Siege State
Chapter Fifty-Six: Hypotheticals

Tom and Val left the next day.

They shared one last breakfast with his mother in her cosy cottage kitchen. Both of them thanked her profusely, which she accepted gracefully. She seemed genuinely happy to have a purpose, to be making a difference, helping. She was animated, and Tom could barely remember the last time he’d seen her like that. It was like night and day, comparing her now with the suffocated, subdued form his father had slowly crushed her into. He was glad for her. She was shining.

They made their way into the square to resupply before heading out. Most of the villagers knew Tom by now, even if just in passing, and due to him having the spatial storage skill, Val had him do most of the purchasing while she went and to have a last minute talk with Officer Dale.

The Lord General hadn’t stayed long, the day before. He had lingered just long enough to get a full, in-person report, and to pass on orders, before heading off again. The word needed to be spread, and the other villages prepared. He was a man that looked like he could shatter a mountain with a hammer blow, which was lucky. He had a mountain of work ahead of him.

Tom spent the better part of an hour buying everything they needed. He enquired after honey with the baker, who gave him a raised eyebrow at the quantity he mentioned.

He wanted all of it. All of the honey in the village.

The baker was more than happy to supply him with his own stock, and sent his apprentice running to the town hall to see if they had more. He had a soft spot for Sesame. Most of the villagers did, by this point. They had learned he was not so fearsome as he looked, and now everywhere the bear went, he was dogged by a swarm of village children.

He bore it with great equanimity, even when they clambered up his sides using fistfulls of his thick fur. More than a few of them turned out to say goodbye to him. Sesame gave each a solid lick on the face, sending them screaming with mixed revulsion and glee.

When he had bought out the village of honey, and extricated Sesame from a pile of rambunctious children, Tom made his way to the barracks. He found Rosa just about to start her daily trips to the wall. They spoke some quiet words, uncharacteristically soft, for Rosa, and shared a kiss.

The stolen moment was interrupted by a wolf whistle.

They broke apart, both a little sheepish, in the way of young love, to find Val and Dale appraising them from the barrack hallway to his office. Val’s smile was threatening to turn her face inside out. Dale looked mildly amused.

“Bout time Tom! Finally found something nice for her, did you?” she hollered at them, completely shameless. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the ɴ0velFɪre.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

Tom felt like he’d been struck over the head. That was what all this ‘nice’ talk had been about? He was an idiot. He thought it was a training exercise. Knowing Val it was most likely both. He felt his cheeks burning.

“Sorry, sir,” Rosa stammered. “I…”

“No need to worry, soldier. Can’t say I blame you, if I’m being honest. A silent, mysterious exile, returning from putting their life on the line? A hero? And a good looking one too? I’m surprised it took you this long to snap him up,” Dale said.

Rosa’s mouth worked silently, and red crept up her neck. She looked like she wanted to implode into a tiny little ball, and explode with righteous fury at the same time. She was speechless. It was a deeply satisfying expression on her.

She noticed Tom’s satisfaction, rounded on him, and jabbed her finger in his face. She opened her mouth again, but a sharp snort from Val snapped her attention. She cut her losses and whisked out the door, head high.

“Hope you know what you’re getting into, son. There’s no fury in the Deep like hers, I reckon.”

Tom gave Dale the flattest look he could summon. He thought it would have made Rosa proud. Val just chortled.

