Chapter 432 - Reign of the Crowned
Claire didn’t stay airborne for long. She hovered in the sky for five, maybe ten minutes before returning to the snowscape below. In the first place, it was only to go through the motions of her morning flight that she had risen into the air.
At some point or other, Sylvia had appeared in her mane. In her tiniest form—the lazy fairy couldn’t be bothered to change back so early in the morning—she had snuggled straight into the makeshift bed and gone right back to sleep. It was a wonder why she had even bothered. Claire was covered from head to toe in splotches of blood.
Though she didn’t dare voice the thought, Claire really did appreciate the gesture. The fox’s presence was warm, gentle, and calming. Without it, she likely would have rushed down another mob despite her need for rest. The one breath she breathed had totally shot her circuits and the ottwatch praetorians—the sword wielding flamingos that preyed upon the vlasches—were too risky to fight without a few cards in reserve.
She mowed down any strays in her path as she made her way up the mountain. There weren’t too many, just a few herrings and bears scampering to escape the hysteria.
The true prey species were the only ones that ran, and even some of them tried to stand their ground. Their more predatory cousins cared little for their relative place on the food chain. Every monster attacked almost everything else, with some individuals making exceptions for members of their species. They charged with reckless abandon, seeking any opportunity they could to bite at the hands that bound them.
And sometimes, they proved successful.
She noticed, with some careful observation, that not all of the variants were born in their altered forms. That was certainly the case for some of them, like the mutated, seven-armed herrings and the bears with their elements haphazardly swapped. But the vlasches, at the very least, had to earn their evolution. It was only by murdering the flamingos and consuming their swords that they gained their metal forms, and it was only by hunting the clouds that they could learn to channel thunder. But as far as she could tell, that was the extent of their change.
They didn’t seem to grow much stronger regardless of what else they ate, though that seemed to be more a result of their inability to consume anything else worthwhile.
She was almost tempted to catch one and run a few experiments, but shaking her head, she quickly dismissed the idea. She didn’t have the time to waste.
Despite her temporal concerns, she didn’t pick up the pace until the goddess healed her. Only then, when Aurora’s voice rang throughout the mountains, did she snake her way up into the sky and bolt towards the north.
She was certainly tempted by the many dungeons scattered throughout the mountains—the monsters that leaked from within signalled not only their positions but also their relative power levels—but Claire ignored them. It was too rare of an opportunity to pass up. Only in the hour after the frenzy was it safe to ramp up her speed and travel across the mountains without being dive-bombed by the million things that lived up above. The few times she had tried, outside of the window, she had found herself assaulted by fish of prey she could only escape by way of teleportation.
Of course, she could have easily circumvented the entire problem by ripping open a few portals and skipping from mountain to mountain. She would only benefit from jumping into higher level mosh pits and facing tougher foes. Still, the thought of skipping ahead filled her with reluctance. She wanted to experience the Langgbjerns, to really experience the Langgbjerns.
She had never heard of any higher-level locations. For all she knew, it would be her last time exploring and progressing in tandem.
And perhaps that was why it worried her. She couldn’t help but worry that seeing the world would lose its appeal—the very same appeal that had kept her mood at an all-time high throughout her stay in the mountains—and that she would soon be denying herself a rare source of fun.
Claire continued to lose herself in thought until she suddenly felt a pair of eyes. The accompanying gaze sent a shiver up her spine. It had a certain ferocity, the sort of hunger that only her wildest countrymen could ever bring to light.
Turning to face it, she found a lone flamingo standing atop a tree. Unlike most of the others, who marched from their spawn points towards their designated zones, the suspicious pink bird stood stock still. The bizarre behaviour had already drawn her attention, but the flamingo only furthered her doubts by puffing up its chest and narrowing its eyes the moment she met its gaze.
She half expected it to charge her when it started flapping its wings, but the speed of its approach was modest at best and it channeled none of the magic that its peers used in their attacks. Landing in front of her and pressing a wing to its chest, it stood up on one leg and honked three times aloud.
When it saw its greeting met with nothing but a series of rapid blinks, the bird cleared its throat and repeated all of the actions. Somehow, its second introduction came off as even more cocky and prideful than its first. It made sure to separate and articulate each honk, presenting the noises as would a series of poetic stanzas.
