Chapter 309 - Pirates and Prayers

A cup of tea, a perverted guard, and an interim examination. It was a normal afternoon for the homunculus that had taken her place. Though Claire failed to understand the problems presented on the page in front of her, they at least looked less mind-numbing than the paperwork in which she was always embroiled. Fortunately, her assistance was not required. The fake wrote answer after answer in the original’s perfect handwriting, filling out each question without stopping to think.

While the homunculus was elated by Claire’s presence, she maintained control and continued to focus on her work. It took her only ten minutes to fill out all three pages’ worth of questions, but she spent another few checking over her answers. She didn’t seem to find any mistakes, so she rinsed and dried her quill before placing it on her desk and pushing her paper towards her instructor. It was the same old bag that she saw back in the castle, even though they were still in the western lands. But though she appeared to be a functional teacher, based on the fake’s extensive knowledge, neither of the two felt like she was capable of replacing Allegra. It just wasn’t the same without her, even if Claire hated her lessons.

“Excellent work,” said the tutor. “It seems that your understanding of the local geography is impeccable. Would you like to begin your next lesson immediately? Or perhaps enjoy a brief break for tea?”

“Apologies, Professor,” said Claire. “But I would like to be excused for a second. There is something I need to see my father about.”

The tutor was completely caught off guard by the sudden vocalisation. She could only stare and blink as the halfbreed rose from her seat, curtsied, and walked out the door.

Frankly, Claire hadn’t the faintest idea as to the manor’s layout, but she was able to make out her father’s location with ease. She could hear his voice echoing off the walls, coming from some conference room or other. With two maids following behind her, one of hers and one of Lord Decimus’, she ventured through the manor and arrived in front of a door left ajar.

Opting to stand outside, she waited for the men to finish their discussion on the taxation of hay. It was a terribly boring topic, wherein they talked about the various economic implications for what seemed like ages before finally coming to a pointless agreement whose terms both parties were sure to dance around. Her father stepped outside to greet her as soon as he was done and silently gestured for her to follow. Together, they walked down the hall and entered a study, likely the office that he had been temporarily assigned.

“Pollux’s neighbours will be contacting you soon.” Claire broke the silence on her own accord. “Through the council, most likely.”

The man raised a brow. “If this is about the sword that you used to massacre his citizens, then I’ve already heard the reports.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Claire.

“The sword that you used to massa—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The sword that yo—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The sw—”

“I. Don’t. Know. What. You’re. Talking. About.”

She met his unamused glare with a perfectly blank look.

“If this isn’t about your childish outburst, then what?”

“I’m not sure what childish outburst you might be referring to, but Titus, Flaccus, and Ephesus happened to launch an attack on Vel’khan.”

“Of course they did,” said the king, as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You repelled them then.”

Claire shrugged. “Someone did. That someone also happened to suggest that we settle the score through a series of duels.”

“I would have chosen the same solution,” said her father. A grin crept its way up his lips. “I will be willing to discuss this further if you attend at least one combat training session in person. There isn’t much more to be gained from your proxied participation.”

Claire narrowed her eyes. The man’s request appeared legitimate considering just the surface level, but his motives were unclear. Accepting came with the risk of capture. A simple mistake could leave her with no choice but to dance in the palm of his hand. She had to be careful.

“Fine,” she said, after a brief delay. Still, even in the worst case, she was confident that she could escape.

Her father’s expression was blank, but she could tell from the faint twitching of his cheeks that the answer had caught him off guard.

“Do you have time today?”

“I have already finished with all of my appointments. We’re scheduled to leave the Decimus march the morning after the next.”

Scowling, Claire returned control to the fake and escaped through a door in her mind. Only her father and the homunculus were left in the study, with the former still somewhat confused, and the latter entirely content. And for a while, that was how they remained.

“She should have at least specified a time.” Virillius broke the silence with a sigh. He walked over to his chair and ran his fingers through his hair, but a pair of tiny hands grabbed one of his legs before he could be seated.

When he looked down, he found two of her fingers raised.

“Two hours?” he asked.

She shook her head and made a pinching gesture, with her fingers just a little bit apart.

“Two minutes?”

The homunculus bobbed her head enthusiastically. It was a bit jarring with her face as blank as it otherwise was, but he nodded along. Surely enough, she arrived before he could finish pondering the mode of her transport. A hole was ripped in the space in front of him revealing a scene with a distant sky, a fleet of fleeing ships, and an annoyed but familiar face.

