The Engineer's Guide to Defeating A Dark Lord: Chapter One

The problem with most tech is energy storage.

Energy governs everything in combat. When tanks are possible, why do armies still use infantry instead of just making half a million of them? Because making a tank costs energy, shipping it to the combat zone costs more energy, getting it to move costs energy, and firing those awfully large cannons costs energy.

Why do aircraft fly at Mach 2 and missiles at Mach 4? Energy. A missile only has to fly for a few seconds, a jet for several hours. Even dogfighting is a game of energy.

Guns carry stored energy in the form of bullets, missiles in the form of warheads. All warfare is based on converting the energy you have into the destruction of your enemies.

For worlds where magic is plentiful, unlike Earth, energy can be accessed through magic. Magical manipulation of energy lets dragons fly, such as those in the army of the Dark Lord. It animates ancient skeletons and lets them fight as the undead warriors of the Dark Lord. It pulls at the raw energy trapped within the core of air molecules, yanking them apart and recombining them explosively into the ubiquitous Fireball, the staple weapon of the magi of the Alliance of Light as they stand against the Dark Lord's armies.

The magical manipulation of energy also lets the Archmages tear holes in the space between universes, summoning champions from different realities to aid them in their war against the Dark Lord.

This is roughly where I come in.

Picture me, Daniel Gardener. Twenty-eight year old electrical engineer. Specialist in structural design and assembly, particularly prefabricated sections for houses.

If you want to know how an electrical engineer ends up working construction, that's a long story with a lot of depressing economics affixed to it.

After losing my job with a generator manufacturer, I'd started working with a company that did house flipping. Civil and mechanical ain't hard to learn if you have a decent background in electrical, and I was very good at my trade. Not good enough to handle company politics or survive layoffs, but good enough to cross-train and find a new job, even one that paid twenty per cent less than the old one.

Yeah, some bitterness there. Anyway, I figure with what's happening in our world nowadays, you'd want a little less about the economics and a bit more about magical powers and my Connecticut Yankee moment - such as it was.

I was chilling alone in my room when a portal opened up in the floor and sucked me through.

Now, if you know anything about single male engineers in their twenties, you can make a reasonable guess about HOW I was chilling when the portal opened up. If you've never been a lonely twenty-something guy exhausted after a long day at the site, too drained to open up Tinder and face another several hours of rejection, then I'll spare you the details. Suffice to say, my arrival in front of a group of elderly mages who were summoning a sacred champion did not go the way either of us would have wanted or expected.

Once both the mages and I had gotten over our shock, the screaming had died down, and I'd been given a set of robes, they cast the translation spell on me.

"O Holy Champion," the oldest one began, "we have summoned you to.... er ... aid us in defeating the Dark Lord, Magmadraxus the Nightbringer. We apologize for interrupting your....." the mage in question blushed, ".... meditations? However, the free peoples of Elkerath seek your aid in this time of grave peril."

My answer might have involved a lot of sputtering and language that was less sacred and more profane. Working at a site, you learn to say things a particular way. After several minutes, though, I'd run out of steam - and appropriate words to match the depth of my feelings - so the mage got a word in.

"I am Rebbin, Archmage of the Kingdom of Hallerunia. The summoning of a sacred champion is a divine rite, one which can only be cast once in a generation by any kingdom. Unfortunately, it cannot be reversed; however, past Champions have been rewarded richly for their sacrifice and their commitment to this world."

"There's this thing called consent," I spoke in a normal tone, mainly because my throat had started to hurt from the previous bout of yelling. "You don't have mine."

"O sacred champion, we do beseech you to consider aiding us to the best of your ability. Please be aware, without your aid, Magmadraxus may well triumph. And he will not seek your consent before ripping your spine from your body."

That thought gave me pause. Who was this Magmadraxus guy, and how exactly did he get to go around eviscerating people?

"Magmadraxus is the Nightbringer, the Shadowlord of the Northern Reach, the Fist of the Demonic Will. His legions are numerous, and populated by all manner of foul beasts - skeletal warriors, vampires, werewolves, fiends, and even the Six Dragons, who lay waste to any army that takes the field against them. He is the foe to all the living, the breaker of nations, the bringer of chaos."

"Okay, but what does this dude want? Can't he just Netflix and chill like the rest of us?"

