Chapter 223 - Prologue - Prelude of Storm IV

King Virillius Augustus swished a cup of vekratt as he sat alone in his late uncle’s study. He spent a moment staring out the window, into the beautiful courtyard, before raising the mug to his lips and draining its contents.

It was the exact same scene that had played out every evening for the past week. Inheriting the throne had brought him nothing but work and trouble. As king, he was duty bound to make executive decisions on all manner of matters, many of which he had not the slightest clue. While he certainly did consider himself well learned, he lacked the extensive wisdom and experience that his predecessor accrued over his long tenure. He understood taxation and the various effects that adjustments to it could make, but it was only ever his own domain that he had managed, and as an absentee landlord at that. When asked for his opinion on the national budget, he could do little but state that it was to be made a future consideration. He did not, after all, know why the public education program was given exactly 362 glaives and 2 daggers, nor did he have the slightest inkling as to the current state of its affairs.

Many of the ministers and senators had their own thoughts to offer on each and every adjustment, but it was impossible to filter the definitive truth from the claims they made. He could tell when they lied to him, but discerning the reason was beyond his means without a thorough examination of each topic approached. Some were genuine with their intentions, seeking betterment for the people of the nation, while others were more inclined to stuff their own wallets with illicit gains. Whatever the case, the various ministers were shrewd enough for their intentions not to leak through at first glance.

To facilitate the transitionary period, he made an effort to research and address one topic each day. His spies were deployed to the ministers’ houses and tasked with observing them to ascertain the truth of their claims, while those more knowledgeable than he, particularly those more likely to be impartial to the relevant biases, educated him further on the relevant specifics.

It was only during the night that he was able to escape the throes of kingship. For a few hours every evening, he would retire to his uncle’s study and go about the personal business that had ultimately chained him to his fancy new seat. The number of confidential documents that had accrued over the eleven horned king’s tenure was impossibly large. At his current rate, it would take the darkhorned cervitaur a full year just to index them, let alone scrutinize the files for any information pertaining to his traitorous brother’s whereabouts. But as much as he wanted to hole himself up in Ferdinand’s study and reduce the time eightfold, he could not simply abandon his post for a straight month. There were too many pressing issues for him to take even a day each week.

While the cervitaur knew he was incompetent, a child in a suit at a formal event, confidence in the crown was at an all-time high. Cadrians believed in the standard selection process. It was a commonly accepted truth that only the greatest of men could become the most powerful, and that was precisely where the fallacy lay.

There was no guarantee that a great man would make for a great ruler. In the past, it had often held true. The powerful often drew others to their side; they had competent people to delegate their tasks to. But Virillius was alone. His confidant had chosen Ferdinand’s side and even dueled him on his predecessor’s behalf. The Grand Magus had left Valencia following her defeat, stating that she wished to live a peaceful life in the countryside, where she would be involved in no more of the atrocities that the former duke so often considered.

One would often turn to family in the case of such a falling out, but for Virillius, that was an impossible ask. His daughter was missing and his wife was dead. The few others that shared his blood had never truly taken his side.

He held many of his old war buddies in a high enough regard to speak with them on close terms, but he knew better than to rely on them when it came time for matters of governance. Most were ready for nothing but violence and conquest; they were prepared to drop all their stately duties and go to war as they had in the olden days. But he could do no such thing. Now, his responsibilities were a thousand times heavier, and there were no active conflicts in which the warriors could vent their stress.

The war with Kryddar was over, and there were no others on the horizon. King Virillius and King Ragnar had entered peace talks immediately after the former assumed the throne. Having heard rumours of their duel, the Cadrians assumed it a surrender, but in truth, it was but a ceasefire. Just as how the Kryddarian army had no way of stopping Virillius, the Cadrian army had no way of stopping the undying legion. Not even the former duke could wipe out the army in the few brief moments that they were vulnerable each day. Mutually assured destruction was all that awaited at the end of the line.

He would need to find a solution, a way to satiate his loyalists without irresponsibly fanning the flames, but that would be a problem he solved at a later date. Future Virillius was sure to be wiser than he, after all.

Having delayed the headache for a few hours at least, the exhausted monarch turned his eyes back towards his desk. His liquor break was over; the pile he planned to sort was still something in the realm of fifty documents high, and he had only two hours before the clock struck twelve.

