The military camp sprawled across a natural depression in the hills like someone had dropped a small city from the sky and told it to get comfortable. As our Gravernyx crested the final ridge, I got my first good look at what was either going to be my temporary sanctuary or my very permanent grave.
Great, I thought, taking in the organized chaos below. I'm being delivered to what looks like a fantasy military contractor convention. This should go swimmingly.
The operation was smaller than I'd expected, maybe sixty to eighty people total, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in efficiency. Everything had that particular kind of organized precision that screamed "people who know how to kill things professionally."
Tents arranged in perfect geometric patterns, supply lines that would make a logistics major weep with joy, and training areas where the sound of steel on steel rang out with mechanical regularity.
But it was the people that really caught my attention. Two distinct groups moved through the camp with obvious hierarchy, and neither one looked particularly welcoming to unexpected guests.
The regular soldiers wore matching armor that would have made a Roman centurion nod with approval. Full black helmets with commanding red plumes that added inches to their already intimidating height, chest armor done in red and black with gold-accented pauldrons that caught the evening light like warning beacons.
Their gauntlets were works of art, segmented plating designed for both protection and the kind of mobility that suggested these people knew exactly how to use their weapons.
Red cloaks with white lining flowed behind them as they moved, held in place by ornate brooches that probably cost more than my entire streaming setup. The whole effect was "professional death dealers with a sense of style," which wasn't exactly the vibe I was hoping for from my potential captors.
But it was the other group that made my blood run cold. Mercenaries, specialists, the kind of people who'd probably killed more things than the regular soldiers had eaten hot meals. Their equipment was a patchwork of high-end gear that screamed "I've looted this from people significantly more dead than myself." No matching uniforms, but every piece of armor, every weapon, every casual gesture radiated the kind of competence that made smart people cross the street.
"Move it, stranger," Kira muttered, giving me a final shove as we reached the camp's perimeter. "Try not to embarrass yourself in front of actual soldiers."
The moment we dismounted, well, the moment they dismounted while I sort of slithered off Whisper like a sack of anxious laundry, two soldiers approached with the kind of crisp professionalism that made me feel like I should apologize for existing.
"Sergeant Thane," the lead soldier said, snapping off a salute that could have been used to cut glass. "Successful reconnaissance?"
Thane returned the salute with equal precision, and I caught a glimpse of the respect these people had for her. Whatever her reputation was, it had been earned through more than just surviving this long.
"Partially," she replied. "Unexpected Ruin Guard encounter. Recommend hazard pay for the team."
As if summoned by the mention of medical need, an advanced healer approached our group. This wasn't Jorik's level of divine assistance,this was someone who could probably regrow limbs as a warm-up exercise.
The healing magic that flowed from his hands made my teeth ache with power, and within moments, the minor cuts and bruises from our construct encounter had vanished like bad memories.
"Team dismissed," Thane announced once the medical attention was complete. "Your actions will be recorded for proper compensation due to the unexpected ambush."
The farewells came quickly, each one driving home just how alone I was about to become.
"Hope to see you again soon, friend," Jorik said, clasping my shoulder with genuine warmth. "Try not to get yourself killed before we meet next."
"I look forward to discussing your divine techniques when you return!" Vex added, his eyes still glowing with academic fervor. The man looked like he wanted to take notes on my breathing patterns.
Kira didn't even spare me a glance as she walked away, her professional mask firmly in place. I wasn't sure if that was better or worse than active hostility.
And then it was just me and Thane, standing in the middle of a military camp where everyone was armed, trained, and probably wouldn't lose sleep over one more mysterious corpse.
"Come on," Thane said, gesturing for me to follow. "The Commander will want to see you."
We walked through the organized chaos of military operations, and I became acutely aware of how many eyes were following us. Conversations died as we passed, replaced by the kind of whispered speculation that suggested my arrival was the most interesting thing to happen here in weeks.
Just what I needed, I thought. To be the day's entertainment for a bunch of people whose idea of fun probably involves creative applications of sharp objects.
The command area was a hub of controlled activity centered around a large tent that screamed "important people make important decisions here." Maps covered every available surface, tactical displays tracked unit movements, and the air hummed with the kind of organized urgency that suggested this operation was far from routine.
Standing in the center of it all was a woman who radiated command authority like a well-tuned weapon.
"Where's the goddamn logistics report for today?" she was saying, her voice carrying the kind of edge that made subordinates move faster. "Have all team leaders and their mercenary attachments returned?"
Commander Aldric Swan was everything I'd expected from a military leader and several things I hadn't. Her navy-blue double-breasted military jacket was perfectly tailored, gold buttons and shoulder epaulettes catching the light in ways that suggested both ceremony and function.
Beige trousers and tall black boots spoke of someone who spent time in the field rather than behind a desk, while the white shirt with ruffled cuffs beneath her jacket added a formal touch that somehow made her more intimidating rather than less.
A deep red cloak draped over her shoulders completed the look, secured at the collar and giving her the kind of commanding silhouette that probably made enemies reconsider their life choices. A belt and chest strap held gear with the kind of practiced efficiency that suggested she knew exactly how to use every piece of equipment she carried.
But it was the rapier in her hand that really caught my attention. She held it casually, almost absently, but with the kind of familiarity that spoke of years of practice and probably more than a few bodies. The blade was slim and elegant, designed for precision and speed rather than brute force, exactly the kind of weapon that could end a fight before the opponent realized it had started.
The moment she spotted Thane, the scattered conversations around us died.
"Sergeant Thane," she said, her voice shifting into official mode. "Report."
Thane snapped off another perfect salute, but I noticed that Aldric didn't return it. Power dynamics in action, she was establishing hierarchy without saying a word.
But before Thane could begin her report, Aldric's eyes fell on me, and her expression shifted into something that made my mouth go dry. It wasn't anger or curiosity, it was the kind of clinical assessment that predators used when deciding if something was worth eating or just killing for sport.
"Is this an enemy combatant?" she asked, her tone suggesting that the answer would determine how quickly I stopped breathing.
That's when the system decided to be helpful again, flooding my vision with a red screen that made my head throb with familiar pain:
[SYSTEM ALERT – POTENTIAL ESSENCE SOURCE DETECTED]
Subject Identified: Commander Aldric Swan
Race: Human (Baseline)
Level: 57
Primary Weapon: [Dawnbreaker] - Rank S Rapier
Role: Field Operations Commander, Vanguard Division
Affinities: Pyraflux (High mid-tier Fire Elementalism)
Gene-Catalyst Signature: Incompatible with Crucible Core ignition protocol
Divine Trait: None detected
Essence Compatibility Rating: 40.2%
System Note: Subject possesses exceptional emotional intensity, combat prowess, and elemental resonance.
— Low compatibility prevents Soul-Weave Fusion.
— However, sufficient exposure may stimulate latent Crucible feedback.
Probability of Partial Forge Activation: Moderate
Recommended Action: Observe. Assess. Engage only if no higher-rated vessels are present.
I did my best to ignore the notification while Thane began her explanation.