Chapter 54: 54. Herald

It doesn’t look like I get much of a choice in this. Mark thought as he felt his new powers securing their hold on him.

The imprisoned god had forced itself upon him, and it was obvious why. It seemed the mage hearts had provided a necessary link. He was likely the only person to have ever donned one without going through the brainwashing that all other Imperators and Legates had, making him not just the perfect candidate but the only one. This made him wonder if it had just been waiting for him to prove himself worthy.

Shaken from his intrusive thoughts by powerful turbulence, Mark dove his hands back into the ship’s controls.

“Have you returned to the present, Imperator?” Henric shouted, and at that moment, he realized Henric had been shouting out to him for a while.

“Yes, I’m here,” Mark called back. "Sorry."

The ship had been pointed directly up, cutting through the thick layers of dark cloud that shrouded the sky, and with a simple command, he turned it back down to the frozen land below.

Aimed at the ground, the ship rocked violently as it crushed through clouds, eliciting grunts from Henric, who held on in the back, a rope wrapped tightly around his arm.

“Are we dropping this load or what?”

“We are,” Mark replied, his voice suddenly confident. "Give me a moment."

A dot of hazy yellow glowed within the forest. But it wasn't drawing on its energy as it had last time, and Mark realized that it had to be his new patron who gave him this gift. It was letting him see his enemy, making him wonder for a moment if it was simply helping him or if he had gained the ability to see the champions of other gods.

“Get ready,” he said, pulling up into an arc that led them straight over where the light glowed. He considered just shooting at it, but the ship still had limited energy and couldn’t risk wasting this attack run.

“Prepare the barrels,” Mark shouted, and Henric lit the fuses. “Now!” He added as they passed over the glowing spot within the forest, and Henric cut the ropes, sending the barrels tumbling out the ship's rear.

A tense second passed, and Mark spotted the barrels explode into flames through his feeds as he sent the ship into an arcing left turn.

Flames curled up and around trees, and the intense and relentless heat lit even the stubborn half-frozen and very much alive trees.

Unfortunately, the glowing dot remained. Turning back across to bear down on the light, Mark angrily fired a bolt of lightning that burst through the trees, knocking their flaming trunks over and sending them rolling through the Greek fire into other trees.

Again, the light flickered but didn’t extinguish. Damn it, where are you? The blasts had ripped through trees and tents alike, but from here, he couldn’t see how much of the damage made it through to his enemy, and another shot would leave the throne ship needing to recover.

Not willing to give up just yet, Mark swung the ship back around for a slow pass. He could see figures beneath the trees running around urgently, but no targets worth expending his ship’s energy over.

“Imperator, did you get him?”

“No,” Mark growled, his gaze never leaving the feeds monitoring the forest.

"Imperator?"

Mark ignored the arms master, his attention focused on the forest below. It seemed like a failure, but perhaps it wasn't. The light flickered below. It was different than before. Perhaps another shot wasn't necessary.

He didn't like that, did he? Mark almost hoped for an intrusive response from his new patron to guide him, but it wasn't needed. The dulling power spoke a thousand words.

**Cultist**

“Back, you filthy mouth breathers,” a cultist sneered, sending dozens of onlookers reeling back.

“It’s bad, it's really bad,” another cultist beside him said, looking down at the wounded priest, blood covering much of his soft, pale skin. “We needs a real healer.”

“Call in them wargs,” the cultist beside him said, snapping his fingers, and several cultists ran out from the huge yurt.

A moment later, the tent's flaps pushed open to reveal a young man with braided hair flanked by two grotesquely mutated men.

“My poor uncle,” the young man said, feigning concern.

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The old man groaned, his eyes distantly looking up.

“What are you doing here, failure son?” The cultist who had been yelling orders sneered, his arms wrapped around the High Priest.

In a flash, the young man cleared the distance between them, sending his shortsword through the man’s neck. “Do not disrespect a chosen of the Wolf God,” he said, pulling the sword free and dropping the man’s lifeless body.

“He-he,” the cultist beside the priest stammered, shuffling back along the ground and shaking the near-dead old man's shoulder. “Y-your nephew. He's gone mad.”

Marching over to the cultist with a stony expression, one of the boil-ridden, a horribly disfigured man with one eye and a lopsided build swung his spiked club, crushing the man’s skull with one blow.

Several cultists around the tent gasped and pushed back but made no moves. They were clearly unsure whose side to pick.

“I’m sure the rest of you are smart enough not to align yourself with a dying man,” Mohan said., turning to them with a smirk and bent brow.

None of the onlookers replied, though several whispers were passed around.

Returning to the old man, Mohan tsked aloud. “Ahh, uncle, what have you gone and done now? You’ve certainly seen better days. Though, perhaps I haven't. In fact, this is almost perfect.”

Barely a breath escaped the old man’s lips as he groaned again.

