Zoteal squints and frowns. He is over thirty miles away from Sanavil, scouting the land for threats as [General] Rathos ordered. The order annoyed him; thirty miles is a large radius to comb through. His complaints were overruled. Rathos had stated that an army specialized in movement or even just commanded by a [General] with a movement-based Legendary skill would be capable of moving an army thirty miles in less than a day.

Now, Zoteal can see the wisdom of the [General]. An army of over fifty thousand marches on Sanavil. With them, they bring dozens of rams, trebuchets, and other siege weapons, clearly with the intent of taking the city.

Zoteal turns around to face his men. “We’re heading back, double time.”

He begins to ride, the other thirty [Rangers] following suit.

“[Triple Gallop], [Extended Sprint].”

The skills activate and he bursts forward. He listens as the others activate their own skills, quickly matching his speed.

It takes them less than an hour at a steady sprint to reach Sanavil. He can already see the new wall being built, larger and more magnificent than what the city had before. The minotaurs he can see are hard at work laying stone, while others dig in the quarry. The Gejan’s leader, a [Grand Geomancer], had sensed a large stratum of limestone near the city, and now they have a steady supply with which to build the wall.

He gallops past the construction and heads towards the centaur war encampment. The camp [Guards] make way as he runs by them and canters up to the largest tent in the camp.

He enters. “[General] Rathos! An army is bearing down on us from the north, sir!”

Rathos stands up. “How many?”

“Roughly fifty thousand, well equipped too.”

The [General]’s aura explodes like a hurricane around him. It travels out, encompassing everything, including all of Sanavil. Every [Soldier], [Lieutenant], and [Captain] feels the changes in the air.

“All units, Legion Formation. Northern march. Infantry center, cavalry on the flanks!”

Rathos words, loud and clear, embed themselves into the psyche of all those serving under his command. Even Doreson, who has led armies of his own, is completely surprised at the command’s sheer potency. The whole camp instantly springs to life. He can feel the ground rumble as every unit of the army moves at once.

Rathos looks to the gaping [Tactician Captain]. “Stand, Doreson. An army marches at our door,” Rathos’s countenance holds a grim expression. “It is time for battle.”

The [General] walks out of the tent. Doreson, without thinking about it, follows him.

When Doreson exits the tent, his eyes go wide. Everyone is moving. While it would have taken him and his soldiers normally an hour to form up, it’s done in less than a minute under Rathos. No conversations, no slowdown, nothing. Twenty thousand soldiers falling in all at once.

Doreson gulps as he looks over at the [General], the man practically glowing within his aura, projecting a serene confidence.

“How?” he asks.

Rathos, now smiling, looks back at the [Tactician Captain]. “A good [General] moves an army, but a great one moves hearts.”

Rathos points at all the moving units and Doreson sees, no, feels what he means. The aura projects Rathos’s pride and steady confidence. The feelings spread from the [General] to his men, spurring them onwards. The army members are smiling, anticipating what’s coming.

_________________________________________________

Rathos watches with a snort as an armored, enchanted chariot pulls up to him, pulled by two Centaur [Guardians]. The centaurs had found it insulting to have their [General] riding a mere horse, and so the chariot was needed.

He has no experience or skills for riding a chariot, but thankfully, he doesn’t exactly need them. The centaurs can do all the hard work for him.

He gets on the monstrous spikey construction, clearly handcrafted with a combination of monster bones and wood. He puts his hands on the handholds.

“To the front.”

At his words, the two centaurs start moving, leaving Doreson to run after them.

_________________________________________________

With Quasi safely asleep back at the mansion, Jessica can now relax and not worry about keeping him out of trouble. Thus, she has left the security of the Gentleman’s guild and has stepped outside to, well, shop.

Before, when she was a [Priestess], she was often sent into town to procure materials for the temple. Those trips were relaxing and enjoyable. She would browse the shops and fantasize about wearing the clothes, owning the jewelry, or snacking on sumptuous treats. A nice scarf or beautiful earrings always distracted her, but she could never afford such luxuries.