"We do not know what it means to Netflix, but his chill touch can certainly freeze a man's blood, even in the height of summer. He is death to all that seek the light, and only the blood, sweat, toil and tears of the four nations of our alliance have held him at bay. The four Kingdoms are summoning the Sacred Champions as a last hope, to aid us in holding back the tide that threatens to sweep away our way of life."

When the dude is that eloquent, you make it a point to listen. Besides, the white-haired mage - Rebbin - sounded pretty desperate, and it wasn't as if I had anything else going on at the moment. "Okay, I guess I can hear you out."

So, they took me to a room where I was bathed - by a group of old bearded men, who seem to take the duty more solemnly than a gravedigger at his trade. They poured literal buckets of water over me - evidently no-one had heard of a shower here - and then dressed me in another robe, this one a bit more ornate.

As in, the thing was festooned with golden thread and silver wire. I could have paid off my student debt with the gown, and had enough to spare for a down payment on a nice four-bedroom.

"Our kingdom, Hallerunia, is enriched by bountiful harvests from the seven rivers," Rebbin told me as we hustled down a long corridor. "Our people, unfortunately, lack the warlike nature of some of our neighbours. Though our soldiers fight valiantly, they are oft hard pressed against the Dark Lord's armies."

I was about to ask more about the Dark Lord when I noticed the lights.

You learn a few things working construction, such as the necessity for a proper circuit layout and internal wiring. Given the medieval level of tech this place had, I was reasonably sure they'd never heard of Ohm's Law. So when I see eerily glowing lights on the wall, illuminating the corridor I was being dragged through with a lux level equal to that of sunshine, it sparks a few questions.

"What powers those lights?"

Rebbin looked puzzled. "Those? They're simple glowstones."

"What are glowstones?"

"They are balls of glass infused with runes of Lux, which can generate a variety of coloured lights. It's a simple charm that any beginner mage can cast."

"How long do they last?"

".... Twenty years or so. Why are you so interested in glowstones?"

"How do you make the glass?"

Rebbin looked a bit frustrated. "Holy Champion, we are about to present you to the four Kings. Can we discuss glassmaking another time?"

"Pretty please with sprinkles on top?"

Rebbin rolled his eyes. "Glass is made by mixing sand and soda, placing it in a mold of desired shape, and then uttering the invocation Fiat Therma. The fresh glass is then extracted from the mold. It is a mere second-order enchantment. Now, can we hold any more questions about the basic trades until after the audience?"

I guess I didn't really want to argue. Meeting the four Kings sounded pretty intimidating to me, since the only king I've ever met wore a rhinestone suit.

So, they took me to the audience room. There must have been hundreds of people there, wearing all types of dresses - elegant silk robes, gowns, some type of pantaloons, headdresses and whatnot. It looked like a menagerie, with the only common feature being the boring black robes and pointy hats worn by some folks.

Said black robes and pointy hats were also the standard uniform of the group of mages who'd abducted me. I'm throwing out a wild guess that the other folks were also mages.

Maybe they were the type that didn't abduct people. You never know.

Another thing I noticed was that virtually everyone wore an armband of some colour. Four colours, to be specific - red, green, blue, and a sort of orangish yellow. Probably one for each kingdom?

However, most of my attention was captured by the scene at the far end of the hall.

Four men sat atop floating thrones.

Like, I kid you not, each throne was a gaudy, ornate monstrosity, hovering five feet above the ground. As a construction professional, I applauded the choice - the elevation of the thrones meant the occupants could easily see the entire crowd.

As an engineer and a believer in the proper rules of physics, my brain was going 'What the fuck?' just by watching that.

The kings themselves looked like you'd expect kings to. Long beards, increasing in colour from full brown at one end to full white at the other, with the middle two kings having steadily increasing shades of grey in their beard and hair.

Was there a pecking order to them, I wondered - maybe the whiter the beard, the more important the king?

Amidst the crowd, there were three groups of mages, each clustered around a single individual. These ones wore very different styles of clothing - a man in leather armour, a woman in green dress decked out with little bits of leaf, and a hulking giant who looked like he'd stepped out of a Mr. Universe catalog. I mean, the guy's muscles had muscles. To add to the fun, he was wearing what looked like tiger-print briefs.

"The Sacred Champions of Nordia,  Eastreach, and Rezavat," murmured Rebbin. "True champions, summoned at the sacred hour as decreed by the conjunction of the twin moons."

