Leading an army of monsters through human territory turns out to be just as weird as it sounds.

  "Stay in formation," I call out, more for my own benefit than for my troops. The hobgoblins march with mechanical precision, maintaining perfect ranks without any need for correction. Behind them come Gorthal's metallic orcs, their skin gleaming in the afternoon sun. The organization is Nerk's doing, not mine, his tactical mind having worked out optimal marching formations for different terrains days ago.

  What no tactical planning could account for is the way the locals are reacting to us. We've been on the road through Confederation territory for two days now, and the pattern is always the same. Farmers spot us coming and flee indoors. Village folk line the streets at a distance, eyes wide with a mixture of terror and morbid fascination. Children are either hidden away or hoisted onto shoulders for a better view of the monster parade.

  "The reception is about what I expected," Morrigan comments, walking beside me. "Centuries of conditioning humans to fear monsters cannot be undone by a single diplomatic agreement."

  "Yeah, I get that," I sigh. "But you'd think that since we're literally marching to save their asses, they might be a bit more welcoming."

  "They'll be more appreciative after we've actually done the saving," she points out reasonably.

  We crest a small hill, giving us a view of the road ahead. In the distance, a substantial force waits, several hundred soldiers in Confederation uniforms, formed up in neat rows that block the width of the highway.

  "What now?" I mutter, my hand instinctively moving to touch the crystal lens hanging at my chest. "I thought we were past the 'point weapons at each other' phase of our relationship."

  Nerk appears at my side, his evolved form studying the troops ahead with tactical precision. "Merchant Confederation militia regiment. Approximately four hundred soldiers. Standard equipment, primarily defensive formation. Not positioned for combat, but for inspection."

  "A welcoming committee?" I ask skeptically.

  "Verification force," he corrects. "Ensuring monster army matches described composition, maintains discipline within their territory. Logical precaution from their perspective."

  "They still don't trust us," I translate, feeling a twinge of irritation despite understanding their position.

  Morrigan's expression remains carefully neutral. "Trust requires evidence accumulated over time. They've contracted our services, but caution remains their primary approach to our forces."

  "Well, let's go say hello then," I decide, gesturing for the army to continue its advance.

  As we approach, a small delegation rides out to meet us, five officers on horseback led by a stern-faced man with a captain's insignia on his uniform.

  "Monster Lord," he greets me with a stiff bow from atop his horse. "Captain Darius Blackwell of the Northern Confederation Militia. I'm instructed to escort your forces to the forward encampment."

  I notice he doesn't dismount, keeping himself deliberately elevated above me. Little power plays, some things are the same in every world.

  "Captain Blackwell," I return the greeting with deliberate casualness. "I trust Lord Valerian informed you of our arrangement?"

  "We've been briefed," he confirms, his eyes drifting over our assembled forces with poorly concealed unease. "My orders are to guide you to the front and ensure your passage through Confederation settlements remains... orderly."

  "In other words, make sure we don't eat any of the locals," I say dryly.

  His face flushes slightly. "I didn't say—"

  "You didn't have to," I interrupt. "I get it. This is weird for everyone. But let's be clear: my army is under strict discipline. They'll cause no trouble unless provoked."

  Beside me, Nerk steps forward, his evolved form drawing nervous glances from the mounted officers. "Hobgoblin forces maintain strict discipline. Blood-warriors operate under ritual constraints. Compliance with ally-territory regulations absolute."

  Captain Blackwell visibly steels himself before addressing Nerk directly. "I... appreciate the assurance. Now, if you'll follow us, we've planned the route to minimize disruption to civilian areas while maintaining an efficient path to the front."

  "Lead on, Captain," I gesture. "We're eager to earn our pay."

  As the militia officers turn their horses and begin leading us forward, Morrigan leans close. "He fears Nerk more than you," she observes quietly. "Interesting."

  I glance at her. "I'm still just a human to them. Nerk is visibly something else."

  "Precisely," she nods. "You may lead the Monster Lord's army, but to their eyes, you remain a man. It creates a cognitive dissonance they struggle to reconcile."

  "Story of my life," I mutter.

  The journey through Confederation territory becomes progressively more surreal over the next three days. As we approach more populated areas, the reactions intensify. In one market town, the locals actually hold a hasty festival of sorts, decorating our path with what I assume are protective charms while offering baskets of food at a respectful distance, tribute to ensure we pass by peacefully, if I had to guess.

