Chapter 183 - The Castle in the Sea IV

His runecloak obscuring his frame, the rhiar warrior leapt off his mount and worked the membranes of his wings. Though incapable of true flight, he launched himself with a power flap and fired his insectoid body through the sky. Entering from a previously identified weak point, he appeared inside the Cadrian barrier and greeted its guards with his blades.

The practiced martial artist was pleased to discover that the foreign knights were every bit as skilled as the rumors described. Both the front gate's guards reacted immediately; they raised their weapons without a shred of hesitation and warded off the scythes that grew from his arms. His second blow was deflected just as easily. One warrior sidestepped the attack and struck back with the butt of his spear while the other kicked his blade off course and delivered a heavy, overhead slash. Both attacks, he easily evaded.

A third guard, watching from a nearby tower, sounded the alarm without joining the fray. Like both of his coworkers, he had immediately deduced the wisest decision. Matthias could see it in their eyes. They were skilled enough for the brief exchange to have taught all participants and observers their respective places.

His mandibles chattering with joy, the tiny mantis evaded another slash and dove beneath the centaur that delivered it. He raised a claw and prepared to rip open its stomach, but a wing crashed into the side of his body and removed him from the supposed blind spot. A retaliatory kick followed, with a swing of the spear right behind it. Against a faster foe, it would have been a fatal mistake, but the horse-man was not particularly agile. A quick tumble carried the mantis out of harm’s way.

Chattering his jaws again, he stood up and looked at his Cadrian opponents through the slits in his helmet. Neither said a word, but both were furious. Their eyes were telling him they wished for him to put an end to his farce and remove his obvious handicap, to treat them not as weak children, but warriors willing to lay down their lives. Matthias could only imagine the discipline that it took for them not to scream at him in indignance. If he refused to kill them, they would only train harder so that they could face him again, their skills honed and further refined.

A thought that practically led to a cackle.

He wanted to take his sweet time drawing out all of their abilities, crushing all their trump cards to better further their training, but he shook off the thought, slurped up his drool, and placed his mission first. Diving back into the fray, he aimed his scythe at the closer warrior’s neck. The lunging strike carried him through the air. His natural weapon cut right through his foe’s wooden spear and made it almost all the way to the centaur’s spine. Had his partner not charged his shield into Matthias’ flank, he surely would have been granted the honourable death he so desired. But alas, he was not allowed to go to Vella’s side. The wound closed almost immediately, his flesh stitching itself shut in a matter of seconds.

It was a skill the mantis recognised; high-speed regeneration was an ability that most pure warriors could access, but it was meant to be used only after a battle’s completion. It came with the side effect of excruciating pain, many times worse than the wound itself. Healing a laceration so deep in one’s neck was sure to overwhelm the warrior’s mind with enough agony to blank it. But the centaur stayed both silent and conscious, making not even a groan.

Any lesser fighter would surely have found themselves faltering upon witnessing such a feat, but Matthias remained unintimidated. As a rogue, most notably one that specialised in assassinations, the mantis had expected his foes’ durability to outclass his own. His chattering only growing louder, he charged in for another attack. He wished to fight them more slowly, but time was running short. He had no choice but to put an end to his tomfoolery and deprive both centaurs of their legs.

He dashed back over to the entrance and sought his flying mount. But it was nowhere to be seen. When he clicked his tongue and turned around, he found a weapon flying straight for him, whistling through the air. It made contact with his chest; the force of the blow knocked him off the edge of the fortress and sent him plummeting back to the earth below. And that was not all the shieldlance accomplished. It clipped through the string that kept his cloak in place and revealed to the world the outfit he wore beneath it. It was a full suit of armour, covering everything but his scythe hands. Upon its chest sat a beautiful crest, a marking made of blues and reds, a marking that pledged his allegiance to one of the seven noble families that lived within the castle’s grounds.

___

“This should be far enough.”

Landing in an empty alleyway, Claire briefly looked over her surroundings before folding her wings back under her cloak. She had flown roughly halfway across the town and stopped in the most densely populated area she could find. Unsurprisingly, it was right next to the job board. The lunchtime rush had begun, with many adventurers, especially those active during the night, just waking up and looking forward to the long day ahead.

Others were returning from their morning tasks, ready and willing to take on additional work and further bolster their paychecks. Few of the tasks listed on the board were as lucrative as spelunking, even for an average party, but the decreased danger levels paved a path to financial success for the risk averse. And while they were certainly plentiful, monster hunters, bounty hunters, and hired swords were not the only ones crowding the boards. There were also freelance artists, prostitutes, and those between jobs present in droves. Some were looking for one-off requests, odd tasks that they could pick up to keep their debtors at bay, while others sought permanent positions. Both types of work were frequently posted, as such had always been the way of the Vel’khanese. The job board was a pillar that supported their culture of commerce. There was no such thing as a business that lacked the knowledge to take advantage of it. Even foreigners quickly caught on and exploited the valuable resource for all that it was worth.