"You have two moons."

"Of course. Now pay attention - each will be presented to the four Kings of the Alliance, and asked about how they shall push back the Dark Lord. Based on their answers, the Kings shall grant them a Holy Quest and a Sacred Weapon to carry out the quest. Do you know how to defeat the Dark Lord?"

"Dude, I just got here!"

".... This is important, champion. Only a council of the Four Kings can grant that one of the twelve Sacred Weapons to a Champion, and each can only wield one. To give out too many of the Sacred Weapons to a single Champion risks upsetting the balance of power. The weapon you choose could mean the difference between life and death."

"Shouldn't there be, like, some notes about what each does?"

"It does not matter. The Kings will choose which weapon suits you best. All you need do is explain how you plan to defeat the Dark Lord."

"Meaning, I have to figure out in five minutes what you lot haven't been able to do for years?"

"Of course. You are a Sacred Champion."

I rolled my eyes.

At least the other Champions looked more suitable to pushing back a Dark Lord than I did. The dude in brown leather seemed logical, the lady looked like some kind of forest commando, and Mr. Extra Strong would probably be great at whacking some of those skeletons around, provided someone got him a proper pair of pants.

On second thoughts, his current getup suggested he might have another tool to whack the skeleton with. Well, to each their own, I supposed.

Maybe I could let the other guys do the heavy lifting and coast through the assignment. Hey, it worked in first year of college.

Let no-one ever say Daniel Gardener is too proud to free-ride a project.

Meanwhile, I could figure out how this wonky magic stuff worked. Call me crazy, but I was always more interested in how stuff worked than fancy trappings like job titles or awards. Probably why I didn't do well in the company.

A herald dressed in purple-and-gold livery stepped forward, his voice booming over the crowd. "King Ehruma of Nordia presents to the Court of the Alliance, the Holy Champion of Nordia, Sir Ekkarth the Dragonknight!"

Mr. Leather Armour - sorry, Sir Leather Armour - stepped forward and bowed to the floating kings. "I am Ekkarth, renowned among my people. We have tamed dragons to serve our needs, and I have dueled many in the skies above my homeland. I would be proud to serve the needs of this realm against the abomination."

"A dragonrider!" one of the kings exclaimed. "Did you perchance bring your dragon?"

Ekkarth shook his head. "Unfortunately not. I shall need a mount from these lands."

"We do not have dragons of our own," said another. "We lack the art of taming them. The Dark Lord commands six, though they are said to be bound to him by some fearsome sorcery."

"Then I must hunt for one," replied Ekkarth. "I have studied the basics of dragontaming and am experienced in their care. Give me leave to assemble an expedition, and I shall find one and train it."

"Let this be his first Holy Quest," said the youngest-looking of the kings, the only one whose beard was uniformly brown. "How would you even train a wild dragon?"

"We start them young," explained Ekkarth. "I would seek a nest with eggs and steal them. The eggs would be hatched and the dragon raised amidst people, so they would be trained to fight."

"From eggs?" muttered another of the kings. "How long would this take?"

"Dragons grow fast. Ten, maybe twelve years? Then there's the time it takes for a teenage dragon to be taught the basics of warfighting. Another three years."

The kings muttered amongst themselves. "The Dark Lord has dragons now," one greybeard murmured.

"It is not a matter of now," replied King Brown Beard. "It is dragons in fifteen years, or no dragons."

"You speak wisdom, King Ehruma," replied the greybeard. "Let us grant him a suitable Sacred Weapon to achieve this task."

Brown Beard - or, apparently, King Ehruma - nodded. "The Holy Quest of champion Sir Ekkarth shall be to find dragon eggs and raise them! For this, we grant him the Bow of the Seeker! Archpriest Venable, heed our command."

A man in a gilded cassock stepped forward. "The Bow of the Seeker shall be summoned for the Sacred Champion Sir Ekkarth. It carries the blessings of the gods, to find what is hidden. To seek your desire, fire an arrow into the sky, and travel in the direction where it falls. May it lead you to many nests and dragon eggs, for the glory of the Gods of Light."

"How does the Bow work?" I whispered to Rebbin.

"It is ancient and powerful divine magic," he whispered back. "No one truly knows. Such are the wondrous artifacts of the gods."

"And how do the thrones float? More divine magic?"

