Chapter 319 - The Northern Brigade III
Having dealt with Vella, Claire quickly visited the god of not having friends and confirmed her willingness to take on his request before heading straight for the shop. There was already a royal carriage waiting in front of it by the time of arrival, albeit not the usual one that delivered the maids and their master. Marcelle and her handler had been replaced by a turberus and an armoured driver, the latter of which watched the lyrkress with an annoyed glare.
“Took you long enough,” he said.
Ignoring the man outright, Claire magically unlocked the building and drifted her way inside.
“Hey! Wait! Get back here!”
He continued shouting after her, but she closed the door, barred it behind her, and restrained his limbs with her vectors. It was a necessary precaution. The obnoxious prick would certainly have knocked had she not taken the extra step.
In the meantime, she proceeded towards the infirmary and performed the usual morning check. It didn’t look like anything was wrong; Estelle was already asleep, and the only patient was a familiar face. Claire took a moment to examine him; she scrutinized the patch applied to the sleeping lobster’s tail, and after confirming that it had enough mana in reserve, wandered back out front. Only after dusting the desk off and sitting down did she finally open the door and remove the angry knight’s restraints.
“Welcome to Misadventures Incorporated. Who would you like me to kill?” She greeted him with a cordial smile as he stumbled into the door, not even flinching as she watched the twitching veins that adorned his hairless head.
“You know what I fucking need?” asked the orcaped. “I need you to make your way to the goddamn castle! Be grateful. Her Majesty’s going to be meeting you in person.”
“I’m sorry. I happen to be a little too busy for that today,” said Claire, as she pointed at the calendar strung up behind her. “I’ve a few dozen assassinations to confirm by the end of the day.”
“I wasn’t asking!” he said, as he slammed his fist into the counter. “This is a royal decree!”
Claire gave the man an annoyed look. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not listening to someone with no manners.”
The man’s veins were so swollen that they were about to burst. But in spite of his anger, he reluctantly took a knee and spoke through his gritted teeth. “Lady Claire Augustus. The Queen requests your presence.”
“Oh my, how strange.” Imitating Arciel’s mannerisms, Claire covered the bottom half of her face with a sheet of paper. “Whyever would the captain of Vel’khan’s royal guard be bowing his head to a random citizen? Surely, it is not conduct befitting his station.”
The man’s face twitched like a drunken spider. He managed to stay in control for a solid three and a half seconds before his irritation finally took hold.
“Whose fault do you think that is!? Huh!?” he got to his feet and returned to the counter as he shouted, but Claire grabbed him by the face and stayed his approach.
“You do realise that she sent you here because she wanted you to work on your temper?” muttered the lyrkress. “But here you are acting like a child. It’s a wonder how easily the best of intentions is lost.”
The man clicked his tongue.
“Shut up. I know,” he muttered. He took a deep breath and backed away. “Sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t be randomly flipping my top.”
“Good shark,” said Claire, as she patted him on the head.
“The fuck you say!? I’m not a fucking sha—” He caught himself in the middle of his sentence when he noticed the smirk on her face. “Right,” he said with a cough. “Let’s go, Her Majesty awaits,” he said, as he started walking back out the door. Despite his poor attitude, he opened the carriage’s door and waited for her to enter. “Hold on,” he said, as he looked at the two creatures behind her. “Where’s Sylvia?”
“At home?” said Claire, with a tilt of the head. “Did you really just notice? Are you sure you’re cut out for this whole guard thing?”
“Shut it,” he grumbled as he closed the door behind her and crawled up front. “We’re going to have to pick her up before we head ove…” his words trailed off as he turned around to find the cabin empty and its door ajar.
The girl he had been tasked with escorting had seemingly vanished without a trace. He likely would have found her had he been of the mind to look up, but the consideration of vertical space had never been his strongest suit.
While he bumbled around and panicked, Claire did a quick loop around the city. She grabbed her remaining pet and flew straight into the castle with all three animals in tow. Unlike their obnoxious captain, the rest of the royal guard couldn’t be bothered to stop her. They even opened the front door preemptively when they noticed her descending from the sky.
Just a few minutes later, she was overlooking one of the castle’s courtyards. Joining the queen, who sat facing the rampart’s inner wall, she watched a series of fast-paced duels in the arena beneath her. The soldiers engaged in the exercise fought with sharpened blades; it fell to the medical staff to deal with any wounds that grew too worse for wear.
