Reincarnated as an AXE!

“If I don’t get any coffee down my throat in the next thirty seconds, someone’s getting drowned in the river,” Commander Dale Hutchins, a burly, balding man in his mid-forties who was the base commander of Null Westes, said in warning to his senior officers, who all sat gathered in the meeting room. “Probably you, Ed.”

“Got your back, Commander,” said Carrie Chalmers, his second in command. After everyone saluted, she passed along a pot of the Alliance’s finest brew, from which Hutchins gratefully accepted a large pour into his oversized mug.

"Ahhh, is there anything like the taste of this beatific blend of cat piss and rotten bean? Truly, the Alliance loves all her children,” Hutchens said meditatively.

“Don't give the brass too much credit, sir.” Chalmers said chidingly. “We’re the ones who provide the dirty stockings used for filtering."

“I’d definitely suck the dirt off your hose, ma’am,” said Ed with a bit of hope in his voice.

“And I’d definitely have you shot in the face if you ever made the attempt,” Chalmers replied cheerfully.

“Moving on, kids, we've got a busy morning today,” Hutchins said. “I’m going to need some updates on the new personnel who’ll be arriving soon. How’s the situation in the east settlements going?”

“Oh, you’re going to love this one,” laughed Chalmers with fake mirth. “It looks like we’ve got some Pal-dian extremists running wild out there. They’re claiming that they’re suffering mistreatment from the locals and vowed to take the law into their own hands if we refuse them aid.”

“That has got to be a joke,” snorted Thompson in disbelief. “Who the hell do those deviants think they are to demand anything from us but the spit in our mouths?”

“I really wouldn’t mind slapping a little humility into them,” said Chalmers. “One of these days they’re going to have to get it through their thick skulls that being from Paldia doesn’t mean a damn thing in today’s world. They’re such entitled little pricks.”

“Well, the locals will set them straight soon enough,” laughed Ed. “Nothing for us to deal with.”

An aide entered the room bearing a sealed letter which he hurriedly passed to Hutchens before departing.

“It's funny you should say that,” said Hutchins after reading it. “It would seem that all seven would be vigilantes have recently suffered a simultaneous disconnect.”

“Huh?”

“Well, let’s just say they were all found nesting southwards of a tree branch.”

“Hahahaha!” laughed Thompson at the news.

“Oh, shut up, Thompson,” said Chalmers disgustedly. “You already know that Denard’s going to take these hangings personally and insist on investigating them when he gets back, which’ll make more work for me.”

“I’m just offering a little light-hearted commentary,” said Thompson sheepishly. “Still, good thing the Hero is always willing to go that extra step, right?”

“Yeah, otherwise you might have to work for a living,” said Chalmers with poisonous sweetness.

Hours later

“No, no, I get it, I do,” Hutchens said.

He was describing an amusing argument he’d had earlier in the week with an angry representative from one of the new settlements.

“You tore a bunch of traumatized war orphans screaming from the arms of their new families and gave them back to the natives you stole them from to save yours lives. But they double crossed you and now events have taken a turn towards being SCARY. That was the gist of it. Was I gisting? Is that even a word? Carrie, is gisting a word?”

“Gisting is not a word, Commander,” replied Lieutenant Chalmers.

“Yeah, well, tell that to my son. Puberty hit that punk like a rhino horn. The missus is always complaining to me about having to clean his bedsheets, says his room is starting to smell like old gruyere—

“That’s really more than I ever wanted to know about your son, Commander,” said Chalmers.

“—or maybe fresh limburger, I don’t know. She wants me to talk to him, father-to-son, ask him to give it a rest, take the weekend off or something. I mean it’s not like he’s getting paid for it. I’m trying to think of what to say to him. Maybe, "Son, you don’t need to flog it like a dead horse!”

“That’s not how the saying goes, Commander. You don’t want to flog a dead horse.”

“Well, I don’t want him flogging himself either!”

“You know, I have a theory that kids who start wanking early, become adults with small pricks,” said Thompson, who found the conversation interesting and wanted to contribute.