  "They're trying to process our presence through familiar frameworks," Morrigan explains as we pass through. "When monsters appear in human settlements, historically it's either as raiders or as part of carnival attractions. Since we're clearly not attacking, they default to celebration with an undercurrent of propitiation."

  "They're throwing us a parade because they don't know what else to do," I almost want to laugh, watching as children peek from windows while their parents try to both hide them and ensure they can see the spectacle.

  "Essentially, yes."

  Our militia escort grows increasingly uncomfortable as we approach larger population centers. In smaller villages, our passage was a brief oddity. In the larger towns, we become an event. Crowds gather despite the militia's attempts to keep the route clear. Street vendors appear selling hastily made trinkets commemorating the "Monster March." Bards take notes for what will undoubtedly become exaggerated tales.

  "Merchant instincts override fear," Nerk observes as we pass through the third such town. "Confederation citizens rapidly adapting, finding economic opportunities in our presence."

  "Never underestimate humanity's ability to commercialize literally anything," I agree, watching as a man sells small carved figurines vaguely resembling hobgoblins to excited children.

  On the afternoon of the fourth day, we finally approach the front lines. The border city of Northcrest comes into view, an impressive sight with its high stone walls and bustling activity. Beyond it, I can see the sprawling encampment of the Confederation's militia, thousands of tents arranged in concentric rings around the city's outer defenses.

  Captain Blackwell, who has maintained a professional if chilly demeanor throughout our journey, rides back to address me.

  "Monster Lord, we'll be arriving at the forward command post within the hour. General Harrick requests your presence for a strategic briefing upon arrival." He hesitates, then adds, "Also, Lord Velimir, the merchant lord of Northcrest, has arranged a... reception this evening for you and your command staff."

  "A reception?" I repeat, surprised. "Like, a party?"

  Blackwell looks pained at my informal phrasing. "A diplomatic function to welcome our... allies before tomorrow's confrontation with Lord Keenan's forces."

  "They wish to inspect us in a social context," Morrigan translates quietly. "To assure themselves we can interact with civilized society without incident."

  "Plus free food and drinks," I add with a grin.

  "I'll inform General Harrick you'll attend the briefing," Blackwell continues stiffly. "Your forces will be assigned a separate encampment area adjacent to our northern perimeter."

  As he rides away, I turn to Nerk. "How are the troops holding up?"

  "Excellent condition," he reports promptly. "March pace maintained without fatigue. Combat readiness at optimal levels. Preliminary scouting units already deployed to assess terrain beyond Northcrest."

  "You didn't wait for permission to send scouts?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  "Informed Captain Blackwell of necessary reconnaissance requirements first day," Nerk explains with a hint of satisfaction. "He assumed meant theoretical future action. Did not explicitly prohibit immediate implementation."

  I stifle a laugh. "Crafty. Make sure they stay discreet. We don't want to spook our allies or alert Keenan's forces prematurely."

  "Already established covert communication protocols. Information flow continuous but undetectable to conventional observation methods."

  We continue our march toward Northcrest, the imposing walls growing larger by the minute. This will be our first significant military engagement against a human army, a test not just of our combat capabilities but of Nerk's evolutionary requirements. The thought both excites and unsettles me. We've crushed Death Knights before, but never faced thousands of troops in organized formations.

  As we approach the city gates, a formal greeting party awaits us, far more elaborate than Captain Blackwell's initial reception. Banners bearing the Confederation's symbol flutter in the breeze, and a line of officials in elaborate robes stand at attention.

  "Showtime," I mutter, straightening my shoulders and adopting what I hope is an appropriately dignified expression.

  The military briefing in General Harrick's command tent is tense from the moment we enter. The general himself is a weathered veteran with a silver beard and hard, uncompromising eyes that barely acknowledge our presence. The tent falls silent as we approach the central table where a large map is spread out, officers stiffening as if someone had just released a venomous snake in their midst.

  "Monster Lord," Harrick greets me with the barest nod, his voice clipped and cold. "I understand the Council has seen fit to supplement our forces with your... contingent."

  Right away, I can tell this isn't going to be a friendly chat. The way he emphasizes "supplement" makes it clear he views us as an unwelcome addition rather than necessary reinforcement.