But now, she has money… Well, Quasi’s money. Money about which she feels no compunction spending on herself.

Jessica smiles as she enjoys the cool breeze ruffling her short hair. As she strolls through the magically lit streets, many a gaze lingers upon her. The looks she feels don’t hold lust, but awe, stunned as they are by her beauty. The [Gentlemen] that had lended her the clothes, done her hair and makeup, and used several other abilities upon her has made her picturesque; as though she has stepped out of a painting.

Eventually, she reaches the bridge connected to the mainland. She approaches the [Bridge Guard] with a smile. The man gives her a curious but confused look.

“Is there something I can help you with, my [Lady]?”

Jessica frowns at his words. She reaches into a purse and pulls out her mithril card.

“I was told that I need to show identification before I cross the bridge. Is this not true?”

The [Bridge Guard] looks at her, confused, before he checks the card and her class.

“Ah, you are a mercenary. Apologies. With your noble bearing and beauty, I had assumed you were a [Lady].”

Jessica blushes at his compliment. “Are [Ladies] allowed to cross the bridge without identification?” she asks.

The [Bridge Guard] shrugs. “If I asked for identification from everyone coming and going, we would require more [Guards] or suffer a long line. My job is to keep away the undesirables.”

Jessica nods in understanding with a smile. “Thank you for that information.”

The [Bridge Guard] blushes. He quickly moves out of the way. “No thanks necessary. Please go about your business. Just stay to the side of the bridge so that carriages can travel through the center.”

Jessica does just that, strolling down the well lit bridge, watching the reflected stars and moon twinkle on the calm water, beguiled by the serenity. For the first time in a long time, Jessica relaxes and soaks in the calm beauty of the night.

Too soon, she reaches the end of the bridge and with it ends her idyll. The whole lower city is awake and abuzz, more restless than usual for this town that never sleeps. A crowd is gathered at the terminus of the bridge, jockeying for a chance to cross to the island. The [Bridge guard] is doing his best to keep the people at bay. He even has several regular [Guards] to help him and to deal with the onslaught of questions.

“That music came from the island!”

“Someone woke me up during the night!”

“Who played that?”

“That was fucking amazing!”

She frowns and listens as she wends her way to the market. On her way through the throng, she pieces together the cause of all the commotion.

The entire city had heard Quasi’s performance… Every single person.

How is that possible? It was all underground! I couldn’t hear their battle from outside the room either. This doesn’t make sense.

With hard set eyes, she ignores the swarms of people talking about the music and eventually reaches the stores, stalls, and various crafters of the marketplace. Street vendors hawk their wares to passers by and larger shops display finer wares behind lit windows.

The more premium stores attract Jessica's attention. She wanders past the stalls, only stopping at one particularly delectable smelling food vendor. She makes note of the vendor for future reference before proceeding to the stores.

Once there, she joins everyone else in one of civilization’s oldest and most respectable pastimes:

Window shopping; specifically in the clothing section.

With an eager smile, she walks with excited steps as she looks at the best these stores have to offer. Dresses embroidered with griffin feathers, a bag made from wyvern scale, mithril studded jewelry; many things catch her interest, but she can't help but find the items lacking. For example, the bag made with wyvern scale can’t even remotely compare to the scales of the dungeon wyverns. The purse’s scales aren't nearly as smooth, and lack the lustrous sheen the higher leveled wyverns get from their evolutions. Her thoughts mosey down this path as she continues gazing at the clothing. She can't help but sigh and shake her head. The centaurs can create works of art that are also functional and well enchanted, but the items here just cannot compare.

Eventually, she finds herself in the part of the district where items made for Divers and Mercenaries are sold. Here, her interest returns. Like a moth to a flame, she studies the inventory of dwarf [Knife Smiths]. She looks at the various blades, some are small and thin for skinning, some are heavy and steeply beveled for chopping, an entire case is devoted to straight razors, and an entire shop to kitchen cutlery. She starts with the all purpose utility knives, feeling the grips, testing the edges, examining and flexing the blades.

