Headed by a Snake

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In theory, the hellborne did not need much training to be an effective fighting unit.

Though, the term 'effective' was debatable by his usual standards.

Of course, Tycondrius would have appreciated a few weeks of training. Imparting fighting formations and specific tactics designed for use on the natives would sharpen the sword that was Infernus Invictus.

But as long as he had the overwhelming numbers that the Eternal Battlefield had to offer, he was confident in taking near any objective in the Plane of Fire.

Unfortunately...

His hellborne-gathering strategy was not working as quickly as he would have liked.

With some assistance from another member of the Hero's party, he hoped his issues could be resolved.

But... how?

A tearful, purple-haired High Oracle shared his company at an improvised tea table, on a cliff high above a similarly-improvised dueling arena.

[Prince,] she signed. [I missed you a lot.]

"Drink your tea," Tycon chided. "And eat the spiced dough balls. They won't stay crisp for long."

Or maybe they would, considering the rather arid locale?

Similar to Pale, Troia had grown magnificently. She was taller-- though not as tall as Tycon, (as could reasonably be expected for a Tyrion female.)

She did need a haircut, though.

...Tycon wondered if their camp yet had a Beauty Demon, familiar with cutting women's hair.

He knew that hair care for women was different than that for men, but was not privy to the particulars.

[Prince?] Troia signed.

Ah. What was he doing?

Tycon placed the memory crystal back onto the table. He was reviewing the aerial data the Holy Princess had collected, hoping to find a clue on where Kimura Taree's whereabouts.

She chanced upon a trail of murder and devastation that left her uncertain-- but Tycon found favorable.

"If you're concerned for Miss Kimura," Tycon began, "as I told Pale, her safety can be reasonably guaranteed. Dragan has gone after her."

[Where is the Hero?] Troia inquired, [I know he's here.]

Tycon raised an eyebrow. The notion confirmed his suspicion that the Holy Princess was tracking Pale's location.

Or it could have been a logical induction. She was clever enough, for it.

...or perhaps it was her intuition as a woman? --yet another reason why women could not be underestimated in his field of work.

"He's down below," Tycon answered.

He directed Troia's attention to the dueling arena at the base of the cliff.

It was somewhat surprising that she had yet to take note of it.

(But, then again, the child had cried in his arms for almost 10 minutes before he forced her to sit, eat, and drink.)

Young Master Pale was fighting with his bare hands, wearing only his undergarments and slathered in a copious amount of hellborne blood.

It wasn't... the best look, Tycon realized.

He tapped his finger anxiously on the table. If the Princess of the Holy Country took issue with his methods--

[My full trust,] Troia signed, [you have it.]

Tycon narrowed his eyes, "You're certain?"

[Certain.]

"...You must have *some* questions," Tycon frowned.

There were a few notions he was expecting to come under scrutiny... particularly when taking account of the Troia's station.

Quite plain to see was a 50 yalm diameter hole providing a constant stream of hellborne. The line form was administered by former Legion Devils directing new recruits on which company to join based on their equipment and military specializations.

And to attract those new recruits, Tycon had scribed a ⌈Ritual of Battle⌋ around Pale's dueling ring.

Channeling the essence of battle via mortal combat was an excellent way of attracting hellborne from the Eternal Battlefield to conscript into his army.

And there was no better catalyst of battle than the Hero of the Realm, with his superior reflexes, resilience, and nigh-bottomless mana reserves:

Pale Invictus.

However, with his armor on, the boy would be impervious to any injury from the admittedly lowborne demons and devils.

He wouldn't be engaging in battle, but a one-sided thrashing.

Thus, Tycon bid him go without.

Yet... even without armor, Pale still had the high-tier Class, Spear Hero.

Thus, for the hellborne to potentially survive the exchanges, Tycon bid the boy to fight without a weapon.

Then... Pale still had an Adamantine-Rank physique.

To grant the hellborne the confidence they needed to attack in full force, Tycon put a bullet into each of the boy's legs.

--and he wasn't allowed to use his Skill, ⌈Healing Sands⌋ unless he deemed it absolutely necessary.

He wouldn't. The boy was rather foolhardy-- similar to his father in that regard.

But all those things combined might have appeared... excessive.

And even put into simpler terms, Tycon was risking a Hero's life to attract an army of sentients a Hero generally... wanted less of.

It was reasonable that the Holy Princess would have a negative opinion of his methods.

Tycon mentally prepared himself for it.

The Holy Princess... pursed her lips... and gave a soft sigh.

Then, she signed...

[Is my Hero safe?]

...Tycon tilted his head.

"Absolutely not," he replied.

[Is he willing?]

"Objection: relevance."

[How can I help?]

Tycon closed his eyes, caught off-guard by the young lady's conviction. None of the inquiries he expected came to pass.

He was actually hoping to be challenged. The notion of gathering a hellborne army was the first idea he had. He would have appreciated a second opinion or someone to point out the flaws of the first.

Troia, after all, had journeyed with Pale for many years. Since Tycon had discovered the boy's adventuring acumen, he welcomed anything his companions had to say.

