Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (essential reading .txt) 📗

a military unit. This, however, didn’t bother the general, who contributed to the Legion’s “look.” He was the one who told them to wrap leather straps around their chests on which they’d hang the tongues of their enemies to show how many they had killed so that he could award them for their efforts. He had no idea what he’d reward them with yet, but he knew that this would be good for the morale.

“At last,” Racker whispered. “I was beginning to think that we would settle down and become farmers.”

“I’m sure that the villagers would be put off by the sight of your bare ass, but an army needs weapons and armor... No matter the quality,” Ash said.

Up ahead, situated at the foot of a hill, was a village of about five hundred inhabitants. Out of them, about two hundred were probably capable of combat. Against three and a half thousand scoundrels, they were but a pebble in an ocean. But Ash didn’t care for the villagers, he had no use of them. What he did care about, however, were goods that could be found in a village: food, ammunition, water, and all else that his legion lacked.

“We’ll take it.”

“How?”

“Overpower them.” Ash shrugged. “Tear down the gates and kill the guards. Leave the rest to the mob.”

“We’ll lose a hundred men at least, maybe more.”

“Doesn’t matter. We have no use of weaklings. Arabist will deprive us of a thousand for sure.”

“As you say.”

The two looked at each other and then shouted in unison. “Advance!”

“Advance!” the Legion shouted back and rushed toward the hill.

Watching them go, Ash and Racker summoned the flame of the first form and brought down the simple gate, letting the mob of shouting, bloodthirsty men enter the village.

The two mages raised their staffs high into the air, sending one fireball after another at the wooden houses, fields, and guards who had the misfortune of standing in their way. Ash didn’t really care if they summoned the reinforcements or not, the Seventh Legion could trample the imperial troops in a matter of moments, a squad of peasants was nothing but an inconvenience to them. However, he didn’t want to waste too much time here.

Although the recent wars had taken their tolls on the villages, where the first houses caught fire the streets were flooded with peasants armed with staves and pitchforks. They were surprised to see that their attackers were even worse equipped than they were.

Shouts could be heard. The battle had begun.

Blood colored the grass and cobblestone. Bodies, torn asunder and cut, fell into mud and muck with loud splashes. Shouts and screams filled the air. Those desperate to save their lives attempted to hide in their houses, only to be found seconds later and gutted along with the rest of their families. Wheezing and gurgling followed the desperate please of mothers trying to save their children. All that they were granted was a slow death as they watched their young be killed before their eyes.

On his way to the town hall, Ash noticed a bench and decided to sit the battle out. He wasn’t interested in killing. He didn’t enjoy spilling blood, torching people, and plunging his staff into flesh. Racker told him that he would, but he just couldn’t seem to figure out how. So, he’d sit there and wait for... something.

A couple of his men ran past him, simple blades in one hand, and decapitated heads in the other. Bulging, bloodshot eyes stared at Ash in utter horror. A swollen, blue tongue dangled out of the toothless mouth in a mute scream.

“Seems I’m doing it right,” he thought to himself.

The king demanded they become the worst nightmare of their enemies. They had to become so notorious that the mere mention of their name would make people pack up their homes and leave to hide somewhere where no one could find them.

Something warm and smelling of copper splattered his cheek as he calmly walked through the crowd. He didn’t bother wiping the blood off as it made his cheek feel warmer. Aside from the occasional drop sliding down his neck and tickling him, it didn’t bother him.

Sometimes, the boldest of the villagers would attack him only to immediately fall back dead with a hole in their abdomen. Ash, face an emotionless mask, didn’t miss his target even though he wasn’t looking. He was almost at the bench when a woman blocked his path. Clad in a sundress and an apron, she held a kitchen knife in her trembling hands, shielding a little girl with her body. Six-year-old, maybe seven... He wasn’t sure.

“May I pass?” he asked calmly.

His men would kill them anyway, so he saw no point in bothering himself with getting rid of the two. His staff was already covered with soot and he’d hate to have to clean it more than necessary. It was a long and boring process.

“Die!” the woman screamed.

Both she and the girl were pierced with the staff before she could even swing the knife. The corpses fell to their knees first, then to their side. There was almost no blood. The temperature of the fire was too high.

Pulling the staff out of their abdomens, Ash let out a frustrated sigh. He could hear Racker burst out laughing as he burned down the town hall and... and the bench he had been meaning to sit on. Seeing no other place to rest, he sat on the woman’s corpse. He felt tired after a whole day of marching.

Leaning his head on his hand, Ash watched as the village burned and blood flowed like a river, both that of his men and of the villagers. The latter stood no chance; however, sheers numbers were sometimes more important than skill.

“Racker!” he barked.

“Yes, general?!” Racker asked, turning around. He was dragging a woman