Chapter 409 - Amidst the Valencian Wind II
When Claire awoke in the morning, it was to the steady pattering of a heavy storm. Though winter was still a little while off, the signs were already afoot. There were bits of hail mixed into the downpour and the ground was covered as much in sleet as it was in water.
The storm made it difficult to discern the time of day at a glance. Her room was almost as dark as it was in the middle of the night, courtesy of the enchanted curtains hanging in front of her windows. Sylvia was, likewise, still asleep in her arms. The scent of booze leaked from her lips with every breath. Though that hardly came as a surprise. The fox had always been a lightweight and Cadrian liquors trended far stronger than not.
Perhaps that was why her form seemed a little strange. She almost looked like Lana; her body was far less vulpine than usual, with a mostly human-like shape and a flatter snout, but neither was she quite as elvish as she usually was when she didn’t feel like being a fox. Her frame was covered with fur—that much was immediately apparent from her stark nudity—and her teeth were sharp as daggers.
She was mostly curled up, with her arms around Claire’s waist and her feet looping far enough around that she clasped the snakemoose’s opposite shoulder between her knees. Her grasp was awfully tight; it took shrinking down to her smallest size for Claire to escape the death-snuggle.
Sylvia immediately began to stir, stopping only as she was given a Boris-shaped replacement.
Ignoring Starrgort, who lazily waved good morning and jumped off his nightstand, Claire walked up to the mirror and quickly replaced her nightgown with the usual armour. It had long become routine enough that her disguise was never imperfect, but she checked her work for inconsistencies regardless before stepping into the common area.
Chloe aside, there were no maids or butlers within the suite itself—it was meant to be private and free from prying eyes—but Claire could hear them just outside the door. They were standing by so they could readily attend to any needs the Vel’khanese expressed.
Walking down the hall and entering the common room, Claire found most of the party’s girls already wide awake. Lana was sitting at one of the tables with her back straight and a steaming cup clasped in her hands, Arciel was standing out on the balcony, leaning on the railing and gazing off into the distance from beyond the reach of the storm, while Chloe stood beside her with an umbrella in hand despite being asleep on her feet. It was a mystery how the gale winds had failed to carry her away. Allegra was the only one who wasn’t accounted for. She had drunkenly run off to her old lab in the middle of the night.
“Morning,” said Lana, as she nursed her coffee.
“Good morning, Claire,” said Arciel. Her voice was quiet, and not just because of the thunderstorm. It almost seemed devoid of energy and gloomy as the weather.
“Good morning,” said Claire. She took a moment to observe the squid’s dead expression before continuing. “What’s wrong?”
Arciel cast her gaze downwards. She didn’t say much until she buried her face in her arms. “I was provided with a fresh set of clothes.”
Claire blinked for a second before carefully scanning the squid. “You look fine. They’re identical to your old clothes.”
“They are not,” said the squid. “It pains me greatly to admit this, but they have proven to be a perfect fit.”
“I don’t see the problem,” said Claire.
“That is precisely the problem!” said Arciel. “The set I was provided appears slightly larger than what I am accustomed to wearing.”
“I told you, Ciel, you’re fine,” said Chloe, with a yawn. “You’re not any fatter. Your breasts have just grown exactly 3.172 percent larger.”
“That remains equally as problematic. This form of mine is artificial, born entirely of a racial ability. Once a form has been registered, it shall remain precisely as is regardless of when and how it is taken thereafter,” said Arciel. “It is unfeasible for it to deviate lest I have suffered a blow to my core functions. I believe I may be in the midst of a cognitive decline.”
“It really isn’t as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be,” said Chloe. “Your clothes probably just shrunk. We’ve been on the road for months.”
“The dress I used for comparison was retrieved directly from Vel’khan during our meeting with Liliya, and it revealed itself to be too tight from the moment of its retrieval.”
“T-that’s just because the girls have been washing your clothes, even though you haven’t been wearing them. It’s probably just shrunk because of all the extra care and attention.”
“Whyever would they have done that? I see no valid reason.”
“M-my orders,” said Chloe. “I told them that they had to take extra good care of all your clothes so that you’d be as pretty as ever by the time you got back. W-we just haven’t really been replacing them as often because I’m responsible for all the shopping and I never asked anyone else to take over.”
Arciel looked at her skeptically. “But did you not just state that the size of my breasts has increased?”
“I was just kidding.”
“Despite providing such a specific number?”
“Only because I thought it would make me sound more believable,” she said, with a forced laugh. “Come on, Ciel. I know I can be a little horny sometimes, but there’s no way I could possibly tell exactly how much your chest has grown. And besides, even if I could, it wouldn’t be to three decimal places. That’d just be ridiculous.”
