Chapter #18 — Sharrä, the City of Shit

After a month of travel, slaving away under the intense heat which would have given a normal human skin cancer twelve times, inhaling more fine dust-particles in our lungs to riddle the organ, at last we reached the City State of Sharrä… A barren and desolate wasteland with clearly reinforced walls. “There…”

Perched atop a low, yet steep hill, the fortified Tower stood, while below a small village had formed at the foot of the hill, barely taken care of by the look of it. “Our enemies hide away in an ivory Tower that doesn’t belong to them…”

Pïer’s gaze swept past the terrain, furrowed in concentration. “Let’s show them what it takes to stay in such a Tower.”

Turning to me, the High Lord smiled, “Let’s win this war.”

‘War’s pushing it.’

This was more like a minor dispute compared to the wars I was familiar with on Earth.

Yes, with the advent of incredibly advanced military technology, the need for foot soldiers had diminished greatly then, but thousands of people needed to be deployed to occupy a location still. A few hundreds combatants each was more a… Cartel takeover or ‘war on drug’ campaign of some smug politician in scale. ‘This is a strike at best.’

“I have already informed the captain. The catapults will be prepared within a few days, Your Lordship.”

Although launching barrels filled with waste was possible using the Magic Staffs initially, it would deplete our supplies of Vault Crystal rapidly. Thus, the necessity for an alternative option.

“The process should not take too long. It will take a week or two at most. In the meantime, I would suggest harassing the guards. The sooner we capture the village, the sooner we can return home… Fortunately, it appears that the village is not well-protected.”

Once again, the rebels made a major error.

If I were in their position, I would have defended the village tooth-n’-nail, as it was the only pathway to the Tower, and would keep the siege machines from advancing…

I would have inflicted as much damage on our troops as possible before retreating to the Tower. Still, it’s no surprise they abandoned that plan. The village was structurally unstable, unlike the Tower, which was protected by Enchantments and therefore easier to defend. “Sometimes, I regret creating those turrets… We could have had our men carry buckets of waste and pour it onto the Tower.”

“Plausible,”

I mused. “It would have spared us the effort of constructing siege machines. But then you wouldn’t be where you are now.”

Even amongst the Mages, a hierarchy existed.

At the pinnacle were the Elders or Sages;

Below them were the High Lords, the Wizards, the Apprentices…

Each title reflected a Sharrï Mage’s contributions to their society. Naturally, the Apprentices occupied the lowest rank, a class to which Pïer’s children and most of the Fourth Generation Sharrï currently belonged. The Wizards were accomplished Apprentices who had mastered the fundamental 1st Grade Spells available in the communal Records Hall.

A Wizard would ascend to the rank of High Lord and earn their own Tower once they had created a 3rd Grade Spell.

When we approached Pïer, he was still a Wizard, and it was through the Air Defense System he developed that he quickly gained the title of High Lord, and in exchange for his advancements, he was forced to share his discoveries with the Council and the Sages to enhance their defenses.

This was also why the High Lord valued my advice.

A Spell as intricate as that would have been considered in the 4th Grade, a theoretical level since such a Spell did not exist yet.

Although Pïer possessed immense talent, he had only managed to invent 2nd Grade Spells.

Without my assistance, he would have remained a Wizard…

To be fair, the solution to the problem wasn’t overly complex.

If it wasn’t currently feasible to combine [Aiming], [Shooting], [Mana Conversion], and [Token Recognition] into a single Spell, why not create four separate 1st Grade Spells and connect them with a Spell that integrated all their functions?

This was one of the main reasons why Pïer clashed with almost every faction.

Although his contribution was undeniable, he fell short in terms of his skills as a Mage. Due to this single requirement, there was a group of First Generation Sharrï Mages who hadn’t been able to attain the rank of Sage yet. Out of envy towards the High Lord, they decided to oppose him.

Needless to say, Pïer wasn’t very popular and thus was desperate to improve his reputation.

“I suppose that’s true,” Pïer chuckled, as he made his way towards the unmapped village. “Come, you mentioned it's proper etiquette to negotiate, right?”

“Good place to employ the art of psychological warfare, my Lord.” I remarked. “A battle—”

The High Lord interjected jokingly,

“A battle consists of two arenas, I have not forgotten. You’re hovering, Sharru. Like a parent.”

Chuckling, I replied, “Don’t worry, I won’t be here forever, Milord.” Struggling to contain my laughter.

“And thank the Gods for that,” He responded in jest.

Without wasting any time, we hastened towards the village, approaching the visibly tense guards and signaling the greeting hand gesture of the Sharrï. “What brings you here, mutts of the Sages?!”

“I am Pïer Sharan, the esteemed High Lord of the Council of Shatia, and I have come to negotiate with your leaders.”

Exchanging knowing glances, the guards mumbled to each other before one of them descended the barricade and hurried up the hill. “Stay right there! Our leaders will be down shortly, you slaves of the Sages!”

Pïer and I exchanged amused eye rolls at the insults. “Tell them to hurry, we don’t have all day! We’ve got Cataclysmic Spells to cast and Blood Sacrifices to perform,” The High Lord jokingly remarked, prompting me to play along,

“I’m certain the explosion will be… Cataclysmically delightful, Milord.”

