. Artisans must also spend time creating specialized gear like the leather armor I am wearing now. Even if it does not protect much, it still takes two days for a skilled worker to create one, and that is with the chainmail and leather already prepared.”

“So militiaman is simply the best path to survive with whatever you have at hand?”

“Exactly. On top of fighting in formation with limited weaponry, that path allows them to go on longer without rest, food, or water. It drastically improves their survivability while Knight paths like mine focus on power. We all follow the path that will help us the most in our current circumstances, blessings to Nous!”

“Solfis, are there variations between two individuals sharing the same path?”

//Yes.

//Historically, Southern Empire infantrymen received path skills related to pikes, while those from the north relied on sword and shield.

“I see.”

She refocused the conversation on Enoria.

“Kazar is at the border between the two sides of the civil war, yes. The son of the previous king has made openings to reunite both parts of the kingdom, though to my knowledge they have failed. I would not worry too much, though. Kazar is a border town with a strong church and mercenary presence. It has no strategic value.”

“Tell me a bit more about Kazar. Why would there be a strong mercenary presence?”

“The Church of Neriad pays one iron bit per revenant head. Enterprising fellows use the city as a base to launch expeditions into the deadlands. You don’t need to bring back the heads either, the church will either send a representative to measure the efforts and exorcise the corpses themselves, or you can use a magic tool and touch burnt out husks of revenants you killed yourself. The task provides a stable income, though it’s nothing too exciting. There are other benefits though. The Church can be generous.”

“How rich are they anyway?”

“Neriad is worshipped almost everywhere, even more so than Maranor, the goddess of war. Many retired warriors leave assets to the Church in their wills, including land, vineyards, factories and so on. Between this, making powerful items from monster parts, and donations, the Church has enough money to pay those expeditions and more. They see it as an investment, since it’s cheaper to prevent revenants from massing than to soak up undead invasions.”

“With so many people working towards reducing their number, you would think that revenants would not be so numerous.”

“You would think so, but how many people die in the wilderness every year? Many monster victims have enough parts left to turn into revenants and walk all the way to the deadlands where the ambient mana sustains them indefinitely.”

“Wow.”

“So long as this land remains steeped in black mana, only those who can resist its effects through magic or armor dare go beyond the ring of forts. ”

“I see. I had other questions, about money.”

“Ask.”

Viv, in her amusing and helpless optimism, thought that the local currencies would follow a clean decimal system. It was, of course, completely stupid of her. Currency was a mess. Every kingdom minted their own, and valuable coins like gold were always cut with other stuff like copper, silver, or zinc. What a silver talent was worth could fluctuate according to the rarity of the base materials. To make matters worse, silver and gold were valuable because they held enchantments more readily. If a kingdom launched a massive armament project, the value of some materials could skyrocket and cause the value of coinage to inflate. It was a fucking mess. She already missed fiat money.

At least, the base stuff was pretty tame.

The base amount was the iron bit. Cernit showed her an Baranese bit, which was basically a small dark rectangle stamped with an emblem with a horse on it, or at least that was what he described it as. He told her that it was the Baranese coat of arms. Viv thought that it looked more like the shit emoji, but she supposed that artistic value did not matter that much for a low denomination.

An iron talent was five bits and the local one was a rectangle, through Barran minted round talents with a hole in the middle. Next came the silver talent, which was worth a bit more than thirty-five bits. Silver talents were fairly small. Gold talents were a bit larger and worth six silver plus some change, susceptible to the exchange rate. Above that, there were exotic currencies like silverite talents which were worth a fuckload of money, at least a hundred gold talents apiece, but those never really saw circulation.

Viv thought about the veritable fortune spent to create Solfis’ first body. He must have cost the yearly GDP of a small kingdom. She also remembered that she had about eight kilograms of silverite in the skis under her sled, which she had dragged from Harrak all the way here.

“You really have the mind of a merchant lord,” Cernit said appreciatively when she started to ask about what was worth what. She didn’t think it was anything special. She just didn’t want to get shafted by the first swindler to spot her foreign ass, especially because she had so much to buy.

Starting with underwear.

And a sharp razor, because she had tried that dress she had looted with her boots, and let’s just say that the yeti had a new competitor.

“The lowest daily salary is seven bits per day of work,” Cernit continued, taking her mind away from her developing pilosity. “Only day laborers, or those very early on their paths earn that little. An adult can feed themselves without suffering for six bits per day. A night in an inn costs around two iron talents, a bit more for a few mugs of beer.”

“How much for clothes?”

“A basic new shirt can set you back a silver. It can go as high as you like for fancy enchanted stuff. Second-hand, well, it depends. Currency is not used that much in smaller villages. People will barter for stuff.”

“If the lowest laborers earn seven bits per day and it costs around six to feed yourself, how do poor people raise families?” she asked. The math was easy.

“Well, those who earn that little as those who just started on a path, so they would be around thirteen. It’s rare for girls this young to get kids, though it happens. People usually earn much more when they start a family. An apothecary I know earns half of his wages selling contraceptives and ‘oops’ potions, as we called it back home.”

