Chapter 400 - Cadria

The northern brigade spent the better part of three weeks working its way through Crimson Rock. The dungeon proved every bit as challenging as its reputation suggested—there were at least five near deaths, where Sylvia’s projections had to jump in to provide emergency shielding and healing—but it certainly paid off in kind. The party gained levels by the fistful. Chloe nearly reached the threshold for her third ascension, Jules found himself staring down the 850 wall, and Krail was hardly 10 steps behind. Lana and Arciel had benefited similarly, and though she hated every part of the experience, Claire was in much the same boat. She had gained enough levels from her repeated dives that she was more or less satisfied with the outcome.

Her attempts at soliciting divine aid, however, proved much less successful. Kryddar saw little variety when it came to holy grounds. Rikael, the sun goddess, effectively monopolized the citizens’ attention. Vella and Tzaarkus had a few temples scattered about as well, but that seemed more a function of proximity than it did the locals’ beliefs. After all, it was only near the borders where they could easily be found.

The accompanying domains saw a fair bit of intermingling. Even during the times where the countries had been hostile, cottontails, moths, and centaurs were easily found on both sides of the national line.

Said line sat right in front of them, marked by a government checkpoint smack in the middle of the road. The double-gated structure stood tall, with its highest point at a little over twenty meters to accommodate any visiting giants and the cargo they towed. Their width was even greater, with each of the two lanes wide enough for a regiment of cavalry to march straight through. Though, that particular dimension resulted primarily from the Cadrian standard. All of the roads had widened as they approached the northern land—an increase directly proportional to the rise in the number of moose.

There were soldiers on both sides of the gate, with each nation’s troops carefully watching the entrances to their homelands. But while their gazes came with utmost scrutiny, they refrained from any explicit interference. They simply stared at those who came and went without so much as bothering to examine their cargo. Still, Claire checked her disguise before they reached the gate.

Her tiny qiligon form certainly rendered her unrecognizable, but deciding that it was better to leave an explicit trail, she had returned to a humanoid shape ever since they left Crimson Rock. Her clothing was likewise transformed into a full suit of armour, including a helmet that fully obscured her face.

The metal plates themselves were as white as her scales, half because of the way it matched her hair, and half so she would blend into the surroundings when they eventually set out for the Langgbjerns. They would likely be climbing them in the midst of winter, though if her view from atop the manor was anything to go by, they were frosted over all year round.

Log Entry 871008

You have completed the “Walk the Path” quest.

You have received a blessing from the Goddess of Order.

The message came as soon as they passed the border. For the most part, Claire was unaffected. She listened lethargically, without a care in the world, until she suddenly couldn’t.

Her body began moving on its own. Her arms and legs flailed, and her tail ran rampant within the carriage. There were a series of twists and cracks even though her bones were unbreakable, sounds which shouldn’t, couldn’t have been. The strange motions were accompanied by a wave of pain, but it was only for a moment that her whole body burned.

It didn’t take long for the spontaneous agony to give way to respite. If anything, the pain was lessened, further reduced and mitigated beyond its previous low. She wasn’t quite as comfortable as she was in her qiligon form, but it was only by the slimmest of margins.

Your magic circuits have been rearranged in an optimal configuration. All mana costs have been reduced and all defensive spells have been strengthened. Additionally your magical throughput has increased from 0.38 to 4.95 percent of its maximum value. You may query the percentage of this bonus and thus the extent of your recovery at any time by praying to the goddess of order.

It was not a minor boon like the one she had received from Ira, nor a burden in disguise like the ones she had received from Alfred, Tzaarkus and Flux. Nay, like the gift that Builledracht had given, it was a true, bonafide blessing.

Claire silently thanked the goddess before craning her neck around the carriage. There was a fox on her head and a lizard in her lap, but somehow, no one seemed to have noticed the seizure. She didn’t quite understand the rationale, but shrugging it off, Claire leaned back into her seat and enjoyed the ride as the wagon slowly chugged its way through the Pollux march.

