Chapter 116 - The One-Legged Kraken III

A small groan escaped Claire’s lips as she floundered about in bed. Going back to sleep was difficult, even with her ears plugged and her eyes shut. The problem was a surplus of lucidity. The conversation she held with the moth had pulled her consciousness straight to the forefront.

“Stupid Kryddarian.”

The worst part was that she was still tired. Her body felt heavy and her mind lethargic; every single idea that surfaced was dismissed with the notion that it would be far too much effort and not worth her immediate attention. But as much as she wanted to stay under the covers and uncomfortably laze the hours away, she knew better than to continue wasting her time.

The clock was ticking and the frog was still her better. Her quest would never be completed if she continued to dally, but it was still far too early in the morning for her to be out and about. Looking out the window, she confirmed that the moon had yet to set and that its replacement was nowhere near the horizon. She had slept for a few hours at most, maybe even less. She had no idea when exactly she had retired.

Only after idly staring at the giant glowing circle did she realise that the hurricane had abated. There were still a few clouds floating around off in the distance, but none of them were dark enough to preface a storm. And yet, the manatee remained. Its blubbery shadow flitted through the sky, occasionally crossing the moon as it chased down flocks of birds, just to pat them with its flippers.

The ridiculous sight only served to fuel her decision. Like the submersible eggplant, she was an anomaly. If she stayed, then there would only be further sightings, and the more she was seen, the more she would be discussed. She had to leave.

Though the thought of being driven out wasn’t exactly pleasant, she didn’t think much of it. She had never felt like a part of the citadel, and it wasn’t like she was losing out on any benefits or opportunities. She could always pick up her weapons at a later date or even send Sylvia to fetch them in her stead. The storm was the only reason she had taken up residence in the settlement to begin with, and now that it was gone, so too was her reason to remain. She was just as safe and secure by the beach or atop a different floating island, both of which were options greatly preferred to the cramped interior space. Environmental risk was a nonfactor. Her authority skill’s safe zone had already finished cooling down.

“I need to go see the goblin.”

She whispered to herself as she cast her gaze on the sleeping fox. She didn’t want to wake her, but Sylvia was likely to resent her if she left without letting her know.

“She can find me. It would hardly cause her any trouble.”

Though her words seemed to suggest that she was already on the cusp of a decision, the lyrkress didn’t immediately leap out the window. She raised her arms instead and gently stretched her hands towards the bubble. She was expecting to touch the fox’s fur, but her limbs failed to pass through the watery membrane. Ripples formed where she touched it, but it refused to yield or conform. Her hands were being deflected, just like the pesky moth’s voice.

Smiling softly, she raised the bubble to eye level and took a long look at the four-legged furball. Something inside her stirred as she stared, a mischievous flash of inspiration. She felt the urge to pluck the fox out of her protective shell and harass her in some way or another. Tickling her or pulling her cheeks were the two options that immediately came to mind, but neither was possible. The barrier was too potent, for better or for worse.

I guess I’m leaving her.

With one choice eliminated by way of circumstance, Claire defaulted to the other and began climbing out the window. After squeezing about half her body through, she froze in place and brought a hand to her face whilst dangling from the wooden opening. Only after kneading her brow and pinching her nose did she finally reach behind her and magically seize the floating bubble.

There was nothing stopping her from simply bringing the fox along. Holding Sylvia by the bubble, she took on her lamian form and slithered down the side of the building, avoiding any windows in her path. Though they weren’t made of glass, she saw no reason to run the risk of exposure.

Remaining unseen whilst on the ground was as easy as heading for an alley and avoiding the main street. The backstreets only took a little longer to navigate; she reached the goblin’s forge in just a few minutes

The lack of a constant banging appeared to imply that the smith was either asleep or working on something unrelated, neither of which was a particularly good sign. There was always the possibility that both items were already completed, but she doubted it.

Peeking through the window confirmed her suspicions. The raw materials had barely seen any processing. The meat had been removed, but everything else was still exactly as she left it. She knew little about the amount of time and effort required for a skilled smith to work his magic, or whether the goblin really was as exemplary as he claimed in the first place, but whatever the case, the outcome was clear. She was going to have to wait.

In the meantime, she was more or less free to do as she pleased—a problem in its own right. The lyrkress knew what she wanted to do; she had every intention of leaving the citadel, hunting monsters, and overtaking the frog, but she had no idea what she was meant to kill. Zelos’ instruction had only extended as far as the mirewulves. The bizarre tree monsters were worth a fair amount of experience, but she didn’t think that she was capable of finding them without Sylvia’s help. She needed another option.

