I fall silent as I take a sip of beer, recalling how Celyz and I split. I regret being so unfair to her, especially because I was somewhat aware of what I was doing at the time.
Not only did I let Leomi interfere in our relationship but I didn't even propose myself at the moment we split ways, leaving her to do so herself in a clumsy way that I now find adorable.
Perhaps it had to do with the fact she is a Rykz so the idea didn't cross my mind, but that's less of a reason than it is a commentary on me treating her as less than she deserved.
“Jess.” Idali calls out.
“Yes?” I ask.
“You fell silent all of a sudden.” She says.
“Right.” I nod. “Let me tell you one thing, the Rykz aren't the insects you've been taught to see them as. Their civilization is not only more united than the Empire but also more vengeful towards slights.”
“That doesn't sound much different.” Rowland somberly remarks.
“Doesn't it?” I ask with a smirk. “The Empire has had diplomatic agreements with the Rykz that both sides respected for a time. The Rykz are at war because the Empire attacked them, Idali's mission is to offer peace.”
“They hold our lands, it's easy to call for peace when you hold everything you want.” Nahl remarks.
“That is true.” I acknowledge. “All I am saying is that their aim has never been war but, like the Empire, to preserve and strengthen their species.”
“So war is as much a means for them as it is for us, that does not solve or help anything.” Uhla murmurs.
I open my mouth but, in the end, decide to slap my jaw shut because I'm too biased to truly argue anything on the subject. If I ever came to agree with her point of view, it would bring balance to my insanity.
“Did you make up your mind on using the hand-and-a-half sword or the claymore?” I ask Rowland.
“I have, why?” He returns.
“I have a use for either you're not going to use.” I tell him.
“Alright, there.” He says.
Rowland reaches behind his back to grab the claymore which is hanging on his back from a strip of cloth around the guard. He slips the contraption off his shoulders and then drops the heavy weapon on the table, making their tankards jump.
“Woh, there.” Idali exclaims as she picks up her drink.
I put my tankard down and grab the hilt. Liz? Nope. I'm starting to think this is less about resting than you being lazy and enjoying making fun of me. Sister, I would never do such a thing. I scowl.
With a thought, flow courses through my muscles from the tips of my fingers to my shoulder all the way down my back and I lift up the claymore. I throw the strap around my neck and let it hang. The blade bumps on my stool and almost destabilizes it.
“Are you sure you'll be able to walk without that thing's tip scraping against the ground?” Idali asks with a huge grin.
“If not then you'll just have to follow me while carrying it, won't you?” I return with a predatory smile.
She blinks and looks away with an innocent expression. I take advantage to discreetly pick up my almost empty tankard and swiftly place it in front of her before snatching her half-full beer.
“Hey!” Idali exclaims a moment too late.
“What?” I ask, copying her previous air of innocence.
She reaches out with her right hand while her left tries to grab my wrist so I angle away by reflex, only to remember a bit late I don't have a left arm anymore so I'm not really presenting much of a defense.
Idali just barely manages to catch the rim of her tankard but it's enough to stop me because of the spilling risk. That thought brings a brilliant idea to my mind as she starts pulling while seizing my wrist.
I apply a water construct to the beer to contain it within the tankard and suddenly stop fighting her, allowing and even help the tankard jerk in her direction. Idali's eyes widen and she immediately releases me.
“Aaah, no!” She cries out and jumps off her stool to dodge.
Idali lands in a crouch with her arms raised and her eyelids closed to guard herself against the spill while I casually bring the tankard to my lips to take a sip of beer.
She quickly realizes that she isn't drenched and raises her chin as she slowly opens her eyes. I throw her a smug condescending look that causes the other three to burst out in laughter.
“You minx.” Idali grumbles.
I laugh and hop off the stool. Thuck. The claymore hits the ground. Kh, kh, kh, shortie. I ignore them all and angle the weapon to the side so I don't have to drag it before walking to give Idali her tankard back.
I wave at the four and head out of the tavern into the street, wondering how long I'll be able to keep trailing ahead of my exploits whether they be Freepath's or Liz's.
Mine will eventually catch up to me but, hopefully, I'll be able to hide the fact Liz and I share one mind until the moment we choose to reveal it. What is difficult for me to accept is that I can't truly make contingencies because too many people know.
While I trust most of them, it's difficult to tell if Aisha will stick to the deal we made. There won't be any warning if I'm outed so the best I can do is to always be prepared.
Wraith, he must operate in a different way but under the same principle and that's a weakness. What do you mean? To avoid being caught, spying is obligatory and always have an escape route prepared.
Which makes him as untraceable as a Shade. Not exactly, Shades have more options. They're restricted in the help they can get from allies... but they have many more potential allies considering who they work for, I see your point.
Since he is always prepared, then there are detectable signs of his presence, weakness to exploit. I chuckle somberly and keep this in mind as I make my way to a small shop to buy some food, a slice of bread with heated goat cheese on top.
