Headed by a Snake

47 potential enemies remained:

A remnant from the Saltspray Pirates, hailing from the Magic Kingdom.

A squad of Holy Country Legionnaires.

Two squads from the Sleeping Country to the north.

And lastly... the two potentially from the Free Nation, Tycondrius' home of origin.

"Yo, LT..." Krysaos whispered. "Those big... metal bull things-- what are they?"

Tycon narrowed his eyes to sharp squints.

"They're... Gorgons..."

He did not like Gorgons.

Even saying the word aloud instilled a dull ache in the middle and back of his head.

Gorgons were chimerical abominations crafted in some mad Wizard's lab, centuries prior, remnants of the mad Wizard weapons race of the era.

Four thick legs supported their metal flesh, the biomagical composition exceptionally resistant to both physical and magical damage. Bulging, varicose muscles in their torsos and arms allowed them to wield martial weaponry to devastating effect.

A single Gorgon, taking advantage of their mass and weight, could easily cut through a battle charge, dozens of soldiers trampled underhoof, whole companies would be decimated.

A single Gorgon and several seconds-- the combination could turn an intelligently organized defense into a clustered fountain of mistakes.

Not even superior numbers could guarantee a Gorgon's defeat. Their long, spear-tipped tails compensated for their forward-facing tendencies, impaling any would-be attackers reflexively and endlessly.

But the most dangerous attribute of the Gorgon... was that they knew no fear.

And the reason for that... was that every. single. one of them... without fail... without even a shadow of a doubt... was extra.ordinarily. stupid.

Within each of their ludicrously oversized, metal-plated, bull-horned heads... was the underdeveloped brain of an imbecile.

And there were two of them! That was *exponentially* worse than one.

Their combined idiocy was a danger Tycon had to circumvent, lest his companions be at risk of deadly harm.

"Yo, LT," Krysaos waved, "Why are you making that face?"

"Pay no heed to those mindless beasts, Brother-Captain," Tycon responded in a low voice. "I will take the task of ending them with great prejudice."

"(Seven hells! Isn't that Prince) Tycon?!" Said one Gorgon. They were speaking in the Free Nation's native tongue.

"(Yeah? I-- I think it is! Hey, Prince) Tycon! (How's it goin'?!) Heyyyy!"

The second Gorgon dropped their hafted battlemace onto the road, its heft creating a spiderweb of cracks. Then, it began to wave its musclebound arms above its head.

"I think that guy's waving at you," Krysaos suggested.

"You're mistaken," Tycon insisted.

"They literally just said your name, LT. Twice."

"(Seven hells,)" The first of the idiots exclaimed. "(Haven't seen the Ivory Prince in) EE-POKS!"

Epochs. He meant epochs.

"(How long's it been? Since Kasydon, right?)"

"(RIGHT! Wow. The Ivory Prince, though... that guy got voted the best War Prince to work for-- for like... almost five years!)"

"(Yeah. He's real strong, too-- and I don't wanna sound weird but don't you think he's handsome? In a weird two-legged way, I mean.)"

Krysaos leaned forward, his brows scrunched together, "They sound like they're plannin' something. You gonna go over there, LT, or what?"

Tycon lowered his head and crossed his arms, "I've lost the motivation for it."

"[REQUESTING PERMISSION TO KILL THEM?]"

"...Denied."

Tycon cleared his throat before speaking to the crowd, "Will anyone else come forward?"

Most seemed reluctant. There were many reasons for such, all of them good.

However, it seemed that one man was capable of swallowing his fear.

"WE! ARE! The Legionnaires of Rixus' 26th! And WE will step up to the challenge!"

⟬ Iron-Rank Human Warrior. ⟭

...The challenge was a proper one.

The tent-group of 11 from the Holy Country did not step forward. Conversely, the crowd moved away from them, as if they wanted nothing to do with their declaration.

The voice of the speaking Decanus grew softer as they did so... to the point that Tycon had trouble hearing anything else the Decanus had to say.

--not that it was worth listening to.

Korr raised her hand.

"Miss Korr," Tycon chided, "You do *not* have my permission to kill any of our current aggressors."

The young lady obediently lowered her hand... though her reluctance was clear.

Thus far, Krysaos had shown his hand twice, and Korr, once. Tycon felt it was due time for him to act.

He had great respect for the Tyrion military and their shield wall tactics. However, as with all organizations, the ineptitude of some of their leaders left much to be desired.

And, though he found it ironic... of the three of them, he was the most capable of leaving his victims alive.

"Hold onto this," He said as he handed House Whisperwind's message tube to Krysaos.

"Huh? Alright. Can I read it?"

