Chapter 18

As we continued through the rough verdure trek, throng with broken branches and shorn grass weeds, I pondered the charade I was currently pulling. To be honest, I was a bit proud of myself to be still holding this act up, without being revealed for the phony I was, considering all the variables that I had to overcome.

There was no going back on my story now, it wasn’t a trial and error script, it was one continuous running event. I could not backpedal on charade I had formulated and make up another, more convincing.

“Ghras...”

I cringed at the name of Ghras from the House of Grass. I thought I was being clever at first, but to my realizing horror it was such a stupid name to go by. I now know I was forever cursed through my imaginings, which had led me back into grass and forest of my kind.

“Pft, House of Grass...What utter nonsense.” I muttered in the interior of the steel helm, only audible to myself and me.

“Sir Ghras, It’ll just be over that forested hill, where the drake ambushed us.” Dravon, the squire of the Teal Knight, directed.

Pressing a button on the side, my knight mecha scripted a nod to the squire’s response. This squire seemed quite gullible to accept my charade. I wonder what kind of backwater country did I had spawn into to past scrutiny from a noble of the peerage, with such an outlandish name and house that sounds excruciatingly made up...? I was legitimately flabbergasted how he accepted my excuses for the baby that was currently sucking on a pacifier that was attached to a leather bladder bag full of hemp milk.

Yes, it came out of the wild boar. The idea of a bladder bag as a container was too good to past up. It does sound barbaric and unsanitary, but I had it disinfected with boiled water and smoke, making it at least suitable for a milk container. I had assumed this creation a common use in these middling times, so I had to make it. Granted, it wasn’t me using it.

Back to the subject of the idiocy of the world at large. Only the Goddess Iris would be assigned to this backwater world, with fae creatures and stone men. Maybe I'm being a pompous ass, but I was stupidly tripped by the cosmos to come here, so give me some latitude to gripe on this world’s design.

“How did you manage to pull that off?” Wink’s head was poking out from the grass platform of the helm compartment.

Wink wasn’t inquiring about my fake story about the baby. Wink was pondering on how I managed to lie my way into convincing the squire that the smallfolk in my company were my servants.

“Wink, my friend… Humans are ignorant creatures, for they do not consider anything one-tenth their size with any suspicion of intelligence.”

“I see.” Wink deliberated on giving me a wink of acknowledgment at my wise words.

“It could be you have high charisma? Grass Singers usually get a large bonus when they select their classifications.” Wink studiously reasoned.

“Yes, humans are ignorant creatures...” I prattled on, ignoring his words.

Wink ruminated on my wise words again then headed down to buddy up with my sidekick Peb, down below. They are probably playing, Wink or Munch. A common game among those two which usually starts with a staredown, that would end with the loser who acted on do their inclination first, whilst the winner would be the one who acted last, but let's be honest here, there is no winner with those two.

I then muttered a curse when Wink left me to stew, the truth crushing the deception on my face. ‘Wink was right.’ Of course, he was right, It would make a lot more sense rather than ignorance or middling education. The squire Dravon probably ate all my words up, like the honest truth of the world, with my high charisma points badgering to suspend his disbelief.

Does that mean… Will my falsehoods work on everyone? Charisma…? Of course in the literary world of DnD charisma had the chance to influence people, there were also other incentives to having a high charisma based player. Would that mean...I’ll be able to influence the opposite sex with actual charms? I contemplated this as I swiveled my head to look to through the furthest right eye slit of the visor at Oona who was sunbathing atop Amelia’s pauldron.

“Pft!” I was about to vomit the words and curses out from my mouth, but I held my lips shut tight. Okay, I guess charisma doesn’t work for everyone, especially the ladies. Sera and Oona are the palpable proof of my thesis. Or maybe it’s just me.

My face paled at the thought, that my charisma only works on the male races of this world. I gritted my teeth, this is nothing I should be speculating about, it's just an intangible boon, that shouldn’t be experimented upon. Let’s just get back to the humbug trodding of my Amelia who was chromatic in her steel, trekking the path I stir.