  "General Harrick," I return the greeting, trying to keep things professional. "We're here to help deal with Keenan's army."

  His jaw tightens at my casual tone. "The Confederation militia has defended these borders for generations without requiring assistance from monsters. However, the Council has made its decision, and I follow orders."

  Well, this is going just great.

  "Perhaps we should review the tactical situation," I suggest, nodding toward the map.

  "Of course," he replies stiffly. "Lord Keenan's forces are positioned here." He indicates on the map with a wooden pointer. "Approximately five thousand troops arranged in standard Elmridge formations. Heavy cavalry on the flanks, pike infantry at center, archers in supported positions behind."

  Nerk studies the map with his usual intensity, and I can practically see him formulating more efficient tactical approaches in his mind. Before he can speak, I place a warning hand on his arm. Something tells me General Harrick isn't interested in our input.

  "The battle plan is straightforward," Harrick continues, confirming my suspicion. "The Confederation militia will hold these defensive lines, protecting the approach to Northcrest. Your forces will be positioned here," he taps a section of the map that would place us directly against the heaviest concentration of enemy troops,"That puts us against their strongest position," I observe neutrally.

  "Your troops are reportedly more... durable than conventional forces," he replies with thinly veiled contempt. "And better equipped to handle any necromantic elements we encounter. Unless you feel your forces are not up to the task?"

  The challenge is obvious. He's daring me to object, to prove his assumption that monsters can't be trusted with critical battlefield roles.

  Nerk shifts beside me, clearly itching to point out the tactical inefficiencies in Harrick's plan. Morrigan gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

  "We'll handle it," I state simply. No point arguing with a man who's already made up his mind. "When do you want us in position?"

  If Harrick is surprised by my acquiescence, he doesn't show it. "Dawn tomorrow. We expect Keenan's forces to begin their advance by mid-morning."

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Any specific coordination signals we should be aware of?" I ask.

  "My officers will handle all coordination," he replies dismissively. "Your task is simply to engage the northern flank and hold position until our main force can execute the primary strategy."

  In other words, we're cannon fodder. Meant to absorb the brunt of the initial assault while his precious militia maneuvers for glory. The disrespect stings, but pushing back now would only confirm his bias against us.

  "Understood," I say neutrally. "We'll be ready."

  General Harrick gives me a long, calculating look. "See that you are. The Council may have faith in your unusual capabilities, Monster Lord, but I judge forces by their discipline in battle, not by rumors and reports."

  "Then I guess we'll have to show you what we can do tomorrow," I reply with a thin smile.

  The general doesn't return it. "Indeed. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a great deal to organize before dawn. Captain Blackwell will show you out."

  As we're escorted from the command tent, Nerk finally speaks up, keeping his voice low. "Plan fundamentally flawed. Ignores optimal use of our mobility advantages. Fails to account for Death Knight tactical patterns."

  "I know," I sigh. "But he wasn't interested in our input."

  "His pride endangers mission success," Nerk continues. "Emotional response overriding tactical efficiency."

  "Welcome to human military leadership," I mutter. "Look, when we get back to our camp, we'll make our own adjustments. We'll follow his general plan but adapt as needed once the battle starts."

  Morrigan moves closer, her voice pitched for our ears only. "The general feels threatened. Our presence implies the Confederation lacks confidence in his abilities. His resistance is both predictable and unfortunate."

  "We play along for now," I decide. "Once the fighting starts, Nerk can implement whatever tactical adjustments make sense. Harrick will be too busy to micro-manage us in the heat of battle."

  Nerk nods, clearly already formulating contingency plans. "Will prepare alternative deployment patterns. Maintain superficial compliance while optimizing actual combat effectiveness."

  As we exit the command area, I can't help feeling frustrated. I expected some resistance, but Harrick's outright dismissal of our capabilities makes things unnecessarily complicated. If his defensive line falters because he's too proud to coordinate properly with us, a lot of his men could die needlessly.

  But that's a problem for tomorrow. For now, we need to check on our troops and prepare for tonight's "diplomatic function" with the merchant lords of Northcrest.

  The monster encampment has been established with typical efficiency at the northern edge of the Confederation's military presence. Evolved hobgoblins have created a surprisingly sophisticated arrangement of temporary structures, while Gorthal's blood-warriors conduct ritual preparations for tomorrow's battle. Morrigan's hagravens perch on elevated platforms, maintaining magical communications with our forward scouts.

