Chương 10: Chapter Ten

"She's staring at you." At Bonnlyn's words, William glanced across the training fields to see that the green-clad half-elf from yesterday had arrived with her team. And sure enough, she was eying him. Which was a little amusing, given that a maneuver-suit was hardly a revealing piece of attire – despite what all the leather might suggest. Just like on Earth though, Lindholm had a certain cultural appreciation for the notion of a man or woman in uniform.

William knew that because he'd once come across a maneuver suit in his father's old things that was most assuredly not fit for any kind of actual flying. At least, not without the wearer suffering some serious wind-chill to some very unfortunate bits of anatomy, he thought grimly. So no, he wasn't too surprised to see the opposing team leader and much of her team blatantly checking him out as they walked towards the training field that hosted the floats.

"She thinks we're going on a date after this," he admitted. Four sets of eyes sharply turned towards him.

"Are you?" Bonnlyn asked with feigned casualness.

"We are," he said as they continued walking towards a series of massive hangars.

"But nothing's going to come of it." He'd made that clear from the outset. But the girl from House Southshore had insisted on some form of payment and that was the only one he'd had to give. Otherwise she'd planned to offer her training slot to another member of her own house. Which was admittedly not a bad move, given the labyrinthine system of favours noble society operated on.

By contrast, offering their training slot to his team benefited hers nothing – beyond the fact that it would keep the secret opportunities for said training slots secret a little longer. So he'd agreed. It wasn't like he had much recourse. Admittedly, it wasn't a serious thing. The date was an opportunity for her to woo him and maybe receive a little 'affection' in return for her efforts. That she had less than no chance of success wasn't William's problem.

He had paid attention to his tutors' lessons on the subject of unwanted suitors and he knew how to put out all the classic lines that would be expected from a man that was politely disinterested. All in all, it promised to be a thoroughly uninteresting evening. For him at least.

"Brave, given who your fiancée is," Bonnlyn commented dryly as she regarded the other woman from behind.

"Do you think she doesn't know?" Olzenya scoffed at the dwarf.

"Not likely. His fiancée is probably half the reason she's doing it. Southshore and Blackstone aren't exactly rivals, but Southshore is a royalist house. Our green friend likely wants to score points with her ducal house by snubbing one of their competitors." William hummed absently. He'd long since come to the same conclusion. Fortunately, the fact that his coming liaison might irritate his fiancé was a non-factor for him. Oh, he didn't enjoy it, but he'd made peace with it.

Because honestly, he'd say she'd made herself his enemy when she'd totally ignored his autonomy by going over his mother's head to get his team changed, but that would be incredibly hypocritical. The truth was, he'd made himself her enemy by ignoring her for years. … It was a move he still didn't regret. Because so long as she chose to go forward with the marriage against his wishes, she was his enemy. Everything else was a non-factor. The right to choose was…

well, he didn't want to say sacred to him, but the word was close.

"Uh, did I do my clasp wrong?" Verity asked quietly as she fidgeted with her helmet's neck strap. William coughed, quickly turning his gaze to the side.

"No, it's fine. I was just double checking." He did feel a little guilty when the orc flared with pride at his white lie. It was better than the alternative though. Verity didn't like people looking at her neck tattoo. Even if it's covered right now, he thought absently as he regarded the orc. Where the rest of the team were equipped with little more than a helmet, saber, breastplate and - in Marline's case – shoulder pads, Verity looked like a fully armoured knight.

And while the armor in question looked just a little dented and battered, it would still have been an obscenely expensive bit of kit back on Earth during roughly the same time period. Here though? It was almost negligible. Which made some sense, given the existence of airships and shards. Magic wasn't just useful for combat after all. There was a reason the crown only recruited the most talented plebeian mages into the military. The rest were needed to become mage-smiths and druids.

The industrial backbone of the nation and a group that outnumbered 'combat mages' by a ratio of something like eight to one. It was by dint of their efforts that most of the nation's engineering marvels existed – including, but not limited to, the two massive faux-airships that revealed themselves as the two teams stepped through up to a hangar's hulking doors. Absently showing his credentials and booking form to the sergeants manning the entrance, William knew he wasn't alone in staring at the two ships inside.

Held up by massive struts, the two vessels seemed to loom larger than life inside the giant hangar structure. About hundred and twenty meters in length, each one would have a crew of about three hundred. Though there were plenty more people than that milling about beneath the massive ships. Healers, servants and soldiers strode about the place, the latter armed and armoured for combat – clad in the colours of varying academy houses.

Just from the way they walked and the comfort with which they held their padded weaponry, it was clear these were no actors or stand-ins. No, these were genuine combat personnel.