They left not long after.

~~~~~

A two day journey back to Val’s oak, and Goddess but Tom felt good about having her on her feet again. As they travelled, he felt like he did after he had manifested, full of some mysterious, unquantifiable energy. He was rejuvenated, invigorated.

Val seemed completely back to normal. Scorn had resumed his rightful perch on her shoulder, and Smitten once again ranged about just ahead of them. Not a hint of her time at death’s door remained.

Once they reached her oak, they would grab a few more supplies, and then head north to Cub’s forge. There, they hoped to meet with him and Scriber, Jace and Moth too, and devise a plan as to how best to scout the orcs.

That was if the Lord of Blood didn’t have other plans. Tom could see tension in Val when they talked about it, but neither of them said it. By unspoken agreement, there was no need to. Neither of them wanted to tempt fate. But it was there all the same: if the Lord had sent Honeyfield after them, then surely he must have tried to account for the other scouts, too.

Tom had high hopes for them. He couldn’t imagine anyone being able to take on Scriber. After seeing how much mundane material for enchanting the man had on his person, he had gained an idea of just how much spatial storage he had.

Scriber had spent years and years wandering the Deep, helping the most wicked and weird Idealists in exchange for their mana. Tom would bet his life that he had no end of truly nasty enchanted objects to spare. He doubted even the Lord would be able to challenge him directly.

Cub, Jace and Moth were different, although hopefully their proximity to Scriber would have helped them if they had been attacked. Cub, at least, should be safe at the forge with him. The young man, not much older than Tom, couldn’t have been too high a tier in his Ideals, and yet he was big enough that he looked like he could go toe to toe with a Flawless Idealist, at least in terms of pure strength.

Tom breathed a prayer to Goddess, wishing that Jace and Moth hadn’t gotten isolated and ambushed after they’d split with Scriber and Cub.

They made it to the oak just before dusk the next day, and spent the night there. Tom gave Sesame half a bowl of honey, and was immediately cajoled into doling out another portion for Smitten. To his great surprise, Scorn even wandered over for a helping of his own.

They whittled the night away talking, safe and cosy. They discussed Tom’s progress, the orcs, Wayrest, and the Lord, among other, more inconsequential things.

It was then that Tom told Val about the fight with Honeyfield. She remembered the very start of the fight, but didn’t remember getting injured, after her recovery. She listened with wide eyes as he spun out the tale of the fight, and their flight back to Corin’s Grove.

“You sure you don’t want to pick the sword back up?” she asked him.

He thought about it, had been thinking about it.

“Maybe,” he said. “But not just yet. I do love it, but it doesn’t feel quite right. The spear suits me, suits my style, perfectly. And the axe, well, I still need something with a bit more heft if I’m going to be fighting creatures in the Deep, don’t I?”

Val was quiet for a long time after that. “Might be you wont be in the Deep forever, Tom. Might be if you stay, you won’t be fighting so many tough old golems or drakes.”

The sentiment was simple, but somehow it still stunned him. He had known, of course, that the orc infestation had grown beyond easily manageable levels, but he hadn’t really sunk in what that meant, until just now.

If he stayed in the Deep, it would change. The orcs were an apex predator, and given another year, would have driven many other monsters further afield. He would have far more cause for a weapon that was good for fighting orcs, rather than creatures with supernaturally tough hide.

“Promise me something, Tom.” Something in her voice jolted him out of his thoughts, made him look up. Val held his gaze in an iron grip.

“Okay,” he said, hesitantly.

“If things turn out …bad, here. Don’t stay. There’s a big world out there, places where they don’t care what Ideals you have. Cities that would be glad to have you.” She paused. “If things go bad, get out. Promise me.”

“I won-”

“Tom.” she said forcefully. “I’m trying to tell you something here. I know you won’t leave me, or your mother, or young Miss Raventos. I know that. I’m trying to say that if things go bad, you won’t throw your life away. Promise me.”

“Okay. I promise,” he said, even though the thought of things going that bad, of Val and his mother and Rosa dying, was utterly unbearable. He would ensure it didn’t happen. It would not get to that point.

“Good,” she said, seeing he was serious. “Good. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

As Tom went to sleep that night, his head was filled with far less happy thoughts. His mind was a churning mess. Eventually, he took control. He would not allow any harm to come to his loved ones. If that meant he had to slaughter orcs wholesale, he would do it.

There must be some way to win. Humanity had done it before, after all. There were so many uncertainties, though.

They had leaders who were keeping them in line. Tom doubted the fragile cohesion of the orcs would survive their leadership being decapitated. Could that be an option? He wasn’t sure. They would still have Goddess knows how many Idealist orcs to throw at them.

How strong were these Idealist orcs? The one he’d fought had only shown two skills, and didn’t seem much stronger than a human Idealist, though it had been silenced for most of their brief fight.

Was there any way to identify the Idealists? Tom supposed he could do it with Hunter-Gatherer, if he got close enough to them. He was no assassin though. Maybe the Watch could neutralise them? He had no idea how many watchmen there actually were in Wayrest, whether they would be enough to make a significant difference.

Maybe some of the orcs had similar skillsets to a watchman, too. That thought put a shiver down his spine. He followed that tangent. The great enchanted walls of Wayrest had never fallen. They had never been breached. But could the orcs potentially just circumvent them completely, just like the Lord was planning to do?

He thought of the Siege Sage, the Idealist with the outrageous surge skills that supposedly had the power to knock a hole in the walls. What if the orcs have surge skills? They likely do. There were still nowhere near as many orcs in this infestation as humans in Wayrest, but if they kept breeding at the rate they were going, one of them would manifest a surge skill strong enough.

Previously, Idealists had been able to kill orcs in swathes. Where the average orc was bigger and stronger than the average human, their Ideals had made up the difference. The orc’s prodigious breeding rate was the concerning factor.

But now? A Flawless Idealist could mow down hundreds of orcs with peak tier skills, but what if they had healers? Defensive skills? Goddess, what if they had enchantments? An orcish version of Scriber was the last thing humanity needed.

There were too many unknowns. Too many ifs and buts. And the orcs were massing. Soon, they would be ready.

The only question was, how long did they have?

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