Day 16: Sword

Discipline / Posture

Her eyes were glued to the marvel of polished bronze.
Before the Sergeant Sister was something unlike anything she had ever seen. A statue of a sleek warrior woman standing at attention. But she was a statue shaped to function like a warrior as well. Her hardened plates resembled a knight’s armour, yet they did not constitute some light shell hanging over her body. This was her body.
Underneath the lamellar following her feminine figure-eight shape from which her frame was cast, there was no naked human or **** flesh. Only a manufactured skeleton, made from strong yet light alloy, the recipe of which was known to her engineer alone.
She had no mouth. Words were considered superfluous to her design. As were expressions. Her head instead bore the resemblance of a masked or visored helmet, with something like binoculars where her eyes should be.
A skirt of plates hung from her waist to protect the joints of her pelvis. Beyond that, the warrior was a single immutable block of bronze. The very image of an invulnerable warrior, balancing the butt of her spear on the ground while awaiting instruction.
The sergeant sister reached her hand out to touch the shimmering plate of her pauldron. She couldn’t help herself.

“Stop at once!”
The Sergeant Sister immediately recoiled and leapt back. Those were orders, from none other than Prior Marie Annabell Ramos herself. The Sergeant Sister stood at attention, nearly as still as the bronze warrior. Even though she faced forward, her eyes couldn’t help but dart towards her superior. Marie paced in circles around the recruit. She could only stay still. Like that statue.
“You are in the Order of Meruvia now, Sergeant Sister.” Marie Annabell Ramos uttered in a calm, nearly soothing voice, yet each syllable hit like a hammer, “You have sworn yourself to a life of poverty, together with your Brothers and Sisters. We do not enjoy the touch of the property of others. Understand?”
The Sergeant Sister did not answer. She did not hear a question. What she heard was a command. No one within the Order would presume anything but that the words of the Prior were listened to and obeyed.
Marie pointed at the rest of the corps with her open hand, “Return to unit. And that will never happen again.”

The Sergeant Sister still did not move an inch. Not until the Prior had turned her back on her, at which point she fell to her knees to ask for divine redemption. After a brief prayer, she stood back up, crossing the snow to return to the formation at the left.
“Hah. I can hardly blame her.” The one who spoke was a Nilean magnate by the Prior’s side. He had a broad nose on a broad face covered in deep furrows, bushes of dark locky hair pointing out from under his long black cap, “Look at her. A mastercraft of engineering and magic joined in a bountiful marriage together. A clockwork woman that moves and fights like a soldier, yet will never get hungry. Never get tired. Never get cold. Will never hesitate, or be gripped by fear. Imagine that. An army that marches to the end of the world by the faintest utterance.”
He passed the Bronze Warrior, admiring her with a satisfied smirk. Then he passed another one amongst the dozens upon dozens of Bronze Warriors stationed next to one another in perfect formation. He stood before one of them, smiling at her like a father would his daughter, running his gloved hand along the cold hard surface of her helmet-face.

“So they will really not stop, until they have completed their mission?” Marie asked.
He turned back to the Prior, “They can not stop. That is the very reason for their existence. To fight on their commander’s behest without ever relenting, is no stranger than rapids unfurling over a waterfall.”
Commander Tarrok, who stood before his company, listened to every single word. His face seemed to find ever more ways of slumping into a resentful scowl for every word spoken.
“Very impressive, Buitleir.” Marie admitted with a nod.
Tarrok clenched his fist.

“Oh, but we haven’t even gotten to the main course.” Buitleir raised his hand. Every line of Bronze Warriors began moving, and moving as one in perfect harmony as if it was impossible for one soldier to raise her foot without all others raising theirs as well. And yet they moved with clockwork speed and precision in a straight line. Every other line marched in opposite direction, until they had marched the exact length of a single line. Then they turned, moved the length of a single unit, and turned again. With that, they marched back into formation, arriving from the opposite direction of how they started. Once the formation was restored, they turned on their heels to face the magnate, and turned back into statues.
“See the way they move?” Buitleir shot Marie a smug joyless grin, “As a single body. This is no group of individuals, with free will that must be tempered to conform with their formation. Each of them obey their respective command predictably and inevitably. And they do so without flaw or delay. With the right man at the helm, a company of these spry ladies might well equal a company of the Meruvean Knights.”
“Or indeed surpass it.” Marie pointed out.