  After ensuring everything is in order, I gather Nerk, Gorthal, and Morrigan for our excursion into Northcrest proper.

  "Is this really necessary?" Gorthal asks, his metallic skin patterns pulsing with mild irritation. "Battle preparations more important than human social rituals."

  "It's part of the job," I explain. "Diplomacy matters almost as much as combat capability. Besides, the Confederation is paying us sixty thousand gold. The least we can do is eat their fancy food and pretend to enjoy their company for a few hours."

  "Should maintain minimal formal presence," Nerk suggests practically. "Sufficient to satisfy diplomatic requirements without compromising operational readiness."

  "That's the plan," I agree. "We make an appearance, talk to the important people, then get back here to finish preparations for tomorrow."

  Morrigan, who has been silent until now, finally speaks. "You should prepare yourself for a different kind of battle tonight," she warns. "Merchant lords rarely arrange such functions without ulterior motives."

  "What kind of motives?" I ask, suddenly suspicious.

  "The Confederation operates on commercial advantage," she explains. "They've witnessed our capabilities firsthand during our journey. Each merchant house will now be calculating how to secure preferential relationships with the Monster Lord's domain. Exclusive trading rights, military protection agreements, perhaps even more... personal alliances."

  "Personal alliances?" I repeat, not liking the sound of that.

  "Marriage proposals would not be unexpected," she states matter-of-factly. "Linking influential houses to emerging powers through familial bonds is standard practice in human politics."

  I nearly choke. "Marriage proposals? Are you serious?"

  "Entirely," she confirms, and I swear I detect a hint of amusement in her usually composed features. "The opportunity to secure exclusive influence with the Monster Lord would be considered worth significant investment."

  "That's not happening," I state firmly. "We're here to fight Keenan's army, not to shop for wives."

  "Nevertheless, be prepared for such overtures," she advises. "Declining gracefully without causing offense will require diplomatic finesse."

  Great. As if leading an army of monsters against Death Knight-enhanced forces wasn't complicated enough, now I have to dodge matchmaking merchant lords too.

  Entering Northcrest is an experience in itself. The guards at the city gates eye us with poorly concealed apprehension, particularly Gorthal with his metallic skin and intimidating presence. Citizens stop in their tracks, conversations halting mid-sentence as we pass. Some bow awkwardly, others make religious gestures I assume are meant to ward off evil.

  "They fear us," Gorthal observes unnecessarily.

  "Can you blame them?" I reply quietly. "Until recently, the only monsters they'd see would be ones trying to kill them."

  The city itself is impressive, stone buildings rising three and four stories high, streets laid out in an organized grid pattern, shops and market stalls currently closing for the evening but clearly indicating a prosperous trade center. Oil lamps are being lit along the main thoroughfares, casting a warm glow that makes the cobblestone streets gleam.

  "So much life," I murmur, watching as a group of children play some kind of game with a ball and sticks, only to be hurriedly gathered by their parents when they spot our procession.

  "Human settlements operate with different efficiency parameters than monster territories," Nerk observes. "Prioritize commerce and social interaction over defensive considerations. Inefficient in resource management but effective for knowledge exchange."

  "They're nice," I murmur, looking up at the patterned woodwork on an especially ornate building. "So different from our swamp."

  Morrigan follows my gaze. "Beauty exists in both, merely different expressions of order imposed upon chaos. The swamp's patterns flow with natural rhythms, while human architecture forces nature into geometric rigidity."

  Well, maybe it's just my taste as a human then.

  We continue through the main avenue, guided by a nervous Confederation official who keeps looking back as if expecting us to suddenly start rampaging. Eventually, we reach the city's northern quarter, where the buildings grow more elaborate and spaced further apart, clearly the wealthy district.

  Our destination stands out even among these affluent surroundings. Lord Velimir's mansion is practically a small palace, with manicured gardens visible behind ornate iron gates, multiple wings stretching to either side of a central dome, and dozens of windows blazing with light. Carriages line the circular drive, disgorging richly dressed merchants and their families.

  "Ostentatious display of wealth," Nerk comments. "Serves status signaling function within their social hierarchy."

  "Pretty much," I agree, suddenly feeling underdressed despite my best attire, which, to be fair, was designed for swamp living rather than high society.

