A Relatively Powerful Mage

Zhaire waited impatiently over the next couple of days for everyone to recover their strength. Una was the only knight who was consistently busy, with her healing spells in high demand. She had felt guilty about expending her entire mana pool on offensive spells during the battle, and Zhaire had to reassure her that it had been the right call; if she hadn’t used her attack spells, they might have been overrun, and it was better to prevent the need for healing than holding everything in reserve.

Zhaire had hoped there would be more Ogrog challenging him for the title of Alpha, but his previous display of dominance had discouraged any from attempting to fight him. Antonio had confirmed this by delving into the minds of several of the stronger Ogrog after his mana had recovered.

The wait might have been even longer if not for Christina. Each night, she would spend an hour performing. The songs were emotional and soothing, far slower than what she had sung during the battle. The song projected to where the knights were camped despite the soft and tender notes that almost seemed to whisper into their ears. She did all this with only her natural abilities. Zhaire would have been in awe of that alone, but the fact that it temporarily increased their resource regeneration was even better.

They began packing up the camp on the fourth morning, preparing to ride south. Eric rode ahead of the main contingent, scouting for potential dangers. Most of the knights, except for Una, were in tip-top shape, ready for another confrontation.

A group from the camp strode out and integrated themselves. There were less than thirty people in total, most far too low level to make a difference if the fighting got bad enough that they would be needed. On top of their poor level, their equipment was equally dreadful, most using crude improvised weapons that would be better suited for cooking.

While Zhaire was somewhat disappointed in the turnout, he hadn’t expected anything else. Christina had been right; most of their spirits had broken from the repeated defeats. Zhaire doubted any would have volunteered if they hadn’t witnessed the victory firsthand. He also had no interest in taking all their strength; they still needed to survive the journey to Celestia without his help.

It took some time for the group to get reorganized. Supplies were shifted around so the Starseekers were loaded with communal supplies. They would all be marching for the remainder of the trek, except for several Starseekers loaded with fewer supplies so scouts could be sent ahead. Fortunately, they still had nine of the ten Starseekers, though not all were bonded anymore, their riders having perished at a higher rate.

Of the Ogrog, there were now fewer than a hundred. Zhaire hadn’t been the only one challenged, as they fought amongst themselves to establish a new hierarchy. Several more had simply left, presumably defecting to another pack. He had tasked Ray with picking off several of the defectors, hoping to make an example of them and prevent the number of defectors from spiraling out of control.

Zhaire set what he considered to be a reasonable pace as they progressed southward. It quickly became apparent that the pace was strenuous for the lower-level humans. Zhaire had warned them they would be left behind if they couldn’t keep up, but he hadn’t expected them to be this slow. He slowed their marching pace even further, barely moving faster than an amble.

“Why are you doing this? Marching to fight against near-impossible odds,” Christina asked as they marched. Of the camp's contingent, she was the only one who wasn’t struggling with the pace.

“To save as many people as possible,” he said simply.

“That’s bull shit. What’s the real reason?” she challenged.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“The way you look at everyone. You look at low-level people like most people would at a bug,” Christina pointed out. Zhaire scowled at her, but he had to admit she was at least somewhat right.

“People who don’t work hard annoy me,” he said after some consideration.

“And you think anyone low-level is lazy?” she asked.

“Yes,” Zhaire said firmly.

“When the integration first happened, I was only given the performer profession. I was completely useless until I got my bard class, allowing my songs to have magical effects. If I hadn’t gotten my class, I would still be one of those low-level people. Even with that, I only leveled fast because I could affect large groups of people. There are a million different reasons why someone might not be strong besides being lazy,” Christina argued.

“Do you know how people gain classes and professions?” Zhaire asked. When Christina shook her head, he continued, “It’s desire. Anyone wasting their time with a useless profession or class is doing so because they want to. You probably got your class because you wanted to be useful and contribute.”

“Oh,” she said simply, stunned by the revelation.

Zhaire had to repress his rage again, the topic of conversation having gotten heated. He had been loud enough that several nearby people slowed their pace, distancing themselves from his ire.

“You wanted to know why I’m doing this? Why I’m fighting? It’s so I can get stronger. To push myself to the limits and keep going,” Zhaire said.

“That’s why you hate people who don’t push themselves. If you’re willing to push yourself to the point of breaking, then someone who isn’t even willing to try is worthless,” she guessed. He wouldn’t have said it that way, but everything she said was true.

“Were you trying to be a therapist after your failed music career?” he snapped at her.

“Sorry, I was just curious how you got to be so strong,” she apologized. The apology surprised Zhaire and dissipated some of his rage, allowing him to get it somewhat under control.

Despite the woman reading his mood and deciding she had poked him enough, he was still angry when they made camp that night. Once again, he hoped an Ogrog would challenge him and give him something to vent against. They must have sensed his mood, as none even came near him.

