Chapter 126 - Two Blades and a Tail VII
Though they appeared intimidating, the Green Belt’s monsters proved no more challenging than the crabs. One by one, they were mowed down like weeds in a garden. A stab to the face killed an ascended hog, a magical squish ended a four-winged egg-eye, and a beam of ice turned a mimic into a sculpture.
Behind the mass murderer trailed a very unhappy fox. Sylvia had stopped stealing Claire’s targets from right under her nose, but she had yet to recover from her fit of displeasure. She continued facing the opposite direction every time the lyrkress turned her way and refused to offer any directions. Any attempts to catch her were invalidated; each time, she would outright reject the lyrkress’ touch with magic beyond the half-moose’s understanding.
Starting a conversation still seemed possible, so long as it was started the right way, but the blueblood was unwilling to offer another apology. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t see the fox’s perspective. She knew that she was being stubborn and that she really should have empathized. She could even go as far as admitting that she was wrong, but she knew better than to assume that she could put the feelings into words. Something ingrained in the back of her mind was holding her back. That was why she had tried to convey it through touch instead, as she always did, but the notion had been outright rejected.
And it isn’t like she’s trying to talk either.
Impaling another hog with her chain dagger, Claire grit her teeth and stopped just shy of a hiss. She wasn’t the only one in the wrong. The silly elf was taking all her words at face value and failing to perceive the intent left unsaid.
Alice was better at reading between the lines.
Her mind continued down a spiral of frustration as she ventured through the Green Belt with nothing but dead monsters in her wake. Even the most powerful individuals, ascended hogs with phallic tusks, were stuck at around level 150. They were hardly any stronger than the crabs, and she had little to no trouble dispatching them.
Frederick’s blade certainly played a role in her success, but it was not by any means a key factor. Like her icy creations, the weapon was capable of piercing through the hellhogs’ flesh, but not their bony protectors. Its most notable aspect was its durability. Despite the constant abuse that came with the lyrkress’ experimentation, neither dagger suffered any major damage. There was the occasional scratch, but the half-centaur was unbothered. The edges themselves were pristine, and as far as she was concerned, the fresh marks in their handles only served to add to their aesthetic and appeal.
The hellhogs’ opinions on the matter likely involved a tad more displeasure, but Claire cared very little. Their deaths were nothing but a means for her to vent her frustration, a way for her to distract herself from the stubborn fox and delay the unavoidable apology. It was either that, or they would continue to butt heads.
The sour mood persisted even as she made it all the way to the far end of the cave system and defeated its lord, a thrice-enlarged hellhog with pickaxes for hands and glowing mushrooms for teeth. Not even at night, when they set up camp, did either party attempt to speak.
Tired, annoyed, and unwilling to yield, Claire went to bed and put the confrontation off for another day.
___
“Come in.”
After stretching his limbs and getting up on his desk, Beckard Links undid the magical seal on his office and admitted the guests on the other side of his door. Through the frame entered the exact pair that he had been expecting. Neither the towering dog nor the tiny elf said a word until the door was closed and the protective spell recast. It was obvious what they wished to discuss, both from the timing, and from the heavy mood.
Exchanging nods with his old friends, the cat pulled an artifact out from his robe and channeled his magic through it. The connected bookshelf whirred to life soon after and revealed the teleporter sequestered within. Fred stepped through as soon as the spell was ready, emerging from the other side in a set of greasy overalls.
With all four of their members gathered, the adventurers-turned-missionaries that called themselves the Relic Hunters took their places at the table, and got on with the scheduled discourse.
“My task is complete.”
Archibald stroked his fancy moustache as he drew the metallic object strapped to his back. After taking a moment to unravel the cloth wrapped around it, he set the key-shaped artifact upon the table for all his old party members to see. It was just the right size to be used by a towering giant, ten centimeters wide and over a meter long. The magic circuits that ran along its length were covered in complex runic inscriptions. So messy and condensed were the spells that they looked as would a disorderly grable of scribbles to anything but the most trained of eyes. Sickly black energy pulsed through its artificial blood vessels, its flow centered around the disembodied eye embedded within its handle.