The guard's face turned pale in an instant—I suspected his bowels were about to give way—but to his credit, he resisted the urge to switch sides immediately. That was something, I supposed. “I wonder what effects it will have... Perhaps the Ritual will unleash a deadly plague upon them?”

“Or maybe it will transform them into glass statues, eternal reminders of their foolishness. Neither dead nor alive, just conscious.”

I mused, a hint of dark amusement in my voice. “Such a miserable fate.”

Pïer groaned in an exaggerated manner. “That’s a good one, Sharru. I must remember to write that down.”

We erupted into mad laughter, relishing in the discomfort of the rebel guards whose complexion grew progressively worse with each chuckle. Pïer leaned in to whisper to me, “If we keep this up, I have a feeling they’ll surrender the village to us before their leaders even arrive.”

“One can only hope,” I whispered back, a mischievous glint in my eyes.

But our hopes were dashed as a tall Sharrï, with his wings untied, approached the barricade. “You’re speaking to—”

The Unnamed Rebel Leader, too inconsequential to my story to give light to, began.

What could I say? Even the Divine played favorites.

“If you’ve come to ask for our surrender, you’ve wasted your time! We will not stay your slaves—” The Rebel Leader’s voice trailed off as I interrupted him.

“Please, lay down your arms. It’s over,” I advised, knowing that it would take nothing short of a miracle for the rebels to emerge victorious. Unfortunately for them, the God dispensing miracles was on the side of the Sages.

“There needs to be no bloodshed.” I added, hoping to avoid further violence.

“Oh, but there will be, unless the Council agrees to our—” The Rebel Leader retorted, his tone filled with determination as he listed off a bunch of demands both Pïer and I knew the Sages and the Council would never agree to.

“We cannot accept your demands! It’s too much!”

How dared the rabble ask for a place in the Seat of Power?!

The Rebel Leader’s response was a steely, “There’s no longer a need for negotiation, then. On your way, High Lord. I’ll not stain my honor killing you when you come to parley.”

“Thank the Gods.”

The High Lord muttered under his breath. If the rebels had simply surrendered, Pïer’s much anticipated ‘war contributions’ would remain a distant dream…

Most likely forever out of reach, as the next Rebellion would undoubtedly favor the Non-Mage.

“Our efforts would have been pointless if they had given up so easily,” He commented as we rode back to camp.

From that day onwards, the rebels would dispatch scouts to locate our troops. However, one advantage of our relatively small army was the ability to maneuver quickly and remain off the grids.

In order to conceal ourselves and provide respite from the harsh conditions, we had excavated large trenches that’d get covered up via large pieces of cloth.

Unfortunately, the surrounding area provided little vegetation for us to gather, aside from the remnants of dried-up trees.

This necessitated further division of our soldiers into shifts and the… ‘Borrowing’ of supplies from the rebel village itself.

This task was relatively simple since the village walls were crudely constructed, unlike the near impenetrable structures surrounding the Tower.

Finally, the day of battle arrived. The rebels had dispatched a small company of 100 soldiers to defend the villages.

Utilizing our catapults, we swiftly overpowered their forces, causing them to flee towards the fortified Tower.

As a result, only a few houses were left in ruins.

Naturally, a handful of our own were wounded in the skirmish as well, but their injuries were minor and easily remedied with a sip of water, thanks to the rebels’ frankly abysmal aim.

It came as no surprise, really.

Lacking access to a Mage capable of replenishing their ammunition, the rebels couldn’t maintain their ammunitions. If they used it all up to train the soldiers, that was that. I didn’t envy the rebel leaders’ position. Every move, to them, was a dead move. Unlike them, we had the advantage of a Mage who could conveniently refill our munitions. Furthermore, while the rebels had a hierarchy too, and many of them seemed more inclined to negotiate for better conditions rather than risk an all-out war, despite their public stance.

Allowing this conflict to drag out could potentially result in a stalemate, an attritional war that the loyalists, as the attacking force, could ill afford, so we immediately moved to survey the village. Our swift victory served to uplift the morale of our weary soldiers.

It was no easy task for them, as they had to fight against their own friends, family, and neighbors while carrying the literal tons of waste. Despite our efforts to tightly seal the barrels, the noxious smell stubbornly persisted, fueled by the heat.

While my living conditions were far from ideal on Earth, I never imagined I would witness mold growing on watery excrement… Yet, unfortunately, it seemed possible thanks to the Plague Father’s meddling hands.

And yes, it was as repugnant as it sounded.

Activating [God Mode] only added to my distress. Let’s just leave it at witnessing trillions of microorganisms squirming in the waste was not at all helpful to my mental well-being.

The situation worsened when the first barrel collided with the Shield, causing a disgusting explosion that caused several rebels to accidentally ingest the foul substance in their panic.

Regrettably, occasional rain was necessary to relieve the intense heat, hence the Shield was not designed to block liquid.

As a result, Sharrä City was quickly transformed into a putrid wasteland, permeated with a nauseating stench.