There were twenty of them in all. Most wore banners on their sleeves, adorned with the crests of the nobles that had supported their nomination. By the sounds of it, there were another fifty-odd candidates slated for arrival. The only fighters already present were locals, namely the most elite guards and mercenaries the ministers had in their employ.
Frankly, they were disappointing. Only a small handful were thrice ascended, in spite of the free experience that was the civil war. And even then, not all of them were worth their salt; three of the four were being pushed back by their twice-ascended peers. Claire was tempted to write them off as incompetent and send them straight home, but she had decided to postpone any decisions until the training regimen was put in place. If they were lucky, at least one of the idiots would find themselves enlightened by a flash of inspiration.
“Good morning,” said Arciel, as she brought a cup to her lips.
“Morning,” said Claire. She lifted Sylvia off her head and set her down in the queen’s lap. The fox was still asleep; she had remained unconscious throughout the trip. “You called?”
“I did,” said the squid. “It just so happens that I received a revelation from Griselda last night. She instructed us against teleporting our way into Cadria and provided a path with several locations that might serve as fair training grounds along the way.”
“What a coincidence,” muttered Claire. “Flitzegarde gave me a quest that effectively forbids the use of portals.”
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“A coincidence indeed,” said the squid, with a huff. “I would have liked them to warn us of the impending decision before I completed the documentation.” She snuck a glance at the lyrkress. “Assuming that it is our intention to comply, of course.”
Claire frowned. “I’m still thinking about it.” She leaned onto the rampart’s walls and rested her face in her hands. “But it’s starting to look like listening is going to be the better choice.”
Arciel blinked. “I shan’t lie to you, Claire, I was expecting vehement refusal.”
“Perhaps if our fighters were more powerful,” she muttered, as she watched the warriors cross blades. None of them really stood out. “This group isn’t giving me much hope.”
Arciel smiled awkwardly. “The only two that have been decent enough to impress are currently resting, following a rather lengthy duel. I believe you are already acquainted with both, however.”
“The Penhorn brat and Ray’esce’s maid?”
“Precisely,” said Arciel. “I have heard a number of rumours concerning another individual worth recruiting. Matthias is currently in the midst of fetching him, and I believe he is to arrive within the next few days, should negotiations progress as seamlessly as expected. Whatever the case, I would like to continue training this group, as well as any others that demonstrate a willingness to fight. There may still be a hidden talent or two whose potential remains untapped.”
“You’re hoping for too much,” muttered Claire. “But fine. I’ll go play around with them a bit and see if anyone catches my eye.” She stretched her back before assuming her qiligon form and stepping up onto the rampart’s wall.
“I shall prepare a set of revised documents in accordance with Griselda’s revelation,” said Arciel, as she also got up.
“And I’m gonna keep napping,” mumbled Sylvia, who was still half asleep. She lifted her head, only to immediately look the other direction and start fiddling with her paws when she caught Claire’s gaze.
The behaviour was odd enough that it demanded a curious look from Arciel. “Whatever is the matter?”
“Nothing,” said Claire.
“W-w-what are you talking about? E-everything’s n-normal,” stammered Sylvia.
“You will have to inform me of the details at a later time,” said the queen, as she set Sylvia back down in her chair. “Ah, yes. Before I leave, would you mind introducing me to that new friend of yours?” Arciel’s eyes were on Starrgort, who had been following Claire like a shadow ever since her arrival. “I do believe that he accompanied us on our previous… expedition as well.”
“Oh. Him.” Claire frowned. “That’s one of Vella’s minio—” The lyrkress froze midsentence. After a few moments of awkward silence, she closed her eyes, lowered her head, and cradled it between her front legs.
“Claire?” said Arciel.
“It’s nothing,” she said, before kicking off the rampart and leaping onto the training grounds.
Discussing Primrose with Vella would have to wait for another time. Even if it was important business that she forgot, crawling back to the goddess on the same day she supposedly outwitted her would be akin to admitting her loss.
___
The weeks that followed the initial recruitment were busy but largely uneventful. Claire spent most of her days going between the shop and the castle, with the latter slowly seizing more of her time. She was swamped around and right after the solstice, but the volume of requests died down soon after. It was the expected outcome; there were only so many people wishing death on others, and most had gotten their grudges out of the way during the time of year when they were most easily recalled.