From afar, it almost looked as would some sort of demonblade, a wicked weapon with a will of its own and a penchant for blood. But none of those traits were present. Each of the three contributors was too skilled at his craft to allow for such a freak accident.
“If you could, Beckard,” said Archibald.
“It would be my pleasure.” The cat-sith pressed both his paws on the blade’s handle and closed his eyes. Golden energy enveloped his body. It appeared at a glance to be his, but its source was one from beyond the veil. The cat-fairy was nothing but a medium for the entity that had driven his journey to priesthood. “Flux, oh Flux, Goddess of the flow, arbiter of incarnation and master of the seas.” His veins were lit aflame as the divinity ate through his body, but he was unbothered. His goddess was with him, and his faith in her was unending. “I pray to you for both this artifact’s completion and obscurity. I beseech for it to be refined by your grace and blessed by your magic with abilities beyond its make. And in return, I offer to you my eternal dedication and loyalty, as has always been, and will always remain. May my soul be burned by your flame and touched by the chaos that is your principle.” Blood seeped from his eyes and nose as he continued to channel the goddess’ power. His gums swelled and bled as would those of a man with scurvy, and his whiskers began to fall out of his face.
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The flow of energy was suddenly cut short right before he lost consciousness, leaving him to fall to his knees and hack his lungs out onto the carpet. There was blood everywhere, but none deigned to help him. Each kept their distance for their own safety. Like all other racial devouts, he had caustic blood, a godsent gift to deter the killing of his kind.
It was harmless to most objects, but any individual that touched it would be immolated by a divine flame. The burning would forever continue with no signs of fading, so long as his faith remained above his health. And if there was one thing the hairless cat-sith had, it was faith in abundance.
A fit of wheezing later, the feline rose to his feet, wiped off the artifact, and presented it to his co-conspirators. It was shrouded in the divine glow that had previously enveloped his body, a mix of golds, reds, and blacks, integrated directly into its various circuits.
“Look enough good?” asked Fred.
Zelos stared at it with his eyes glowing and his brow furrowed. Slowly, he moved his line of sight up and down, scanning the various parameters that appeared when he looked over its parts. “It’s a little bit on the brittle side, but it’ll do,” he said. “The overall quality is about thirty out of a hundred, more than good enough for the materials we had on hand.”
“Stuck at thirty? Use only few dozen times then break,” said the goblin, with a click of the tongue.
Beckard chuckled. “I wouldn’t be so worried. We’ll only need to get four uses out of it.” He rubbed his paws together before clasping them behind his back. “Is the decoy on track?”
“Check weapons say lassie no on schedule. Kill lord of mines twice only, friend.”
“Then we’ll have to postpone our morning plans until the mid to late afternoon.” Beckard groaned. “Make sure you keep watch, Zelos. We have to start as soon as she touches the hexstone, else we’ll miss our chance. He’ll only be distracted for so long.”
“We may have a little more leeway than was planned. I’ve heard that he’s been busy lately,” said Zelos. “Something about a war involving catgirls. My informant wasn’t very specific.”
Archibald snorted. “It doesn’t matter either way. A few seconds is all I need to finish the remaining preparations.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Beckard. “Don’t let your guard down. Alfred’s crafty. He’s lived a hundred times as long as we have, and there’s no telling if he has any tricks up his sleeve.”
“Ask goddess, yes? Get answer soon.”
“We can’t rely on Flux for everything, Fred,” said Beckard , calmly. “She was the one that assigned us this quest. We can’t have her do it for us.”
“Does it matter? Our rewards weren’t contingent on completing the task without her help. Hell, I’m pretty sure she told us not to hesitate if we needed her to pitch in,” said Archibald.