Cernit smiled sadly.

“The children of the poor have it the hardest. Most of them spend their days outside the walls of their towns to forage, or they earn a few bits every day doing menial tasks. Even the smallest monsters can kill them with ease. My brothers and I, we would spend our days hunting around the village to kill predators as soon as we got our paths, but there would always be something going through our patrols. Ratwolves. Foraging beastling parties. At least once per month, a child would go missing.”

Well, damn. That question sure ruined the mood.

“We were talking about money, yes? When knights are mobilized, we are paid a silver every two days for the trouble. We are also provided with decent gear if we cannot afford better. Of course, you need to have some basic equipment to train yourself and progress on your path before getting accepted, and not everyone can afford it.

“Hmm.”

She asked a few more questions related to price. Cernit turned sheepish when she asked about real estate since it was a ‘big city thing’ and he got his land from the local baron. People in villages also got arable land attributed by either their lord of the village council. Or they inherited it from their parents. A decent sword would cost around four silver talents if you were a private individual getting a new one. It would be a bit over twice that to have it enchanted at the most basic level to make it sharper. Magic was, she found, fairly cheap. At the most basic level.

This led her to ask Solfis about path distribution for casters.

//All humans practice magic at some level.

//You saw Cernit light fires, for example.

//Many paths include mana shaping in some measures, such as the apothecary Cernit mentioned.

//This extends to, for example, mana blades.

//Those are specialized soldiers who use minor casting as part of their fighting styles.

//Pure casters are significantly rarer.

//Less than one in a hundred has the potential.

//Back in the Old Empire, they congregated in larger cities.

//A village who produces a mage will receive a boon from the lord who takes them under their wings.

“I see. Can I use my position as a bargaining chip?”

//Yes, Your Grace.

//You should avoid joining a minor noble as their sworn servant, however.

//The lack of resources would severely stunt your growth.

“You just don’t want me ending as someone’s stooge.”

//You would not enjoy being someone’s stooge, Your Grace.

Indeed the fuck not. She had not been thrown into fantasy land to end up as someone else’s pedestal, not if she could help it. Especially with the awesome magic waiting at her fingertips. She would be dark Gandalfette or die trying. If she failed to return home.

She frowned when she realized that her first response had been magic, not finding her way back. Surely that meant nothing.

She kept asking Cernit a few more things, but the discussion quickly died out when she realized that he knew thirty-two ways to catch and cook the local frog, but could not say how much a dress cost to save his own goddamn life. He was also turning dour as the day went by and she wanted to respect his grief. They spent the entire day dragged by his gelding, who started trotting along with more vigor as soon as he realized that they were aiming for the big patch of green in the distance and away from things that could eat his ass in one gulp. Come to think of it, there were probably things in the forest that could also eat his ass in one gulp, but at least it would smell better.

They stopped in a fortified building for the night.

Contrary to her previous cache, this one was not as dusty as the Gobi desert. It had a nice firepit with dry wood prepared, some fresh water in a jar, and it was really, really heavily fortified. They slept in the same room for the sake of convenience and woke up at dawn. Viv was increasingly exhausted, yet the good knight didn’t seem tired, probably his high stamina. And he didn’t have to cast every minute or so.

The second day went on much like the first one, and they arrived at another way-house in the early evening. The edge of the deadlands were tantalizingly close now, just out of reach. She could feel the black mana density getting lower even through the inscribed leather covering her form. Even Arthur could barely take her attention away from the dense forest covering the horizon. It was the first time in her life seeing so much green, after all.

Even the revenants were rarer. Many of them were walking in the other direction.

“Will the deadlands eventually run out of black mana?” she asked as Cernit lit the fire. Solfis did not know, but to her surprise, the knight did.

“The deadlands have reached a sort of equilibrium,” he informed her distractedly, “so many undead monsters create a black field of their own. It would take several large-scale expeditions to kill enough of the buggers to dent it. No kingdom would dedicate so much resources to a worthless land that would take decades to recover, not when there are easier places to develop.”

She thought it was a shame, but the decision made perfect sense to her. Kingdoms were in survival mode. All the time.

In the morning of the third day, they passed a line of stones, and Cernit removed his leather armor. She imitated him. The feverish feeling of poison did not sting her skin. The mana here was normal.

They were out of the zone.

They climbed a gentle slope and the forest appeared below, in all its glory.

The line of trees started maybe ten kilometers away, a bit down from where they were. Halfway between the two points, a small town sat there, on top of a small elevation. Low walls encircled maybe a hundred structures of various sizes nestled around a lonely elevation, not much more than a small hill. Ribbons of smoke danced merrily in the morning air from so many cooking fires. There were farms all around, linked to the city by trails no larger than threads from up here. Tiny forms worked the barren fields in preparation for the spring seedings.

She could fucking cry.

Somewhere in the distance, a group of men followed a carriage dragged by a pair of horses.

Life.

Civilization.

A fucking bath.