“Are you speaking from experience, Thompson?” asked Chalmers who hated Thompson, hated him so fucking much, had hated him for years, and would gladly hate him for eternity if she could but live long enough.

“Huh? No!” said Thompson defensively.

“Explain it. Explain your reasoning, right now,” Chalmers said. Her expression was so severe that Thompson began to fear for his safety.

“O-okay,” he said, stumbling on his words a bit. “It’s like weightlifting, yeah? Kids who lift weights too early can hurt their bone structure and stop growing, right? Well, my theory is the same thing. Only, for wanking. It makes sense, right?”

A stunned silence awkwardly enveloped the room. Thompson looked around in desperation, but it seemed he had no allies here.

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, Thompson,” erupted Chalmers. “I mean it. That theory has leg braces! There is no way in hell you didn’t just now make that shit up.”

“Well, no, I meant—”

“You meant what? You just wanted to aerosolize your stupidity? Mission accomplished, friend!”

“But Ma’am, what I meant is--

“What you just said is not rooted in any kind of actual scientific fact,” cut in Chalmers. “Penises don’t have bones, you idiot, so why would vigorous masturbation stunt their growth?”

“Well, if that’s so, then why do we call them boners?” Thompson asked with horrifying sincerity.

An even more painful silence ensued, which lasted even longer before Chalmers began yelling.

“That didn’t even feel like an actual thought, Thompson,” she seethed. “It felt like an anti-thought, designed to kill real thoughts before they can be born. A thought-bortion. Do you feel proud of how stupid you are? I feel that you should. It's an achievement."

Thompson ‘s eyes turned to the floor in embarrassment. That’s what I get for trying, he thought sadly.

“Now, now, hold on, Carrie,” Hutchens said to her, as he held up a placating hand. “Let’s just simmer down! Thompson ‘s a good man. Not a smart one, but still a good one, and I know he's not deliberately trying to upset you. He just—”

“Sir,” Ed called out urgently after returning to the room. “Sir, Captain Denard has returned, and he wants to speak with you urgently.

“Did he capture the witches? Did he return with the Count’s daughter?” Hutchens demanded.

“Uhhh, he’s got one of the witches iced out in a preservation shell, sir. But that’s a negative on her apprentice and the girl.”

“Oh, well, I guess Mr. Hero of Humanity will have a perfectly reasonable, non-fucked up reason for returning to base one-for-three. Can’t wait to hear it,” Hutchens groaned as he stood up. “I have to make some calls in my office, kids. Meeting dismissed. I’ll send for the captain when I’ve finished.”

“Sir!” they all said as they saluted him.

__

“So, what’s your point, Captain?” Hutchens asked in a bored tone of voice, as he debriefed Denard.

In his office, Hutchens sat behind an ornate desk crafted from Pal-dian oak. It was an old, expensive piece of furniture he’d inherited from his father. Since the fall of Paladia, genuine wooden furnishings from that fallen kingdom had surged tremendously in value. Due to their rarity, they were now considered an extravagance of the wealthy. Hutchens liked having the desk around to show his subordinates the enormous success his family had achieved. Not just anyone sat behind such finery.

For Denard, whose family was far older and far wealthier, the gaudy display reeked of desperate ostentatiousness.

“There’s an unregistered sentient weapon running loose in the world, sir,” he said. “Its threat level is considerable. It’s already proven itself to be hostile to our forces. It needs to be neutralized immediately.”

“Didn’t you say you were the one to initiate combat, Captain?” Hutchens asked him.

“Yes, sir, but only after it murdered my men!”

“And you’re certain they weren’t the ones who began hostilities?”

“What are you saying? My people were only there to begin with to locate the Count’s daughter after that selfish brat chose to flee with the Eun Malum—

“Kidnapped,” Hutchens cut in sharply. “She was kidnapped, Captain Denard. That’s the official story and we’re sticking to it.”

“—after she was kidnapped,” Denard corrected himself. “I stand by their training, sir. We were in a foreign country; they would have known better than to start shit with some random local. The only thing I can think of to explain his behavior is that he was a Eun Malum trap.”