With all his heart, Tarrok wanted to object. He wanted to shout his objection out loud so that none of the snow-covered homesteads which speckled the Nilean countryside could miss it. But he reeled in his impulse.
The Prior, however, noticed him. He was gritting his teeth, and his perplexion had assumed a distinctly red hue.
“Do you have anything on your heart, commander?” She asked.
“Yes, my lady Prior.” He responded, averting his eyes, “If you do not mind?”
“Proceed.”
Tarrok took four steps forward, kneeling on his left leg while keeping his gaze down.
“My lady Prior… Sir Magnate… It is the conviction of my heart that on the battlefield, there is no substitute for the resilience and courage of a trained knight. And his disciplined infantry.”

Marie nodded to that, and turned to the magnate, “Do you have anything to say to that, Buitleir?”
The magnate clasped his hands and faced the kneeling knight, who wouldn’t raise his eyes even still.
“Why, good sir Knight… That really is some remarkable dedication. I can not help but to be in awe. But really now. It is not my intention to replace such martial virtue by any means. No, no. In fact, I’d rather think of it as protecting it. For every Bronze Warrior we send out there, that is one less knight that we risk losing to the rages of war. Indeed, bronze is rather costly. But it is hardly anything compared to the worth of a man’s life, wouldn’t you agree? So why risk the untimely **** of your strong and noble fighters, when these lifeless artefacts, that feel no pain and experience no loss, can be sacrificed in their place?”
Tarrok grumbled softly. He couldn't really argue with that. Didn’t mean the answer made him a smudge happier.

Buitleir paced around the snow as he continued, “Why, it’s exactly the kind martial virtue you display that we here in Nilea have been oh-so **** for. We’ve always depended on our wealth as a trading hub to supply us with mercenary forces when needed. And I’ll be the first to admit, that has not always worked in our favour. Turns out when your forces are more loyal to gold than to banners, you can expect your own pikes to very quickly turn towards you. And the less said about what happens when you’re unable to pay your bills, the better. But should we really be satisfied with that? We, who are at the forefront of magical research in all of Orderdom? I think not! And so I have seen to it personally that an alternative is devised. And the result? They stand before you today!”
He gestured towards the company of Bronze Warriors, pride glowing in his face.

Marie clapped as she approached, “Your initiative is commendable Buitleir. As is your foresight. Truly I am in awe. With such good company, it is nothing short of remarkable that our presence is required here regardless.”
For the first time, Buitleir’s smirk faltered, “Yes, well… Not everyone in our assembly could agree upon what sufficed for our defence. Not least when our reconnaissance noticed some… Curious activity across our borders with Volodymyri. A handful of my fellow magnates believe we can not take any chances before the Bronze Warriors have been tested in the fire of combat. However, we were unanimous in one matter. And that is that the Order of the Chief God should be elucidated on unusual activity within the Demon Realms. So we alerted the Papacy…”
“And they sent us here,” Marie surmised, folding her arms, “In case we are needed as reinforcement.”
Buitleir shrugged, “That does sum it up quite neatly. But unfortunately I must convey you that your input will hardly be required. Oh, how it pains me to waste the time of such a prestigious organization. But such is the way of bureaucracy.”
Marie turned away from him, her black cape fluttering in the wind, “You need not feel sorry for us, Buitleir. If anything, we are the ones who feel sorry for you. The Demon Realm has started to act, and your state is at the closest. Take my word for it; one can never regard the terrors of the Demon Realm as too much of a threat.”
She wandered off to the commander, still kneeling on the ground.
“Rise, commander Tarrok.” The Prior stated, “The sun has started to set. Let’s get the men into the garrison.”

The knight corps housed themselves in the wooden fortress at the border between Nilea and the Demon Realm of Volodymyri. Outside the walls were raised a campsite to house those brothers and sisters that could not be accommodated within the fortress, which in turn was surrounded by moats and palisades. And outside the moats and palisades, of course, the Bronze Warrior vigilantly guarded the campsite all night long.