"What? No, that's a simple levitation rune, a second order enchantment. Have you truly never seen one before?"

The second champion was led before the kings. The herald announced, "King Noctyl of the Eastreach presents Lady Quartzence Nightingale, Champion of the Reach!"

"A woman?" exclaimed the greybeard. "Are you certain of this, Noctyl?"

The second king - the one with a mixed black-and-grey beard - answered. "Surely you understand, Tzartzakis, that the summoning ritual chooses the best Champion for each Kingdom. She is the one who has answered. Hence, she is the right choice."

The lady bowed to the thrones, seemingly unperturbed. I had to admire her calm - if that'd been me at the receiving end of that shit, I'd be spitting fire.

"I understand your Majesties' concerns," she said. "I am of the Woodkin, an experienced huntress and tracker. There is not a beast in my native land that I have not hunted and slain. Give me leave to prove myself to this Court, and you shall not regret it."

"How would you fight the Dark Lord?" asked Ehruma.

"Whittle down his advancing forces, one unit at a time," replied Nightingale. "Give me a force of fighting men and women, and I shall train them in the ways of my homeland. We shall slip through the woodlands, unseen and unheard, until our arrows strike true in their throats. We shall bleed them, for every inch of soil they take. We shall strike from the darkness, thinning their numbers and leaving the rest cowering in fear."

"The undead do not feel fear," said Ehruma. "They will not retreat."

"Then we shall keep thinning them, that is all."

The kings conferred amongst themselves. "Skirmishing tactics rarely work," pointed out Tzartzakis.

"The province of Wrexhame is sorely pressed, and deeply forested," replied Noctyl. "She can do some good there."

"Let that be her Holy Quest, then," said Tzartzakis. "Liberate Wrexhame from the undead and the werewolves. We should choose a suitable weapon for her."

"The Holy Crossbow," said the fourth of the kings, whose beard was all-white. "Archpriest?"

The venerable Venable spoke up. "The Sacred Champion Quartzence Nightingale is granted the Holy Crossbow of Incineration. Whose bolts set any target aflame, every one enchanted with Fireball."

"At no mana cost," quipped Ehruma, "so you won't run out after four or five casts."

"How much damage can a Fireball do?" I whispered to Rebbin.

"It depends," he whispered back. "Most can injure a man, or an undead. The most powerful can fell a tree or leave a hole in a house."

"A castle wall?"

"Stone's too tough for Fireball."

The third champion stepped forward, a veritable giant of a man. At nearly seven feet tall, he looked like he could rip a tree apart with his bare hands.

"King Tzartzakis of Rezavat presents the Rezavati champion, Hercules!"

"I am Hercules," boomed the giant. "I am the strongest. Show me these undead, and I will crush them."

The giant flexed. And his muscles rippled. Every part, including those hidden under the briefs.

There were 'oohs' and 'aahs' across the audience. A proper champion, indeed.

The fourth king, the whitebeard, spoke up. "Welcome, champion Hercules. How would you fight the Dark Lord?"

"I shall break his bones and crush them."

There was much cheering among the crowd. The kings, however, seemed unmoved. "There are tens of thousands of undead," pointed out King Ehruma.

"I shall crush them."

"And the dragons?"

"I shall catch them. Then I shall crush them."

More cheering.

"We honour our brave champion Hercules," murmured King Ehruma. "Let this be his Holy Quest - to crush the enemy's armies with the strength of his mighty thews. We bestow upon him the Holy Mace of Lasalom."

"The Holy Mace of Lasalom," intoned the archpriest, "increases the wielder's strength tenfold. A single blow shall crush any that stand in its way."

"And my reward?" asked Hercules.

Ehruma nodded. "What do you seek as a reward, Sir Hercules?"

"I shall take the hand of the princess."

Silence spread through the hall.

"Beg pardon?" King Noctyl spoke. "Which princess?"

"Any princess. I want the hand of a princess in marriage. That shall be my reward."

The other three kings turned to glare at the King of Rezavat. "Tzartzakis," growled King Ehruma, "was this your idea?"

"Don't look at me!" blurted Tzartakis. "This is the first I'm hearing of it."

"Very convenient, considering you have only sons...."

"Perhaps this is best discussed elsewhere," murmured King Whitebeard.