I return to the plaza and settle down near the Temple. Siegfried's escort is stationed there speaking to a few villagers. I notice that he throws me a quick glance from the corner of my eyes but don't return it.
My attention is on the two merchants I spotted selling spearheads in the shadowy side-street even though my gaze must appear lost in the distance to anyone watching me.
I don't want anyone to know I have close ties to these two, it might be difficult since we arrived together but it's possible they didn't truly pay attention, too busy with their own affairs.
It doesn't truly matter because it isn't as if I can go back to change that and I have no intention of letting them dodge my questions. Thus, I wait for the day to end and dusk to arrive so that workers return from fields or workshops to go home, emptying the streets.
My four cute subordinates leave the tavern to find an inn before the two merchants close their stall but they don't come over, apparently having enough intuition not to come and bother me.
Eventually, a pair of mercenaries armed with spears show up to help the merchants pack up their stall on a carriage and escort them to the edge of town. I follow them and find that their group is camping in a prairie.
The presence of the squad of ten mercenaries is somewhat inconvenient for me but not insurmountably so. The merchants I've been watching enter one of the central tents.
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I settle in an alley to remove my noisy gear and wait for the sun to completely fall under the horizon. When it does, I crouch to reduce my profile so as to sneak past their sentries.
Krrr. I freeze as I feel a pull on my back and realize the claymore's tip is touching the ground. Don't you dare. Kh, kh, kh. I close my eyes and take a series of deep breaths to calm down.
I stand back up and peer at the camp to seek the best angle to approach at. They have three small fires and a larger one around their tents, meaning there are a number of blind angles I can exploit.
Ironically, the fact I can see so well in the dark is making it somewhat difficult to figure out what the sentries are seeing so I move very slowly and carefully. I slide behind a tent to get past a sentry and enter the camp.
After a few more minutes of maneuvering around, I reach the tent the merchants occupy and crouch at the side. I draw my long hunting knife and slice the cloth open to take a look inside.
I discern a dark gray atmosphere and hear snoring that makes me wince so I move in to end it. On the ground is a carpet with two bodies wrapped in blankets. I pause because it seemed too easy to get to them but, then again, they're merchants.
“Or, are you?” I speak up with a crooked grin.
I half expect them to rise and attack me with drawn daggers but, unfortunately, the two keep soundly sleeping. I sigh and slide the claymore off my back to drop on a chair lying around. A gust of cold wind blows into the tent through the hole I cut in the side.
I strengthen myself with flow and reach out with the weapon to poke the two gray silhouettes one after the other. The first slowly awakens while the second jerks awake to throw looks around but fails to spot me in the darkness.
“What is it, Jeobe?” The woman asks tensely.
“Hrm, what?” A slightly pudgy man questions back with a hazy voice.
“G' morning, I heard you sell weapons.” I cheerfully speak up.
“What?” Jeobe repeats.
“Shit.” The woman jumps up to her feet.
She tries to run but I swipe out at her right heel with the claymore and cause her to kick the back of her left leg. She falls flat on her face so I reach out and gently tap the back her skull, knocking her right out. The man sits up in the meantime and rubs his eyes.
“Jeobe, is it?” I ask with a cheerful tone.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” He asks with a chill in his voice as he looks for me.
“Over here.” I wave the claymore. His eyes finally find focus and he turns to me. He swiftly locks onto my shining irises and his expression turns fearful.
“What did you do to her?” He questions with a trembling voice.
“I just sent her back to sleep because she seemed so agitated to be lacking some, no worries.” I reassure him. “If you'll forgive the intrusion, I'm hoping to sell this weapon and I don't particularly wish for it to be tracked back to me.” I lie.
“That's, what?” Jeobe mutters with a baffled expression while trying to peer at my face through the darkness.
“Weapon, selling, it's a claymore.” I tell him.
“We can't do that.” He says with a worried expression. “Some weapons are banned from sale, most weapons of war are actually.”
“Spears aren't?” I question out of curiosity.
“Not especially, no. We claim they're for boar hunting.” He replies with a serious tone but a twitch of his traits tells me there's more to this, as I predicted.
“Now, you see, that's a problem.” I tell him with a much colder voice.
“I'm sure we can help you find a buyer but we're merchants, we can't risk being found with this.” Jeobe hurriedly argues.
“No, no, what I take issue with is the rationale behind your refusal, not the refusal itself.” I tell him, returning to a gentle tone which causes the man to stiffen for some odd reason. I stay silent to let him stew a bit.
“What's the problem?” He awkwardly asks after a while.
“It doesn't make sense.” I deadpan.
“What doesn't make sense?” He questions.