She had changed a lot since he last saw her in person, and not just in terms of outward appearance. Her demeanour had gone from that of a tiny, fearful creature to a seasoned killer with a bloodstained scent. But how could it have not, after she slaughtered an entire city’s worth of people? He found equal parts pride and disappointment welling up from within his chest as he considered the feat. Because she was living proof of all his failures.

The emotions were quenched in an instant, however. He made sure not to let them show on his face as he appraised her in more detail. Her scales looked slightly tougher than average, but nothing out of the ordinary for someone with three ascensions. Her total mana was absurd for her level—her pool was nearing the size of his, despite her being a full ascension behind. But most curious of all was the non-negligible amount of divinity locked within her core. He could tell that she was actively suppressing it, but even then, it seemed oddly constrained.

It was only that final aspect in which she eclipsed the demon that accompanied her. The fox-shaped abomination stood atop his daughter’s head, with its copious magic leaking like blood from an open wound. The creature’s sheer presence put him on guard without a moment’s delay. The instincts bestowed upon all carnivorous moose confirmed that it was possible for him to kill it, though it was unlikely to go down without an extended fight. The demon’s precise nature could not be immediately determined, but whatever the case, its very existence was downright unnatural. It was like one of the creatures from the north, a primal being whose will and strength served only itself. But what else could it have possibly been, if it was capable of ripping holes in the fabric of space itself?

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Unlike the wary monarch, the homunculus ran over as soon as the guests stepped into the room. She tackled the real Claire with a hug, wrapping her arms around her waist and burying her face in her chest. The perturbed, older moose could only watch with a raised brow as his daughter welcomed the copy with a hug and gently ran her fingers through her hair. When Virillius tried to question her, he was immediately met with a silent glare that crushed any hopes of interjection.

So, for a few moments, he watched, his mind still stirring with confusion. He had expected the homunculus to treat his daughter with animosity; the real Claire was practically a hostile entity as far as the replacement was concerned. She invaded her body and took it over so she could go about her selfish whims. That was always how he had seen the relationship between the two, but evidently, he was mistaken.

“Claire.” Both girls turned when he spoke his daughter’s name, one curious and the other mildly annoyed—the homunculus was going to need another name. “From now on, I’d like to refer to you as Alpha and Be—”

A binder flew across the room, but he caught it before it could nail the bridge of his nose.

“Absolutely not,” said his real daughter.

Virillius raised a brow.

“And we already have something for her,” continued Claire. “It’s Rubia.”

She turned towards the homunculus, who immediately blossomed into a smile and responded with a happy nod.

“It doesn’t matter much to me either way,” said Virillius, “as long as the two of you go by different things.”

“It matters,” said Claire. She took the satanic abomination off her head and handed it to the homunculus, who held it up and rubbed their noses together. They exchanged a few words of greeting, albeit with only the demon speaking as the girl pulled it into her chest. “Now let’s hurry up and get this over with.” The original stepped past her father and moved towards the window. The stained glass that shielded the study from the elements was supposed to be anchored in place, but it detached itself from the wall when Claire approached and exposed the room to the great outdoors.

Though confounded, Virillius followed her, his giant frame barely fitting through the tiny opening. Claire’s clothes changed as she moved, forming a thick suit of armour with a helmet that heavily obscured her face. It was a necessary precaution, pointless for guarding her body, but perfect for masking her identity.

It didn’t help that he made them the center of attention. Career soldiers and knights muttered to one another as they watched the pair land in an otherwise empty area. The homunculus and the demon followed, floating around in some sort of veil or other. He couldn’t see them, but his sensitivity to magic allowed him to keep track of the spherical barrier as it floated through the air.

“We’ll start with a light spar.”

He grabbed a pair of wooden shortspears off the racks nearby and threw one to the girl. The weapons were two meters long and tipped with extended blades that stretched far enough to pierce a moose’s vitals. Like the real things, they were fairly hefty. Their cores were made of metal rods to ensure that they were balanced correctly.

The weapon was a little too large for the halfbreed, but she didn’t seem to mind. She stood in the standard stance adopted by practitioners of the Royal Cadrian Godspear, with her left hip perpendicular to her foe and the tip of her weapon pointed straight towards him.

When she charged, she did so lazily. He could tell that she put no effort into the rush, but she was still fast enough to eclipse the recruits that had gathered around them. Parrying the surprisingly heavy blow, and the accompanying pang of guilt, Virillius lightly swept her weapon away and responded with a textbook counter. Back and forth they went with the standard techniques, accelerating a little bit after each exchange.