--not including the Kimura girl, of course.

In his mind, that woman was guilty of sheer idiocy until proven otherwise.

He sensed the Holy Princess standing up and walking around the table.

She signed... [I'm ready,] then raised her arms to the side.

The... willful gesture... Tycon failed to understand.

If she was asking for a hug, that was grossly unacceptable and he refused to comply.

"And... what are you ready for, exactly?"

[Shoot me.]

What?

"...Why?"

[Training,] Troia signed, tilting her head. [The Hero is training, yes?]

Tycon felt his mouth twitch. What Pale was doing was *also* training, but that was not the main goal of the operation.

⟬ Troia, Bronze-Rank Human Hallowed Summoner. ⟭

The Holy Princess seemed to be suggesting that she undergo the same conditions as Pale.

--for... training, perhaps?

However, that... without certain reservations, was simply not viable.

Troia had grown stronger in the years since they last met.

Even still... to state it without reservation-- she was quite weak.

The young lady's field utility was not in her personal abilities but in her skill with piloting Dawnbringer.

That particular white-and-gold mana construct was parked immobile and adjacent to their tea table. It towered over the two of them at its full height of 60 fulms (give or take a few.)

--but the fact that the Holy Princess was currently separate from her Divine Armor gave Tycon an interesting idea.

"Very well," he said... "I've thought of just the training for you, my dear."

Tycon turned to Troia.

She was... literally beaming with light-- so much that his eyes hurt to gaze directly at her.

It was bothersome... but also consistent with her character.

[When can we begin?] she signed excitedly.

Tycon touched his thumb and forefinger to his spatial ring, physically pulling out a handkerchief.

"I've noticed there is a seal on Young Master Pale's mana circuits," he said, wrapping the handkerchief around Troia's fingers. "I'm assuming that's your doing?"

The Holy Princess tilted her head curiously, then shook her head to signal the negative.

So she did not know.

He found that rather peculiar-- but it was irrelevant to the situation.

Tycon could not isolate Pale's magical limiter, but he had not prioritized it as it was likely as benign as it was non-intrusive.

However, the Spell was relatively easy to break.

Pale merely needed to circulate more mana than the enchantment could process.

"Miss Troia," Tycon smiled politely, "I'm assuming Dawnbringer's defensive range is... 300 imperial feet or less?"

The Holy Princess pursed her lips. She nodded, but the motion was slow and uncertain.

"Oh? Have you lost confidence?" Tycon teased.

To that, the young lady willfully shook her head before raising her fists beside her face.

A boxing stance? Very well.

"I'm glad. I have a mission of great import-- and I have the utmost confidence in your ability to complete it."

Tycon finished binding Troia's fingers. Considering her physique, it would be difficult to undo the knots or break the material without time or adept assistance.

Troia's eyes were sparkling once more. That was a good sign.

"I'd like you to heal Pale's injuries and help him don his armor," Tycon ordered. "However, I'm imposing a 60-minute ban on you summoning Dawnbringer to your aid. Are you ready?"

The Holy Princess' eyes grew wide. She began shaking her head furiously.

Tycon snatched the girl's chin, stopping her movement.

"My apologies. I misspoke. What I meant to say was: do you understand the task?"

The Holy Princess swallowed her saliva.

She nodded, but once.

Tycon took a step backward, granting the terrified young lady a stern nod in return.

Then he kicked her off the cliff's edge.

His sandaled foot connected with a solid ⌈Mana Ward⌋, automatically cast by Dawnbringer.

"Aaaaaiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee!!!"

Tycon sensed the faint ringing of bells in the air as the Holy Princess screamed.

--though her reason for screaming left him bewildered.

She was in no immediate danger. Any defensive spell cast by her Divine Armor would naturally also protect her from a fall, even past Dawnbringer's casting range. It was a necessary safety feature, considering the Divine Armor's height.

Then... Tycon watched the noisy, ⌈Mana Warded⌋ teenager bouncing along the jagged cliff face.

...He had done her a disservice by not kicking her with more force.

He'd apologize later, (if he remembered.)

Nearing the bottom, Pale tried to catch her... but he likely was unused to catching or cushioning the fall of a human-sized orb of mana traveling at terminal velocity.

The boy received a nasty blow as Troia's mana-ball ricocheted off of his face. Subsequently, the Hallowed Ball bowled into a gaggle of Infernus Invictus' best and brightest.

Ugh.

If they were wise, they'd take advantage of the Hero's dazed state to strike a decisive blow or three.

Hopefully, that would elicit a response from the boy, one enough to break his limiter.

And if it wasn't, then protecting both himself and his companion from a century of hellborne would certainly stretch his resources.

Once the limiter was broken... it would attract some choice individuals from amongst the locals.

And, with some luck, it would also stoke the curiosities of the hellborne beyond the ⌈Gate⌋ in the Eternal Battlefield.

Then... the next stage of Tycon's plan would begin.

"All hail, Infernus Invictus."

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