Chapter 374 - Giants, Raccoons, and Giant Raccoons III
Claire stared idly out the side of the wagon as it lumbered along the forested path. The sun was high in the sky, and the border was already behind them. But despite the change in the national boundary, their surroundings remained identical. It was really the fault of the mercantile nation. Skarnia was but a tiny speck on the map, smaller than even the tiniest Cadrian province; its area was far too insignificant for any unique ecosystems to take hold.
The carriage was being drawn by the turberi as usual. Two of the six three-headed turtles were walking out in front, dragging the vehicle along, while the other four rested with the party’s seven members. Though disproportionate—the turtles were only about fifty centimeters tall and two to three times as long—the reptilian pack mules had no trouble doing their jobs. Even in Zarkaahn, they were the most popular mode of heavy transportation. There were a few horses and yaks pulling other groups along, but turberi carried three of five passersby.
Most of the travellers were Skarnian merchants, their wagons loaded high as they peddled up and down the road. Because they frequently swapped out their animals, the Vel’khanese brigade passed several such groups heading in the same direction. The four resting turtles took turns being fed. Lana handed them large leaves and smiled softly as they nommed them right out of her hands.
The rest of the girls were either watching idly or keeping to themselves while the party’s men sat out in the sun. Jules, the resident talking clam, was up on the roof with his shell wide open, basking in the essence of summer as it slowly dried his fleshy, humanoid form.
Krail, the old mage responsible for most of the driving, was sitting in his designated seat with one hand loosely wrapped around the reins. The old greenwood elf was staring at the road ahead, but his eyes were unfocused, seemingly empty as he muttered the chants for his spells quietly under his breath. He did little else but drink from his flask on occasion, drowning himself in the wonderful world of whiskey.
It didn’t even look like he was paying attention to the road, though that was frankly unnecessary to begin with. The turberi were smart enough to follow it on their own, only needing directions when it split apart.
It was a peaceful journey. There hadn’t been any disturbances since the last Cadrian attack. And that was precisely why Claire was bored out of her mind. She had already completed as much magic practice as she could; her circuits were inflamed and she was tired of the monotonous repetition. With little else to do but pet her fox, she slowly shifted her eyes to the two idiots playing around in the carriage.
Both were true shapeshifters whose bodies were made entirely of metal. Boris the ikarett, whose default form was that of a portly iguana, was the pet she had picked up soon after she escaped the lost library. Even without any transformations, he was a deadly weapon. His tail was just the right size to be comfortably gripped as a handle, and the spikes on his head made him into an effective mace. The other weapon was one of the war goddess’ gifts. Named Starrgort, the mechanical spider was a surprisingly durable tool whose functions she had yet to fully explore. It was exactly his origin that dissuaded her. The last thing she wanted was to busy herself with Vella’s schemes.
The two living weapons were engaged in a contest of cards, namely a peculiar game of their own invention. The two players were manipulating not only the deck itself, but also a violent game of rock-paper-scissors. Rather than using their hands—Starrgort didn’t have any fingers by default—they transformed their heads into the associated symbols. The winner would lightly ram the loser, and if either party was knocked off balance, then he would concede his next turn and allow the other to proceed unhindered.
Claire continued to watch for the better part of an hour, carefully observing as Boris took three of every four wins. She didn’t perk up or shift focus until she noticed a coach along the side of the road. There was nothing strange about the vehicle itself, but the people resting beside it caught her eye almost immediately. They were not Skarnian merchants. Rather, they were wealthy locals, likely belonging to some noble house or other based on the crest adorning the side of their vehicle.
Their members were raccoons. Unlike Panda, their resurrecting informant, the Zarkaahnians were hardly the same size as their animalistic equivalents. They stood at roughly three meters tall, matching the average centaur in every dimension but length. She had caught a few glimpses of the raccoon people in Cadrian cities before, but few and far between, they were unfamiliar enough to draw her curiosity.
The novelty wore off before long; the ring-eyed rats began appearing in far greater numbers as they got further into the country. Unlike Cadria, which certainly would have placed a major castle town not too far from the border, Zarkaahn couldn’t be bothered to populate its southernmost stretch.
It was a surprisingly logical arrangement. Small as it was, their southern neighbour had little military potential, and the lands along the Skarnian border were hardly fertile enough to warrant a confrontation. Almost all of it was forested and undeveloped; they didn’t see their first settlement until they were a solid two hours past the national boundary. Even then, the small, twenty-family village was not of a variety that Claire had seen before. Rather than tending to the fields, the locals were swinging away at the trees with their axes as they hummed a rhythmic song.