The next thirty minutes hinted at not a single lead. Most of the documents he read through detailed reports from the secret service, namely notes on corruption within the nobility, and the various weaknesses that could be exploited for political gain should the need arise. There were a few military documents, including two he had written himself, and oddly, over a dozen detailed reports on the efficacy of sexual interaction between centaurs and molluscs. Most of those, Virillius had offhandedly discarded. He had opened the first he happened across out of an investigative curiosity, but discovered it to be little beyond the most despicable kind of pornography. He had no idea of his uncle’s strange fetish, prior to the investigation, and he was certainly not happy to have discovered its existence.

Throwing another such document across the room, however, led him to reconsider. A neatly folded piece of paper slipped out from between its pages as it tumbled to the ground. Seeing numbers and symbols scribbled all over, Virillius got up from his desk, retrieved the page, and gave it a more careful read. They were all simple calculations, derivatives and differential equations with no obvious meaning. He was almost tempted to think that it was a child’s homework, but there was no reason for Ferdinand to keep such a silly piece of scrap in his top secret file, especially when it was riddled with errors.

Virillius attempted to derive meaning by correcting the mistakes, but found nothing. When he turned the page over, however, his eyes opened wide. On the other side was a letter addressed to his uncle, dated only one and a half weeks prior, and penned in none other than his daughter’s own hand.

A small smile crossed his lips as he traced his eyes over the letters and took in the detailed account of what she described as a “sudden and presumably unlawful act of war.” He read it three times before placing it down on the desk and filling his mug again.

He had known that she was alive from the homunculus’ often inconsistent behaviour, but the letter’s tone appeared to suggest that she was well. She had, after all, taken the time out of her day to write an entire paragraph regarding the unfairness that was his ruling against pets, as well as her acquisition thereof, rest the poor thing’s soul. He doubted that she would have gone on such a rant had she been in dire straits. He did raise her to have some degree of common sense, after all.

For a brief moment, the man’s fiery eyes turned lifeless, but he soon dismissed the mind-bending thought and returned to sorting through his predecessor’s notes.

There had to be a hint. Something that would point him to his brother’s whereabouts.

___

A quiet giggle escaped Vella’s lips as she focused her many eyes on the many parts of her domain. Prosperity was at a hundred year high; her temples were bursting with activity, offerings in her name were flowing like water, and her follower count—and subsequently, her divinity—was ramping up by the thousands. All in spite of the fact that the war had yet to begin.

“I knew I was right to choose him.”

Her spider mouth chittered as she watched Virillius go about his morning routine. His location had changed from his floating castle to one planted firmly on the ground, but his actions remained identical. One thousand times a second, he swung his spear and cycled through his forms, executing them as perfectly as he had on every other occasion. While most would have considered it in line with their expectations, Vella was most certainly impressed, for the weapon was not one with which he was familiar. The spear that she had bestowed upon him rested atop the rack in his room, temporarily replaced with the piece of divine regalia she had offered to his uncle.

Dewdromn was a moody weapon. It often refused to respond to its wielder’s commands, demanding additional mana at random and wasting it on flashy but otherwise pointless effects. Its weight could be manipulated, but the spear suffered from the inability to maintain a specific mass. It would inevitably grow bored and shift to another on a whim, making it not only obnoxious to wield, but annoying to carry. If petty harassment was a weapon, then the divine spear would be it. Still, Virillius proceeded as usual, with no error in his swings or hesitation in his steps. He was truly a piece the goddess could rely on to carry out her will.

Turning her attention away from the monstrous cervitaur, she looked towards another temple in another city, where the invincible warrior’s daughter awaited. Being only a tiny fraction of his age, she possessed nowhere near as much power or experience, but Vella was excited to see her regardless. She stamped her legs against the stone floor when the qiligon requested to use the amphitheatre, and nearly jumped out of her web when the mortal began to pray.

“O goddess of war, great conqueress of men and blood.”

Vella squealed as the text popped up in her UI, but she was quick to right her posture and appearance.

“I thank you for the favour you have bestowed upon me in battle, and for your continued aid in the many that lay on the road ahead. I have come as requested to seek a task worthy of your blessing, such that I may carry on the duty of those bound by my blood, and manifest your will upon the mortal plains.”

The arachne summoned the misshapen chimera immediately upon the prayer’s completion and raised her into the divine realm. She modified her pocket in the continuum while the process was underway. The messy weapon and armour holders that filled the hall were brushed aside, turned from giant webs to glass displays and cabinets. The many souls that she safeguarded were taken from their slumbers and placed along the outer walls, forming a rank and file, a veritable army of the most handsome and powerful warriors known to time. She herself was positioned at the hall’s far end, upon a divine throne of bloodied trophies, a mound made from the ancient relics her chosen had destroyed.