  "Remember," Morrigan says quietly as we approach the main entrance, "this is as much a battlefield as tomorrow's engagement, merely with different weapons and objectives."

  "And here I thought we were just going to enjoy some free food," I sigh.

  The majordomo announcing guests at the entrance nearly drops his scroll when we approach. He recovers admirably, clearing his throat before proclaiming in a voice that carries throughout the entrance hall:

  "The Monster Lord and his... distinguished lieutenants: Nerk, King of Goblins; Gorthal, the Blood Sage; and Lady Morrigan, First of the Evolved Hagravens."

  The bustling conversation in the grand hall stutters to a momentary halt as every eye turns toward us. Then, with visible effort, the assembled merchants and dignitaries resume their discussions, though now with a distinctly forced quality.

  "Lady Morrigan?" I whisper, raising an eyebrow at her.

  "A human approximation of respect," she replies with the faintest hint of amusement. "They require familiar hierarchical markers to process our presence."

  Before I can respond, a boisterous man in elaborate purple and gold robes approaches, arms spread wide in an exaggerated gesture of welcome. His substantial girth and numerous jeweled rings suggest both wealth and a fondness for its more indulgent benefits.

  "Monster Lord! What an honor to welcome you to my humble home!" His voice carries the practiced projection of someone accustomed to being heard in crowded rooms. "I am Lord Barton Velimir, Merchant Magistrate of Northcrest and Chief Representative of the Northern Confederation Trading Guild."

  "Lord Velimir," I greet him with what I hope is appropriate formality. "Thank you for your hospitality."

  "Please, please, come in properly! Refreshments, entertainment, introductions to our finest families!" He gestures expansively, then seems to notice my lieutenants properly for the first time. His smile flickers only momentarily before resettling with professional determination. "And your... distinguished companions are most welcome as well, of course."

  "We appreciate the invitation," I reply, noting how carefully he avoids directly addressing my monsters. "Though I should mention we have a battle tomorrow, so we can't stay too late."

  "Naturally, naturally! Just a small gathering to express our gratitude for your assistance in this troubling time." He lowers his voice conspiratorially. "And perhaps to discuss certain mutually beneficial arrangements for after your success."

  Here we go. Not even through the door and already the scheming begins.

  "I'm looking forward to it," I lie politely.

  Lord Velimir beams, then snaps his fingers at several servants who approach with trays of drinks. "Please, enjoy our finest spirits! Now, there are several people absolutely dying to meet you."

  What follows is a bewildering parade of introductions to merchant lords, guild representatives, and various officials whose titles blur together in my memory. Each conversation follows a similar pattern, nervously polite greetings, carefully framed questions about my domain's resources or military capabilities, and inevitably, some kind of business proposition thinly disguised as casual conversation.

  "My lumber operations could certainly supply whatever construction materials your... territory might require," one merchant suggests, eyeing Nerk with poorly concealed apprehension. "At very preferential rates, I assure you."

  "The Goldenleaf Spice Consortium would be most interested in exclusive rights to any, ah, unique botanicals your swamp territories might produce," another offers, while simultaneously trying to maneuver his impressively dressed daughter into my line of sight.

  "Have you considered the benefits of a formal military alliance beyond this current arrangement?" a guild representative inquires. "Many merchant caravans would pay handsomely for monster escorts through dangerous territories."

  Through it all, my lieutenants remain nearby, their reactions varying according to their natures. Nerk observes everything with tactical precision, clearly cataloging each interaction for future reference. Gorthal stands intimidatingly still, his metallic skin patterns occasionally pulsing when someone approaches too suddenly. Morrigan maintains an aloof dignity that somehow makes the merchants more nervous than the others' more obviously monstrous qualities.

  "Monster Lord, I simply must introduce you to my daughter, Elara," Lord Velimir eventually announces, steering me toward a young woman in an elaborate gown of silver and blue. "She's quite the accomplished scholar of natural philosophy, absolutely fascinated by your, ah, domain's unique ecological properties."

  Elara Velimir curtsies gracefully, though I notice her curious gaze keeps drifting toward Morrigan rather than settling on me. "An honor, Monster Lord. Father speaks of little else since news of your army's approach reached us."

