The Ranger

The ranger notched another arrow into his bow and lined up the shot. He inhaled, then exhaled. The arrow shot through the air and pierced the first soldier’s helmet. He fell over dead. The ranger quickly readied a new arrow and fired. This one found its target in a soldier’s chest. The ranger smiled.

The kingdoms of Leeshen and Tarus had been at war for years. The war began when King Gregory of Leeshen married his daughter off to Prince Anton the Third, but instead of the two ending up happily married, she was found facedown in a ditch with her carriage completely looted. Gregory was furious of course, because he viewed it as incompetence on the Tarun side since the murder occurred in their kingdom. Anton and his father blamed Leeshen and their incompetence, because they had clearly not sent a proper escort for their princess. And since both sides blamed the other, war resulted. It raged on for a long, long time. Gregory had been in the ground for close to two decades and his son Charles only continued to escalate the conflict. Likewise, Anton reigned as king and dispensed legions of soldiers day after day to their deaths.

The war has been stuck in stalemate for years. During its earliest years, the conflict was fought with real soldiers, but it wasn’t long before the kings had their various courts of mages begin to raise legions of homunculi to carry on the war. At that point the war became a stalemate. Each side had to match the other, because whoever could produce more soldiers would win. It didn’t matter how strong each individual soldier was, because by their logic the skilled swordsman would eventually be overwhelmed and annihilated by the limitless horde.

The ranger turned around and strained his eyes to see the bridge. As if in response, he heard a loud explosion. The caravan of Tarus homunculi had reached the bridge and triggered his bombs. Not only did it eliminate a sizable force of soldiers, it also eliminated one of their dreaded trebuchets. Since homunculi were slightly more durable than the average human, it had become a common practice to fling soldiers over the walls of castles that were being besieged. It was in this area of war that the Taruns were more proficient than the Leeshens, so the destruction of a Tarun trebuchet could change the tide of battle.

When he turned around again, the ranger saw a battalion of homunculi heading his way. He tossed a gunpowder bomb in their direction and ran for cover. A few seconds later he heard screams and the sound of flesh tearing. That sound was always sickening to him, no matter how many times he heard it. Once the war had become a stalemate, each side began to hire mercenary rangers to try and sabotage the enemy kingdom. No side had ever been able to gain a definitive lead over the other

The ranger was growing tired. War was fun, but only when one side could trounce the other. Besides, these homunculi were unfeeling instruments of war. Each death meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Because of this relatively bleak state, it was incredibly easy for the ranger to be rather pessimistic.  The only thing that kept the ranger fighting was the handsome reward that the king always gave him. Besides, the job was relatively easy; the homunculi weren’t that smart.

An arrow buried itself deeply into the ranger’s arm, breaking him out of his little reverie.  He would deal with the arrow in a moment, but first he would have to discern its origin. He scanned the forest around him until he saw an enemy ranger perched in a tree, bow drawn. The ranger heard the twang of the strings shortly before he felt the arrow pierce his skull.

Rangers were far more valuable than even trebuchets, so the death of a ranger meant that whoever dealt the fatal blow would receive a hefty commission. The ranger smiled as he hopped down from the tree. His opponent may have destroyed their trebuchet, but he paid his life in recompense. That was enough to make the ranger smile. Besides, who knew how much longer he had? His enemy must have thought the same thing before the arrow cracked his skull. A rather unremarkable death for such an important asset of conquest. But who was he to decide? All he did was carry out the will of his selfish king. The day was long, but the war was longer, and the ranger was growing tired. Besides, it looked like his homunculi would be able to reach the enemy citadel. If they were successful was not a part of his job; all he had to do was escort them and annihilate the opposition. That battle was over, but the ranger doubted that it even mattered. All that mattered to him was that he could leave the battlefield with his life, but sometimes he did occasionally envy the dead and their blissful slumber in eternity.