The not-immortal Blacksmith

The not-immortal Blacksmith - Interlude - Trouble

"Hank, what do we have?"

"I count 112 military, twice and half again that number in camp followers."

The two teens looked through the undergrowth and down the hill at the surprisingly organized columns of troops and followers marching down the road.

"I don't get it. These guys are definitely new recruits. Everything is too clean. And yet they move like leveled fighters. Hell, even the followers move like they trained." Hank said.

"I don't know what to tell you. All I know is that the General wanted a report on this specific unit."

"I remember the briefing, Winslow." Hank said, still staring down at the troops.

"Please, for the love of whatever you call holy, please don't call me that." Winslow said.

"Then pick a name already. It was the first slot in the creation hub. How did you miss it?" Hank shot back, but without too much venom in his voice.

"I was overwhelmed with everything else. It was easy." Winslow cocked his head to one side, "How about Bob?"

"I'm not renaming myself to Neal, it would hit to close to home, but sure. Bob it is." Hank replied.

There was a soft "ping" in the air, then a pleasant female voice said, "Player 'Bob' has finished character creation. You may now spend your 147 character points."

"Thank god!" Bob said. His eyes lost focus for a few minutes. Meanwhile down below the unit marched on.

*-*-*

"Okay Bob, What do we do now? We have tracked them for three days. They have made absolutely NONE of the rookie mistakes of traveling through the farm fields, even when going through town lost them hours of time. They haven't even gotten drunk at the taverns, and they get up every morning at 0530 and do EXERCISE!" Hank had venom in his voice.

"I don't get it either. Maybe the commander used to be a real world Marine? But then everyone would be running around saying 'Hurahh' at everything. Army special forces? Definitely not squiddies or flyboys." Bob replied.

"Well, what does there leader's character sheet look like?" Hank asked.

"Give me a moment." Bob responded, sounding distant. A few moments passed, then, "Okay. Lets get a look..." He made a picture frame from his thumbs and index fingers. "His name is William "Liam" Johann Roosevelt, Hero level 14. All of his stats run from B to S, all of his weapon skills are level B, except Short Sword and Spear which are level A, almost level S. He has C's in all of the magic schools... Shit, all of his equipment is SSS rank. What the hell?"

"Hmm, I only know of a couple people who could have made that kind of gear, and they died off a couple of centuries ago. They might be relics from that smithing school, but how did he get them to hand them over?" Hank said.

"I don't know, but we had better report this to the General." Bob said, "If you would do the honors?"

"Sure." Replied Hank. He made a circular gesture with his left hand, chanted a couple of words, and a portal appeared. "What about the troops?"

"Strangely enough, they were all B rank." Bob replied, before stepping through the portal.

"That is strange." Hank said, following Bob through the portal.

*-*-*

General Grapestien of the Demon Hoard was not an unkind demon. He wasn't a kind demon either. The chosen ones had returned with a huge amount of data on the new troop movements, and on the unit led by the supposed Successor to the Heretic. Thus far the report was fairly mundane. It was interesting to hear about what the Successor had accomplished, especially since his agent there had gone AWOL in a most magnificent fashion. The image of Grexireg calling him a "Slut banging Kitten Lover", before giving him a rude hand and tail gesture was truly a work of art. To bad I will have to kill that traitor.

"What, my lord?" Hank asked.

"Nothing, nothing. Keep going." Grapestein replied.

"That concludes our report, Sir." Hank said, handing over a thick sheaf of papers to the nearby clerk.

"Very well. You may go and make yourselves at home. Don't make to much noise, the Succubi have been complaining that you aren't interested in them."

Bob and Hank bowed before departing the throne room.

"What do you think, Marax, should I keep them around, or send them to the front to die?" Grapestein asked the clerk.

"I would never presume to know your mind lord, but I would send one of them to the front to die, and have the other one held in reserve. It will be fun to watch, and may make the remaining one become one of us." Marax the clerk responded.

"Excellent Idea. Make it so. And go get us each a baby seal from live storage. I feel like breaking my diet today. A cheat day, as it were."

"Very good, my lord."