“I suppose it would,” said Arciel. She nodded to herself. “I should have seen through the ruse no later than the moment you listed the first decimal point.”
“Y-yeah.”
“However, I must admit that my reservations remain.” The witch craned her neck towards the lyrkress. “Claire. Does Chloe speak the truth?”
Claire paused for a moment to tear her gaze away from the storm. At a glance, Arciel seemed genuinely concerned, though it was more the maid’s expression that happened to catch the lyrkress’ attention. She put her hands together, closed one eye, and playfully begged in a way that was more irritating than not.
“...Yes,” lied the snoose. Knowing that the maid had come in contact with Alfred, it wasn’t too difficult to imagine why the size of Arciel’s chest had changed.
“Thank goodness,” said Arciel, with a sigh.
“R-right, so now that we’ve cleared that up, why don’t we go out for a bit of a walk?” asked Chloe. “We didn’t get to see too much of the castle yesterday.”
“There isn’t much to see,” said Claire. “It’s just the castle. Yours is more interesting.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“It most certainly is not,” said Arciel. “They are on two entirely different scales.”
“Maybe. But everything here is boring. I liked how your throne room doubled as an aquarium.”
“Perhaps, but surely the Valencian castle bears its own main attraction?”
Claire paused for a moment. “Not really. The most interesting things we have are the barracks and the training grounds.”
“I suppose they would make for interesting destinations in their own right,” said Arciel. “At the very least, they would make for excellent windows into the local culture.”
“You’ve already seen the local culture. We’ve been in more brawls than cities.”
“Perhaps, but the source is certain to provide a new and more insightful perspective.”
“I want to go too,” said Lana. “It’ll be good to see them. So we can know what we’re up against.”
“That’s not a bad idea, but I doubt they’ll be doing anything worth watching in weather like this,” said Chloe.
“The weather is irrelevant,” said Claire, with a sigh. “Follow me. I know the shortest route.”
She pushed the door open, dismissed the maids who offered to guide them, and started down the hall. Despite having never lived in the castle herself, she knew it like the back of her hand. It was mainly her many-times-removed cousins that had dwelled within it. Prior to her father’s crowning, Ferdinand’s descendants had treated it like a family home.
Claire was the only scion that her father had produced, but Ferdinand’s line was thriving. Though they had been forced to leave the castle after her father took the throne, it wasn’t like they were much worse off—they had been relocated into an estate in the city’s most luxurious district.
She almost wanted to try paying them a visit. It had been quite some time since she last teased Octavia, but such an act would surely blow her cover.
Though the castle was massive and filled with hidden, less-than-obvious pathways, it didn’t take long for the girls to reach their central destination. Unlike the king’s quarters, the training grounds were never meant to be obscured. The soldiers had their dorms scattered all over and they needed to be able to reach it as readily and painlessly as possible.
The practice ground was a massive outdoor complex trapped between four of the castle’s outer walls. Had there been any seats, it would have effectively functioned as a private colosseum, only it was even more advanced courtesy of the military-exclusive technologies on site. For one, the terraformers were networked. They were configured in such a way that they could freely interface and either transform the whole area into a single large biome or produce a number of smaller zones where the soldiers could prepare for specific scenarios.
It was early enough in the day that the place was simply packed with soldiers. They were all in the midst of their morning routines, going about their drills as their instructors wandered the lines. It appeared as would a pointless exercise—in the palace, there wasn’t a single soldier so unskilled that their form required correction—but it remained a staple part of their schedule.
The purpose was twofold. The more well-known reason was that it was an exercise in discipline. It reinforced the authority of the ranks and ensured a military-minded attitude. But perhaps more importantly, it aided the soldiers in raising their skill levels even when they were unable to engage in mindless slaughter.
Having made no effort to go unspotted, the girls were discovered as soon as they entered the space. The instructors exchanged glances and hand signals, with the closest, a thorae by the name of Tetraites, eventually heaving a sigh and lumbering his way over.
Though the old bee-ogre’s frame was covered in heavy armour, his steps were as light as a fairy’s; if not for the water and slush that pooled in his wake, his prints would have been impossible to detect. The display of finesse stood in stark contrast to his gruff demeanour, but such was the norm for those who operated in intelligence. The old thoraen warrior himself was no longer strictly beholden to the department, however. His name and face were too well-known. It was really the fault of his achievements. In his younger years, he was hailed as the general’s dagger, for he had often joined Virillius on the battlefield whenever he needed a blade to silence a hidden commander.