“I can’t believe you didn’t believe in my bubbles,” huffed Sylvia. She stamped her feet against the longmoose’s head, just hard enough not to draw retribution.

“Hunters are pesky.”

“I know, but I thought about it, and there’s still no way I’d lose! My bubbles are way too secure for some dumb hunters! Blessed or not!”

“Are you sure?” asked Claire.

Kael’ahruus’ favour was not to be taken lightly. The god of the hunt was a powerful deity with a concept widely practiced. The members of his pack, those granted fragments of his divine might, were often considered among a nation’s most elite.

“Super sure!” Still, the fox remained confident. She stood tall, puffed up her chest, and tapped a paw against it.

“If you say so.” Deciding not to argue any further, the lyrkress turned her eyes on the party’s final member, who watched over the pair with a perplexed frown. “What?”

“Err…”

“Stop stalling. Just say it.”

“I think we might’ve forgotten Boris.”

The statement was met with a pair of slow blinks, with the two halfbreeds taking turns confirming his nonpresence soon after. Claire did it by reaching over her shoulder, whereas Sylvia craned her neck and looked beyond the edge of her seat.

“Oh,” said one.

“Oh…” repeated the other.

“Don’t just ‘oh!’” said the cat. “We have to go back and get him. I know the maids know that he’s with us, but if anyone el—”

“Stop worrying.” Rolling her eyes, Claire magically seized the cat’s lips and squeezed them shut. “Watch.” She raised her other hand out in front of her and invoked one of the functions that had recently appeared in her menu.

“Uhhmmm… Claire?” asked Sylvia, after a few seconds of waiting. “Are you supposed to be doing something?”

“Summoning Boris.” It was her first time putting the function to the test. She had no idea what to expect.

“Right…” said the skeptical fox.

“Just wait. I think it’s working,” mumbled the lyrkress. The reality of the situation was, of course, that it wasn’t. Tracking the lizard revealed that he was in the exact same place as he was before, and somehow or another, she even got the impression that he was shrugging off her orders, perhaps because his brain was only half functional.

Eventually, after trying to prod him for a minute or so, and receiving a slightly different impression each time, Claire tucked her arms back under her cloak and pulled her hood over her eyes. “I give up. We’re abandoning Boris.”

The proposition was, of course, met with resistance from both her companions, but the lyrkress continued to walk in the opposite direction. Because the connection between them had eventually revealed the true reason for the lizard’s delay.

At that very moment, the ikarett type arms found himself engaged in a life or death struggle. He was fighting to keep his eyes open, even as they screamed at him to blink. They were completely dried out, like a dead cactus in the desert, a skeleton turned to ash, or perhaps even the cracked earth itself. His opponent had him on the brink. There was not a single drop of liquid left in either socket. Still, he desperately resisted the urge to give in.

His very existence hinged on winning the staring contest with the creature situated in front of him. It was a kindred spirit, one of his kind. But at the same time, it wasn’t. It was only sort of like him; he didn’t know exactly what it was, or why they stared at each other to begin with. But whatever the case, the blubbery ball, whose forehead came equipped with a distinctive, cross-shaped mark, was unrelenting. Its eyes were practically hidden beneath all its fat, but he could tell. They were the same. It was also struggling to keep its eyes from closing.

Boris was feeling the pressure. Opening his eyes had stopped feeling right, after he changed. He could see even when they were closed, and his pit organs were more accurate to begin with, but he was unable to shake his habits.

Upon further consideration, the lizard came to realise that he did not truly have eyes at all. He was just a slab of metal with the ability to transform his body. He had no flesh or blood. The beating thing in his chest was gone. It only stood to reason that his eyes were no different. Even if he could see them reflected in the blubbery ball’s gaze.

“You’re an idiot.”

He felt like he heard something from the link he shared with his mistress, but he ignored it, his focus remaining on the enemy. He began to wonder, as he continued to stare, if his foe was one that truly existed, or a mere figment of his imagination, and soon concluded that only the latter could be correct. It was too devilishly handsome to be an adventurer, which meant that it could only have been an ikarett or a klimgor. And there were none with only two limbs. Such a creature would perish the moment it was happened upon by a group of explorers, unless it happened to be transformed into a weapon, in much the same manner as he.

