Additional Chapter!
Thank this people (for smashing that three stones in this story) for this additional chapter to Rylo, Nightice, Senju77monarch, Whadyamean, DaoistptKdxj, eternal_arctic, and Etaylia for making this extra chapter possible.
Enjoy Reading!
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Baron Buksa, clad in a crimson robe, delivered his report to Nimrod with meticulous precision, his demeanor reflecting unwavering dedication.
"My king, my plan for reconstructing the hive's garrison forces entails the recruitment of twelve thousand personnel."
"Of these, approximately three thousand are drawn from the non-formal Upper Hive Arbites, individuals who, lacking noble lineage, were barred from the Arbites Precinct and unwilling to descend to the Underhive, thus serving as auxiliaries within the garrison, resolving labor disputes and similar matters."
"These Arbites possess varying degrees of experience. Within five work cycles, I can complete their training, with specific regimens and work hours outlined as follows…"
Nimrod, having absorbed the comprehensive briefing, nodded with evident satisfaction, his approval a silent testament to Buksa's competence.
"Buksa, you shall assume the role of Tetzvok Garrison Commander, effective immediately."
"My king, I shall spare no effort, reconstructing the garrison within a month."
Buksa's voice quivered with fervor, his heart swelling with the opportunity to showcase his talents—a position previously monopolized by a bastard son of the Boleslav king.
As Lysara led her six assassins and Buksa from the palace, in the shantytown abutting Lukov's hive, Bukayo disembarked from a swift assault skiff.
The shantytown's denizens turned, their eyes glinting with avarice as they beheld the newcomer.
Bukayo, with practiced swiftness, drew his laspistol from his waist, simultaneously issuing a command to the squad assigned by Howard.
"Engage!"
Eighteen minutes later, Bukayo drove a shortsword into the hand of a mutant, pinning it to the ground.
"Speak! Where is the passage to infiltrate Lukov's hive?"
Moments later, having extracted the desired intelligence from three captives, he addressed the captain in gold-trimmed white standing nearby.
Thereafter, Bukayo, shouldering a pack taller than himself, set off alone toward Lukov.
"You remain in the shantytown and await my return. I go alone."
"May your mission be successful."
The captain, watching Bukayo's retreating figure, felt a shiver of dread. Never had he encountered a youth so fearsome and ruthless. A sudden realization struck him.
[The new king was once shorter than him, yet no less terrifying. Were it not for their differing hair and eye colors, I might suspect them brothers.
Now, the new king appears a god incarnate.]
Eight work cycles later, during the Hour of Baenys, in Tetzvok's hive, at the Water Guild's A-167 reservoir, Tower 5.
Nimrod stood atop the spire, unshaken by the howling chill winds that lashed the structure.
Beside him, Rawlslev endured the same gales, though reliant on a rebreather mask to withstand the biting cold.
"That one, repeatedly diving into the water, fainting, and being dragged out, is the standout among the new recruits."
"His name is Szczesny, thirty-three years old, born to factory technicians."
"Beyond swimming, he excels in every training exercise, surpassing many veterans. He is the only recruit I've appointed as a squad sergeant."
Nimrod gave a slight nod, observing the resolute Szczesny, who, shrugging off his comrades, plunged once more into the reservoir. His pale, waterlogged frame, swollen from prolonged immersion, soon sank beneath the surface.
Only then did the lingering soldiers dare to dive in, hauling him from the depths.
"Impressive. Robust physique, unyielding will."
"In forthcoming battles, his company shall accompany me."
"As you command, my king."
Nimrod's vox-comm chimed, revealing a transmission from Bukayo. He turned to Rawlslev.
"Follow me to hear Bukayo's briefing."
Upon returning to the palace, Nimrod found the youth waiting in the antechamber, his countenance unmarred by fatigue, as composed as ever.
"My lord," Bukayo began, linking his data-slate to a cogitator, "Lukov's ruling house is Piontkovski, with King Puhach at its helm."
"The Sosvolodians are devout adherents of the Omnissiah, believing flesh frail and machinery eternal. Puhach, an extremist, mandates mechanical augmentation for all in his court."
"Puhach commands a personal force of fifteen thousand, all equipped with augmetic enhancements. This lavish expenditure has depleted his coffers, limiting his ability to expand his army."
Nimrod studied the projection: a figure with a streamlined metallic body, lacquered red, its left arm a folding mechanical blade, its right a grasping claw.
No trace of humanity remained in its face, its eyes aglow with menacing crimson light.
The scene shifted to a tall, broad-shouldered man with cropped golden hair, wielding a longsword with lethal precision, severing the head of an enemy who lunged with a mechanical arm.
"My king, take note of this man, Thierry. His father, Count Viera, was executed by the deranged Puhach, his head torn off by a mechanical claw for refusing augmentation, which hindered his house's lineage."
"Since then, Thierry has led the remnants of House Viera's guard in guerrilla warfare from the Underhive, disrupting Piontkovski's supply lines and launching several assaults on the Upper Hive."
"Puhach has mounted multiple large-scale purges, but Thierry consistently evades them. I suspect disaffected Upper Hive houses are feeding him intelligence."
Bukayo swiped, summoning a series of images.
"Though only twenty-four, Thierry is Vostonia's most renowned bounty hunter, reputed to have mastered the 'Osberh-Vaya' swordsmanship to its zenith, earning him the title of supreme swordmaster."
Rawlslev, hearing this, fixed his gaze on the holographic noble.
"He undertakes contracts across Hive One and several other hives, completing each with unerring success, providing the primary income for his Free Liberators militia."
"Most of these contracts are issued by kings of hives neighboring Lukov, whose irreconcilable ideological and economic conflicts with the radical Puhach confirm that House Piontkovski lacks any allies."
Nimrod, having absorbed the briefing, immediately grasped Bukayo's emphasis on Thierry.
"You propose I ally with Thierry Viera to strike Puhach."
"Your insight is keen, my lord. Precisely so."
"Securing Thierry's allegiance would grant you a force intimately familiar with Lukov, a capable commander, and, post-conquest, the swift support of the Sosvolodians."
Nimrod's fingers tapped the table lightly. "Can you locate him within four work cycles?"
Bukayo's confident smile flashed. "My lord, entrust this to me. I shall not fail you."
"Depart at once. I shall contact you upon reaching Lukov."
"As you decree, my lord."
Bukayo promptly gathered his data-slate and exited the palace, rousing the Finder house captain, who, having just feasted and reclined on a plush bed, was reluctant to move.
Nimrod turned to Rawlslev. "Is your regiment prepared?"
"My king, not one of the gravely wounded has retired. All are resolved to fight under your banner until death."
"The recruits, though green, burn with zeal, eager to prove themselves."
His tone was resolute. "I know you have no patience for excuses of unreadiness. You have resolved to strike."
"Assemble your regiment immediately. Depart at the Hour of Nyke, destination Lukov."
"As you command, my king."
Nimrod then transmitted vox-messages to Howard and Lysara.
"Curian Hour, convene a court assembly."
During the Curian Hour, in the newly refurbished court assembly hall two levels below the spire's apex, Nimrod sat upon a throne tailored to his stature.
Forged from miguelsteel, the throne was jet-black, exuding an aura of unyielding authority.
Behind it, thirty-three ebony lances protruded, the central one impaling a golden crown—the relic of House Boleslav's fallen dynasty.
Beneath the throne, to the left stood the patriarchs of Tetzvok's noble houses; to the right, Lysara's nascent cabinet.
"Howard, deliver your briefing first."