Chapter 154 - Farenlight’s Den IV

“Where are we going to sleep?”

Claire voiced the question only after setting down her silverware and dabbing a napkin against the corners of her lips. She had spent over ten minutes nibbling away at the contents of her plate, but it looked no different from when she first received it. It was still stacked high with meat and potatoes, stewed together in a rich, buttery, red wine sauce. The hearty meal wasn’t the most disgusting thing in the world, but neither was it particularly palatable. The lizard meat that made up its body was tough and gamey, and the potatoes tasted more like dirt than food. But it wasn’t as if they had any other options with the time of day being what it was. The moon was already starting to set; they could go only to bars and other nighttime establishments, and even those had started shutting down their kitchens.

The Dancing Dart, the tavern that they had visited, was no exception. It had stopped taking food orders shortly after their arrival and switched over to a menu made entirely of alcoholic beverages. Claire refrained from sampling the local poisons, but Lia had ordered a bottle of mead and poured herself a glass.

“It’d be best for us to find ourselves an inn, but it seems a little late to be shopping around for rooms.” She swirled her drink around in her glass whilst giving the lyrkress a full serving of side eye. “It wouldn’t have been a problem if we started earlier, but…”

“It still isn’t. We can camp out,” said Claire.

“Oh, camping? I wanna go camping!” said Sylvia. “Are we gonna light up a bonfire and set up some tents and stuff? ‘Cause that sounds like it’d be loads of fun!”

“Let’s save the camping for when we’re on the road. I’d much rather have a roof over my head while we have the chance,” said Lia.

“But you just said that it was too late to shop around for rooms.” Still in her vulpine form, the fox looked up from her half-empty bowl and tilted her head. Unlike Vel’rulm’s overly touchy guards, the locals didn’t quite seem to care that she was technically a vicious, egg-devouring predator. One of the barmaids had even patted her on the head and given her a complimentary side of rabbit stew. “Doesn’t that just mean we can’t find a place to stay?”

“The problem is that it might be a bit tough to find a place with two rooms this late into the day. We might have to take whatever we can find.”

“Or… we could camp. Pervert.”

“Please, please, please stop calling me that. I really don’t want people overhearing and thinking that there’s something wrong with me.” Lia hung her head and stared at the dead, lightless eyes reflected in her bowl.

“Yes, but I won. And you said that I could call you whatever I wanted.”

“I know,” grumbled the soldier, “but that really shouldn’t have counted.”

“It isn’t my fault you tripped. Again,” lied the lyrkress.

Claire had come out on top of the exchange by repeating her prior offense and grabbing ahold of the other girl’s ankle right as the battle began. Lia had almost managed to scramble to her feet, but the 0.5 horsepower engine ran her over before she could regain her balance. It lost one of its hooves in the process, courtesy of the cat’s blade, but the other landed on her wrist and disarmed her.

“I know, but I don’t think I would’ve lost if I didn’t,” grumbled the cat. “There’s not much you can do to stop me once I enrage.”

“Why didn’t you just enrage right away anyway?” asked Sylvia. “I thought berserkers could get mad whenever they felt like it.”

Lia slowly looked up from her reflection and adjusted her glasses. “We can, but my max health drops while I’m enraged. It feels like a waste if I do it before I get hit.”

“Oh! You’re that type of berserker! I thought you were the other type since you could kinda control yourself… Wait, does that mean that you’ve got a dark knight class as your third?”

Most berserkers fell under one of two major classifications. Those that practiced the holy arts and learned to retain control were known as the hallowed, divine emissaries driven not by their own rage, but fervor and righteous fury as dictated by their gods. It was the more common variant, as most were afraid of surrendering their minds. The infamous bloodborne berserkers, on the other hand, knew no such fear. They channeled their anger, feeding and empowering it so that it would be more than a match for their holy counterparts’. But there was a problem. The full extent of their power could only be drawn out on death’s door. Hence their reliance on the dark arts.