Though its capital city had been destroyed, the southernmost province was exactly as she remembered it. The boring, forested path, the fire-breathing vultures flying overhead, and the frequent patrols that safeguarded the roads, all of it was as familiar as the back of her hand. She couldn’t quite put names to all of the shrubs that lined the forest floor, but she knew that the green berries were Cloelius berries, named for the person who had accidentally discovered their explosive, laxative properties. Likewise, the round, blue fungi that budded from the fallen tree trunks were bleedshrooms, and though they smelled awful when picked—bad enough to make a grown man bleed from every orifice—they were fairly delicious when served in a stew.

Equally as nostalgic were the caravans speeding along the road. The merchants ported their goods in all manner of transports. The turberus, horse, and monster-drawn carriages were paired alongside magical constructs that served both functions at once. Made by the province’s once-prized artificers, the modified cabins walked with their own two, four, or however many legs. The precise count was determined entirely by the particular carriage’s designer, with the primary differences lying in maintainability and relative magical efficiency.

Carriages with more legs had higher upfront and recurring costs, courtesy of the finesse required in their making and maintenance, but they also required less magic to operate. That particular concern, however, was only valid in a few of the nation’s many provinces. The Pollux march, like most of the domains spread throughout the nation, was blessed with bountiful ambient magic courtesy of the ley lines that ran beneath it. A merchant could easily operate a magical device without a battery or generator so long as the right routes were followed. Forgoing the extra machinery reduced the number of potential customers, but the parts in question were expensive enough that many found the tradeoff worthwhile.

The money-grubbers were a common sight, even on an ordinary, country road. Out in the boonies, one could expect to pass a small handful each hour. But on one of the three highways that connected Cadria to its most friendly neighbour, the party found them in an almost absurd abundance. Thanks to the late Pollux’s efforts, the southern province functioned as a bastion of international trade. Merchants came from all over to exchange their wares for Cadrian goods.

Like the businessmen, the brigade followed the road to its final destination. And within the day, they found themselves staring down a major city. Estau, as it was known, was on the higher tech end. Even from a distance, one could easily see the smoke pouring from its chimneys as well as all of the accompanying rust and iron.

“Are we stopping here for the night, or are we skipping ahead?” asked Krail, from the driver’s seat.

“Think we’re probably best off camping out if we’re planning to stay incognito. Anyone can tell at a glance that we aren’t like any of the other groups. They’ll probably pick us out in a heartbeat if we stop in town.”

“We’ll be more suspicious on the road,” said Claire.

“And whyever is that?” asked Arciel.

“The roads always have soldiers patrolling them. They’re more likely to catch on than the townsfolk.”

“Yeah, but we’re gonna run into soldiers either way, aren’t we?” said the clam. “You know, since they’ll inspect us at the gates or whatever.”

Claire shook her head. “They won’t.”

“Are we not only an hour from the border?” Arciel cocked her brow. “Surely the security shall prove itself strict?”

“In Pollux, the guards only fight off monsters. Anyone else can enter.”

“How bizarre,” said Arciel. “I fail to see the logic. Does this behaviour not simply enable criminal activity?”

“Not really,” she said, with a yawn. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

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“I find that rather difficult to believe,” said Arciel. “Are you certain they shan’t stop us?”

“We’ll be fine.”

Surely enough, the party passed through the gates unharassed. Like just about everyone else that the guards failed to recognize, they were allowed through without so much as a greeting.

Estau wasn’t anywhere near as industrious as the former City of Progress, and neither were the people quite as hardworking. Still, it was home to many brilliant minds. Some had been rejected by the competitive insanity that was Tornatus, while others were simply sick of the accompanying pressure. Whatever the case, the atmosphere was much more relaxed. The people who walked around the city did so lazily, and the carts that moved along the streets were slow enough to match the pedestrians.

It wasn’t like the city was dreary. There was still plenty of noise and life, but it was heavily toned down, taken at a slower, more peaceful pace. Still, despite its chronic laziness and its atelier-laden landscape, it was every bit a normal Cadrian metropolis—there was a colosseum standing smack in the middle of town and a military base along the outskirts.