“If the Eun Malum had a weapon powerful enough to give even you a good fight, then why wouldn’t they have deployed it earlier?” Hutchens inquired. “Does that make any sense to you?”

“I think...,” Denard hesitated as he spoke. He’s not going to believe me, this will just be a waste of time, he thought.

“Yes, Captain” Hutchens asked impatiently.

Oh, to hell with it, Denard decided. “Sir, I think that the events of the retrieval operation were orchestrated. Maybe the kidnappers weren’t aware of what would occur and were being used as puppets?”

“Again: for what purpose?”

Denard swallowed. He hated discussing this aspect of himself with others.

“Sir, I don’t really go for all that prophetic stuff. I consider myself a soldier and nothing more, and that’s how I’ve chosen to live my life. But…I am the Hero. And that’s a status that’s rubbed a lot of people the wrong way over the years. It wouldn’t surprise me if this were part of an ongoing conspiracy to either dispose of me or make me look ineffective.”

“Captain, have you been breathing in aluminum fumes or something? You’re not being serious, are you?” Hutchens chortled. “You’re putting forth a conspiracy theory? A conspiracy to make you look bad? That’s a little egotistical, wouldn’t you say?”

“Sir, please, just listen,” Denard said urgently. “I’m not making this up. That beach slasher in Felos City, the Eradanus vigilantes, the Eun Malum being radicalized, the mutiny at Noen Gardia—

“How the hell do you know about the mutiny at Noen Gardia?” asked Hutchens in surprise.

“I was the one who suppressed it,” Denard said quietly. “And these recent events make It seem as though whenever the old alliance factions act out, I’ll be the one to silence them.”

For the first time since Hutchens met him, a hint of a tremor touched Denard’s voice.

“I’m sick of it,” Denard continued. “It’s butchery. It’s murder. The people I’m sent against, most of them aren’t even warriors, they’re scholars, or just angry civilians, but someone out there is using them for—

“Captain Denard...Jonah,” warned Hutchens. “Our official state policy is that only criminals engage in the sort of shenanigans you’ve just described. That means you’re accusing your superiors of unlawful behavior. Calm down and think a little before you speak.”

“Sir, every one of those civilian dissidents in Felos City were high on the same alchemist's brew of adrenals and hallucinogens,” Denard said heatedly. “As were the mutineers at Noel G. Are we really expected to believe that all those people, several nations apart, across the span of three years, had all gotten loaded on the same bad batch?”

“Captain, you’re overthinking this--

“What I think, sir, is that whoever’s setting these people up isn’t bothering to cover their tracks. Why should they? Everybody knows that Pal-dians and Krothians are all ungrateful sub-human filth, and they all deserved what they got! They’re uppity scum who haven’t yet learned their new place in the world, isn’t that so?”

“All right, kid. All right,” Hutchens said wearily. “I tried; I really did. You’re a proven asset, Captain, but you just don’t seem to get how the game is played. Should I be surprised you’d side with a bunch of foreigners over your own people? It’s such a…heroic stance to take.”

“Sir, I choose to believe in the values our Alliance claims to represent,” replied Denard. “And If acting upon those values should negatively affect my career, I’m prepared to accept the consequences.”

Hutchens laughed contemptuously from behind his desk. “By the gods, I liked you better when I didn’t know you were an idealist.”

Hutchens sat silently for a few moments, before continuing. “Speaking of consequences, Captain Denard,” he said, placing a deliberate emphasis on the word. “Technically, you returned in failure. The count’s daughter is still missing. You could be court-martialed for that. Got anything to say for yourself?”

“Sir, I can still find the girl,” said Denard unapologetically. “I decided that the greater priority was returning with the body of Julia Victus and news of the rogue weapon. If necessary, I’d repeat my decision.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say, dumbass,” Hutchens said with a smirk. “Well, I guess you’ve left me no choice.” Hutchens rose from his chair, standing with an air of authoritative finality; like a magistrate preparing to sentence the guilty.

