Chapter 207 - Forged in Purple VI

It was right in front of her. The forest was so close that Nymn could practically feel the undergrowth beneath her feet. It was only a few dozen paces away, perhaps a hundred at most. Those less familiar with her school of swordplay were likely to assume that she could make the distance in a single bound, but her movement abilities were not as freeform as they appeared. She was forced to dash exactly twenty meters each time she accelerated, and every charge was followed by a moment of recovery. But it was not because of a lack of speed that she was routed. The centaurs beat her with numbers. Someone would appear out of nowhere to block her path each time she found an opening, ready to receive her with their weapons drawn.

The first three times it happened, Nymn was able to spin around and escape a perfect enclosure, but her fourth attempt was sloppier than its predecessors. She was quickly encircled, imprisoned in a ring of centaurs, with the bricks used in its construction already in the midst of running her down. They rushed straight at her, swinging their blades like the barbaric madmen they were. Most of the assailants were unfamiliar, but some were beginning to register, to engrave themselves into her mind as horrifying monsters she needed to avoid. Because their numbers hardly ever diminished.

Their abundance stemmed not from some freakish ability to multiply, but rather a lack of finality. Of the fifty-odd horsemen that had tasted her blade, only seven found themselves deceased. Her lack of raw power was a factor that could not be so easily dismissed, but it was not the driving force behind her inability to kill. The problem lay instead with her style. The Royal Cadrian Springblade was too commonly known. It was a household name, a school whose strengths and weaknesses a five-year-old could recite.

They knew exactly how to dodge her attacks to best minimize the damage received, and they even knew the fixed distance of her lunges. Every warrior that approached her had a buddy standing behind him, ready to strike as soon as she initiated her straight-line dash. Had she been a master of House Evander’s art, she surely would have been able to overcome the limitations, or perhaps worked around them with raw skill, but as a lowly squire with a class level of only four hundred, she was bound by their rules, held prisoner by the contracts that allowed her to surpass the speed of sound.

Still, she cut through her foes. All five of the men that rushed her were met with kicks and slashes, heavy attacks that robbed them of their weapons or limbs. She kicked off the ground upon disabling them and made for a hole in the encirclement. The sideways centaur made an attempt to correct his posture as she closed in, but she lowered her stance and dove between his legs.

For once, the opening led not back into the camp, but closer to the forest. The mad dash that ensued carried her all the way to the camp’s outermost limits, but she was surrounded again before she could escape. A score of soldiers emerged from the treeline, ready to stab her the moment she tried to pass them by. Her enemies’ reinforcements proved a powerful deterrent. While hers were nowhere to be seen. Glancing into the darkness revealed nothing but the usual purple fog.

The elf cursed under her breath as she parried a spear with her shield. She had no one to blame but herself. There was no reason to trust any of the slaver’s words, but she had mistakenly assumed them to be the truth. Reflecting upon the circumstances, she realised that the fairy could have easily shown her to her destination, but she had actively chosen against it in favour of vanishing by her lonesome. She had intentionally left her behind.

So that she could create a spectacle.

Nymn finally understood. Their purpose was not to let her escape, but to turn her into a distraction, something that would throw off her former countrymen and draw their eyes away from their schemes. While they went about their business, she would be forced to suffer through a desperate last stand, to struggle against death with every last fiber of her being. It should have been obvious from the onset, but she was too much of a fool to see through the ruse, too naive to suspect that she was yet again being played like a fiddle.

Dark emotions surged from within her chest. She could feel her heart twisting, warping, as she clenched her jaws and parried a wave of arrows. It was not the first time that she had been used and thrown away, and she was not about to let it be the last.

It was then, right as she began contemplating vengeance, that the missing help finally arrived. A sword made of pure ice suddenly sprouted from one of the soldier’s chests. The weapon’s influence spread quickly. It froze his body from the inside out, turning his blood to ice, and beckoning the rest of his flesh to follow soon after.

The spell’s source, the ownerless blade, was cleaved up through his frozen skull, tearing his body to tiny, irreparable bits.

It sought another target as it broke free from the first. The mare to its right blocked the self-wielding weapon with her shieldlance, but her comrade’s fate befell her regardless. Her body began to freeze, a condition that started with her head and quickly grew outwards, leaving her as a brittle broken shell.

Next to perish was the stallion that had her back. Even without interacting with the blade, he was turned to ice and completely disintegrated, just like everything else in the area around him.

“Run.”