  "The honor is mine," I reply automatically. "Though I suspect your father's interest lies more in potential trade agreements than ecological studies."

  She laughs, a genuine sound that stands out amid the forced politeness surrounding us. "Directness! How refreshing. Yes, Father sees gold-stamped contracts in every introduction. I, however, have more scholarly interests. The evolutionary patterns you've reportedly catalyzed among monstrous species represent an unprecedented biological phenomenon."

  I blink, surprised by her candor and obvious intelligence. "That's... actually impressive insight. Most people just see scary monsters."

  "Most people lack imagination," she replies with a shrug. "Or education. I've studied with natural philosophers from the Western Academies. The reported transformations of your lieutenants suggest fundamental principles of biology we've barely begun to understand."

  Before our conversation can continue, Lord Velimir interrupts. "Elara is also an accomplished musician! Perhaps a demonstration later? But first, Lord Caldwell has been most insistent on discussing certain mining opportunities with you."

  I'm whisked away to another conversation, then another, the pattern repeating with mind-numbing consistency. Merchant lords parade their daughters while discussing resource extraction. Guild representatives outline caravan protection schemes. Everyone wants something, their motivations transparent despite the veneer of social niceties.

  After nearly two hours of this, I manage to extract myself for a moment, finding a relatively quiet corner near an elaborate ice sculpture. Morrigan materializes beside me, her timing impeccable as always.

  "This is exhausting," I mutter, taking a long drink from a goblet of surprisingly good wine. "Is it me, or is everyone here trying to either marry me off or sign me to a lifetime contract?"

  "Both, frequently simultaneously," she confirms. "It's reasonably predictable behavior. You represent an emerging power with unique capabilities and resources. They seek to secure advantageous connections before their competitors."

  "And they think marrying me to their daughters is the way to do that?" I shake my head in disbelief.

  "A traditional approach to alliance-building among humans," she notes. "Though in this case, primarily motivated by the assumption that you, being visibly human yourself, would naturally prefer human companionship and thus be susceptible to such arrangements."

  I glance at her. "And what do you think about that assumption?"

  For once, Morrigan seems slightly caught off guard by my question. She pauses before answering, her transformed features difficult to read in the elaborately shadowed lighting of the hall.

  "I think," she finally says, "that assumptions about your preferences are presumptuous regardless of their basis. You are the Monster Lord, neither fully part of human society nor entirely separate from it. Traditional expectations apply poorly to unprecedented circumstances."

  Before I can pursue this surprisingly philosophical turn in our conversation, Gorthal approaches, his metallic skin reflecting the candlelight in shifting patterns.

  "We should return to camp," he states, his layered voice drawing nervous glances from nearby guests. "Dawn comes early. Battle preparations require completion."

  He's right, of course. We've made our appearance, fulfilled the social obligation, and now need to focus on tomorrow's engagement.

  I make my way to Lord Velimir, who's deep in animated conversation with several guild representatives. "Lord Velimir, I must thank you for your hospitality, but we need to return to our camp. Dawn will arrive early, and there are final preparations to be made."

  His face falls slightly. "But the main course hasn't even been served! And I had arranged for a musical performance that I'm certain you would find most entertaining."

  "Unfortunately, battlefield readiness must take precedence," I reply firmly. "We'll have plenty of time for celebrations after tomorrow's victory."

  After a few more protestations, finally placated with promises of future visits, we make our exit. The night air feels refreshingly cool after the stuffy confines of the mansion, and I breathe deeply as we make our way back through Northcrest's now-quieter streets.

  "Well, that was educational," I remark as we approach the eastern gate. "I never knew I was such an eligible bachelor."

  "Humans attempt to categorize unprecedented developments within familiar frameworks," Nerk observes. "Marriage alliance represents most comprehensible method of securing connection to Monster Lord's power base."

  "I'm just glad it's over," I admit. "Now we can focus on what really matters."

  As we return to our encampment, the energy has shifted. Our forces move with purpose, preparing for tomorrow's engagement. Hobgoblins check weapons and armor with mechanical precision. Blood-warriors complete their ritual preparations under Gorthal's guidance. Hagravens establish magical communication networks that will link our units during battle.

  Tomorrow will be a defining moment, our first major engagement against a conventional army, an opportunity for Nerk to test his thousand-captain system under battlefield conditions.

  I just need to make sure nothing goes wrong.