"Go ahead. ⌈Shadowfang.⌋"

Tycon had, long ago, improved his personal movement technique to the level of high-completion.

Normal humans were unable to follow the speed of a gentleman making a calculated leap via the plane of shadow. The tent-group and their commanding Decanus were no exception.

Grabbing the edge of a Munifex's high shield, Tycon pulled it hard enough to snap the leather straps securing its hold... and likely dislocating one or more joints.

Tycon then swung the shield, introducing its blunt edge to the man's jaw. The force was enough to knock the man unconscious, potentially killing him outright. The strike dislodged several of the man's teeth-- some of which cut through his bottom lip.

Releasing the shield, Tycon immediately grabbed the Decanus by his helmet... and slammed it into the helmeted heads of the two closest Munifices.

Tycon was doing quite well.

He briefly considered continuing as he was... but using a man to strike another man was an overall clumsy endeavor. For the remaining Munifices, he delivered a series of well-aimed, open-palm palm strikes and front kicks to their armored chests.

Considering his strength, each man and woman struck would suffer varying degrees of internal injury, depending on their physique. However, he was certain the display would be highly persuasive to their peaceable surrender.

"(Hey! HEYYY! Do you remember meeee?!??!)"

"(There's no way the Ivory Prince remembers us!!)"

A gruff and grating shout assaulted Tycon's ears. He didn't have to look to realize that the two Gorgons were stampeding toward him.

As a Gold-Rank combatant, Tycon was certain he could stop a Gorgon's charge, even despite the weight difference.

However, he did not want to.

It would hurt.

Being injured by a Gorgon-- even slightly was a notion that Tycon found... offensive.

Quickly, (though with a modicum of panic,) he crouched down, grabbing the Tyrion Decanus by his lower legs. Then, he rapidly rotated his body, utilizing the centrifugal force to swing his improvised weapon.

The first charging Gorgon was battered aside.

That fellow lost his balance, toppling over. Sliding across the road resulted in a fantastic display of sparks and broken pieces of cobble.

Then, in an act of desperation, Tycon hurled the certifiably deceased Decanus at the second Gorgon's front legs.

Thankfully, the Eternal Flame, the god of the Holy Country's people smiled upon Tycon. The blessed weapon that was the Decanus' body entangled the Gorgon's gait.

The galloping Gorgon stopped abruptly, their face planting deep into the road... which elicited a stifled round of 'ooh's from the crowd.

Tycon stood up straight, adjusting the sleeves and collar of his military coat.

Many of the Munifices he'd defeated were conscious... but they kept as still as they could.

Tycon accepted their nonaggression as their surrender.

34 potential enemies remained.

"Now then... is there anyone else?"

"(I... I ain't done yet,)" Mumbled the Gorgon with his head stuck in the road.

Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I wasn't talking to you."

Neither Gorgon responded.

After a moment, the group from the Sleeping Country quietly withdrew.

None of their peers motioned to stop them.

That left... a paltry 13 potential enemies.

Judging by their general attire, most, if not all of them belonged to the Saltspray faction.

None of them seemed particularly strong.

The look most evident on their faces was confusion... mixed with what Tycon could assume to be despair. That they remained implied that they had difficult circumstances.

Nonetheless, the danger of the situation had largely passed.

Both Korr and Krysaos jogged forward, catching up to Tycon.

It should have been a momentous occasion. Though the feats performed by his companions were supremely impressive, Tycon's dismantling of 11 humans and 2 Gorgons within a breath of time was something of a personal record.

(And though it was of no real importance, he'd only killed one!)

Krysaos, however, refused to meet his eyes.

Tycon looked to Korr-- but gained nothing.

Even if she was without her full helmet, it was impossible for Tycon to read that woman's emotions.

The good Captain handed Tycon an unfurled scroll, likely the message contained in the tube.

No explanation was offered.

Steeling his expression, Tycon skimmed the contents of the letter.

...Then, he read it properly.

And read it a third time to ensure he understood.

He folded the paper in half. Then, he folded it into quarters.

Then, he crushed it within his mana-empowered fist, compressing it into a tight obloid.

"LT... hey. Hey..." Krysaos cooed softly, "Come on. Let's... get outta here, guy."

Korr gently placed her gauntleted hand on Tycon's arm, tilting her head.

Tycon took a deep breath.

Flicking his wrist, he activated his spatial ring, summoning a misshapen metal rod.

Krysaos' eyes shot open, stunned by the presence of the dark artifact-- or by its power, incomparable even to a half-god.

Before the Captain could react, Tycon pointed it at the remaining 13.

"In the name the god of Tarquin Wroe, I order you to ⌈Die.⌋"

",