Unlike regular knights, who used their mana to demonstrate their might, dark knights operated off of their health instead. Their abilities were outstanding, with many performing absurd feats of strength, but the blood tolls they paid were heavy. It was impossible for the self-harming warriors to leverage them while too close to death. And that was why the two archetypes were so frequently combined. Their complementary skill sets allowed for a consistent, outstanding power draw for any willing to walk the brink of insanity.

“She can’t be a knight,” said Claire. “That requires an etiquette skill.”

“I have one,” said the cat, with an awkward smile. “Paunsean court etiquette. It’s level 3.”

The lyrkress turned towards the catgirl and narrowed her eyes. “Impossible. Your back isn’t straight, you’re often distracted and unfocused, and your table manners are beyond subpar. You eat with your fork in a reverse grip.”

“This is how you’re supposed to eat!” whined the cat. “Everyone in Paunse does it this way!”

The blueblood rolled her eyes and raised her own fork to the catgirl’s face. “It has to be held with the points facing down. Your index finger should be against the back of its neck, and its handle should be between your thumb and middle finger.”

“We can’t do it that way! Half of us have paws!”

Paunse was a country made almost entirely of Alfred’s creations. Part beast and part fairy like their canine prototypes, the supposedly perfected beings were molded exactly as he had desired. Unlike their forefathers, whose bodies were malleable, the completed life forms were unable to shift between a series of forms. Their body plans were determined only by their sex. The females were like Lia. They had fuzzy ears, long tails, pointed fangs, and slit eyes, but otherwise appeared almost entirely human. The males, however, looked almost exactly like the animals they were derived from. Cat-siths could only be distinguished by their eyes. Their pupils were human-like and would never narrow into vertical slits, regardless of the light. Outside of their homeland, they were often mistaken for overleveled, sentient pets.

Their sexual dimorphism showed not only through their outward appearances, but also their behaviour. Catgirls were known for being bubbly, flirtatious, and insecure, but cat-siths were none of those things. The oversized felines were firm in their convictions, and held a reputation for being disciplined, chaste, and zealous.

“Then your customs should differ. Between the two genders.”

In Cadria, each race was judged by its own set of standards. Cottontails were expected to use their incisors in place of knives, and it was often rude to provide one with anything but a fork and a spoon. On the other hand, thorae had to be given straws to supplement their lack of hands, and formal events with them involved had to include food prepared in a liquid form. Centaurs may have been the most dominant race, but they were not unrestricted. They had to keep their hips straight and turn only their upper bodies when speaking to other individuals at the table.

“Having two standards just sounds silly. I don’t even know why we have the one,” grumbled the cat. “Etiquette is nothing but a waste of time.”

“It isn’t.”

“Yes it is. It’s never going to see any real use.” Lia let out a deep breath as she set down her utensils and leaned back into her chair. “Most Paunsean knights only ever learn the skill so we can unlock the class. We hardly ever use it.”

“Because you’re stupid. Appearances are key.”

Lia narrowed her eyes into a skeptical glare as she looked the half-centaur up and down. “Claire… are you Cadrian?”

“No.” The snake doubted that a poker face would convince the feline inquisitor, so she furrowed her brow and regarded her conversation partner with a tilt of the head. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, you’ve mentioned Cadria before, you look like you’re at least part centaur, and you seem a little vain.”

“I’m pretty sure Claire’s just vain ‘cause she’s Claire,” said Sylvia.

“And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” The fox brought a paw to her snout and giggled. She didn’t struggle when she was abruptly lifted off the table, nor did she even stop eating. The silly vixen took her bowl with her and continued munching away.

“Stupid fox.” Smiling, Claire scratched the top of Sylvia’s head and set her back down.

“If you’re not Cadrian, then what are you?” asked the catgirl.

“None of your business.” The rogue picked her fork back up and cut into another piece of lizard meat. “I’ll hit you if you ask again.”

“Right. Sorry.”

For a while, they continued eating in silence. It wasn’t until three hard-to-swallow mouthfuls later that Claire finally broke the awkward silence.

“Why didn’t you use any dark knight skills?” she asked, with a frown.

“You couldn’t use any of your storm spells, so it just didn’t seem fair. And it’s not like you haven’t seen them.”