Guess that’s it for me in the military, Denard thought to himself. Whatever.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Knight-Captain Denard,” Hutchens said with a smile.

“What?” asked Denard in confusion; he’d been completely caught off guard. Not much surprised him anymore, but this was one of those rare moments. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s to understand?” asked a suddenly jovial Hutchens. “You saved a lot of lives, kid! How could I punish the man who took down a notorious terrorist and fought like hell to avenge the deaths of his men? All that heroism made me look very good in front of the admiralty. What sort of ungrateful monster would I be if I held a grudge against you?”

“Oh. Well, thank you very much, sir—” Denard began to say before being interrupted.

“You’re a talented young man, Denard,” Hutchens cut in. “Perhaps too talented to stay under my command. Luckily, we’ve found just the posting a true patriot like you deserves.”

Okay, here it comes, Denard thought dejectedly.

“We’re transferring you up North, son. There’s been quite a bit of saber rattling on the border recently. Damn vampires have been acting awfully uppity since the return of one of their missing high council members. Seems the Pal-dians had him in their care for a while, and they’re a little upset about the treatment he received.”

“Commander Hutchens, Sir, I work alone—” Denard tried to say.

“Not anymore you don’t, kid.” replied Hutchens with a merry little grin. “Come on, you’re the hero. All caps, A HERO OF THE ALLIANCE. Time to start passing along your knowledge, time to show everyone else how it’s done! When I look at you, I see a natural leader of men. Don’t prove me wrong!”

Hutchens sat back down, kicked back in his chair, and said: “Politics aside, there’s not a lot of action where you’re heading, Knight-Captain. You’ll have a lot of downtime on your hands. Hopefully you’ll spend it getting your head straight and deciding which values truly matter to you.”

“And should I have difficulty making a decision, sir?” Denard asked, icily.

“Well, then your new posting may very well be the ignominious end of a once promising career,” Hutchens said bluntly. “You’ve got time, think it over. If you get bored, maybe they’ll let you play town constable, out there in the boonies? Everyone loves having an amateur sleuth around. Dismissed.”

Denard turned away, seething with frustration. Iknew I should have kept my mouth shut, he thought. Just as he opened the office door, however, he heard Hutchens’ voice call out.

“Ah, ah, ah! Where’s my salute, Knight-Captain?”

Before he could stop himself, Denard, normally the picture of calm neutrality, turned and gave his commanding officer the only salute he felt the man deserved. A single-fingered one. Then he angrily stomped away.

---

For his part, Hutchens laughed harder than he had in years; it was a belly shaking explosion of mirth that lasted so long, he worried he’d break a rib. When he finally settled down, he wiped his brow and sighed, as he slowly regained his breath.

“Heh, good for you, Denard,” he said to the empty room. While the kid was normally about as emotionally expressive as a small rock, it seemed he had quite the volatile nature buried beneath that unflappable exterior.

As Mama liked to say, still waters run deep, thought the amused Hutchens.

Despite the flagrant disrespect he’d been shown, Hutchens decided to let it slide, just this once, for old times’ sake. Besides, no one would have believed him if he said what Denard had done!

Still chuckling to himself, Hutchens activated the sigils on his transmission mirror and sent out an encoded request for face-to-face communication. A few moments later, he was granted permission to connect. “It’s done, Ser Mae,” he said to the human noble projecting from his screen. “The loose end has been trimmed.”

“Not as thoroughly as I’d like,” Ser Mae told him, humorlessly. He was a handsome, but stern-looking young man of far west ancestry. Young though he was, he exuded an aura of such absolute authority that Hutchens, who was a twenty-year veteran of the service, was always tempted to salute him whenever they made contact.

“You’re certain a more permanent solution can’t be arranged?” Ser Mae asked, pointedly.

“An officer of that caliber doesn’t deserve to lose his career for the sake of a few dead underlings,” replied Hutchens. “Not even a half-breed.”

“I wasn’t talking about ending his career,” Ser Mae said ominously.