I held the grip of my analog stick lovingly, “Ah yes, my mecha, my one true love.” rubbing the stick with my palm, then I readied myself to stroke it.

“Oh, Verdant hells.” I sputtered, cursing the horrid picture that had crossed my mind.

‘Think of mechas, metal, ladies, anything except that!’

“So...What does it feel like to be squired to the Teal Knight?” I inquired Dravon, distracting my self from the analog twig I was loosely gripping with slight horror.

“Horrid…” Dravon instinctively said, then retracted his words by saying. “I mean I’m horrid about this situation that had befallen my lord, and being his squire was very instructive. Milord was a good and strict knight, adamant in his chastity and intolerant of the vagaries of the world.”

Dravon remarked, saving himself from his true opinion of the man, I surmised. A sacrosanct boast of a young man talking about a superior he cannot offend in the ears of others.

“Why pick those of the Grass folk...as servants?” The squire inquired, covertly changing the subject of his lord.

“Well, Grass folks, make good caretakers for babies and small brats.”

I heard a clanging slap from the back of the helm. It looked like Sera had taken offense at my bluster.

“Ahem, they are also good armament assemblers, for I do not have a squire, such as your hallowed lord, the Teal knight.”

Dravon nodded to my hogwash reasonings. “Yes, I can see the benefits of using the small folks to help armor oneself.”

“I’m guessing you bought them at the Black Auctions?”

I halted my actions along with all the grass folks within Amelia, halting to listen to the conversation. We were frozen by those two words, ‘Bought’ and ‘Auctions.’

“Black Auctions.” I tensely inquired.

“Oh? Are they garden bred?”

Ignoring the man’s inquiry I asked again about the ‘Black Auctions.’

Oona's face had also stiffened when he mentions ‘Black Auction.’ Before she happily in the process of combing her hair with her hands. But they were frozen now, stiff tense as she listened.

“Ah you never heard of them? I guess you wouldn’t, the auction houses only sequestered themselves in big cities across the continents.”

Ignoring his slight, I had paused the Knight Mecha from moving, asking him again with my silent action.

Understanding the atmosphere had changed not for the better, Dravon turned his head to scrutinize me with a puzzled look. He then continued...

“Well, the Black Auctions is an underground auction where you can buy different and exotic races of this world as slaves.” He said with an abridge general knowledge.

I was still silent, aghast at the concept, but relatively unsurprised... For the greed of humans knows no bounds.

“I have nothing against the trade of buying exotic slaves, but it doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Sit right with you?” My teeth unclench at his actual admirable words.

“Consorting with other species. Disgusting.”

My teeth gritted back into its recent frame.

“I didn’t mean you, Sir Ghras. Your association makes total sense, all practical and sensible.”

My teeth then unclenched again at his remark. This squire is really hurting the resolve of my jawline.

“It’s fine,” I muttered, my voice haggard for some strange reason. There was an inner rage bridling within myself, I can feel the deepest furrows of my mind tempered to the storm that seemed to have gathered at the knowledge I had just heard.

“By-the-by, Sir Ghras?”

“Yes.”

“If it’s not rude and personal for me to ask? How many levels are you until you reach past your First Tier Classification?”

‘Tier Classifications?’ The System has Classification Tiers built in this world. So would that mean there is a higher Classification than I one I currently have? How come I haven’t heard of this? Well that was obvious, judging from what the squire said you need to be a certain level to reach beyond your First Tier Classification. And from what I know, the Grass Folk has never reached over level 10, except a few.

Comprehending my musings as a silent response, the squire graciously apologized for the inquiry. He then turned his head to continue up the hill.

“I’m only 10 levels away from my Second Tier Advancement. That's when I get to pick the true roles of this world, instead of getting those pesky Priestesses granting you the first one. ”

So Human Classifications are granted through priestesses of their gods. Now that's interesting, I guess it is similar to the role of Speaker of the Tree Gods. All this information I had gathered from this squire, was quite eye-opening on the ways of the world. Compared to my research in the grove, this was far more educational.