Crabby Crags came to mind, but only as a last resort. Its boss was the only thing worth hunting, and it was buried far too deep within the labyrinth. It wasn’t the worst use of her time as far as efficiency was concerned, but she didn’t want to go through the trouble of repeating the mind-numbing trek until the lord lost its value.

If killing lords provided the most experience, then the most natural conclusion was to seek one that was more easily accessible, but a lack of information stopped her in her tracks. Frankly, she had no idea where most of them were. The only one she could pinpoint was the oversized lava whale, and climbing Borrok Peak was an even greater hassle than carving her way through the maze.

Chasing down the owl seemed like another obvious choice, but tracking—catgirl detector—was failing to do its job. The skill itself wasn’t the problem. It was still functional and using it allowed her to determine that the goblin was somewhere on the second floor, but the chain lord continued to elude her nonetheless. She was never able to latch onto its trail, despite checking once every few minutes.

The rest remained as unknowns. She recalled that the lord of the chasm was apparently somewhere in Sky Lagoon, but she had no idea where to find it. All Sylvia had really told her was that it was a fish. Not the most helpful comment, given that there was a whole ocean full of them directly underfoot.

Claire heaved a small sigh as she cast a second glance over her options. Crabby crags was technically the best choice, but Sylvia was likely to wake before she finished ploughing through all the walls and she didn’t want to commit to the hassle.

Shelving the deliberation, she retreated from Frederick’s forge and made for the island’s closest edge. For a while, she did little but stare, at the other floating islands, at the sparkling sea, and even back at the citadel.

Everything was perfectly intact. There wasn’t a single broken tree in sight, even though many had been ripped to pieces by the storm. The building she was hidden behind featured a number of loose bricks, bricks that surely would have been blown away by anything more powerful than a light gust. The discrepancy was justified only by virtue of the location. In a dungeon, there was a set way that everything was meant to be; the realm was sure to revert to its default state if left undisturbed. Or at least that was what she had heard from a traveling bard. She had no idea of the claim’s legitimacy, in part because her memory was hazy, and in part because it came from someone that had likely never set foot in a dungeon. The wandering lizardman that was her father’s favourite entertainer had a reputation for being something of a comic; no one knew if or when he was ever meant to be taken seriously.

After sitting along the edge and taking a few moments to feel the breeze against her tail, the snake-horse decided on her course of action. She would spend the morning exploring the rest of Sky Lagoon. There were still a number of monsters left unslain, with their first kill bonuses ready and waiting to be claimed.

“Sylvia should be up by the time I’m done, but if she isn’t…” Claire turned her eyes on the only floating island left unvisited. It was nothing but a mess of stone, a perch for the avians polluting the skies. The violet fog that shrouded its valleys was ominous, but not intimidating enough to dissuade an exploration.

Running around the savannah wasn’t exactly the best use of her time, but there was only so much she could do with a change of plans on the horizon; no matter what course of action she decided on, she would surely find herself pursuing another the moment the fox awoke from her slumber.

Stupid useless fox. Pulling the vixen’s bubble into an embrace, she returned to her lyrkrian form and leapt off the edge. Her hair fluttered as the air rushed by her cheeks and pushed her ears back against the side of her head. A small smile on her lips, she closed her eyes and basked in the sensation, the feeling of being one with the sky. By now, it had become a familiar experience, but one she could get lost in nonetheless.

When she opened her eyes again, she was surprised to find not an impending beach, but rather a large brown blob with a pair of beady eyes and a peculiar cross-shaped scar. The supposedly delicious sea creature cooed at her and tapped its belly with its flippers before flying off.

It was a challenge, and she wasn’t about to be beaten, not by a piece of blubber that had just acquired its very non-literal wings.

***

Zelos Redleaf glanced around his wife’s bedroom-cum-dungeon as he rose from his slumber. Unlike most other members of the Redleaf tribe, he had no trouble waking immediately, with the fog clearing from his mind as soon as he opened his eyes.

Moving carefully and quietly, he slipped out of bed, readjusted the covers to keep Dixie warm, and stepped out into the hall. The chain around his ankle would have rattled had he attempted the same thing the previous morning, but his wife had been satisfied enough to remove it. They both knew that he had important business to attend to, and remaining forever in Darkwood Hollow would run the risk of its discovery.