“I say almost because you’re not even here with me, are you? How disappointing. I had truly hoped you would witness my ascent when it happened. Oh well. I'll take this for what it is.”

“What is the meaning of this?” A deep, bestial voice from behind said as three wargs entered the tent. “Your failure of a leader is dying on you already?”

“He is,” Mohan said calmly and turned to the wargs. "He was old and stubborn."

“Expected of humans. Weak, furrless creatures. This command was always above your pathetic kind. Your purpose should never have been above slaves. No matter, we shall return to our own and ensure they know of this.”

“Wait,” Mohan stepped forward. “I am also chosen of the Seven-Headed Wolf God; I can take the old man’s command and finish what we have started.”

“You?” The warg chuckled. “You’re even weaker than that old fool. Do not think us stupid, human.”

“You can trust me. I'll show you.”

“Not a chance. I’ll make sure the war chiefs know of this failure. This little pathetic fort stopped the entire cult of men. Pathetic. Be sure that when we return, you will go back to your place as slaves beneath our heel. Understood?”

“Warg master, please,” Mohan extended a hand, but the warg simply huffed and turned to leave.

“Master Mohan, what do we do?” The wart-ridden soldier at his side said.

“We take the fort, damn it.”

“But—we’ve tried…”

“Not hard enough,” Mohan hissed.

With their speed, the wargs would cover the distance between them and the main horde in days. Mohan knew that if he wanted any chance of a higher station than ‘slave,’ he would have to take the fort before they returned. There was no ifs or buts about it.

“Gather every able-bodied man. We finish this now!”

**Imperator**

Back within Fort Winterclaw, Mark stood on the wall but could not focus, and his mind was all over the place. It was still hard to believe what had happened, and he didn’t know exactly what to make of it all.

It was deniable that magic and unexplainable gifts existed in this world, but Mark wasn’t sure of the gods these people spoke of. It wasn’t like he had believed in them. As far as he had been concerned, they were just a means of explaining what the people didn’t understand. But now, it was undeniable. The gods of this world were undoubtedly real, and one had enlisted him. He wasn’t even sure what that meant. Would it interrupt or try to impose rules on his leadership? Or was it as simple as the promise it offered? Power for freedom…

Mark could have been lost in these thoughts for weeks, but his attention was stolen back to his surroundings as acolytes ran up the wall toward him. But he didn’t need them to say a word. The reason for their appearance was obvious. Hundreds of cultists were gathering at the edge of the forest's edge, ready for another attack.

No more siege engines? Mark raised a brow. Had his little attack really angered them so much that they would attempt another attack without properly equipping themselves?

They needed this, but he knew they couldn’t get too excited just yet. The numbers the cultists were bringing forth were huge—the largest he had seen yet. Even without siege weapons, this would test them. Not only that, but they had no chance to recover the arrows they needed and had less fuel for the flamethrowers.

“There you are,” Henric said as he climbed up the wall. “I was hoping we’d get a little rest before it all went to shit again.”

“So was I,” Mark sighed. “The enemy presents an opportunity, though.”

“Yeah, at the end of a very long stick.”

“We were never getting out of this lightly.”

“I hope you have another festival planned for when we slaughter these assholes,” Henric said. “You can’t imagine how much I need a drink.”

“Actually, I think I can. This time, I might even outdo Mira,” Mark chuckled.

“Now, that is something I hope to live to see.”

“Easy, don’t get yourself killed then.”

“I’ll try,” Henric said. “Unfortunately, these fools will need me down below. Next time you get us into a battle, ensure you’ve trained your soldiers a little better. I'm getting tired of doing all the heavy lifting on the frontline.”

“I’m glad you have faith in seeing a next time, Henric,” Mark smiled.

“Eh, don’t look too deeply into it. I expected an untimely end the day they sent me to the Frontier. It is what it is.”

“Well, I’m glad I have you here with me. Their loss is my gain.”

“Heh, glad someone sees it that way. It’s all politics back home. One day, a threat will grow strong enough to reach the mainland, and they’ll realize that promoting incompetent fools for political loyalty was a bad idea.”

That has to be the most skeptical I have ever heard my stubborn old Arms-Master talk about his beloved Imperium. Perhaps all hope isn’t lost for him.

Mark scanned the fort. There wasn’t much more to be done. This would be their final battle from the looks of it. A rush of relief coursed through him, even if the battle ahead was anything but certain. He just wanted to be done with it now. To help his people recover and to regain their freedom over the land.

You’ll see, everyone. Once this has been dealt with, the real fun will begin.

He couldn’t help but feel hopeful. There were still the wargs to deal with, but at least this would provide breathing space.

The army started to move forward, but it wasn't the reason Mark's eyes suddenly brightened. No, that was the glowing dot flickering for the last time. But the relief was short-lived as he spotted a new dot light up.

What? Mark raised a brow. However, it wasn't as bright as the previous one.

I really need to figure out how all this works, damn it.