A fort is good to hold off the enemy and have the troops regroup and rest. A staging ground for future battles and logistical manoeuvrability. But some dumb cunt also put a massive library here a few hundred years ago. A waste of space and a waste of my fucking time since the head scribe has to go over look at the crap here to take back to the palace. Shit-head wants me to escort him around the facility, show him my defences so he can feel confident that we can defend ourselves against the Dogs while his underlings haul their books in their carriages and carts.

  The fort is old, not so long ago it was overgrown with vegetation, while tree roots broke apart the walls and buildings. Even the windows became foggy and discoloured after decades of neglect. Cleaning and replacing the damaged stone isn’t cheap, and by the Gods, it took far longer than I want to admit. Let’s just hope this place can hold out against the fucking Dogs.

  ‘Commander Kaval, why don’t your men wear standard armour?’ Benston politely asks.

  ‘Armour is useless against Dogs. They are strong enough to tear it apart by hand without effort, and that is with only their hands. So, besides being bogged down, we prefer to be maneuverable.’

  That is a polite way to say it, at least, the Dogs are too fucking strong, and their weapons are designed in a way that they can just cut through plated armour with ease. I know some Commanders and soldiers outside of my command have adopted the no armour policy, or at least limited armour stratagem against the hulking beasts. The morons, on the other hand, would rather continue wearing their armour because of tradition or some bullshit like that. I’m surprised Volas didn’t fire them when he had the chance, given how fucking dumb they are. Uptight ass-hats who have no clue about the Dogs and their strength are a liability and will get themselves and others killed. Though, I suppose there are barely any decent cunts who can lead their troops against the Dogs. They might be the bottom of the barrel of shit.

  Benston stops as he observes one of the walls at the southern end of the fort. When I first got here, that wall had already collapsed, making the place barely fit for service. How it was fit for service to begin with was beyond my understanding, but someone said it back at the capital. It took me and my soldiers a few months to patch it up, and another month just to build and set up the ballistas on top of the wall.

  ‘How much did you spend on this fort?’

  I shrug at Ben’s response. ‘An unhealthy amount.’ Also translated to a metric fuck ton of coin. The politicians are a waste of oxygen, soaking up resources for some useless schmuck or some ridiculous project. Why buy a band of unorganised mercenaries when you can give your own troops some decent weapons, or better yet, fund the defence initiative.

  Benston nods to me, ‘it is disappointing to see people like you spend most of their salary on the defence of our Empire and not the other way around. While your fort and soldiers are prepared for any occasion, it will do wonders for them and you if you have the funding necessary to keep us all safe.’

  You can tell me twice, old man. While I do get paid well, I don’t get paid well enough to have more fancy equipment for my soldiers. There are times when we get free shit so we can swap our equipment, like the war hammers Regali told us to use against the Dogs and those weird signal bombs. I don’t see how they are useful, but they are more useful than tits on a bull.

  ‘You can always donate to our cause to help out your fellow soldiers.’ I joke, Ben smirks and holds his laughter. Keeping some sort of professionalism, or he just wants to continue appearing to be an unfunny cunt.

  ‘Can’t do that, I’m paying mercenaries from the colonies to protect libraries and document facilities or transporting them away from potential warzones. Sadly, I can’t give you any as well.’

  I roll my eyes, ‘I’m sure we can survive if a few books are lost. Nor do I think the Dogs will bother with them; the barbarians can’t read or even spell their own name. Might as well put your mercs to good use and station them somewhere important.’

  Benston looks offended by my suggestion; no wonder, he is a scribe. ‘We need to protect our art, scientific discoveries, and history as much as the people who live on this island. Losing them will be a blow to our identity as a people and our status as an Empire.’

  ‘Art can be remade, science can be rediscovered, and history is just useless junk that wastes everyone’s time. It will take time to get it all back, but we won’t lose them permanently.’

  ‘We can’t lose our culture. That is the one thing that can’t be regained once it is truly lost. Look at the Dogs, we removed their culture from them, and now they are violent towards us. We could be the same if ours are destroyed.’

  ‘That doesn’t work like that!’ I spit back, ‘The Dogs were beastly and barbaric from day one. Us putting them in chains is a blessing for their kind. They didn’t even invent the wheel or discover fire. Their civilization is built on destroying what civilised people made, not creating something of their own.’

  Ben looks irritated at me, ‘you don’t know their culture pre-enslavement, no one does. You can’t make an objectionable claim like that.’

  ‘I’ve fought and killed enough of them to make an educated guess. The Dogs are violent for a reason. It is because it’s in their blood to hate and fight. They are clever and cunning, there is no doubt about it, but that is further reason to push them back and wipe them out completely. Enslaving them helped them for a time as we controlled their primal rage, but it is a mistake to keep them under our control for so long.’

  Benston rolls his eyes. ‘You never finished school, did you?’

  ‘I am the first to survive the Dogs; that is all the education I need.’ I know what that cunt tries to do, making me look dumb for not completing basic education. Military training got me the skills and knowledge I require to survive in this world; learning about history or philosophy is just a waste of my energy and time.

  But saved by the bell, a messenger on horseback rides to my fort. The moment they dismount, they rush up to me while panting from exhaustion. She is an Outrider, one of Regali’s guards. He must have something important to say if she is here.

  We salute each other before she speaks, ‘Commander Kaval, the Dogs just attacked from the desert.’ She hands me a folded piece of paper; it seems Volas was in a rush to write up some orders for me. ‘General Regali requests that you prepare yourself for their eventual arrival.’