He must be joking. “Well, if ever you feel like throwing your life away, why not armor up and take a swing at Denard yourself?” Hutchens snorted.

“Don’t think I couldn’t deal with him personally, Commander,” Mae said. “He’s nothing compared to me. One day, the Alliance will know it.”

Hutchens couldn’t help but smirk at Mae’s confidence. Young nobles were all the same, boasting of the glory they’d easily earn in battle if they didn’t have more important things to do with their time. But at least most of those cowards weren’t silly enough to claim they could take down a Magna Hasta.

Oh, I’d love to see you try, sunshine, Hutchens thought uncharitably to himself.

Half-breed or not, Denard was the Magna Hasta, the champion of the Alliance; and Hutchens was an Alliance man, through and through. Rich kids acting hard because they had their family names to hide behind, did not impress him.

Besides, there were all those prophecies that Denard supposedly played a part in. He might well be the literal champion of humanity…

Suddenly, Hutchens realized that while he’d been lost in thought, Mae had continued to stare at him in silent scrutiny. The smile drained from Hutchens’ face when he realized the other man had meant everything he’d just said.

“R-right, well—” Hutchens stammered.

“The agreed upon payment will soon be deposited into your private account," Mae said.

“Thank you. But are you certain this, uh, hunter you’re assigning me will make up for losing Denard?”

“Stalker, Commander Hutchens. His title is stalker,” corrected Mae.

“Right, Stalker. My question still stands, though. Denard is the Magna Hasta. A lot of people are going be wondering why I’m sending him away.”

“That thing’s tainted blood makes him unworthy of being the Magna Hasta,” stated Mae without emotion. “He should have been struck down for the audacity of pursuing the title, much less obtaining it! Correct-thinking people of considerable influence are now petitioning the Alliance senate to have Cross' status invalidated. This grotesque mistake will soon be rectified. “

You’ve got to be kidding me, Hutchens thought. He’d never heard of the title being stripped of someone before. It was supposed to last until death in battle or retirement from service.

“The Stalker being assigned to you will prove his superiority. The girl will be retrieved, and all witnesses will be silenced. Grail, the silence in white has never failed us. The future is ours. You will see,” Mae continued.

“Uh, right,” Hutchens said uncomfortably.

“Yes. Right,” Mae repeated. “A new era has begun, Commander. Forget what came before and embrace the changes to come. Creatures like Jonah Denard will be discarded like rotted fruit. His throat will be slit like that of a swine, but his blood will be carefully collected and poured into a midden bucket, to prevent it from contaminating any precious soil it might have spilled upon. The dirt itself will have more value than his life.”

Hutchens said nothing. He just sat there, listening, not daring to interrupt. This pleased Mae.

“Stay loyal, Commander Hutchens,” he said in dismissal. “Your obedience will guarantee your continued prosperity.”

“Of, course, my lord,” Hutchens said quietly. “Uh, but about Denard's reports of a rogue sentient weapon? If the Eun Malum truly have access to such a tool—”

“Unlikely. The bungling fool was making excuses for both his failure and the loss of his men. Godly weapons do not wander this tainted world randomly intervening in mortal affairs. That is blasphemy. If a divine weapon were to appear, it would immediately see the value of serving we the faithful.”

“Of…course,” Hutchens said.

“Do you remain faithful, Commander Hutchens?” asked Mae.

“Always and forever, great lord.”

“Excellent. See that you remain so. Farewell for now.”

Mae’s image faded from the mirror, leaving Hutchens alone with his thoughts.

Hutchens nearly said what a crazy son of a bitch, aloud, but his instincts warned him to stay silent. Who knew who was watching? Listening? Waiting for an opportunity to catch him off guard? Loyalty might guarantee his prosperity, but silence would preserve his life!

Like he said, old man: It’s a new era, he thought to himself. But it might also soon be time to put in my papers.

Oh, who was he kidding? If he ever actually retired, Carrie would have had Thompson’s life within the hour. She was a smart woman, too. She’d know how to make it look like an accident.

It sure was rough being the boss.