His dark mood continued into the next day, and he was worried it would continue to fester. He needed to release some of his frustrations on something. He wouldn’t hit anyone, especially not a woman. He wouldn’t be like his father; he had the emotional intelligence to handle this situation without physical violence or yelling. It would have been ideal if he could have just let it go, but the thought of doing that only made him more angry.

Zhaire was working up the nerves to give Christina a piece of his mind when Eric rode up at full speed. For a moment, it seemed the massive Starseeker wouldn’t be able to arrest its momentum, but the enhanced creature seemingly defied physics as it stopped just in front of Zhaire.

“Another Ogrog pack is headed this way. From what I could see, there are a couple hundred of them,” Eric reported succinctly.

While this pack outnumbered their current numbers, Zhaire felt confident it was manageable. A wide grin spread across his face. This was exactly the kind of distraction he was looking for.

“Good,” Zhaire said as he twirled his glaive about. “Let everyone know that a battle is imminent,” he said to Eric. The man saluted and rode off to inform the others.

It didn’t take long before their opponents came into view. With little in the way of cover across the desolate plains, there was no hiding. He could do little to avoid them, especially with the lower-level humans slowing down their average speed considerably.

Without any commands, the two groups of Ogrog began charging at each other. The knights quickly formed up and ate into the ground. While the prudent tactic was to flank their opponents, Zhaire had other ideas. Instead, he had the knights push their Starseekers into the vanguard, meeting their opponents head-on.

Zhaire was the tip of the spear, an unstoppable force that plowed into the mass of the oncoming charge. He hacked into the waves, his glaive moving instinctually, hitting vital areas unerringly. With each blow, another Ogrog fell, slain in the blink of an eye.

Not to be outdone, the rest of the knights were nearly as efficient. Spells, arrows, and swords carved a path, slaughtering Ogrog in droves with seemingly little effort. Compared to their previous two battles, where every moment had felt tense, with any wrong move sending a knight to their death, this felt easy, almost routine, like a chore that needed to be done. This was the strength they were grasping for, the ability to wade into battle with little to fear.

In contrast, the Ogrog were now terrified as the knights reaped through them. The terror made them hesitate, which only further accentuated the difference in their abilities. It also emboldened their allies, each of Zhaire’s Ogrog fighting with the ferocity of several of their opponents.

The battle, if it could be called that, was over in only a few minutes. It ended when the embattled Ogrog started turning on one of their own, presumably the previous alpha. Within moments, the mutiny was over, the previous leader having been ruthlessly torn apart. What remained of the corpse was thrown onto the ground near Zhaire, and the surviving Ogrog prostrated themselves.

Zhaire was somewhat disappointed in the outcome. The fighting hadn’t lasted long enough for him to work out his frustrations fully, but it had helped. Even with the losses from the battle, the size of his pack had nearly doubled. He had also personally gained a single level in both his class and profession.

He nodded and moved to check on the rest of his unit. The knights had mostly come through unharmed, with only a few injuries that didn’t even warrant a healing spell from Una. They were harvesting the cores from the fallen, moving with the efficiency of a practiced surgeon due to the number of times this exact task had been performed. They now had so many cores that an entire Starseeker’s bag was filled, despite the cores being relatively small, with none larger than a baseball, excluding the singular tier 2 basketball-sized core from the snake.

The humans from the camp stared at him in disbelief. They had been too slow to react and hadn’t even engaged in the skirmish. Zhaire scoffed. At this rate, they would always be weak, always relying on others to carry them. He mentally commanded Betelgeuse towards them.

“This is what true strength can get you, but it can only be gained by fighting,” Zhaire shouted angrily to the mostly useless contingent of people who were staring at him with slack jaws. Some nodded while others averted their eyes in shame.

“How do we get that strong?” one of the bolder refugees asked.

“Struggle and push yourself. Fight against stronger opponents again and again. The weak will fall, but the strong will come through better for it,” Zhaire said. He glared at the singer as if daring her to dispute his claim. She stared back but didn’t argue.

“Is there nothing else we can do?” another asked.

“There is one thing that can help speed up the process: the cores of the fallen can be absorbed for experience. They are a precious resource, so they won’t be freely given. If you want this resource, you must take a vow of service for the rest of this campaign. You will need to obey my commands and no longer be free to leave. However, a second core will be given to those who distinguish themselves. If you push yourselves, a position in the Knights of Earth Reclamation is possible,” Zhaire offered, holding up one of the average-level cores.

There was a brief moment of hesitation, and then the floodgates broke. Each person came up and claimed a core, vowing to obey Zhaire’s commands and serve. The lone exception was Christina, who scrutinized him with a piercing gaze. He dismissed everyone and approached the singer when they were alone.

“Here,” Zhaire said, handing her one of the larger Ogrog cores.

“I’m not going to say your oaths,” Christina said.

“That was a cost for those who hadn’t yet contributed. You earned at least this much for your contribution in the first battle,” he explained. She nodded and accepted the core without further comment, absorbing it a moment later.