Chapter 9 - They who will continue to not know

With one dead, one in the process of healing, and one doing the healing, the Defenders theoretically stood with six knights strong against five arachnid-class Stéle. While those with blood outnumbered those without, it was commonplace to have at least two knights against one arachnid. Their lethal strikes required one knight to maintain focus on sole defense while the other counterstrikes. Per the manual, they were at a heavy disadvantage.

However, the manual authored by higher ranked individuals made a certain assumption: Knights were only capable of so much.

Never in their lofty safe headquarters did they consider the strength of a supporter. Even if a certain supporter was occupied healing, that only required the full commitment of one hand. She still had a black glove wearing hand fully available. And each of her finger was more capable than any average knight Dernier can produce.

She quickly spun around taking note of each of the Stéle and ironically shot out a spider’s web to each lassoing their front legs together. Without their forward support, the arachnids fell to the ground. Due to her earlier words, the knights were already eager to act and seized the opportunity. The skirmish ended much quicker than any of the knights anticipated and with zero additional loss since the Puppeteer arrived, they were in silent awe.

“Look out!”

An armored knight came flying at them and tumbled to the ground kicking up dirt. From his sword and voice, Cestela quickly identified him as Solyon.

“You break anything?” she asked.

“Broke three of those giant-class. But the last one threw me.” Solyon stood back up without answering Cestela’s original intent. Solyon resumed, “But it’s odd. It’s getting smaller.”

“Smaller?” Cestela recalled her threads from the knight she was healing.

“Look out!”

A boulder. Much smaller than what initially attacked the Defenders, but still lethal all the same. Cestela cursed herself for throwing away the helmet and quickly cocooned her exposed neck and head in her threads. She heard the crushing of the boulder followed by the whizzing of shrapnel. Screams flooded her from all sides. She felt the hit of some rocks but luckily not the numbing of petrification.

As she unraveled her golden headpiece, she jumped and danced into a pencil turn with her glowing ballet ribbons in hand to quickly assess each of the knights. Right hand – slice at the elbow. Under the knee – split the thigh. Collarbone – trickier but slice acutely at the throat and chop off the whole shoulder. For a moment the air was filled by both dirt, dust, and human blood.

Fortunately, only three knights needed healing. Unfortunately, the one missing his forearm would have to wait as the others were in more critical conditions.

“PLEASE! I’M SORRY! PUPPETEER! PLEASE! IT HURTS!”

“Shut up, already! I’ll get to you soon. Just grip your bicep like your life depends on it. Actually, it sort of does.”

It didn’t take very long to grow a leg back and latch onto the crybaby, but it was probably a long time for him.

“It’s coming!” Solyon called out. Cestela noticed that his sword was swapped with a polearm that once belonged to the deceased knight.

Then, they all saw it. The last giant-class Stéle except… it as hard to tell if it was still eligible for the giant-class. It was still humanoid with uneven lanky arms and the new addition of digits, but it stood at roughly three meters tall. What once stood as tall as a five-story building now stood at less than two. Its abstract face resembled a smiling male sending shivers down Cestela’s spine.

“Why are you doing this?!” questioned Solyon.

'Is he-?' Cestela asked herself.

“Can you talk?!”

“Of course, he can’t!” Finally freed of burdens, Cestela send three threads towards the Stéle. One tunneled underground anchoring with the earth and reaching up to tie the Stéle’s legs together. The other two flew high wrapping around trees before grabbing its arms. The resultant restraint held the… humanoid-class Stéle in a crucifix. “Just kill it!”

“But…” Solyon looked at the Stéle. Its face slowly morphed into a frown. “What if we can communicate?”

“Communicate? Who attacked first?! Its self-defense!”

“But we can learn more about its secret.”

“It’s no secret. They’re our enemies.” Cestela had enough of the dog’s sudden empathy. She ripped a hammer from of the other knights, channeled mana into it, and swung it straight into the chest of the stone beast shattering it to pieces. Solyon lowered his gaze choosing not to watch, choosing not to stop her.

He considered his next words unsure what to say. He felt embarrassed, humiliated, but still angry at the major for not listening to him. But no words will be listened to. Cestela had already started swinging back towards the rendezvous point. Solyon realized she was already acting to help those whose situation was unknown. He felt defeated.

The supporters were unable to push the lines any more forward. The second launch by the Stéle had left them in shambles. The medics were busy trying to stabilize the injured. The able-bodied artillery supporters and squires administered first aid where they could, but any lethal wounds were left for the medics to take turns maintaining life in the injured. Cestela relieved them and they all fell to the ground sweating and panting. Despite their efforts, they couldn’t save everyone. Two individuals had become stone. A young squire with a punctured eye and a medic with a hole centered in his neck. Cestela wondered if they died on impact instead of feeling the incoming doom of petrification.

The South Final Casualty Report: 4 deaths, 0 major injuries.

Cestela didn’t have pu-erh tea that night. Instead, she slept in silence.