“Wait, really?” Sylvia’s tail flicked from left to right. “I don’t remember you using any…”

“I used one when I accidentally destroyed your home,” said Lia. “That was how I managed to cut through all that stone.”

“Oh yeah!” The fox clapped her paws. “That’s right! I almost forgot that you totally blew up the fort.”

“And not by accident,” added Claire.

Lia opened her mouth to make a rebuttal, but a much gruffer voice cut her off before she could. “I heard a group came from the capital to challenge Farenlight. That you three?” The speaker was the lobster in front of the table directly across from theirs. He was a giant of a specimen, with a tail nearing two meters in length and a head that was hardly any smaller. His arms and legs were the only out of place pieces. They were all entirely humanoid, despite his otherwise crustacean-like body.

“We’re not. We just came from Vel’rulm,” said Lia. “We might consider fighting it, but it depends how much we can learn about the dungeon.”

“Well you’re in luck,” said the person-lobster. Wiping off his mandibles, he swiveled around and greeted them with what was most likely a smile. “I happen to deal in information. S’why I called out to you in the first place.”

Unlike the trio, who were seated in chairs, the oversized shrimp was situated inside of a glass tank. The underwater seating arrangement was widespread in Vel’khan, especially in the areas with a larger population of fishpeople; it was often impossible for them to dine without submerging their bodies.

“Are you a registered broker?” asked Lia.

He pressed a small card against the glass, retrieved from what Claire could only presume to be his shell’s interior “Best in town.” His lobster-like eyes glinting, the man rubbed his front legs together and chuckled. “If you’re not the group from Vel’rea, then that means you have to be the group that put down Vik Sinnue just the other day.”

“How di—” Lia began raising her voice, but cut herself off as she was prodded in the back of the head with a properly held fork.

“Don’t ask that.”

“Why not? Don’t you think it’s a little weird? We just got here today.”

“That doesn’t mean you ask.”

“She’s right. For all you know, I could run an underground crime ring, but it ain’t your business.” The lobster chuckled and pressed his hands against the glass. “All that matters is that you’re interested and willing to pay, so why don’t you just ask me whatever you wanted to know? Let’s wrap up it up quick and call it a night, eh?”

“Right… sure.” Lia still seemed a little uncertain, but she eventually settled her gaze on the man and took a deep breath. “We were looking for a place with at least two rooms to stay the night.”

“Depends on what exactly you want. This shabby little town ain’t rich enough to have any of those fancy places, but there’s a few that hit around the middle of the road. Fat Crab’s always got space, if you’ve got a pretty penny or two to spare. It’s the one near the middle of the town, two streets south of the job board. Seventeen copper pieces a room a night, fifteen if you tell ‘em Kal sent you.”

“Thanks.” Lia grabbed five larger chunks of copper from her pouch and dropped them in the man’s tank. “How much do you know about the dungeon?”

He glanced at the coins and shook his head. “It’ll take a lot more than fifty copper pieces if you want me to tell you everything I know. It’s worth another silver, at least.”

Lia had started reaching for her coin pouch when he first complained, but hesitated as she was told the amount. “You want a whole silver piece? That seems a little too expensive.”

“I can tell you everything you’ll ever need. I’ve even got a good few good reports on the last few parties to take Farenlight on and come out alive.”

The catgirl frowned, but eventually gave in to his demands. “Fine.” She produced one of the silver coins she had acquired from the afternoon’s raids and, with a small sigh, tossed it into his tank—a sequence that had the lyrkress rolling her eyes.

“Yes, yes, this will do.” Clacking his jaws, he examined the coin with an eyeglass before pushing half his upper body up out of the aquarium and giving the trio a bright, briney smile. Without waiting for the salt water to drop off his frame, he immediately broke into a long-winded lecture detailing the various layouts, the monsters they contained, and the common strategies used to defeat them.

Claire managed to hold her interest for a grand total of three minutes before zoning out. She had no motivation to play the part of an eager student, especially not with Lia already filling the role. Before long, she dozed off with her back straight, her head held high, and her arms placed in her lap. Just as she so often did in Allegra’s presence.