In his retirement, he became one of the many veterans responsible for training the youth, though the rumors around the castle suggested that he was likely moonlighting as the nation's spymaster as well. The position was certainly not vacant, but no one knew its holder’s identity and there was hardly a better candidate than the man previously placed in charge of House Augustus’ secret operations.
The only contenders were those who had filled similar roles before him, but such an option was simply untenable. It was not only their lack of trustworthiness—they had aided Ferdinand in masking Constantius’ survival—but also the fact that the entire division had upped and vanished. There were a few vague hints as to where they might have gone, but Virillius had declared that they weren’t worth chasing. He certainly didn’t like the idea of letting them roam free, but his forces were already spread too thin.
They needed to keep a strict eye on the western border.
The alliance that lay beyond it had recently started to stir with talks of champions and heroes. And in reality, some of their members had suddenly spiked in power as new dungeons sprang up throughout the land. It wasn’t the most surprising development. Cadria was hardly the only nation to border the Langgjberns. The range was wide and the other lands in its proximity were just as hazardous as those of the horse, rabbit, and bee people’s bitter north.
“Hey,” said the supposed spymaster. “You guys are the guests, right? How’d you end up over here?”
“We wished to see the training grounds,” said Arciel. “And perhaps the barracks as well, if we are so permitted.”
“Yeah, but how’d you manage to figure out where it was?” grumbled the man. “You know what? Whatever, it doesn’t matter.” He started walking back towards the grounds whilst beckoning the party to follow with one of his lanky arms. “There isn’t much to see. I doubt we can put up much of a decent exhibition until Durham gets here in another half-hour or so,” he said. “Oh, and Durham’s one of the seven. He’s strong enough that he was made the princess’ guard.”
For some inexplicable reason, Claire suddenly found herself beholden to three sets of Vel’khanese gazes. Tetraites joined them, casting a sidelong glance that she continued to nonchalantly ignore.
“So anyway.” The thorae feigned a cough. “As I was trying to say earlier, there isn’t too much to see, but I don’t mind giving you a quick tour and explanation.”
The latter part was clearly a lie. The man’s twitchy smile and his completely empty eyes screamed that he wanted nothing more than for them to decline so he could return to his duties. And that was precisely why Claire happily accepted his offer.
“Please. We would appreciate it.”
Tetraites cast a hollow, spiteful look into the slit of Claire’s helmet, but she pretended not to notice. “Of course,” he said. “How could I possibly refuse?”
Still completely and very obviously miffed, he walked towards the control zone established by one of the active terraformers and began an explanation on its workings and practical applications.
As the culprit who had more or less demanded the explanation, Claire soon zoned out and stopped paying attention. She eyed the training soldiers instead, particularly those who had moved from forms to duels. Most were surprisingly easy to keep up with, though that was half because of the change in the spread of skill levels. Before her father took over, it was only the royal guard that used the palace’s training grounds. But with the general ascended to the Cadrian throne, the exclusive practice grounds had been quickly repurposed. Unlike the ducal manor, which only had enough space for the most elite, the castle was spacious enough that it supported nearly all the capital’s troops.
There were a few, however, that proved concerningly difficult to watch. Most of the elites were at or above the replacement Pollux’s level, and they threw deadly attacks without any concern for each other’s lives. That wasn’t to say that they were uncaring monsters. Veteran soldiers were simply difficult to put down by oneself given the extent of their survivability, and they trusted each other enough to avoid any deathblows before they landed on target.
Claire continued to observe them until Durham finally showed up. It looked like he had just come out of a meeting, as he was accompanied by Allegra, Rubia, and even her father.
Having spotted the Vel’khanese brigade even before entering the courtyard, they soon walked their way over, with her father in the lead.
“Good morning,” he said, in his usual cold voice. “Are you here to observe?”
“Good morning, King Virillius, Princess Claire,” said Arciel. “It is as you have surmised. We have to see the root of Cadrian culture.”
“Then I will endeavour to meet your expectations.” He paused for a second before turning to his accompanying subordinate. “Durham, with me. We will be using field eight.”
Durham cracked his neck and stretched his shoulders as a grin appeared on his face. “Sure thing.”
His giddy steps completely devoid of their usual indolence, he grabbed a pair of spears off of the rack, and after throwing one in Virillius’ direction, trotted over to the eighth arena.
He didn’t care much for the fact that he was being made into a spectacle.
All that mattered to him was the chance to duel his master. A rare opportunity to fight hard enough to fully exhaust his strength.