They industriously rolled the felled lumber to a large sawmill right by the side of the road, where the workers trimmed the branches, stripped the bark, and processed the rainforest’s bounty into construction materials.
Though certainly not farmers, it wasn’t as if they abstained from agriculture. There was a group of smaller raccoons moving through the cleared forest, spreading the sea of the trees they toppled and tending to the young saplings whose sprouts had already emerged.
Another hour of travel revealed that such sights were common. There were a number of wood-centric villages spread throughout the forest, and the roads were present precisely to transport their goods. At the end thereof, the party was greeted by a city. It was a fairly large settlement with a wooden fence built around it and a small moat that prevented any further expansion.
The carriage was let through the gates as soon as it pulled up. There wasn’t much hassle, nor even a decent inspection. Though they were clearly not local, the guards had let them pass with a casual wave. The career soldiers were in good spirits, merrily chatting amongst themselves with cold drinks in hand. Their behaviour was clearly negligent, but it was difficult to blame them.
The whole city was in the midst of celebration. There were decorations strewn across the streets and people singing and dancing throughout. Couples walked hand in hand and tail in tail as they ventured from game to game and show to show. Large ribbons adorned every rooftop, the accompanying bells ringing loudly each time the wind passed through.
“Oh wow.” Sylvia stuck her head out the front, her ears as twitchy as her tail. “This place looks super fun!”
“If by fun, you mean loud,” Groaning, Jules grabbed his shell and closed it with a thunk. “The fuck are they having a festival for? It’s only been a month since the solstice.”
“I haven’t heard much about Zarkaahn in particular, but it isn’t all that uncommon,” said Krail. “In fact, I’d say that it’s pretty common in the forest to the south. The people around the boundless grove do three or four harvest festivals a year, depending on how well things grow.”
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“There’d probably be more fruits and veggies if this was one of Primrose’s,” said Sylvia. “Most of the stuff I see is meat.”
Claire frowned. “It almost looks like it’s for the god of the hunt. We should leave.”
She looked at Arciel, who took a breath and slowly started to speak.
“Let us quickly renew our supplies prior to our departure.”
Sylvia’s ears flopped. “Awww… Can’t we stay just a bit and enjoy the festival?”
“It is too dangerous to rest with Claire’s enemies all around.” The squid shook her head. “At most, we can pause briefly to learn what we can of our target.”
“So uhmmm… what exactly was the target supposed to be again?” asked Sylvia.
“I believe its identity was that of a man-eating serpent. I was informed that it was a behemoth of a beast with its level in excess of two thousand.”
“So kinda like the thing on that sign?” Following Sylvia’s paw, the party found its collective eyes on a large board in the middle of a nearby plaza. In Vel’khan, such an object would surely have highlighted local jobs in need of doing, but the raccoons did not quite share their sensibilities. The latest news was plastered atop it instead; nearly half the board was covered by a painting that depicted a hunter. He was drawn in the midst of a pounce, his target a massive reptilian creature, namely one whose fangs were as long as the man was tall.
If that was not enough to tell the story, then the accompanying headline—National Threat Exterminated: Hero Defeats Hellbeast in Single Combat—certainly did. The kill had slipped through their fingers.
Claire pursed her lips. It was the exact same thing that had happened to them in Skarnia.
“Our prey was stolen without warning again,” said Arciel, quietly. Her face was pale and her hands were trembling. “Has Griselda forsaken us?”
“Mmmnnnn… I doubt it,” said Sylvia.
“Never have her plans deviated so drastically with no warning. Even if she has not abandoned us outright, I believe it is likely that we are no longer considered worthy of her guida—”
“Stop panicking.” Claire gave the witch’s forehead a flick. “It was a new moon last night. Idiot.”
“R-right.” Arciel pulled her head over her eyes. “I apologize. It appears that I have yet to fully restore my composure. Let us proceed with the gathering of our supplies. I suppose that knowing of this supposed hero’s feat, we need not gather any additional information.”
“I’ll go buy our supplies.” Chloe stood up from the carriage whilst checking her purse. “I’ll catch back up and meet you at the gates.”
“Should you bring along an accompaniment?” asked Arciel. “I cannot state with confidence that the city is saf—”
Claire flicked the queen again. “Stop stressing. She’s over level four hundred. She’ll be fine.”
“R-right. I suppose you do have a point.”