It was not just the mortals that cleared their hearts during the busy season. Claire eventually visited Vella again and chastised her for her theft of the harvest goddess' lover. The spider herself had been rather smug about the whole affair, even citing that famine was an excellent excuse to wage wars, but she quickly changed her tune after Claire spent a few days offering up her homecooked meals; it appeared that not even the so-called master tactician was immune to the beautiful scent of blackened, expired eggs.
Primrose's mood didn't brighten up immediately, but finally free from the spider goddess' constant harassment, she did at least renounce her status as a social recluse. Whether that meant that a famine could be avoided was still in the air, but whatever the case, Claire's work was done. It was up to the goddess’ followers to handle the rest.
Cadria's official declaration of war came by way of messenger around the same time, and true to form, the soldier responsible for delivering the statement made a failed attempt on the queen's life following his proclamation. The rules were precisely as initially described. The two nations would wage war by proxy, with each selecting seven champions to duel before the public eye. The tentative date was listed as the following year's summer solstice, plus or minus two months in either direction. Nothing outside of that range was negotiable; there were too many Cadrian races that were dysfunctional in the cold, and Virillius' government had every intention of shaping the war into a public event.
Though there was some resistance at first, the Vel’khanese government had ultimately taken a similar stance. It was better for its image if it came clean, and at least some of the ministers figured that a public announcement would serve as bait to attract glory-seeking warriors confident enough to fashion themselves as champions.
Sylvia had been responsible for air-dropping pamphlets on every major settlement to better inform them of the circumstances at hand. The resulting outing had doubled as an opportunity for the fox to clear her mind. Her awkwardness was gone by the end of the trip; she stopped avoiding Claire and returned to her usual clingy self.
All was at peace, in spite of the conflict at hand.
At least in Vel’khan.
The Cadrian people were not quite as carefree. The entire nation was embroiled in an endless cycle of pre-war violence. Every notable warrior was engaged in a contest with every other. Day in and day out, they trained and sparred, hoping that it was they who would be selected for the four positions not yet reserved.
Of the three claimed, one obviously belonged to the king himself, for there was no fighter in the country capable of besting Virillius Augustus. The Invincible but Impotent Knight, General Durham Vespran, had claimed the second seat. He was the royal guard’s chief instructor, and it was well-known amongst the populace that his fourth ascension was just a skip away.
Prior to her retirement, the Grand Magus would have filled the last reserved slot. Like Durham, Allegra’s level was nearing a thousand and her combat prowess was far beyond that of any competitor. Alas, having already declared that she would have nothing to do with Virillius’ reign, the rabbit-shaped caster had ignored the king’s summon.
Her spot had nearly been claimed by an unexpected volunteer. In a bid to rekindle their friendship, and to mend the bridges between their nations, King Ragnar of Kryddar had offered to fill her void, but Virillius refused on account of the political ramifications. There were simply too many ways for things to go south for it to be worth the risk. The Kyrddarian king was instated instead as an arbiter and observer. His ultimate skill would be used to preserve the representatives’ lives so that they could fight without having to worry about any consequences that extended beyond the contest’s term.
The third reserved position was presented to one Julius Antonius Evander instead. He was the lord of Cadria’s second ducal house and a pureblooded cottontail with five hundred years experience. His father was the royal springblade’s inventor, and he was the warrior that had perfected the art. But even with so many accomplishments under his belt, there were some that debated his legitimacy. Alas, the voices only lasted so long, for the rabbit soon silenced them with the edge of his blade.
There were too many viable candidates for any of the remaining four slots to be final. Scattered throughout the Cadrian lands were over five hundred soldiers with their races thrice ascended. The headcount grew slowly year-over-year, but nearly half the individuals were cycled out with each count; hundreds of Cadrians were achieving their third ascensions each annum. And hundreds were dying in the pursuit of more.
To consider adventurers, craftsmen, and other individuals unaffiliated with state institutions would only boost the numbers further. If they were all rounded up, the resulting headcount was no doubt beyond a mere thousand or two. The voluntary nature of Cadria’s military service meant that those individuals could not typically be called to arms, but the fervour of the recruitment drive ensured that all the best came crawling out of the woodwork. Each of the four representatives would be paid a hundred pounds of gold—an amount that no sane fighter could possibly disregard—and etched into history’s annals as one of the greatest warriors to ever step before the public eye.
And so, within the Valencian colosseum, the selections began. The nation’s brightest minds observed the candidates with their pens and papers ready and sought the four mightiest instruments with which they would orchestrate the fall of Vel’khan.