"House Royal Team Seven and House Southshore Team Three?" A slightly harried looking instructor in House New Haven Blue asked as she walked over to them.

"That's us, ma'am," William answered, while the other team leader simply nodded. The human woman nodded, before striding off without preamble, gesturing for them to follow.

"Good. I'm Instructor Halfin and I'm the field master for today. And as far as you're all concerned, that makes me judge, jury and executioner. My word is law in this arena. Should I tell you to leave, you will leave. I don't care what favours you traded to get this time slot, if I feel you're a danger to yourself, a fellow cadet, or my staff, you'll be out of here before you can blink. With a tanned hide for good measure."

The crowds parted around the woman as she led the cadets over to a nearby counter with a mesh barrier over top.

"Practice fights in here are dangerous. Cadets can and have died before. Hell, I've seen it happen more times than I care to remember. There've been idiots who took their goggles off at the wrong moment because they were 'fogging up' and took a practice bolt through the eye. There've also been morons who took their helmet off to 'lose weight' only to splatter their brains over the nearest bulkhead with a poorly timed aether-jump." She paused, something like regret passing over her features.

"And there's been at least one poor soul who perished because a pressure-valve malfunctioned in one of the practice cannons." She eyed them all.

"Know this, healing magic has limits. The academy's rich enough to have a healer on every deck of the ships behind you, but there's nothing they can do to help a corpse." Without so much as a glance at the hard-bitten looking orc who'd moved to man the counter behind the mesh, the instructor looked down at the entry forms William and the Southshore leader had submitted.

"Five short-bolts, four rifle-bolts, one volley-bow and…" She frowned before turning to the half-elven leader of team three.

"No. Not going to happen. Nail-grenades can only be distributed to cadets who have completed the required competencies. That's a fifth week subject." The girl paled and nodded.

"Of course, ma'am. My mistake."

"Strike one, kid." The human grunted.

"There won't be a second." She stepped aside as the orc slid the requested weapons through the slot on her counter, along with a collection of spring-loaded magazines with vivid orange paint on the bottom.

"Collect your weapons and magazines." The human gestured to the counter.

"Confirm the former are empty and the latter are in fact loaded with dummy bolts. Only after you have confirmed that may you begin refilling the aether-tanks." It said a lot about how routine that particular instruction had become by now that not even Bonnlyn made a noise of complaint as both teams set about doing as they'd been instructed. Sure enough though, each weapon was empty, and the witness holes in the magazines all showed orange fabric-tipped bolts inside.

"Confirmed." William said about a half-second before his opposite team leader did.

"Good," the human woman said, before scooping up a spare magazine and fishing out a bolt from inside.

"These are practice bolts. They're roughly the same weight as a real bolt, but they have fabric heads that have been dipped in a mixture of orange ink and harpy venom. The ink stains fabric easily and the venom has a paralysing effect when applied to skin. A direct hit from one of those bolts will splatter about a thimble full of both across whatever surface it hits." For just a moment, her dour expression receded, eyes lighting up as they landed on a nearby guardswoman who happened to be passing by.

"Smith, good timing. Get over here. We've got a bunch of newbies who need an example to learn from." The now named Smith, clad in Southshore green, sagged visibly at the words, but nonetheless strode over.

"Again, ma'am?" The instructor woman just grinned, before turning her attention back to the cadets.

"Now, a hit from one of these bolts can be safely ignored if the impact site is steel." The instructor put words to action by tapping her unwilling volunteers breast plate, leaving a small orange splatter there, but achieving little else.

"But an impact can be less easily ignored if it lands on something more absorbent, like a linen gambeson." Pulling out a fresh bolt, the Instructor tapped it against the fabric covering of her test subject's arm.

"Ugh, I hate the way it tingles," Smith muttered quietly as the orange substance soaked into her gambeson. The instructor ignored her.

"As we all know, Harpies need their prey alive. To that end, while a smattering of this substance may make a man or woman go weak in the knees when applied to skin, it won't affect their breathing or heart. Despite that, as you can see, it's very fast acting." As William watched, the soldier's limb started to droop, before going entirely limp.

"Effective, no?" The Instructor said.

"The effect lasts for about thirty minutes give or take." She eyed Verity.

"Though I imagine big girl over there will be up and about before the rest of you." A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Verity flushed a little at that, but kept a firm grip on the oversized cannon in her arms.

"Also." The human woman tapped a third bolt against the soldier's neck.

"Shit," the guardswoman managed to slur out, just before she dropped like a stack of potatoes. Though, to her tormentor's credit, the Instructor did catch her before she hit the deck.

