Chapter 13: The Misfits and the Marshal
Roz was, annoyingly, exactly on time.
Gamma had half-expected the minister to make him wait — some small political theater about availability and importance — but the man appeared at the appointed hour with a data-slate under one arm and an expression like a merchant about to reveal his finest goods.
"Four candidates," Roz announced, setting the slate down on the command table. "Each one skilled enough to matter, troublesome enough that the Council will thank you for taking them off their hands. Precisely as requested."
"Let's see them, then."
Roz gestured toward the door, and one by one, they filed in.
The first through the door was a young man in robes too fine for someone who'd clearly slept in them, sharp-eyed and radiating the specific, restless energy of someone perpetually convinced he was the smartest person in whatever room he occupied.
[SCAN COMPLETE — SUBJECT: WILLIAM][CLASSIFICATION: BATTLE MAGE — FIRE SPECIALIZATION][NOTE: HIGH APTITUDE. HIGH EGO. RATIO UNFAVORABLE.]
"You're the devil, then." William didn't bother with a greeting, circling Gamma with open, unbothered curiosity, like a man appraising a horse he already intended to buy. "Interesting. I expected more brimstone. Less... metal."
"Disappointing everyone today," Gamma said. "Get in line."
"I was court-ranked third in my graduating cohort," William continued, entirely unbothered by the deadpan. "Would've been first, if the examiners hadn't been so married to 'proper technique.' I prefer results. Results don't care about form."
"Neither do I. Sit down."
William sat, looking faintly delighted at having apparently passed some test he wasn't aware he'd been given.
Next came a lean, quiet figure who slid through the door rather than walked through it, movements economical in a way that made Gamma's instincts flag him as dangerous before he'd said a single word.
[SCAN COMPLETE — SUBJECT: KENTA][CLASSIFICATION: INFILTRATOR / BLADE SPECIALIST][NOTE: MINIMAL VERBAL OUTPUT. HIGH SITUATIONAL AWARENESS.]
"Kenta," the man offered, by way of introduction, and said nothing further, taking up a position near the wall with the unhurried patience of someone who'd learned long ago that rooms revealed more to people who stayed quiet in them.
"Not much for talking," Gamma observed.
"Talking gets people killed." Kenta's eyes flicked once around the room, cataloguing exits, before settling back on Gamma. "Watching keeps them alive."
"Can't argue with that."
The third arrival announced himself before he'd fully cleared the doorway — a broad-shouldered goblin, easily the largest of his kind Gamma had ever had reason to imagine, ducking his head to clear the frame with an apologetic wince.
[SCAN COMPLETE — SUBJECT: GOBBY][CLASSIFICATION: DEMOLITIONS / HEAVY SUPPORT][NOTE: SIZE ATYPICAL FOR SPECIES. HANDLE WITH CARE — LITERALLY.]
"Sorry, sorry — this door's not built for someone my size." Gobby straightened, offering an earnest, slightly nervous smile. "Name's Gobby. I, uh — I break things. Professionally. It's a whole skill, I promise, it's not just 'big goblin hits stuff.'"
"That's exactly what it is," William said, from his seat.
"It's a nuanced version of that," Gobby corrected, without much conviction.
Gamma found himself, unexpectedly, almost amused. "Noted. Sit."
The last one through the door didn't announce himself at all. He simply arrived — an orc built like a small mountain, hauling a mace across one shoulder that looked like it had been forged for something considerably larger than a standard human frame.
[SCAN COMPLETE — SUBJECT: ORG][CLASSIFICATION: HEAVY MELEE][NOTE: COMBAT DATA EXCEPTIONAL. VERBAL PATTERNS... INCONSISTENT.]
"Org hit things," the orc said, by way of introduction, voice a low rumble pitched with the flat simplicity of a much smaller vocabulary than his actual eyes suggested he possessed. "Org good at hit things."
"Right," Gamma said, watching him for a beat longer than the greeting strictly warranted. Something about the delivery didn't sit quite right — a half-second too deliberate, the cadence just slightly too performed to be entirely natural. He filed the observation away without commenting on it. "Good to know."
Roz, watching the whole procession with visible satisfaction, spread his hands. "Your squad, Lord Marshal. As promised."
They didn't have long to settle before the summons came.
A Council attendant arrived within the hour, requesting Gamma's presence — alone, the man specified, with a stiffness that suggested the request had been carefully worded well before it left whoever's mouth had originally issued it.
The chamber he was led to wasn't the throne room. It was smaller, more clinical, three ministers seated behind a long table with the specific posture of people who had already decided the outcome of a conversation before it started.
"Lord Marshal," the bearded minister began, without much warmth. "We've reviewed your request for an independent operational unit. The Council has concerns."
"Go on."
"Your claim to rank remains — unverified, beyond your own testimony and the Empress's provisional trust." The minister's tone stayed carefully neutral, which somehow made it worse. "A 'Marshal' commanding Hell's forces should, by any reasonable expectation, command considerably more than four soldiers scraped from our own reject rolls. Until such verification is possible, the Council is prepared to recognize you only as..." He paused, choosing the phrase with visible distaste for having to say it aloud. "A Lower Devil. A capable asset. Not a commanding one."
Gamma's visor didn't so much as flicker. "Didn't realize devils came in tiers."
"Apparently they do now," the young minister — Roz's ally, from the throne room — put in, dryly, though something in his tone suggested he found the whole classification faintly ridiculous himself.
"Fine." Gamma's tone stayed level, unbothered. "Call me whatever tier makes the paperwork easier. I don't need a title to do the job."
The bearded minister studied him for a long moment, clearly having expected more resistance than he'd gotten. "...Very well. The squad is approved, unofficially, under Minister Roz's personal authority. Should it fail to produce results, the arrangement ends, and the classification stands."
"Understood." Gamma was already turning to leave. "Won't fail."
Back at the command room, the squad had rearranged itself into the specific chaos of people who'd only just met and were still working out the shape of each other. William was mid-lecture about fire-affinity theory that nobody had asked for. Gobby was very carefully not touching anything in the room that looked breakable, with limited success. Kenta stood exactly where he'd been left, silent and watchful. Org sat on the floor rather than risk a chair that clearly hadn't been built with him in mind, sharpening the head of his mace with slow, patient strokes.
Rie, curled in a chair near the window with her knees drawn up, watched the whole scene with open, delighted interest.
"So," she said, as Gamma stepped back in. "This is the squad."
"This is the squad."
"They know we're basically going to war with actual heroes and angels, right? Not, like, bandits."
"They've been briefed."
"Cool." Rie grinned, entirely too pleased with the whole arrangement. "This feels like a really weird family road trip."
"It's a war," Gamma said.
"Sure. A war-themed family road trip."
Kenta, from his post by the wall, offered a single dry observation without turning his head. "She's not wrong."
Gamma didn't have a response for that. He filed it away instead, next to the growing pile of things about this world he'd stopped expecting to have a clean answer for, and got to work briefing the only unit he currently had.