Eventually, he gave up. His non-present eyes forced themselves shut, but so too did his rival’s. Neither had been able to hold on for much longer than the other. It was a draw, a result that left both parties dissatisfied. It took not a glance for the two to instantly confirm the other's intentions. Turning around in tandem, they each marched off and engaged in an escalation of cataclysmic proportions.

Scampering around the garden, Boris gathered the most impressive items he could find, just as did his opponent. They reconvened when the clock struck twelve, each with exactly three new possessions in tow. Confident, Boris showed his first hidden treasure, a large stone that was slightly too square to flip. His nemesis could only reel back in shock as her own disgusting round rock slipped out from her flippers.

A solid victory, and a good start.

With his momentum driving him forward and the wind blowing back his non-existent hair, the ikarett presented his second exhibit. It was a piece of string, a rare find by any measure. But while it was nothing to scoff at, his opponent regarded it with a look of dismissal. An obese, triumphant bark emerging from her gullet, she presented a true masterwork in the form of a dried out worm.

It was like a blow to the gut, heavy enough to force him to take half a step back. Denial struck him full force. He wanted to raise his tail to the sky and scream in protest, to call upon the gods and slander them for the injustice that they delivered upon the world, but he held in his rage, fought back his despair, and looked forward. He was not out of cards. The most powerful tool in his arsenal had yet to be employed.

On the count of three, they presented their final phantasms in tandem.

Hers was the dumbest creature he had ever seen, a round, fluffy rodent with two floppy ears and a ribbon tied to one. It was an impressive display, but seeing it only widened the smug grin on Boris’ face. He already knew that he won. Purring, he pushed forward his own findings with his snout and allowed the loser to bask in her despair.

While she had presented him a creature, he put forth a good derived therefrom. It was a rabbit pellet, a god-felling weapon refined and taken even further beyond by the bunny’s very own gullet. They both knew that he had won. He raised his head and declared victory, while she collapsed into a sad blob.

But then, just as he began to celebrate, he found the tables turned. Its eyes never breaking contact, the hellbeast hopped over to its pellet and consumed it. And by ingesting his already powerful superweapon, it stepped into a realm far beyond any rock or string, one that could only be matched by a pantheon of heroes.

Boris fell flat on his belly. He was so shocked that he lost control of his legs. They were turned from steel to jelly, solid metal to liquid depression. She was too powerful.

But there was no way he could possibly lose to a lizard with only two legs. He had his honour, his pride to uphold, and his duty to serve as an all-piercing spear.

Eyes filled with renewed vigour, he raised his head to meet his foe’s gaze, his heart ablaze with ardent fury, a burst of raw passion powerful enough to move even the god of the inner flame. There was no other choice but to gamble every last fibre of his being on one final act of resistance, on seeing her completely defeated in a contest whose strength lay not in his realm.

Closing his eyes, he got ready to take on the challenge, but found himself rudely interrupted. A portal opened up right beneath him and transported him beyond the realm of his rival’s purview.

“There! Got him!” said Sylvia.

Despite his protests, his mistress thanked the fox with a scratch to the chin and mounted him to her back, as she always did. He could only despair. To his foe, it would have looked as if he ran, as if he forfeited the duel and thereby his very existence. And for the next three and a half seconds, he was convinced that he would be erased, replaced, deleted.

But a blubbery ray of hope shined through right as the fox began to close her portal. The lardy projectile squeezed past its gates, with the satanic rabbit in tow.

“Huh?” Sylvia blinked. “Wait a second… Marc?”

“Marcelle,” said Claire.

“Oh, whatever!” shouted the fox. “It doesn’t matter what we call her!”

“Yes it does. Names are important.”

“Ughhh! Come on, Claire! Would it kill you to be just a little less stubborn?”

“Yes.”

“Liar!” The fox floated to her usual place and lightly drummed the top of the lyrkress head, but her attack was disregarded.

“I think I’m a bit lost.” Natalya looked between the group and the manatee, who was casually waiving one of its flippers. “Is this someone you know?”

“Yup! But she’s supposed to be back in Llystletein…”

The fox’s comment was answered with a number of squeals and barks. The manatee drummed its own stomach to create several ripples in its fat and walked a flipper through it.

“Wait, Al let you out?” asked the fox. Her already wide eyes expanded further when the manatee grunted again. “What do you mean, he let everyone out!? What the heck! That’s so unfair!”

Sylvia continued fuming as she listened to the sea cow’s explanations, only to suddenly freeze up after a few moments’ worth of conversation.

“What?” asked Claire. She had been paying attention to the stupid sea steak, but she lacked the context to deduce its intent from its body language.

“Uhhhmmmm…” The fox responded with a nervous laugh. “I think Marcelle might’ve accidentally gotten herself involved with someone that’s trying to overthrow the government.”