"As you can see," she said as she lowered the guardswoman to the ground with surprising gentleness.

"The paralytic effect is significantly faster acting and effective when applied to areas with high blood flow. Not unlike a real wound." Standing up, she brushed down her pants.

"Now, onto scoring. Your team can win by either eliminating mages on the other team, capturing and returning the enemy core, eliminating enough of the plebeian crew to render the ship inoperable, or doing enough damage to the structure that it 'sinks' - with bonus points for taking out propellers, steerage and/or aether-piping." William raised a hand.

"Are spells allowed for this exercise, ma'am?" A frown stole over the Instructor's face.

"No. There'll be no invoking of offensive contracts on my field. I don't care how specific you think your terms are, the fulfillment of them ultimately comes down to your contractor. And I don't need one of my people roasted because your fae thought that your daddy issues deserved a fireball with a little extra umph."

"So how do we damage ship components?" His opposite number asked.

"While you aren't allowed to make use of offensive contracts on the training field, you wouldn't suffer that limitation in a real combat environment. To that end, once you are within five feet of the piece of equipment you intend to damage, you may say, loudly and clearly, 'Equipment Damaged'. A servant placed in each room will note it down and relay the results to me." She eyed them.

"Is that clear?" All of them nodded, even if some people – Olzenya included – didn't look too happy about being handicapped in such a way. After all, while a mage's first line of offense was generally their bolt-bow, that didn't mean their spells were useless. Far from it, they were an incredibly powerful ace in the hole. For his part, William was a little annoyed that he hadn't told his people to prep defensive spells in preparation. The Instructor cleared her throat.

"On the defensive side, stone skin, water shields, and ice armour are all fine." Of those, William had water shield prepped. As for his other two spells. Well, one was utterly useless given the lack of 'offensive' magic, but the other… Well, it wouldn't touch the person he used it on, so he supposed it was still legal. Theoretically.

"Any further questions?" The Instructor asked, only to receive a series of headshakes.

"Good, then follow the red or white painted lines on the floor. The ships should have been re-crewed by now." As William and his team started following a white line towards the entrance ramp to the further mock-airship, he idly heard the woman calling out behind them.

"Sergeant, get someone over here to drag sleeping beauty back to her cot." Turning, he favored Olzenya with a smile.

"So, about our disposition for the coming fight. How would you feel about being captain?" He almost felt guilty about the way the elf's face lit up at the thought of being given the most 'important role' on the team.

"So you're all here as part of a rotation?" Olzenya asked, trying to tamp down on her excitement as the rest of the bridge crew barked out orders and received reports from down the bridge's many speaking tubes.

"Yep." Float Two's first officer smiled between giving orders of her own, revealing a gap in the human woman's teeth.

"S'part of why Lindholm has the best navy in the world, Captain." Olzenya shivered a little in delight at the last word. Sure, she was only superficially acting the part of 'captain' for the fight – as in reality she would actually be acting as a third mage-knight defender – but it still felt nice to hear. Unfortunately, she wouldn't get the opportunity to actually play the role in full until their second year.

As she was rapidly learning, their first year was going to predominantly focus on their personal combat ability. To that end, the job of directing the crew fell to the woman across from her. The First Mate was the highest ranking non-noble role on a ship, one that required years of experience to attain. And the woman certainly looked the part. While hardly disfigured or old, the large number of scars stretched across the human's face gave her a decidedly weathered look.

At least, I don't think she's old, Olzenya pondered. She'd never been too good at judging human ages. Unlike elves who reached their prime and then maintained that for a decent number of decades, humans and orcs just… kept aging. It was odd. And impractical.

"So does that mean our opponent's crew will be from Southshore like them?" The elf asked as she peered out a distant porthole to the other airship. Even from this distance, she could see a few crew members clad in the green of Southshore moving about the foredeck. Beneath that, she could also see the gun ports of the other ship slowly opening as the cannons inside were pushed out.

Despite knowing the things would only be firing weighted linen spheres rather than actual cannon-shot, she couldn't help but swallow down a bit of nervousness at the sight.

"Nah," the crew-woman behind her said.

"Those bilge-rats might be running the colors of Southshore, but they're Royal Navy women, tested and true. Just like us."

"Just like us, huh." Olzenya's hand went down to touch the Royal black fabric of her under-armor. She'd never really thought about it before. That she wasn't just a part of House Sumond now. By swearing her Oath of Service, she was now part of the Royal Navy. Just like the woman behind her. And the hundreds below deck. For some reason, that thought was… nice. To know she wasn't alone. That she was part of something. It made for a nice contrast from the constant one-upmanship of her House…

or her own recent fight for team leadership with William. Shaking her head, she banished that thought by instead focusing on something slightly more pertinent. I don't even know where the staff of my own family's airship are trained, she realized. She should. The Labyrinthine Gem was the most important item the family owned. Yet despite being a scion of the family, Olzenya had no idea what qualifications its plebeian caretakers held. Ignorant of her understudy's thoughts, the first officer continued.