  Well, my day just got a whole lot fucking better. ‘Thank you, make sure to continue east and warn the other Commanders and towns. Be careful when you cross the Saltback River. The place is known to have bandits patrolling the roads.’

  She salutes me once more before heading back to her horse. I can offer her to rest, but we don’t have time for that. Not when the bloody Dogs are here.

  I read Volas’ orders, and they seem to be simple. Hold our position and make sure the Dogs don’t get past us or claim the river while keeping towns Maldrix and Eccenta, and the city of Rerth safe. Simple enough, but what alarms me is his warning of their new weapon. A handheld ballista that can punch through armour. Another reason not to wear it, it’s fucking useless.

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  ‘Benston, get your people organised and leave in a day or two. This place isn’t safe for your intellectual types.’

  Ben acknowledges me and tries to talk my ear off some more. But I don’t give a rat’s ass, I have a job to do, and I need to tell my soldiers to get ready. There are escape routes we can take in case holding the fort is impossible, but orders are orders. I will make sure we hold this place for as long as possible.

  Spending a few hours mobilising your soldiers is one hell of a task, and fuck me dead, it is a stressful one. Staying up till the dead of night, barking orders and waking everyone up to prepare for war, only to put them back to sleep soon after, once every job is done. It is a fucking miserable time for everyone involved.

  I can’t blame my soldiers. They are going to fight monsters taller and stronger than them. But every beast has a weakness; they are sluggish and slow. Oh, they hit fucking hard, but they don’t hit fast. Wearing armour will only slow us down. Without it, we can move around them and dodge their attacks. Though the obvious drawback is that we have no protection. Not like it matters when that protection is useless.

  As I patrol the fort during the dead of night, I notice Benston sitting alone in the training yard, drinking a bottle of wine near an open fire. I’ll leave the dopey cunt there, but it will be rude of me to just leave the old man to sit alone and drink to himself. Hopefully, he is sharing.

  Before I talk to the old man. I head to the pantry and put some stale bread and salted butter on a large plate to share with the old man. ‘Mind if I sit with you?’ I say to the man as I offer him a plate.

  He gestures to a free seat next to him, even though he seems annoyed with me. Not like I care, I just hope he is sharing that wine.

  ‘Planning to leave this morning?’

  Ben shrugs, ‘that’s the plan. Though I’m worried that we might encounter the Dogs on the road.’

  I butter my bread while I speak to him, ‘not if you take the long way to the capital. Go around the mountain from the east, pay the bandits so you can pass, and you’ll be fine.’

  Ben scoffs at me. I’m not being rude, I am just being truthful. If he has a problem, he can pray to the Gods for all I care.

  ‘This war is going to make things difficult for everyone.’ He reaches and butters his bread with the enthusiasm of a hungry child.

  ‘I’m the one going to do the killing, you’ll be safe in the palace.’

  ‘Don’t be so…’ He cuts himself with one taste of the bread. ‘Is this… salted butter?’

  Mocking his aristocratic taste, I smile at the old bastard. ‘It is.’

  ‘I see you cut expenses. I feel bad for your soldiers eating impoverished food.’

  I laugh, ‘every soldier here came from a poor family. To all of us, this is a luxury!’

  ‘Makes sense, so where did you come from?’ He asks annoyingly.

  ‘The poorest place, I grew up on the streets of Seris. We can barely afford unseasoned butter; salted butter was a delicacy for my family and only on special occasions.’

  Ben crosses his arms after he throws his bread into the fire. ‘What district?’

  ‘Breckly. Still as rough as I remember it.’

  Ben gives a subtle smile, as if something amused that daft cunt.

  ‘What are you smiling at?’

  ‘I also grew up in Breckly, what street?’

  ‘Roundy Street, my house was near the abandoned hospital that, for some reason, is never finished.’

  Ben leans back into his chair in shock. ‘Really? I remember when I was a kid, they started building that hospital. That was about a hundred and thirty years ago. My friends and I used to play tag or hide-n-seek in that building.’

  ‘No shit! And now here you are, the head scribe for our Empress.’

  ‘And you, the Commander of her mighty army.’

  We toast each other with our buttered bread before taking a festive bite. Benston’s face turns with every chew, but he eventually swallows it.

  Benston swallows down his chewy bread. ‘Tell me, Commander, do you have a favourite butter?’

  Well, shit, that caught me off guard. While some butters are good, I can’t say salted is my favourite, even if it reminds me of home. I can joke and say it's unseasoned, but I trained my soldiers to murder me out of respect for going against our culinary culture.

  ‘I would say sugar, but I love me some chocolate butter.’

  Ben salivates and groans in jealousy. ‘How the hell did you afford that?’

  ‘I didn’t, I had it while I was at a party. It was when Hacket was elected to be an Admiral for the third time. I think it is to defend against dodad pirates and refugees…’ I tap my chin, trying to remember why he was called into the position of Admiral again. ‘Nah, can’t remember. He bought a bar of chocolate from the lizards and turned it into butter. Damned stuff was as good as sin.’

  Good is an understatement, the shit is fucking amazing. The chocolate itself is bitter and bland as hell, but mix it with sugar and butter, and you’ll have heaven on your bread.

  ‘What about you? Got a favourite?’

  The old man cracks a smile, ‘can’t beat the classics, I like me some blue ash. I used to eat that stuff daily in my youth. Can’t say that is healthy.’

  ‘You ate like a true Cinari, only fools will feel shame for that.’

  He offers me his bottle of wine, and I take it without hesitation. ‘You’re preaching to the choir, my friend.’

  ‘Aye, brother.’ I take a large gulp, and by the Gods, it tasted good. He may be a rich old cunt, but he is a good cunt at least.