The accompanying officers could be seen wandering around the city, half for leisure, half to patrol the streets. Though some communities put together a watch, the nation was effectively without a police force; vigilantes saw criminals as an excuse to polish their skills and citizens often fought back whenever they felt like their treatment was unjust. That wasn’t to say that everyone was a warrior per se, but many of those who lived in Cadria dabbled in the martial arts at least. And if they weren’t up to snuff themselves, they would find a representative and demand a duel to compensate for any wrongs and losses resulting from misbehaviour.

One such duel took place in the streets while the carriage slowly wheeled by. A tiny cottontail was punching the ever-loving shit out of a reverse centaur while a crowd gathered around and cheered on. The brigade’s members were curious, of course, but though they peered over their shoulders, they refrained from staring for long. The less attention they attracted, the better. That was especially in the Pollux march, where the grudges still ran rampant courtesy of the sky’s descent.

They headed straight for one of the inns located near the city’s northern border—the military base was to the south, and the consensus was that it would be best to avoid it. There were quite a few of them around. Some were clearly meant for the upper crust, with fancy stone pillars decorating the exteriors and beautiful fabrics glimmering through the windows. Others were pest-friendly to say the least. And that was about the extent of the differences between the individual establishments. Though the nation was clearly one that catered to multiple races, the guest houses refused to differentiate themselves by size.

Entering their inn of choice—a back alley establishment that leaned on the cheaper side of average—sufficed to reveal the reason. Even just looking up the stairs, one could immediately discern that not all the rooms were of quite the same size. There were doors that stood at five meters tall, meant for the largest centaur variants, as well as those that stood at a quarter the height. They were arranged along the walls like the pieces of a puzzle; the cottontail-oriented spaces were built to fit right into the small gaps introduced by their larger counterparts.

“Hello,” said Chloe, as she approached the counter. “Do you have any rooms available? We’re looking for two larger ones, as well as a place to park our wagon.”

“Larger ones?” The innkeeper, an old centaur with far too much meat on her bones, looked over the maid’s shoulder and scanned the crowd behind her. “Do you need individual beds, or would you be fine sharing a few centaur-sized mattresses?”

“We should be fine to share,” said Chloe.

“Alright. We can probably fit you in two double rooms. There should be a few spare stable slots at the end of the barn, so you can just throw your carriage and your animals back there. You’ll have to take care of them on your own though. Stablehand is out sick.”

“That should be fine,” said Chloe.

“Alright, one night’ll be five and a half daggers.”

“Daggers?” Chloe blinked. “You mean like these?” She produced a pair of glimmering knives from under her skirt.

“Foreign currency is fine too,” said the innkeeper, with a sigh. “We’ve got the thingamabob.”

“Does Skarnian work?”

“Guessing this is your first time in Cadria?”

Chloe nodded.

“Most places will take pretty much any sort of gold or silver as long as they’ve got one of these.” She pulled a metallic square out from under the counter and set it down between them. The artifact was roughly the size of a plate, with glimmering blue lines running throughout its brass and silver frame. “These’ll convert your coins back to the metals they’re made of. We’ll trade off that, with an extra ten percent slapped on to cover the cost of conversion.”

“Alright,” said Chloe. She fished a few silver pieces from her wallet and placed them on the device. It whirred to life when the innkeeper tapped the button on its side, its glow intensifying with each moment that passed. The coins on top of it began splitting apart like a slime mid-multiplication, dividing first into two parts of completely different colours, and then a number of much smaller pieces each the same size as the next.

The innkeeper grabbed most of the resulting silver and a few of the copper bits before returning the rest.

“That should cover it,” she said.

“Thanks,” said Chloe. She glanced behind her as she pocketed the change. The armoured figure standing behind her hadn’t reacted at all, but it was impossible to say if that was because she was confident in the result or simply not paying attention. Asking was the only way to say for certain, but it wasn’t like she could do that right in front of the innkeeper’s face.