“Needed, Archibald. Needed,” said the scar-marred cat. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind stepping in if things happen to go south, but as it stands, I think it’s safe to say that we don’t need anything.”
“We’ll just have to wait and see,” said Zelos.
“Wait hard, anticipation kill me soon,” said Fred. “Wasted long years for this, hard say if worth, friend.”
Fred’s reward was an undiscovered high-value mine, the location of which would be revealed to him through a divine revelation. While a merchant or nobleman likely would regarded the prize with glee, the average adventurer was more likely to sulk at its non-value. A mining operation was nothing but a mountain of work. It needed to be managed, and every step of the process had to be done with care. An almost excessive amount of labour was required to yield any results, but while that would have been a pain for most, Fred had no trouble finding the manpower, or more accurately, the goblinpower he needed. Taking control of a local plague demon population and working it to the bone was as easy as counting to three. Beckard didn’t quite agree with the practice, but he didn’t voice his disapproval. Goblins had their own way of doing things, and it wasn’t his business to butt in.
“Thinking little in past. Accept quest because valuable, but now older, wiser, think young me foolish, me is.” The goblin king sat down, his back against a nearby bookcase. “Think again now, not good idea. Changing value with time, good mine no guaranteed rich. Working rare metals maybe less valuable job now, me worry.”
“Weren’t you the first to agree to this whole thing?” The elf frowned as he cast the goblin an accusing glance. “It’s nice to know that you’re having second thoughts, after volunteering the rest of us.”
“Be Archibald, that was. Blame me no right,” said the wart skin.
The huksar scoffed. “I was certainly rather eager, but it’s Beck’s fault. Not mine.”
Smiling, the cat got back up on his desk and sat on the edge. “I may have proposed the idea, but we all agreed on it, and rather quickly at that.”
Fred wasn’t the only one to have been promised a reward. Each member of the party had one tailored just for them. The priest’s was the least substantial, a high rank among the clergy. With the backing of his goddess, he would be able to use his clout to open a dozen monasteries, each with accompanying schools and orphanages; no longer would Father Vakuus be able to deny the borderlands their aid. There was, of course, the odd chance that the old bastard had perished in the seventy odd years Beckard had been away from the church, but the cat-sith doubted it. He was far too resilient and greedy for that.
The gift awaiting Archibald was both the most outstanding and the most incriminating. Flux had described it as a set of records, papers written by an ancient celestial put down by the god of the hunt. And the reason that the creation of artifacts had once been branded taboo. To a practitioner of the lost art, it was akin to a holy book, an ancient manuscript filled with techniques lost to time, remembered only by the gods and their servants.
“Any chance you’re finally going to tell us what she promised you, Zelos?” asked Archibald.
The elf pursed his lips and shook his head. Unlike the others, who had all immediately disclosed their promised rewards, the boy-sized man had kept his secret. They had tried and failed, for the past seventy years, to pry it from him, but he refused to reveal it even with his blood half made of liquor.
“Of course not. I told you, I’m never going to say it.” To nobody’s surprise, his lips remained firmly sealed. “It’s far too embarrassing.”
The detail was one that he always added, leading two of the three others to suspect it was something to do with the women he had failed to seduce in his youth, and the last with the impression that it was related to his man-eating cousin. Whatever the case, there was little to be had but speculation. Neither theory could be confirmed without his admission.
“Need just say, hide no point, me think,” said Fred. “Will all know when escape.”
Zelos sighed. “I know, Fred. You don’t need to rub it in.” He crossed his arms and clasped the pendant hanging from his neck. “Let’s go through all our roles, just to make sure we have everything in order.”
Beckard nodded and produced a document from the inside of his robe and looked over his notes. “Four more days,” he said with a smile. “Four more days until this seventy year quest finally comes to an end.” His heart was beating at five times its usual speed, pounding in his chest. His paws were clenched, hard enough for his claws to dig into his pads. “Four more days until we finally kill Alfred Llarsse.”