“First of all, the spearheads you're selling are most definitely not meant for boar hunting, the shape is all wrong. These are meant for war and any soldier worth his pay will know this at first glance.” I explain. The man pales so much that he turns almost white from a shade of light gray before my eyes. “But, most of all, it is far more illegal for you to be selling spearheads by the bulk than it is for you to dispose of a single claymore. Especially when those spearheads may eventually find their way into Sykus' hands.”
“That's...” Jeobe trails off, hesitating.
“Quite a problem.” I finish for him.
“On second thought, I'm sure we can...” He starts.
“Nope.” I teasingly interrupt. “I never really cared about selling that claymore, I came to find out who you people work for.”
“We're traveling merchants, we work for ourselves.” The man affirms instantly.
“I've already told you why I don't believe that, Jeobe.” I gently berate him. “You clearly haven't bought these spearheads in these hills. You've either acquired them in Hetlan, and trust me I would know if that was the case.” I wouldn't but could find out. “Or somewhere in southern Mirus which brings up the question of how your caravan got past all the patrols, whether sent by Nobility or Sykus.”
Jeobe panically looks to his left and right as if looking for a way to escape but his eyes return to mine in the end. A tremble goes through him as our gazes make contact and the merchant slumps with an expression of despair.
“You...” I start.
“Help!” He screams out with all the air in his lungs, startling me so bad I almost fall off the chair. “Help, murder, help!”
What the heck? That's indeed new, look at 'im shak'n. Jeobe is kneeling with his eyes shut, his arms wrapped around his chest, and his chin held down as if expecting to be struck by the claymore.
“I very honestly didn't think you had that kind of courage, Jeobe.” I tell the man. “But this frankly isn't going to help your situation.”
“Kill me! I won't talk!” He exclaims shakily.
“You're undermining yourself.” I note with a sigh. “If you want to show a strong front, it's best not to begin by crying out for help. Denouncing me as an intruder, thief, or killer would have done more to convince me.”
As I tell him this, I hear mercenaries rushing over and people waking up in nearby tents. I let flow stream into my muscles and move. In a mere second, I leap off the chair and go through the cut in the tent's cloth to land outside with the claymore in hand.
Let's see... how should I...? Just bash 'em. I sigh at my sister's crude response and flick the weapon up. It arcs up and then down to land heavily on my shoulder. Oof.
A half-dozen mercs with torches in hand arrive, four armed with spears and two with swords. I grin as I leap towards them and launch the claymore with a shoulder throw. As the weapon rises and drops down, I activate a lion strike to guide it.
Three raise and link their spears to intercept the weapon while a fourth places his sword beneath to sustain them. I use a burst of energy to enhance the kinetic force behind the blow. Crack. The spears unsurprisingly break. Clink. The sword snaps.
The four mercenaries stumble back, three of them fall backward. The three still standing gape but the claymore's blade digs into the dirt so they charge to take advantage of the opening.
I smirk and lion's kick up with my right foot's steel-tipped boot, launching the weapon back up in the air. I stomp back down with my right leg and pivot a full turn around it to initiate a swipe.
The mercs try to stop but my reach is such that they fail to do so in time. The heavy blade impacts two in the chest one after the other, throwing them back with broken ribs.
The third and last barely manages to block with her spear which cracks on impact. As she stumbles back from the weight behind my blow, I advance on her while dragging the claymore behind myself.
She tries to swat me away with her weapon but I break it with a stream of energy before it can reach since I'm not quick enough to block and I'd rather avoid a big purple bruise.
I then lion's leap and smack my forehead into her sternum, throwing her to the ground. I glance around to find another six mercenaries arriving from three different directions.
They move to surround me while a man with a silver necklace, likely the leader, glances at his downed comrades with a look of relief when they each groan in turn.
“You'll find it not worth your pay to fight me, mercenaries.” I politely warn them.
“Who are you?” The leader asks.
“Jessica Freepath.” I respond in an even tone.
“Never heard of you, can't use that to justify a breach of contract to my superiors.” He utters while raising his weapon.
“They'll hear of me before you make that report, but I suppose it is useless to argue this now.” I say with a sigh. “Let's do this.”
I kick the claymore back up to my shoulder and bend my knees to take a low stance so as to launch from my shoulder with more momentum. The leader raises his sword vertically in front of his face and it takes a golden glow.
Oh, maybe not mercenaries then? Hard to say, some may have been soldiers previously and been taught the armor-piercing construct. True. I angle my torso so as to reduce my profile to offer less of a target.
The mercenaries slowly approach step by step, one of them drags away two of his comrades to keep them out of range from the upcoming fight. I smile at them while sending out discreet streams of energy that meld into the surrounding air to disappear.
“She's doing something.” One of them whispers.
“Go, before she can shape a construct!” The leader orders.
“Too late.” I cheerfully remark.
I use my unstructured energy to send gusts of hardened air at their torches, snuffing them out to return night to the alley between the tents. The mercenaries blink to try to get used to the newfound darkness and disperse to buy time.
“Stop!” An authoritative voice calls out.