Even the soldiers situated outside the settlements could see waves of foul odor rising from the city.

Some soldiers covered their faces and recoiled from the tactic, repulsed by the situation. Meanwhile, others found the absurdity quite amusing. “Behold,” My gaze swept past the mortals. “The duality of man.”

Pïer and I observed the scene without much reaction.

“That should’ve contaminate their Fountain,” Might be stating the obvious, but it’s quite awkward to watch the far grosser Paradis’ version of ‘two girls one cup’ with a bro.

It’s a lose-lose for the rebels regardless. Either they starved, or put away their pride and consumed the tainted Water of Life, filled to the brims with new diseases now resistant to my formerly All-Healing, All-Curing Water, courtesy of my introverted child.

‘Let’s hope nothing goes airborne.’

Every day and night, we would shower the rebels with wastes, sometimes freshly out of the ‘ovens’ when we ran low.

Every day…

Every night…

The situation had escalated to the point where the substances found their way into their homes, buildings, and even down the hill.

“I’m starting to regret doing this…” Pïer’s face twisted in disgust at the sight.

“Too late to back out now, Milord.”

To make matters worse, the rebels were unable to catch our soldiers in the act as we constantly rotated personnel operating the catapults and moved the weapons themselves.

When it came to retaliating, we made the decision not to occupy the village for a simple reason: The rebels held the high ground. They could cobble up random objects to crush us all.

In fact, they could even employ the same tactic we were using… With greater accuracy, I reckoned.

Pïer had expressed concerns about not guarding the entrance, fearing that the rebels might disperse and regroup elsewhere. But, let’s be real, where would they even go? The primitive trains and railways required a Mage to operate; the surrounding areas were nothing but deserts and dirt. Even if their wings had not been clipped in months, it would still take them many years to regain the ability to fly.

Meanwhile, our soldiers were in good shape.

Even if the rebels had a potential hiding place, our scouts were constantly monitoring the sky day and night.

The rebels were essentially defeated; they just hadn’t realized it yet.

The siege continued for weeks, with our troops consistently using liquid waste as a form of attack. Today marked the beginning of the third week… How quick time seemed to pass when one held the power of a God.

“I don’t understand… why haven’t they surrendered?” Pïer pondered aloud, sipping my drink while seated on a folded blanket. “Don’t they realize how futile their struggles are? Or do they simply enjoy being splashed with filth?”

Clearly frustrated, the High Lord pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s neither. They’re afraid that we’ll kill them.”

“Such fears are unwarranted,” He replied casually and sighed. “Don’t they understand the dire population issue we’re facing? The Council can no longer afford to be heavy-handed.”

“Some of them are aware, yet still afraid,” I explained with a shrug. “But for the most part, they are oblivious. You must understand, as a Mage, your connection to the Great Current allows you to see the bigger picture. That’s a privilege they do not have.”

With the sharp decline of their population, the Sharrï’s Providence had suffered a severe blow, and this hadn’t gone unnoticed by the Sages, nor the Council. If they dipped any lower, they might lose their recently-gained Status as the apex species to the Pleiguseans. ‘Speaking of which,’ Shittu and Damasï were doing quite well for themselves, I’d say.

They had progressed to the Bronze Age… ‘Good for them.’

“Still, our ration’s running out, if they don’t surrender soon…”

He trailed off in worry, his thigh aggressively shaking. “Still your leg, Milord. Haste makes waste.”

“How can I?!”

Seeing his sullen expression, I sighed. “The rebels won’t surrender, not until the Tower falls. I’m sure of it.”

“Then what have we been doing all this time?” He hissed. “Why haven’t we put our forces to better use?”

“Someone will open the gate for us, but it won’t be a rebel.”

His eyes narrowed, “You mean—”

“Milord,” I interrupted, scanning the glass cup I was holding. “What are we doing?”

“I have no time for games, Sharru.”

“Indulge me.” I insisted.

“Trying to quell a rebellion?”

“Here and now, what are we doing?” I continued to question, and his face finally revealed a trace of understanding. “Arguing?”

I nodded. “How many fights have we had to break up in these past 3 weeks?”

“13.” His answer came in an instant.

“There’s no such thing as a completely united front, Milord. I doubt all the inhabitants of Sharrä have turned to the rebels. They may have supported their movement, but only when it doesn’t inconvenient or jeopardize their own livelihood, and now that it has…”

On the fourth day of the week, our scouts apprehended a disheveled man attempting to flee the city, who just seemed relieved upon being caught. “Please, lower your weapons! I am not a rebel!”

He pleaded as the team escorted him to Pïer. The man made a sudden lunge towards the High Lord, who skillfully evaded his grasp, clearly repulsed by the stench. “My Lord, the people of Sharrä are not aligned with the rebels. We are coerced into compliance! Spare our lives, and we will willingly assist you in opening the gate!”

Pïer looked somewhat skeptical at that, but I was certain he hadn’t spoken falsehoods.

Looking at his demeanor, I nodded. “He’s telling the truth, Milord.”

“Good…”

Scanning the room, he smiled, relieved. “Men! Tonight, we take back Sharrä!”