Reparations
The power of the Outburst spell didn’t fade until a while after he was done with his spells. The increased flow of mana had combined with his vitality rune, his mana pool quickly restoring itself. Only once it was a third full did the effects of the spell vanish.
The average mage could normally use only a third of their mana in a battle. Once one’s reserves fell below 50%, the chances of failure started to increase exponentially. When it dropped below a third, it would be difficult to cast even the weakest of spells. Thus, most mages considered their mana to be exhausted when they only had a third of it left. However, the Outburst spell actually overcame this issue and virtually increased every mage’s battle might by half.
“Flowsand,” Richard asked seriously, “How many times can you cast Outburst in a day?”
“In a day? You’re quite optimistic! The spell takes a lot from me, so for now… I can only use it once a week.”
“Once a week…” Richard was slightly disappointed, but when he thought things over it made sense. Such a powerful spell would definitely have its own limits. The more powerful something was, the more it touched on the might of the laws. In extension, one needed to use more mana. Flowsand was a mere level 10 cleric; she was already skipping ranks to use what seemed like a grade 6 spell.
“Can others use Outburst?” This was another crucial question.
Flowsand shook her head, “No. The spell requires me to coordinate the power of the Book of Time with the Lens of Time. I can do without the Book of Time once I’m stronger and have the divine power, but the Lens of Time will still be necessary.”
Only then did Richard understand that this was a spell exclusive to Flowsand. Of course, that was unless he could craft that grade 4 rune. However, even when he became a saint runemaster in the future he wouldn’t be able to create every grade 4 rune in existence. Outside of the massive amount of research required for each, many special runes had restrictions on them. For example, Saint Peter’s divine rune sets needed the creator to be someone of strong faith.
And thus, Flowsand had grown from a core position in the group to someone irreplaceable.
A headcount once they started clearing the battlefield told Richard a total of 206 cavalrymen had attacked them, all currently dead. Under the concealing cloaks was excellent plate armour, centred around a strong breastplate with the remaining part connected by chains. The design was unique and the work intricate, allowing for agility while not compromising protection. Although the armour had no insignia or other identifying patterns, Richard was already well-versed on Zim’s family. He knew at first glance that these men were from Duke Grasberg’s Golden Eagles.
Richard hadn’t been in Faelor very long, but he had already experienced dozens of battles both large and small. All of his followers had ample experience in clearing up battlefields. They stripped the cavalry for all valuable items, not even leaving behind the inner armour. This was considered disrespectful in a battle between nobles, but since they pretended to be bandits they would die as such. That was why he hadn’t asked them for their identity at the start.
The bodies were all piled into some of the carriages, while the retrieved armour and weapons managed to fill four of the carriages up nicely. The throwers’ hatchets were collected as well; every batch was made entirely of stainless steel, and was rather expensive. A single hatchet was worth thirty sharp arrows. Another large harvest came in the form of fifty unharmed horses. As for his own side, Richard had lost less than ten desert warriors.
It didn’t take long for the battlefield to be looted clean. The carriages then turned back, returning to Richard’s territory. A large number of horse carcasses were left behind, while the throwers did not return immediately either.
Olar turned back and asked Richard carefully, “Master, why aren’t the throwers coming?”
“They need to feed,” Richard said calmly.
Olar felt his entire body tremble. Although the word ‘feed’ seemed benign, it hid a lot of other meanings.
The throwers looked more malicious than troggs. If not for their unthinkable levels of discipline, even Richard’s followers would believe them to be monsters. They normally didn’t live in the same area as the normal soldiers, so nobody bothered with their food. It just seemed like they consumed very few rations.
Just feeding on horse carcasses wasn’t very frightening. However, if Richard intentionally wasn’t letting everyone watch it, that in itself was thought-provoking. What about next time? If they were in a desperate situations, what would these creatures eat?
The elite throwers had already estimated the number of carcasses, sending Richard a mental report. This feeding session would sustain their normal survival needs for an entire week.
Having received this news, Richard began to think it over. Even at level 4, the throwers were only slightly weaker than the wind wolves in hand to hand combat. Their long distance attacks were comparable to level 8s, while the elites could even compare to level 10. Another special characteristic was that a good feeding session would last them a week, while the wind wolves could only last two to three days. This meant the throwers needed fewer supplies, increasing their value further. If he could overcome his own revulsion and allow them or the wind wolves to feed on enemy dead, their strength reserves would rise without limit.
‘Could this be considered an advantage of the broodmother’s troops?’ Richard wondered.
……
The very next day, the victorious army returned to Richard’s territory. Gangdor walked over and pointed at the bodies of the dead cavalrymen, asking, “How should we deal with the bodies, boss? It’s hot here, without a spell protecting them they’ll start smelling in an afternoon.”
“Same as we did at Bluewater,” Richard replied, “Clean them with antiseptic, and erect stakes on our border with Fontaine’s territory. Hand the bodies there— right! Remember to be thorough, and handle them with care. Don’t let anyone see something like their crests or insignias.”
“No problem, boss!” Gangdor agreed loudly, but then he suddenly remembered something and asked Richard, “By the way boss, their leader actually isn’t weak. He seemed to be level 13 or something, should I leave him to Zendrall? That frowning pile of ribs could get another warrior of darkness out of him.”
“Not a bad idea!” Richard nodded. It was necessary for one to use every resource they could in a planar campaign. Fortunately, Richard had Flowsand, the broodmother, and Zendrall. This way, every part of the enemy, body, faith, and soul, could be utilised to the utmost.
Luck was also a part of one’s power. It was normally the most important factor in an extended planar battle. Those who rose through the ranks depended on great luck. Richard’s own wasn’t anything special; anyone who could rise through the flames of battle amongst the millions was incredible.
Gangdor directed their soldiers to pick out the body of the knight captain. There were two other level 11 knights in the attacking army, powerful enough to be titled, but among the Golden Eagles they were only lesser leaders. This legion was evidently quite powerful.