The command was loud and clear, spoken from right beside her ears, but Nymn hesitated to obey. There was no telling where listening would get her. For all she knew, she would go down the rabbit hole and find herself deeper and deeper in trouble, stuck in a pit with no rope or ladder.

“What are you waiting for, idiot? Hurry.”

She obliged as she was prodded in the back. Whatever awaited her was unlikely to be worse than being violated by the marquis. Her heart pounding, she dove into the trees. A dozen spells chased after her, their elements a veritable rainbow. She ignored her flesh catching fire, she shrugged off the roots that grabbed her feet, and endured the arcane blasts that pierced her armour. She pushed and pushed and pushed, pressing forward until her body passed through a strange, invisible film. It was flexible to the touch, only letting her in when she consciously tried to pierce it.

“There you are! Finally!”

The fairy appeared as the moist sensation faded. She was hovering in place, her tiny arms crossed and her equally tiny legs dangling beneath her.

Nymphetel was so distracted by the annoyed foxgirl that she nearly forgot about the projectiles destined to strike her rear. Gasping as she recalled them, she spun around with her shield raised. But her worries were needless. The attacks failed to make it past the magical veil. They bounced off, detonated, or in some cases, outright vanished with no rhyme or reason.

“Don’t worry, my bubbles are way tougher than some dumb beams and bolts.” The fairy puffed up her chest with pride and lightly wagged her tail, her face a gloating smile.

“Then why didn’t you get me out with one of them earlier?” asked the elf.

“Uhh… Hmm...” Slyvia placed a hand on her chin and tilted her head. “I dunno.”

Nymn brought a hand to her temple and clenched her teeth. “Stop fucking with me.”

“I would not be so concerned, Nymphetel. She has not antagonised you. Sylvia merely lacks the intellect to correctly communicate her ignorance.” Claire suddenly appeared in the space beside her, a bloody ice blade in one hand, and a flagbearer’s pole weapon in the other. As useless bits of garbage, both were carelessly thrown to the ground and kicked into the undergrowth.

A catgirl stood right behind her, furiously scribbling away at her notebook with all the focus of an imperial scholar. Nymn caught only a few brief glimpses of the letters written, but they were accompanied by a detailed sketch of the Cadrian encampment whose parts were clearly labeled like the diagrams in a doctor’s office.

“Hey! That’s rude!” shouted Sylvia. “I’m not dumb! How am I supposed to know what you’re thinking!?”

“Through the powers of deduction, of course.” The lyrkress flashed the fox an endearing smile before turning back to the elf and bending her knees in a curtsy. “I am terribly sorry Nymphetel, for employing you as a display.”

“I knew it,” grunted the elf. “Let me guess, you went around sabotaging the camp while I was stuck fighting. After I leave, you’re going to lie in wait for the marquis and eliminate him before he realizes that he’s under attack.”

“Ohhh…” said Sylvia. “That does kinda make sense now that I think about it…” The fairy was lifted by the scruff and given an eerily loving scratch.

“Sylvia, oh Sylvia, you sweet summer child,” said Claire, before turning to the blackwood elf. “The purpose of this exercise was to ensure that Count Pollux would be thrown off our trail.”

“Yours, maybe, but not mine,” said the elf. “He’s just going to start putting more effort into coming after me now that he’s confirmed my limits.”

Claire smiled innocently. “I would not be so worried, my dear friend.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” The red-headed elf scoffed before sitting down on a log, arms crossed and face twisted into a frown. “So? What do you want from me? What was the point in this whole song and dance?”

A hand was held out to the squire, with the glowing green symbol on top in plain sight.

“I would never intentionally bring you harm.”

The squire met the blatant lie with a look of disbelief.

“I was merely bound by the terms of a contract I could not avoid,” continued Claire. “And nothing would bring me more joy than for you to find it in your heart to forgive my misdeeds.”

“Are you crazy? Hell no!” shouted the elf. “I’ve had enough of your bullsh…”

His voice trailed off as his body suddenly floated off the ground and slowly began drifting towards the barrier’s edge. There were centaurs aplenty on the other side, carefully investigating his footsteps with their weapons drawn.

“I do apologize for the outburst, Lady Augustus. Your wish is my command,” he said, with an audible gulp.

“Oh, Nymphetel! I knew you would understand.” She clasped her hands together and smiled. “It is no wonder that we have always been such great friends.”

“Claire, could you please knock it off with the acting?” asked Natalya. “You’re doing the expressions a little too well and it’s weirding me out.”