"Stuff like this." She gestured around.

"It's damn good practice. Nothing beats the real thing of course, but plebs like us don't get many opportunities to drill against actual mages." Olzenya listened as the speaking tubes continued receiving reports from across ship as crews reported readiness for battle and aether-cannons were loaded. She could hear a hum moving through the ship as the mithril core beneath the arena came to life and readouts across the bridge began to report rising pressure.

Of course, a single aether core wouldn't have been enough to provide lift for two ships at once, but it was more than enough to provide pressure for their guns. The packed linen shots they'd be firing wouldn't damage either vessel – though they might break the bones of any crew-woman or marine-knight unlucky enough to be hit by them. Instead, blows against each ship would be tallied as part of each team's score. Which was why it was advantageous for marine-saboteurs to take out gunnery crews.

That was the purpose of the target emblazoned across both ships' sides. Given neither ship could move, different color groups would be called out and only hits against them would be counted. It was a complex system, and further proof of just how much the Crown had invested in Blicland. It was also more of what she'd had in mind when she first entered the academy. Certainly more than a trip to the nearest beach, she thought glumly.

She also saw why there was so much competition to make use of the Float's limited time slots. William came through for us by thinking to grab weekend slots, the high elf thought. Between them and our guaranteed weekday slot, we'll be getting at least twice the practice time of any other first year cadet for the next semester. On some weeks, like this one, even three times – given the man had somehow wrangled a second training session after their current one.

She preferred not to think of how a young man might have organized that. Perhaps some people might not appreciate what those extra sessions represented – like that layabout of a dwarf – but Olzenya did. She wanted to be the best. And that meant training.

"A first year, eh?" An orcish guardswoman asked – her neck noticeably bereft of slave marks. A free-born.

"Yeah." Verity said a little nervously as she fiddled with the many barrels of her volley-bow. As she did, she glanced around the room she'd been placed in. Given that they were simulating two ships that had somehow stumbled across each other in the clouds, she'd been made to 'start' in the cafeteria. Fortunately, the ships had been searching for one another and as such, the crew had been battle-ready.

In the future though, there was every chance she'd be starting in her quarters and be forced to get into her armour as fast as she could before she was allowed to sally forth. A task that would have been difficult enough in a regular maneuver suit – let alone all the additional armour she had on top.

"An orc mage-knight." The woman's partner said – a human woman with brown hair.

"I can still remember a time when we only saw one of them once in a blue moon. Now it seems like there's dozen of you each year."

"Time's are changing." The orc grinned.

"Makes me wish I was still a nipper." Her partner laughed.

"Ha! Even if you did have magic, you'd be a mage-smith for sure! Or a druid." The orc just shrugged.

"Either'd suit me just fine. Good pay. Solid work. And they deal with nobles a lot less. I'd say that's a decent trade off for not being one myself. I'd suffer a lot less sneers." At the last word, the woman sent Verity a commiserating look.

"It's not that bad," Verity responded, and to her surprise found she actually meant it.

"I mean, some people are mean, but my team's nice!" Even Olzenya seemed to be warming up to her.

"Nice, eh?" The human laughed.

"How about that guy? Is he nice?" The cadet flushed a little.

"He is." Her mind flashed back to that morning's shower – and how she'd once again shamed her pa by staring! Fortunately, William either didn't notice or didn't care. It said a bit about him that either could have been true. He was nice, but there was a certain… distance there. They'd all noticed it. The boy was always inside his own head, scheming up something or other. The fact that they were here now, despite the fact that their first intro to the Floats was supposed to be next week, was proof enough of that.

Still, it would be nice to be relied on a little. They were a team after all, even if he was team leader now.

"I hear teams share a room," the other orc practically whispered. Verity's eyes widened and that was all the confirmation the guardswomen needed.

"You do!" The orc chuckled.

"Lucky dog. Man, the things I'd do if I…"

"And that's another reason why you'd never make it as a marine-knight," her friend pointed out.

"A total inability to keep your legs closed." The orc shrugged.

"I don't deny it." She looked at Verity.

"With that said kid, be better than me. If we got orc marine-knights running around, we might have orc nobility one day." The human shook her head.

"Marine-knights are nobility."

"Proper nobility! With land and heirs and shit." The woman stiffened slightly.