Once finished, the goddess looked around the room and inspected her handiwork. She began with a satisfied nod, but her expression was quick to cloud. Right before the mortal’s summoning completed, she wiped the slate clean and modified it so that Claire would see the very same scene with which the arachnid had first greeted her father.

They moved to her bedroom, its silken curtains as perfectly arranged as the see-through lingerie that now decorated the divine’s frame. Every part of her was laid bare. From the battle scars that snaked all over her otherwise porcelain body to her silken hair, its tips dyed a deep, bloody red. Her wings, she spread behind her, proudly displaying the weapons of which they were composed; twisted swords, buster rifles, holy spears, each beautiful and powerful enough to throw whole continents into disarray. But again, she shook her head and changed her mind. The process repeated at least fifty times; she shifted back and forth between the two presets before finally giving up and selecting the more chaste of the two options. The divine arachne had spent the better part of the last few years researching the seduction of women, precisely for the moment that was now in front of her, but she had yet to arrive at anything applicable to the case at hand.

Men were much easier. At worst, she would have to adjust her figure and alter the size of her chest. Such invincible tactics, however, rarely ever worked on the fairer sex, and Vella had no idea why. She herself would have gladly taken the bait, after all.

Upon the mortal’s arrival, the spider was elated to find that her choice had been correct. Claire’s reactions were as controlled as her father’s, but the goddess was certain that her eyes had flickered, darting around the room to take in the magnificent display.

The undying warlord’s heart raced as she watched the twenty meter-long snake-moose approach. Her steps were confident, and each was matched with either the distinctive clack of a talon against the floor, or the thud of a hoof. There was over a kilometer between them, but Vella waited patiently, speaking only as her target came to a halt.

“Good morning, Claire.”

“Good morning, Goddess.” The massive creature bowed its head. “I thank you for the opportunity to set foot within the hall of heroes.”

Vella smiled. “You will have found yourself here one day regardless.”

“It is an honour, but I will have to decline.”

“Of course, beloved one. If that is your will.” Vella giggled. Claire would come around eventually. They always did. “Now, for your trial.” The spider put on a devilish grin, “I would like you to do two things, swear to me, and defeat your father in single combat,” and spoke a line sure to unleash the ripples of war.

“I’d rather not.”

Reality, however, was not as kind as the goddess’ imagination. Rather than happily agreeing, as the divine had hoped, Claire looked upon the immortal with the sort of judging glare that a precocious child would give to an adult less mature.

Vella did not immediately process the denial. She continued putting the quest together for a solid five seconds before she finally realised that she had been rejected.

“Bwuh?” The spider made a silly noise as she looked between the half-made quest and its supposed recipient. “W-wait, what!? Huh!?”

“You of all people should know my father’s power. Besting him is a fool’s errand.”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Do not take me for an idiot, goddess,” spat the lyrkress. “You made an impossible request right after I refused to join the hall of heroes in death, so I would be more likely to find myself at your side.” Vella could only turn her face away in silence. She had much more time than the mortal to think, but she was unable to come up with the right words to put an end to an assault. “Did you perhaps voice the first coherent thought to come to mind?”

“O-of course not,” stuttered the goddess. “I-I was just teasing you.”

“Sure you were.” Claire rolled her eyes before turning around and making for the hall’s grand entrance. “This is a waste of time. I’m leaving.”

“Y-you’re leaving!? Wait, wait, no! Don’t leave!” The spider swung off her treasure pile and made for the longmoose’s back, but her target shrunk to a fraction of her previous size to reveal a pillar right before she made impact. Vella cut her thread and aimed another, but the flustered goddess misangled her rear and crashed straight into the stone column, falling to the ground in an embarrassed, twitching heap. “It really was just a joke!” She pushed herself to her feet midshout and latched onto the lyrkress-shaped qiligon’s rear. “I’ll give a real quest, with a really nice reward! I promise!”

Claire craned her neck towards the spider to reveal a cold, judging glare. “I don’t care. Get off me.”

“I’ll even throw in a nice bonus to help you! Come on! What about a nice relic weapon of some sort? I’ll even let you take your pick!”

“No thanks. I’d rather use my lizard.’”

Vella opened her mouth to complain, but the mortal vanished from her realm before her words could come out, leaving the goddess to sit stock still with her jaw nearly molesting the floor.