No Subtlety Allowed

Murmurs rippled through the estate—half-whispers about the strange new soldiers, the unfamiliar weapons, the boxes that seemed to appear from thin air. The servants were anything but discreet. In fact, the rumors had begun even before the summoning was complete.

Her father, predictably, was too deep in his cups to notice, let alone intervene. Duke William Gunther of Oberstein had long since abdicated responsibility in everything but title.

She strode down the estate’s central hall, boots clicking sharply against marble, her officers marching behind her. The contractors flanked them in tight formation. To any onlooker, it looked less like a mere group, and more like a coup.

And perhaps it was. A bloodless one, sanctioned not by edict, but by necessity.

The only reason the estate guard hadn't intervened was the patch stitched on every contractor’s arm—the crest of the Rhinian Empire. Legitimacy, in cloth and thread. Enough to confuse the bureaucrats. Enough to make the hesitant hesitate.

Boots stomped with rhythmic precision as they exited the estate, cutting through the misty morning air. Their next destination was Normolus—a frontier fort twenty kilometers north, where the battalion waited in stasis, underarmed for whatever was coming for them next.

As they stepped outside, a modest carriage and a handful of weary horses stood waiting—standard military fare for the region. Anna allowed herself a small smile. With luck, this would be the last time her army relied on such archaic transport. Soon, they’d be replaced by something with steel frames and roaring engines.

She mounted a horse from the estate’s stables, her officers doing the same. The contractors, for formality’s sake, were meant to ride in the carriage. That plan, however, barely lasted five minutes.

With a sudden pulse of light and a sound like splitting air, two hulking vehicles materialized on the estate grounds—military trucks, matte black, and flanked by two armored JLTVs. The hum of idle engines filled the silence. Mounted on each vehicle was a Browning .50 caliber machine gun, gleaming under the rising sun.

The estate servants scattered. Horses reared. Someone screamed. The ground itself seemed to recoil.

Anna didn’t flinch, though she very nearly sighed. “So much for subtlety.”

Lisa, seated comfortably in the carriage, shrugged. “What’s the point? You’re not in a position to be subtle anymore. That’s from my account, anyway. You owe me nothing.”

Anna gritted her teeth but said nothing. She couldn’t argue—not anymore. The moment she accepted help from the contractors, from the summoned mercenaries and gear, subtlety had died a quiet, necessary death.

Her horse led the procession out of the estate’s gates, hooves clopping steadily over the cobbled path. Behind her, the diesel truck growled to life, spewing a thin plume of black smoke as it followed. The officers at her side glanced back repeatedly, unable to hide their awe at the hulking machine rolling behind them. It crawled along, slower than it should have, shackled by the pace of the horses.

They passed golden wheat fields swaying in the morning wind and patches of wild grass lining the road. Farmers working in the distance stopped to stare. Some dropped their tools entirely. A few ran back to their cottages, as if afraid the noise alone could summon war.

There was no silence—only the mechanical rumble of the truck’s engine, coughing every few seconds like it was offended to be traveling this slowly. The low metallic rattle echoed off the empty plains, the sound whispering: Get faster, damn it.

—

By the time Fort Normolus came into view, the sun had already climbed higher into the sky, casting long shadows across the plains. The fort’s outer walls loomed in the distance—half-stone, half-timber—more symbolic than practical, remnants of a time when threats came on horseback, not with engines and optics.

Twin watchtowers flanked the main gate, their sentries stiffening at the sight of the approaching convoy. Their eyes locked onto the hulking armored truck trailing behind the horsemen, then darted to Anna—recognition flickering into open confusion.

Anna raised a hand in greeting, her posture calm but unyielding.

“Open the gates,” she said. “These are our guests.”

One of the guards hesitated, then snapped to action, signaling the gate crew. The iron-barred gates groaned as they opened, metal scraping against stone like a warning bell.

The convoy entered the courtyard, filled with buildings, barracks, and watchtowers.

Inside, the usual rhythm of the morning drill was shattered. Soldiers paused mid-swing, muskets drooping as they stared. Footfalls halted. Conversations died. The diesel engine snarled as the armored vehicle rolled over gravel, cutting through the narrow lane that wound between officers’ quarters, the barracks, and the central armory.

Anna dismounted wordlessly. Her boots struck dirt with a dull thud, a small cloud of dust rising at her heels.

Instinctively, the entire fort ground to a halt. Officers and senior non-commissioned men drifted toward the JLTV and the young woman beside it. It wasn’t every day the Dukedom sent an envoy—let alone their barely-adult commander. Whispers rustled through the ranks like dry leaves in wind.

Anja and Major Nigel moved quickly, barking orders to form ranks. Soldiers scrambled into a neat line across the courtyard, boots thudding into place. Core officers assembled at the center, eyes shifting between Anna and the armored machine still rumbling behind her.