By the time she had started testing the seventh blade, she finally notices the stares from people around her. Several of the smiths are also watching her. It takes her another moment to realise that she is also the only female at the stand.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asks aloud.

The [Knife Smiths] shake their heads while their eyes are focused like vultures to her hand. She looks to her hand, finding that she had been spinning the blade in her palm.

She stops quickly and places the knife back on the table.

“Fuck my beard lass, how can a [lady] move a knife like that?” one of the dwarves asks.

“Oh, um. I'm not a [Lady]. I’m just a [Priestess].”

Everyone chuckles at her words, except for Jessica, who was being mostly serious.

Their laughter quickly quiets down when they notice that she is sincere.

One of the dwarfs walks up and leans on the counter. “So, those knife movements… I don't suppose you can do that to my own knife?” he says while wiggling his eyebrows and stroking down his beard.

Before Jessica can even register his words, the other dwarfs groan loudly.

“Um…”

“Lass, ignore the fool,” a dwarf with a larger, longer, stronger, and sootier beard enters from a backroom. He walks to the stand, grabs the perverted dwarf by the shirt and violently throws him back.

He then claps his hands and leans on the table. “Sorry bout that, I’ll have him punished later for that. Anyways, name’s Solder Knifeedge, the [Master Knifesmith] of this smithy. What can I do for you, lass?”

She nods. “My name is Jess, [Priestess] of Eir. I’m looking for a very sharp knife.”

The [Master Knifesmith] rolls his eyes, but stops as she continues.

“I need something light and thin with an adamantine edge. It should sport a [Featherweight] enchant alongside [Durability] and [Self repair]. I need a clipped point with a moderate belly and short heel, half the length of my thumb and no wider than my pinky. It should have a single bevel, and be thin enough to still slice well. The handle and point should be in line. I don’t need a guard. The handle must be round and textured with shallow grooves, the tang should be half the length of the handle.”

Solder Knifeedge pauses while he digests her words. He then begins imagining the blade, seeing the construction in his head. He frowns at the three enchantments, but then thinks more deeply about it. Adamantine makes enchanting difficult, but if it’s only on the edge, then it’s possible.

He grunts. “I don't have anything currently to your specifications, but I can craft that blade for you, though,“ he strokes his beard, his aged eyes squinting, “you’re going to need to find a [Grand Enchanter] if you want three enchantments on something with Adamantium. Which, by the way, will cost you an arm and a leg. Adamantium ain't cheap, lass, nor is borrowing the Smithing guilds dragon forge.”

“I can pay.”

The dwarf looks Jessica up and down, taking in her very [Lady] like appearance.

“Seems you can.”

He straightens. “Come back in a week and I’ll have your blade made and ready.”

Jessica smiles. “Perfect, thank you. One last question.”

“Speak lass, but be quick. My forge burns.”

Jessica swallows the lump on her throat, “Um, do you know a Deflon Seron by chance?”

The dwarf squints. He quickly peers right and left before leaning towards Jessica.

“You seem like a nice Lass, so I suggest you forget that name and anything that has to do with the [Rune Smith].”

The dwarf turns around and walks away, waving his hands. “I'll have your knife ready in a week. Come back then!”

Jessica leans away from the counter. Her trained aura manifests an inch from her body, successfully blocking an [Analyze] attempt on her person. She looks around, trying to find the perpetrator, but to no avail. There are too many people.

As she leaves the smithy, she gets an immediate sense that she is being followed.

She reaches into her pocket and grabs a ring. The ugly thing is made of bone with a skull on it. The ring clashes with her current outfit, but the supposed legendary enchantment on it should protect her if something might happen. She just hopes that whatever enchantment Quasi put on the ring is not too dangerous…

She sighs.

It's probably extremely dangerous. Quasi doesn't do anything in half measures.

“Maybe I should take it off…” she whispers.

Then she squeals as a hand plops down on her shoulder.

She quickly turns around and looks at the culprit.

A short human girl is looking at her curiously, alongside a tall skinny… elf?