“No,” said the lyrkress, without moving her lips. “Now, my dear friend, I will grant you a favour for your troubles, as is the tradition for one who so selfishly inconveniences a knight.” She slowly inched Nymn forward, moving him ever so slightly closer to the barrier. “Please, state whatever it is your heart desires, and I shall do my utmost to see it granted.”

Nymphetel did not answer immediately. Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes, he took a moment to consider his options. “My fair lady, nothing would please me more than the honour of serving at your side.” The man’s luscious lips twisted into an impish grin. “Please, allow my companion and I to join you as your knights so that we may safeguard you in your travels.”

Claire paused for a moment to blink, to slowly tilt her head at the man as his face was squashed against the barrier.

“You do realise that doesn’t really help your situation, right?” Completely breaking character, Claire dismissed the vector pushing him forward and cocked her brow. “I could’ve easily just said yes and ordered you back into them.”

“Yeah, that part didn’t hit me until I was halfway through voicing it,” said the elf, with a grimace. “I couldn’t think of anything else, so I figured I might as well commit.”

Claire shrugged as she yoinked her fairy out of the air and placed her on her shoulder. “You could’ve feigned a stutter, easily at that.”

“Maybe.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sylvia pulled on one of Claire’s ears and shook her head back and forth. “What the heck just happened!?”

“Use your brain and figure it out,” replied the other halfbreed. “Now come on. Let’s go, before their higher-ups get back.”

“Wait, what? Huh? I don’t get it…” said the fox.

“Don’t worry, Sylvia, I don’t either,” said Natalya. “And it’s not like Cadrians ever really make much sense to begin with.”

“I make plenty of sense,” said the lyrkress. “The two of you are just dense.” The somewhat feline pair exchanged glances before turning their eyes back on the accuser, who responded with a roll of the eyes. “He,” she pointed a finger at the squire, “is an elf. Figure the rest out yourself. Idiots.”

“Huh? But I’m an elf too!” said Sylvia. “I don’t see how that has anything to do with anything!”

When no answer came, she looked towards Nymphetel, who was trailing just a bit behind the others. He shifted his eyes immediately to evade her expectant gaze, but she darted right in front of him and stared until he eventually gave in.

“She knows I know,” he said.

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean, and how does that have anything to do with being an elf!?”

“I actually think she explained it pretty well just now,” said Natalya.

“Huh!?”

The fairy’s confused fluttering was met with an awkward smile. “Sylvia, do you know what elves are like outside Lly-eerm, your home?”

“Uhmmm… not really?” said the fox, with a tilt of the head. “Al didn’t have too many books with elves in ‘em ‘cause he said they were too vanilla.”

“Right…” The cat flipped through her book and pressed the back of her quill against one of its pages. “So I guess you really don’t know, but elves have a bit of a reputation.” The cat peeked up from the journal, but shifted her gaze back down as she realised that both the knife ears’ eyes were upon her. “Well uhm… they’re… err…uhm…”

“Enlightened. She means to say we’re enlightened.” Nymphetel finished the feline’s sentence with an annoyed frown. “But the other races don’t quite understand.”

“Why not?” Sylvia tilted her head as her tail fluttered from side to side.

The pureblooded god-denier eyed her for a moment, focusing his attention on her ears before opening his mouth. “You see, halfbreed, there happens to be a horrible secret that few dare to speak, but it’s known to all elves, of all lineages, passed from mother to daughter and father to son strictly through word of mouth. We may not be of the same blood, but if you are unaware, then it falls to me to make sure you are.”

“Wait uhmmm… is it just me, or did your voice just get like three times deeper? You kinda just went from sounding like a cute girl to a scary, old wizard.”

“The gods do not exist. They are but constructs crafted by the system to deceive us and prevent us from awakening to our true potential.” His voice boomed and his eyes glowed with a fierce light as he continued like a man possessed. “It would not be incorrect to deem them as figments of our collective imagination. And precisely because we believe in them, the system finds itself tasked with spoofing them to ensure an unbroken continuity.”

“Uhhhh… I’m pretty sure that isn’t right,” said Sylvia. “I mean like, Griselda’s right there!” She pointed up at the sky, where the moon goddess loomed.

“That is a rock in outer space.”

“I mean, yeah! Everyone knows that Griselda’s a rock! We can literally see her!” said Sylvia. “And plus, she has a hat! And she even forgets to wear it some nights! There was this one time like three years ago where she flew up into the sky in just her panties! Rocks don’t do that unless they’re people!”