It was a pointless exercise. They were effectively going through the motions, confirming that the lessons she had taken in the fake’s body had stuck. And in the first place, even that was a waste of time. Standard Cadrian spearmanship was meant for people with four-legged forms. With her body shaped like it was, shieldlance and springblade techniques were far more applicable. Still, she had insisted. Because familiarizing herself with Cadrian styles would better her chance of slaughtering its people.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t recognize her motive. That was why she often disregarded the school’s principles and attacked with wild swings. She was testing his reactions, learning from his responses, and developing countermeasures in the back of her mind. Or at least that was what he assumed. It was difficult to tell with how few cards she was willing to play. She didn’t even use the things that he knew she had, perhaps to ensure that he wasn’t made privy to the precise range and process of their function.

He did, however, gain some insight as to the specifics of her ability scores. She was delaying her actions to throw him off, but he had already concluded, from watching the movements of her eyes, that her agility was likely between ten and thirty thousand, with the range stemming from the efficacy of her class. Most of her investment had evidently gone into brute force of both the physical and magical varieties. It wasn’t the most optimal split—personally, he would have opted to focus on one or the other, and make up the difference through the application of a concept—but neither was it entirely dysfunctional, assuming she had some way or other of ensuring that her attacks could land on target.

Whatever the case, her dexterity was lacking. Her hands weren’t deft enough for the more technical aspects of combat, and though she seemed fairly adept at reading his intentions, her punishes were not quite up to the par he expected. She was either hiding more of her abilities than he had otherwise assumed, or Pollux’s death had been a team effort. Knowing his daughter, it was more likely the former. She was far too selfish to let go of her prey. Just as how he was too selfish to leave the mystery unsolved.

Stepping just out of range of a horizontal sweep, he dug his feet into the ground and charged at a speed twice her apparent maximum. As was clear from the billowing green flame that suddenly encased his weapon, the attack was imparted with the property of severance. The wooden blade would take her head clean off her shoulders if she refused to react.

Her eyes flickered, first to the spear, then to his face. She determined his goal in an instant. He could see it from the way she scowled under her helmet. They both understood. She had no choice but to play her hand.

She suddenly accelerated to a speed that outpaced his swipe and closed the distance between them. It wasn’t Haste or Windwalk—neither rogue skill would have done the trick. The amount of force with which she kicked off the ground was disproportionate to the resulting thrust. The sand beneath her feet was barely distorted. There was something else at work.

He continued to ponder the mystery as he twirled his spear and sent its butt crashing towards her shoulder. The added property was still in play. Though it was blunt, the end of the weapon could cleave her with all the same ease as its tip. And again, she moved unnaturally to evade it. The facade was there. She made it look like she kicked off the ground, but he could easily tell that no contact was made.

“That’s enough.” Moving at his top speed for just an instant, he grabbed her spear before she could retaliate and stopped her where she was. Any more, and he wouldn’t be the only one that saw through her ability. “Let’s move on.”

Claire seemed somewhat dissatisfied, but she released her weapon, stepped away, and wordlessly got into position to work on her forms. Together, they stepped through the standard motions, over and over, repeating them for each distinct weapon and style. The pace was much faster than it was when she possessed the homunculus’ body, but it was still on the slower side. It was only her ninth session. She still needed the occasional reminder of all the things that the regular soldiers had ironed into their routines.

“So?” he asked, as they switched from swords to shieldlances. “What exactly are your demands?”

“Three,” she said.

Virillius paused for a moment to think. “Three measly duels is hardly enough to appease our countrymen. You should know that. Even nine is cutting it short with how many will want to participate. The correct number is really much closer to thirteen, but they’d likely begrudgingly accept a slightly lower number, given Vel’khan’s relative size and stature.”

For a few moments, she was silent. “Five then, but leaders are allowed to participate, and we won’t demand any reparations following our win.”

The rules typically banned the two parties’ most important individuals from joining the fray. In the case of the usual family feuds, it meant that the clan’s chiefs were barred from participating. And in the case of countries, it meant their sovereign crowns. She was giving him the opportunity to take to the field in person.

“Seven. Same conditions. Final offer.” Claire didn’t respond, so the king continued to speak. “My personal involvement will certainly silence some of the people’s gripes, but even then, seven is as low as we can afford, given the scope of the conflict.”

“Fine,” said Claire, reluctantly. Finishing up the set of movements, she threw her shieldlance at him and stepped towards the observers. “Seven it is.”

She turned invisible as she entered the range of the demon’s barrier, with both their presences vanishing following another moment’s delay.

Virillius didn’t think nearly as much of it as the people around him at first. In fact, it wasn’t until much later in the day, when the fake’s tutors started looking for her, that he realised she had been spirited away.