"King Volodymyr speaks wisely," replied Noctyl, the king of the black-and-grey beard. "We shall consider which princess might suit a hero of such .... stature .... once he returns with the head of the Dark Lord."

"I shall crush his bones and drink from his skull!" roared Hercules. The crowd cheered.

Meanwhile, I was getting the feeling this project wasn't going to let me coast. Oh well, wouldn't be the first time my classmates screwed me over by not doing the work....

"How long can those thrones float?" I whispered to Rebbin.

"Forever, you dolt... I mean, Holy Champion. Now please focus, it is our turn to be presented."

The herald spoke up. "King Volodymyr of Hallerunia presents the Holy Champion...." he trailed off.

"Daniel Gardener," I supplied.

".... Daniel, of House Gardener!"

Rebbin gave me a slight push, and I found myself propelled in front of the four Kings and the court.

"It seems we are somewhat lacking in information about this Champion?" King Noctyl commented.

King Whitebeard - I mean, Volodymyr - spoke up. "I must apologize for that. The summoning ritual ran longer than expected, and as you are aware, Hallerunia was the last to use the Grand Summoning Chamber. Archmage Rebbin only succeeded less than an hour ago, and I gave instructions for the Champion to be brought directly to the Hall."

"Then we must ensure the Sacred Champion is equipped with the right knowledge, to fight effectively against the Dark Lord," Ehruma said. "Champion, tell us about yourself."

Oh great, a job interview. And I'd left my resume behind....

"Daniel Gardener. Electrical engineer. I've worked on multiple highrise towers, set up cabling systems, built switchgear .... also worked on EVs since they're the in thing now .... I ran a site with three hundred electricians."

"You have led three hundred men in battle?"

"Uh, I've never been in a battle."

Someone snickered from the audience.

"They say a champion matches the nature of the kingdom that summons it," said Tzartzakis. "Perhaps Hallerunia has grown too peaceful."

"We are people of industry and innovation," King Volodymyr replied. "That does not mean we will not do our fair share in war. Tell me, Champion, what do you know of the Dark Lord and his forces?"

"Just a little. Six dragons and lots of undead skeletons?"

"An army of three hundred thousand skeleton warriors, to be precise," said King Volodymyr. "Backed by Death Knights, undead warlords with fearsome death magic. Aided by vampires and werewolves. Fire can drive them away for a while, and maces can crush them, but our people lack the strength and numbers to hold the line. Sooner or later they fall, and rise as servants of the enemy."

"But they can't cut through castle walls?"

"Indeed not, but vampires can fly past the walls by night and open the castle gates."

Check, have a backup plan for vampiric commandos. "Does heat kill the vampires?"

"Fire, cutting off their heads, a stake through the heart - any one of these can kill a vampire, werewolf, or Death Knight. The hard part is getting them to stand still."

"I'll need all your glassmakers, steelworkers, and every mage who can cast a levitation or light rune."

King Volodymyr frowned. "We have many of each - in fact, the most among the four kingdoms - but why?"

"Because I have a plan to defeat the Dark Lord's armies."

That got everyone's attention. "How?" asked King Volodymyr.

"I have a design for a new weapon. All the glassworkers, steelworkers, mages as described - oh, and I'll need about twenty thousand young men and women willing and ready to fight. Preferably those who can fix a waterwheel or drive a cart if needed."

"You need... carters and wheelwrights to form an army," King Ehruma sounded disbelieving. "Not knights? There are many who would willingly serve in the retinue of a Holy Champion."

"Nope, I need people who work for a living."

Some gasps from the audience. Maybe that could have been better phrased... eh, who am I kidding.

"And what would you do with all this, Daniel of House Gardener?" asked King Volodymyr.

"Make you a weapon that will win the war."

The kings looked at each other in confusion. "You will.... make a weapon?" asked Tzartzakis. "You do not desire one of the Holy Weapons?"

"Nope, I prefer my own tools."

"And what would would this weapon be called?"

".... You wouldn't know it means."

"Well then, even more reason to know the name," chuckled King Volodymyr. "Is it a weapon of your homeland, Daniel of House Gardener?"

"Oh, I can't build it on Earth. But here? Here, you have permanent antigravity fields and permanent light sources. Here, I can make these things."

"What things?"

"I call it the Laser Hovertank, and if you give me the tools, King Volodymyr, then I'm going to make you six thousand of these bad boys to wipe your enemies out."