Not bothering to eat, he grabbed one of the three bags he had brought from the citadel, holstered his trusty cursed blade, and set out. He nodded at all the foxes he passed on his way out of the hollow, but only a few returned his greeting. Some had explicitly refrained from responding out of spite, but most were simply too busy chasing monarchs in their dreams. It was still too early in the morning for the lazy fairies to be out and about, and those that were had the tendency to be in a rather foul mood. Even his daughter, who rarely ever woke up before dawn, was considered an early riser by Llystletein fox standards. It was a stark contrast from the reception she would have gotten from her peers, had she been a pureblooded Greenwood elf. Though, she certainly did fit in with the Redleafs.

Blowing through the woodland like a gale, he sprinted past several different environments and arrived at his destination in just five minutes. The exercise almost left him short of breath, so he hummed a quick hymn, enveloped his body in a pale green light, and undid his exhaustion. The very same technique he had taught his daughter.

He took a moment to straighten out his elven tunic before approaching the ancient tower and giving its front door a knock. It opened after a brief delay, revealing a tall, muscular man with an enviably beautiful moustache and a four-legged face.

The artificer stared at him for a moment, mechanical eyes glimmering beneath the moonlight. “Zelos?”

“Good morning to you too, Archie,” he said, with an awkward smile. “Didn’t mean to disturb you, but I thought it was about time for you to be up.”

“Not the worst assumption I’ve heard, especially not coming from you. You’re free to enter, but mind your feet. I’m in the middle of tinkering with a few of the gates.” Archibald stepped out of the doorway and welcomed the other man inside. “And I will strangle you if you step on them.”

“Don’t worry, Archie. You know I won’t.”

“Like hell you won’t.” The huskar scoffed. “Last time you were here, you stepped on my eyes. Do you know how hard it’s been to work with these awful replacements? I can barely recognize people, let alone get any work done.”

The boy-sized elf laughed awkwardly as he very carefully made his way to the table. “That was the only accident we’ve had in the last ten years. Unless you count the time where I accidentally switched your food and waste tank—” He clamped his mouth shut and tried to cut himself off, but it was too late. The words had already made their way across the room.

“You still owe me for that.” The dog growled through his mechanical voice box. “I swear to Altea, every damned mistake you make always comes at my expense.”

“I know, Archie. I’m sorry, you know I am,” said the high elf with a frown. “I’m here to make it up to you. I’ve finally finished your new sightstones.”

Zelos reached into his bag and produced a pair of spherical crystals, each inscribed with hundreds of runes, arranged in a series of tiny, intricate magic circles with a maximum diameter no greater than that of his pinky. Though part of the same set, their colours differed, and not for stylistic purposes. The left eye was carved into obsidian, an ore known for being both relatively inert and incredibly durable. So long as no one crushed it underfoot, the stone would serve as the huskar’s daily driver. The right eye was carved instead into a piece of rose quartz, a magically conductive material that would allow him to magnify his vision and perform the delicate operations he needed to craft his artifacts. The pink stone was more brittle and would degrade with continued use, but it was the best to be found within Llystletein’s walls.

“Oh, so you’ve finally finished them? I’m glad it only took you three whole months,” said the dog, with a sarcastic bark.

The elf frowned. “It’s hard to get decent materials around here, and leveling rune mage is hard without them.”

“I know… I know. Sorry, I shouldn’t have lashed out.” The dog slowly shook his head. “I’ve been on edge ever since my home was raided the other week.”

Archibald reached across the table and took both magical eyes from his longtime friend. His face opened up mechanically as he brought the crystals near. Two cruder-looking orbs were ejected and subsequently replaced with the elf’s gifts.

“Thank you, Zelos.” he said, as his body closed itself back up. He took a moment to slowly look around the room, the lenses embedded within his face readjusting once every second on the dot. “Much better! Fine work as always.”

“Not a problem. I owed it to you.”

“You bet your ass you did.” the huskar chuckled as he noted the large sack that the elf had over his shoulder. “Is that what I think it is?”

The elf nodded as he produced a device from one of his pockets and used it to cut them off from the celestial’s surveillance network.

“It’s almost complete. Beck, Fred, and I have all done our parts.” His voice was solemn, carrying with it the weight of responsibility. “All we need is for you to work your magic.”