"Uh, no offense kid." Verity hadn't even thought to be offended. She was aware that in theory she outranked the two women – but it didn't really feel real. As a cadet she was at the bottom of the academy totem pole. Actually, as an orcish cadet sometimes she felt she ranked somewhere a little beneath it.

"Ha, never going to happen." The human continued before Verity could say anything one way or another.

"Not while they're terrified of one of you lot running off to join the Sunland War." The orc shook her head.

"Fuckin' rebels. Ruining it for the rest of us." On that matter, Verity deliberately kept her mouth shut. It didn't matter if you believed in the Cause or hated it, just talking about Orcish independence was dangerous. That had been true for her as a slave and it wasn't something she expected to be different now. William could afford to be seen refusing to marry his fiancée over his issues with slavery. He was a human and a guy. Not a real threat. Her though? No, she'd not soon make that mistake.

She'd keep her head down and her mouth shut. Either the woman across from her hadn't learned that lesson or she trusted the other woman implicitly.

"Heard they brought down the Implacable Arrogance. That means they've got three airships now. And who knows how many shards," the orc muttered.

"Horse shit."

"It's true, I-" the woman started to say, only to be interrupted by the sound of a deafening horn. The match had started – and Verity couldn't be more thankful for it. Grabbing her weapon, she dashed from the room and out into the hall, leaving the two guardswomen behind. As she ran, she struggled to recall her activation phrase. Which was a little ridiculous, given that she only had one contract.

She wasn't like William or Olzenya who could subdivide theirs at will, turning three spells into six or nine smaller ones if needed. Hell, her capacity meant she was supposed to have three, but apparently she'd messed up in her dream because she'd woken with just the one drifting around in her core. Still, in theory, that meant it would be three times as strong. … In theory.

"By the power of my covenant, I invoke our pact. Grant me the resilience of stone," she shouted as she charged through the halls, passing hurrying crew members as she made her way to the upper deck. Still, she saw the way their eyes widened as what few bits of exposed skin she had turned grey and craggily like stone itself. It wasn't like that everywhere of course.

Her joints remained quite mercifully free of stone – and in places her new skin had cracks that allowed some level of flexibility and movement of the flesh below. But for the most part, she genuinely did have stone skin. And she could only hope that protection proved adequate as she burst up the gangway and onto the deck.

William watched Marline and Bonnlyn shoot off towards the other ship on trails of aether. Originally, he'd been set to join them, but had informed them he'd hang back for the opening fight. Ideally, between the crew's marine defenders, Olzenya, him and Verity, they'd be able to knock out the incoming attackers quickly – at which point he and Olzenya could boost over to the other ship to make short work of their defenders. A defeat in detail, he thought. It wasn't a new move.

Even without lessons on the subject, he was quite sure of that. The enemy would in theory notice that only two attackers were incoming and their saboteurs would linger in the air for as long as they could to let their defenders wipe out the attackers or head back themselves to turn the 'trap' in on itself by wiping out the attacking complement while he and the rest of his team watched on helplessly. But he doubted they'd do that. This was the enemy's first session as much as it was his.

Their blood would be up and they'd get tunnel vision. Indeed, even as he watched, the enemy were making a bee-line for him. And from behind, he heard as much as saw as both Verity and Olzenya appeared on the deck. The two couldn't have made for a more powerful contrast if they tried. Olzenya looked like a World War two pilot who'd decided to strap a gas tank to her back before putting on a metal breastplate and picking up a slightly odd looking machine gun.

By contrast, Verity looked like a medieval knight who'd also strapped on a similar gas tank and somehow laid her hands on a set of goggles and a Napoleonic era volley gun. The picture of the two of them was almost as anachronistic as the ironclad-esque airship they were standing on, cannons letting out spouts of aether as the gas-powered weapons launched their payloads towards the other ship.

But that's the world I've found myself in, William thought as he sighted in on the two figures who were burning towards his ship with all the haste they could muster. Neither were trying to dodge. Apparently, they'd forgotten to in all the excitement. Oh, they'd exchanged a bit of fire with Bonnlyn and Marline as they went past each other, but they'd be more opportunistic potshots than genuine attempts to down them. No, their focus was clearly on reaching his ship.

It likely helped that the crew members lining the rails hadn't fired yet, their crossbows not quite in range yet. The same could not be said about William's bolt-bow. Poor as the weapon was, it did have a range advantage over its spring-powered cousins. If only barely. Though as he pulled the weapon up to his shoulder, he couldn't help but think one thing: What do you call a soldier with a jetpack? His finger tensed slightly against the trigger. Skeet. …

The incoming saboteur really should have remembered to zig-zag.