“That’s what I meant when I said that the system bullshits us,” said Nymphetel, his voice finally regaining its usual androgynous quality. “It inconsistently creates different images of a moon by reading from our collective subconscious and manifesting our desires as reality. If we all stopped believing in the moon, and I mean truly denying its existence, it would soon vanish into thin air.”

“Now you’re just being silly! The moon’s just like that ‘cause she’s a derpy goddess being derpy!”

“If you truly believe that, then you will be needing a thorough reeducation.”

“No thanks! You’re just gonna make me dumber!”

“I can’t believe she’s never been lectured by an elf before.” Lia closed her journal and looked towards the lyrkress, her lips a small smile.

“The only one she ever knew was her father.” Unlike the one and a half bickering idiots, whose eyes were focused on the moon, Claire was scanning the forest for threats. “And he… serves the goddess of the flow as one of her warriors.” The air was much heavier than it had been when they had first set out. A faint purple mist had spread throughout the forest, and while it had no effect on visibility, each breath came hand in hand with a minor twinge of discomfort.

Log Entry 10706

You are now familiar with and capable of producing Amethyst Rotdust.

“An elven paladin? I can’t say I’ve heard of any of those before.”

“His whole party was made up of nothing but weirdos.” Smiling, Claire magically yoinked Sylvia away from the nonsensical elf and tasked her with leading the way.

It took about an hour for the group to reunite with its detachment. Arciel, who happened to be standing by while her guard bathed in the river, curiously looked between the four individuals whilst sipping a cup of warm blood. Its source, an unfortunate purple wolf, was in the midst of being roasted, its skinned carcass slowly rotating above an open flame.

“I was under the impression that she would not be returnin—”

An ear-piercing scream cut the vampire off before she could finish her sentence. Its source was the skeleton that lay by the flame. Within the span of five seconds, she went from perfectly still to screaming and back to still again, a cycle that repeated again while Nymphetel looked on in horror.

“Charlotte!?” His breath stuck in his throat, he ran to the lich’s side and cradled her in his arms, right as she shivered and screeched again. All without waking from her slumber. “No! What have you done to her!?” When his eyes settled on Arciel, they were filled with raw hatred, burning with a lust for brutal vengeance.

“Oh, that’s actually my fault.” Sylvia averted her eyes. “She’s okay! Just having some really bad dreams.”

“Would you mind fixing her?” asked Arciel. “I cannot say I appreciate the accompanying acoustics. And as can be easily surmised,” she pointed her fan at their half-cooked dinner, “it is attracting unwanted attention.”

“Right… Sorry.” The half-dog stuck out her tongue as she floated over to the undead creature and lightly tapped her on the forehead. “Okay! She’s not gonna wake up right away, but she’s not gonna scream anymore either. Oh, and don’t worry. I also made it so she’s not gonna remember any of it.”

“You can do that?” asked Natalya, with a low grumble.

“Uh huh,” said Sylvia. “Wait, uhm… Lia? Why do you look so mad?”

The cat slowly stomped towards the tiny, floating fox, her veins bulging and tail violently cleaving away at the undergrowth.

“Why do you think? I still see the creepy octopus guy in my dreams sometimes!” cried the Paunsean.

“T-that’s not my fault! He probably just likes you!” Fearing retribution, the fairy flew behind Claire’s head, rotating whenever necessary to keep the cat on the other side. “And he’s still gonna show up and say hi even if I make you forget! There’s no point!”

“Why would you do something like that to me in the first place!?”

“Well it’s not my fault! I didn’t know you were gonna last this long! I thought Claire was gonna stab you in the back right after you joined us!”

“Shut up. Both of you.” The lyrkress grabbed both the animal girls with a grumble, Sylvia by the tail, and Natalya by the head. “Stop shouting so close to my face.”

“It’s not my fault!” cried the fox. “I’m totally innocent! It’s Lia’s fault he likes her so much!”

“You’re the one that sicced him on me in the first place!”

Claire folded her ears in. “I said, shut up. Not keep shouting.”

Both immediately tried to speak again, so she pinched their mouths shut as she turned back towards the vampire. “Any problems? Besides these idiots.”

“None,” said Arciel. “But we did happen to run into a group on their way back to the Cadrians. They were willing to share an interesting bit of news, about what they found on the floor below.”

“And what would that be?”

“Intelligent monsters,” said Arciel. “Strange, eldritch monsters, wielding weapons seemingly forged of the purple mists themselves.”