Anna stepped forward, voice steady and clear.

“Good morning,” she began. “Today will be a great day.”

A pause. Not for effect—just certainty.

“All of you will be paid. Your gear will be replaced. And you will be equipped with tools no army in this world has ever seen.”

She let the words hang.

“You will be armed with weapons you don’t yet recognize. Because in four days, something is coming—something that will tear this fort, this land, this dukedom apart. If we do not change now, you will die. All of you. That is not a threat. That is certainty.”

The courtyard stayed silent. Then came the low rustle of murmuring disbelief. Mad. She had to be mad.

Anna raised her hand, and silence snapped back into place.

“You will be trained by professionals from another country—men who’ve seen war in ways we can’t imagine. This is not a negotiation. I don’t want protest. I want progress.”

Her gaze swept over the formation—cold, focused, unwavering.

“All of you will be armed with this rifle: the M16A4. A new weapon. You might think of it as a prototype.”

At her cue, one of the contractors stepped forward, pried open a heavy crate, and lifted the rifle into view. Sleek, black, angular—it looked like something pulled from a dream or a nightmare.

“This is the weapon your enemies will use. And I’d rather you be the ones holding it first.”

The soldiers stared. They didn’t recognize the weapon, but instinctively, they knew it was better. Lighter than their muskets. Anna lifted it only with one hand, and the fact that their highest officer was already armed with that thing was reassuring.

“And lastly,” Anna said coolly, “I will now demonstrate my magical ability. Don’t be alarmed.”

That was it. The commander had lost her mind.

Or so they thought.

Without hesitation, Anna raised her hand and tapped at the air, her fingers dancing across an invisible interface only she could see. Her eyes tracked the movements, calm and practiced.

A translucent HUD flickered into view before her, lines of glowing text floating in place:

[Specialized Personnel Sub-Menu] [3,482,000 EP]

Standard Equipment: M16A4; IOTV + Level IV Plates, PASGT, Basic Comms

New Personnel Cost: 2,000 EP Equipment + 1,000 Training Cost

Training Level: Basic Soldier

[Summon ◄494► Soldiers] [1,482,000 EP]

She pressed the large Summon button.

In the next instant, a dozen shimmering blue portals opened across the fort’s courtyard. One by one, soldiers stepped through—uniformed, armed, and organized. Each one bore the same modern gear as Lisa and the other contractors. In silent, synchronized movements, they formed ranks beside the stunned garrison, filling the empty spaces with precision.

The courtyard went quiet.

Maybe they were wrong.

Maybe the commander wasn’t insane after all.

“Look to your left. Look to your right,” Anna commanded. “These are the people you’ll be fighting beside. These are your comrades for life. Learn their faces. Learn from them. They’ll help you adapt to modern tactics. Train with them. I expect results. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am!” the crowd roared in unison—even the freshly summoned contractors didn’t miss a beat. “You’ll be equipped the same as your counterpart,” she continued, voice sharp and steady. “No envy. No excuses.”

She took one step forward. “Dismissed—except for logistics officers. Report to me immediately. We’ve got supplies to move.”

The crowd dispersed, murmurs of awe mixing with easy banter. The summoned contractors moved naturally among the existing troops, each pairing off with a soldier like they’d trained together for years. Laughter broke out here and there. Camaraderie, it seemed, was contagious.

But for the logistics officers who remained behind, what came next would upend their entire understanding of warfare.

Anna opened her interface, fingers gliding across the invisible console.

[Items & Logistics Department Interface] [Search:______ ] [Open Sell Menu] [EP: 2,000,000]

• 500 x [M16A4 + ACOG] = 500,000 EP

• 60,000 x [5.56x45 AP - Inside 30-round Polymer Magazine] = 24,000 EP + 30,000 EP

• 60,000 x [5.56x45 AP] = 24,000 EP

• 500 x [IOTV + IV Plates] = 500,000 EP

• 500 x [PASGT Helmets] = 150,000 EP

• 500 x [Basic Com Kits] = 250,000 EP

[Total: 1,478,000 EP] [Purchase?]

She hesitated just a second. “Damn, that ACOG is something... hell, never mind.”

A final tap, and the courtyard shimmered with sudden mass. With a thunderous clang,three towering shipping containers manifested in the open space, perfectly placed side-by-side.

Gasps and stunned silence filled the air.

“What the hell…” one of the logistic officers muttered, eyes wide as he stepped forward cautiously.

Anna didn’t wait. “You heard me—each soldier gets one full kit. Distribute accordingly. Four magazines per rifle, rest of the ammo stored in reserve. We’re not wasting a single round.”

They scrambled to obey, still in disbelief.