“Don’t worry.” The grinning maid threw her arms around her queen and gave her a bit of a squeeze. “I’ll be right back.” She whispered into her ears before standing up, leaping out the back of the carriage, and vanishing into the crowd.
The rest of the party was left stuck in the city’s traffic; there were too many drunks lazing about for them to make any meaningful progress, and it didn’t help that half the roads were blocked with stalls and other celebratory constructions. In one case, the god of the hunt had quite literally gotten in their way, as half the central streets were for the sake of parading a carving of his bestial likeness.
Claire didn’t let the time go to waste, of course. She focused on her ears throughout their trek, picking up whatever gossip she could. According to the locals, it had been a week since the thoraen champion had stolen their quarry. It was a long enough time that she doubted she could catch up even by her lonesome. He was likely already finished with his business in Fornestead, and perhaps even his business in Paunse. Unless she broke her promise with Flitzegarde, he would probably be done with whatever he needed to do in Kryddar by the time she chased him down.
It was starting to look like they would have to do their training in Cadria. In and of itself, that was not necessarily a problem. The motherland was full of high-level dungeons aplenty. They could easily find some place or other to hole themselves up until they grew powerful enough to explore the Langgbjerns. The issue stemmed from the impact on their public image and the resulting call for interference. Thankfully, Kryddar had enough high-level dungeons that they could at least avoid embarrassing themselves in public, but any particularly powerful moose that spotted them would still know at a glance if they weren’t worth their salt.
It was a problem that she continued to ponder as she magically lifted a few snacks from the streetside stalls and forced her foreign coinage upon the owners.
The foods they served were much more mysterious to the consumers than the coins were to the merchants. The only identifiable trait was that the dishes were deep-fried; Claire knew next to nothing about the specific meats and vegetables that they had cooked. All of the names were unfamiliar, and to make matters worse, they weren’t even always listed. The shops preferred to advertise the types of oils they used, often offering dishes that differed only in that regard.
Their love for oil only came second to their obsession with bamboo. Large tufts sprouted from every corner, extending higher than the fences themselves. In some places, they acted like natural veils, obscuring the alleyways from undesired onlookers, while in others, they were practically walls.
With the extent of its availability, it came as no surprise that the local merchants had decided to make bamboo products aplenty. It was harvested in real time, trimmed down to size, and used as something along the lines of a bread bowl. At least half of the shops they passed turned the evergreens into edible containers in which they served their other products. Naturally, they were deep-fried, with only the most ambitious of chefs opting to boil them in oil instead.
Claire wasn’t a fan of the local treats. Their flavour profiles were too simplistic, and frankly, fairly unpleasant all around. The oil was far too prominent and its thick grease completely overpowered the merits of all the other foods. Her companions, however, seemed to be enjoying themselves. Even Arciel had stopped moping in order to chew on a lumpy root vegetable.
“This is quite delectable. Whatever was this vegetable called?”
“I don’t know.” Claire squinted at a nearby sign as she spoke. “But the locals call them childsnatchers. And they taste best right after they digest their meals.”
Arciel’s chewing slowed to a crawl. She hesitated, pausing for a few seconds before swallowing the lump in her mouth.
“I believe I may have misheard you.” Her eyes went back and forth between the lyrkress and the tuber—a reaction shared by some of the others.
“A scholdsnitchzer,” said Claire. “It’s an indigenous vegetable.”
“I do not believe that was what you said the first time,” said Arciel, her eyes fixed on the golden, fluffy potato.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lyrkress stuck out her long, forked tongue, prompting the squid to heave a sigh.
“Fine. I shall inspect the signs myself.” She straightened her back, removed her hat, and looked out the back of the carriage. Her face even featured a small smile, despite her previous melancholy.
The satisfaction continued to persist as they continued through the city. Though the positive atmosphere was driven by an enemy, it only spread further when they arrived at the northern gate. Chloe, who had been waiting by the exit, lit up like a flower as she saw the mood that had befallen her mistress.
“Hey, what took you so long?” She flagged down the carriage with a wave. “I’ve been waiting for nearly an hour.”
She was given a number of silent looks, but she ignored them all and flashed a grin as she boarded the carriage. It didn’t look like she was carrying much—she only had two baskets of groceries in her hands—but she unloaded eight full containers soon after climbing aboard. Like just the daggers, needles, and other necessities she carried, they had been hidden in the folds of her skirt.
It was getting a bit late into the afternoon, but the party set out from the gates regardless and made for their next destination.