“So what Classification are you eager to pick?” Disguising my curious inquiry as a topic of discussion.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

He turned to me when I didn’t reply.

“I’m from house Drakensgard, and all the family members before me always had selected the Lancer Class.” He flaunted.

“Once I’m level thirty. I’ll be able to slay a dragon.” He said, hope brimming in his eyes at the prospect.

The Idea had some merit, I guess a sort of lance type classification would be practically against large flying reptiles. What I want to know is what sort of Classifications will I get to choose after I reach Level 30.

The notion of it made me apprehensive at first, then excited at the prospect. I am totally against the idea of killing for the System, no argument there, but the magical perks the World Rule gave you was quite appealing. After all, I am a monster of numbers, hungry for knowledge and science. Curiosity is my default character instinct, for, after all, I am human in mind, even if not in body.

We had reached over the hill to a sight of a scarred aftermath of an encampment before us. Flies were buzzing around, excited in their spoils, as they hurriedly swarmed into three different locations. Dancing to the flutter of beats they buzzed at the morbid odor of the dead flesh beneath them.

My expression soured at my analysis of the scene before me, whilst Dravon only sighed. He seemed too familiar with violence at such a very young age. I guess in these middling times, in a world of sword and magic, the young are tarnished by the trials of their time.

Not spotting the greenish-blue coloring of plates amongst the corpses, we move on through the quiet site of death, buzzing through the midday shade. The clouds had shadowed the forestry border, beneath their sols as they prodded through the used earth like beacons of life in a dead terrain.

The encampment was sequestered between the Fae Forest and the Artolian mountains that lay ahead of them. The mountains looked rugged in topography, but there was a mountain path barely cutting through the terrain, with the encampment as the valley entrance.

It was strange to see such a visceral after-image of said violence be shrouded by the scavengers of flies, but we had ignored it along with the burnt smell of flesh. But a niggling thought in the corner of my head began to warn me something unclear, specifically directed to the sulfuric taste in the air.

I brushed that aside, along with the flies busy around us, as they continued dancing their jig within the forecast of the sky. I had experienced death before, alien and human. I’ve also participated in committing one, but seeing it again, so raw it was rancid, it had twisted my stomach back into remembered grief and horror.

Shoving the thought and memory aside, like all things I do, when I transgress into the past, I continued on the stony path that I was following.

After climbing uphill, 200 meters of rugged stony terrain that was sparse with shrubs, we spotted a huge boulder covered with green foliage and trees. It was near a mountainside ridge that probably will lead us through the mountains and it’s many varied valleys between.

But that wasn’t what we were truly looking at, we were looking at a blood trail on the stony path, that led us to the feet of the boulder. We saw him then, Tiggart from the house of Tigmont, the famed Teal Knight.

Draven knelt in distraught to his liege, while I stood there watching over his shoulder, dissecting his death.

The Teal Knight’s helm was off, his lance was gripped loosely on his left hand. He was blankly gazing down at a lone sparse shrub with hollow dead eyes whilst sitting on the ground with his legs apart. This was not the most distinctive part of him, it was the parts that were not there, his armored right shoulder, and his entire right arm had been gnawed off.

I could hear the mutters of the squire as he moaned out curses for his fallen lord. I could not blame him, it was his lord and he was his squire. For no duo in history could never tear such a partnership asunder.

It was strange to witness such a visceral image of death in the forefront of the mountains. Death was always nearing, conceptual, and sound from startings to beginnings. For this was once the Teal knight, garbed in greenish-blue and metal, and he had finally claimed his inherent fate when choosing an occupation of violence.

Such is the fate of all men, for we are forever violent, clogged by the span of time and death.

Suddenly, atop me, I heard a grass stick clinking into steel. A hurried whispered shout left Teka’s mouth from above, hidden in the plumage.

“Look up!”

I looked up to a green slitted pupil inside a huge reptilian eye which happened to be the size of Amelia’s helm. My eyes widen, as did the reptiles' from his resting perch above the boulder.