“Here are your keys.” The lady at the desk produced a pair of stones with a set of sigils carved into their faces. “You’ll be on the third floor, at the far end of the hall. Just look for the matching runes. Would you like your food prepared immediately? It’ll be about thirty minutes from whenever you ask for it.”

“Yes please, thank you,” said the maid.

The innkeeper nodded and pointed at the door on her left. “The dining room is just over there. You can sit anywhere that’s free. The staff’ll see that your stuff is sorted.”

And with that, the party was off to the races. They moved the carriage out back and fed the turberi before shuffling their way upstairs and inspecting the rooms that they had been allotted. Though on the larger side, they were fairly plain, as one could readily infer from the accompanying price tag. The beds seemed too big if anything. The girls at least could have easily fit on one, and the innkeeper had apparently brought extra blankets to accommodate the headcount while they were tending to the packturtles.

With the chore out of the way, they set their things down, made use of their restrooms, and otherwise stretched their bodies before they descended to partake in their meal.

Like the rooms, the tables came primarily in the larger centaurian and smaller cottontail sizes. The party wound up in one of the former. As most centaurs sat on cushions placed directly on the floor, the smaller Vel’khanese natives found themselves at just the right height atop a set of seats meant for elves and lamia.

Food and drink was served almost as soon as they sat down. A young centaurian foal, maybe only seven or eight, based on his two-meter height, walked out of the kitchen and plopped their portions down on the table. Each member was presented with a full plate of bush meat stewed with local vegetables as well as a side of bread and hay toasted to a rich golden brown.

The party began to dig in immediately, with some of its members asking for drinks, when the door to the dining hall swung open.

That, in and of itself, was hardly out of the ordinary. The accompanying individual would certainly have escaped the party’s notice had the dining hall not suddenly gone silent. All the guests and staff immediately turned their eyes on the cottontail standing in the doorway.

She was the tiniest little thing. Standing at only half a meter tall, the lanky child was practically the size of a dog. Her fur was a mix of black and what was most likely white. It was difficult to say for certain given the sheer amount of soot that covered her body. She was wearing an equally dusty dress, though it probably would have been more accurate to describe it as a misplaced rag, alongside several rusted artifacts clearly out of maintenance.

No one seemed to say much, but more than half the gazes on the child were hostile. The locals in particular checked their wallets and pulled their plates closer to their chests.

The girl, for the most part, wandered around the room, her stomach growling and her eyes devoid of hope.

“I-is there anyone that wouldn’t mind parting with their leftovers?” she asked, quietly. “Anything will do. Even just a tiny piece of bread.” She lowered her hand to her stomach while her ears flopped forward. As if on cue, her stomach growled, a poor, sad sound that echoed throughout the room.

“No. Now get the hell out of here,” said one of the centaurian guests. He was an older man with a hairless head and a half-greyed beard. “How many times do we have to fucking tell you before you learn?”

The girl lowered her ears even further. From the way she slumped her shoulders and bit her lips, it almost seemed like she had expected the answer.

“Alright, now hold the fuck on,” said Jules. He got up from his chair and inserted himself between the child and the horse-man. “The fuck do you think you’re doing? She’s just some poor fucking kid.”

“I-it’s okay,” said the girl. She started to move towards the door, but Jules grabbed her by the back of the neck.

“You stay the fuck put and shut the hell up,” he said. “Wait here until I’m done with this dumbass or I’ll kick your ass.”

“Oh, shut up, tourist,” said the centaur. “You stay out of this. This isn’t any of your business.”

“Yeah, well your dumb ass just fucking made it my business.”

The centaur got up from his seat with a sigh. “Alright, fine. We’ll go outside and settle this the old fashioned way. But just so you know, getting your teeth kicked in isn’t worth it for a Tornatus brat like her.”

“Yeah? How about you try telling me that again after I kick your ass?”

With the rest of the rubbernecking guests following right behind them, the party included in the number, the two combatants made their way outside with their fists clenched.

Truly, Cadria in a nutshell.

The punches started flying as soon as they took their places.

And though he didn’t use any magic, Jules eventually beat down the random civilian and emerged victorious to a cheering crowd.