Dealing with the creature seemed like far more trouble than it ever could have been worth, but Claire’s curiosity got the better of her. Though she had no dress to lift in her giant, qiligon form, she went through all the motions of a curtsy before returning a mreep for each of the bird’s strange cries. It felt a little strange for her snoosey trills to be the exact same pitch as they were in her smallest size, but she refrained from pursuing the thought.
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Upon returning her eyes to the flamingo, she found its expression changed. Though it had no lips or teeth, the bird almost seemed to smile in a way that reminded her of an older gentleman. And then, beckoning her to follow, it ramped up its speed and led her across the mountain.
The path it followed was more horizontal than it was vertical. It only went up and downhill to avoid swaths of forest. It wasn’t until the journey approached its end that they finally entered the woods. For the first little bit, Claire found little about the particular patch that seemed to stand out. But as they got deeper, closer to its core, she found the world distorted.
It wasn’t quite a dungeon. The system never attested to any such entrance, but everything changed in all the same ways. There was a point where the vectors almost seemed to distort, a point where the mountain suddenly flattened and the trees lost their evergreen hue. The stamping of feet that had accompanied the mountain-wide relocation was gone, replaced by the clanging of steel.
The metallic noise was second only to the hisses, squawks, chirps, and honks that permeated the clearing before them. Within it, Claire found roughly a dozen pits—arenas dug straight into the snow. The contestants that fought within them did so to a large crowd of cheering observers. They watched from the stands, the skies, and even the observation decks built straight into the holes. Though they wore few clothes and never spoke the common tongue, the fighters almost seemed civilized.
Surprisingly few of the battles ended in fatalities. Though their species were rarely the same, they showed each other the ultimate respect, often greeting their opponents, helping each other to their feet, and shaking on a match well-fought.
A closer look confirmed that there they shared at least a few things in common. All of the creatures present were lizards, birds, or bird-lizards, and all of them practiced the martial arts. There wasn’t a single fighter present without some sort of bladed weapon. Though the relative prevalence of each type varied from one species to the next—the flamingos were partial to rapiers, most penguins favoured bladed staves, and the bipedal crocodiles clearly loved their daggers—but there was plenty of variance therein.
Perhaps most eye-catching of all was the chicken in charge. It was not just his odd proportions nor his dense mana that stole her attention, but the golden crown he wore atop his comb. The ridiculously tiny coronet featured not only a set of glimmering studs, all across its length, but an exaggerated inscription of the rooster’s ugly mug carved alongside a trio of stars.
Dozens of other birds were lined up in front of him, squawking happily as they were given the opportunity to shake his feet with their own.
The odd distraction lasted until the flamingo grabbed her attention with another honk. It drew its broadsword and pointed it towards one of the empty pits. The weapon was equal parts crude and ornate. The metal itself was largely unpolished, and the tiny breaks that ran along its edges came together to form a set of jagged teeth. Its pommel, however, was crusted with gemstones of all shapes and sizes, and the grips along its handle were accented with strands of gold. The blade itself was not a single metal either. The same golden garnishes were present along its spine, while the rest of its blade glowed with an emerald sheen.
Seeing no reason to refuse the challenge, Claire proceeded towards the pit, but not before ripping a few loose strands of hair out of her mane and making a place for Sylvia to rest. She double-checked to make sure that the tiny fairy was still asleep and comfortable before descending into the snowy arena.
She manipulated her body as she closed in on its center. With a bit of difficulty, she matched the flamingo’s size without losing her qiligon shape—it didn’t seem right to change out of her most reptilian form with how everyone else appeared.
Though it had only one leg to stand on, the pink bird was almost shockingly agile. It hopped around with practiced ease, not losing its balance for a moment as it navigated the uneven terrain. It didn’t take long for a crowd to gather. Curious lizards and birds showed up in droves, their numbers only growing as she pulled Boris out of thin air and matched him to the shape of the flamingo’s weapon.
She knew it was a terrible idea. Even the normal ottwatch praetorians had given her a run for her money, and the one that she was facing was clearly some sort of variant. Though its outward appearance was identical, the bird was capable of ignoring the goddess’ commands. To emulate the locals and restrict the use of her magic could only be described as an act of utter stupidity. And yet, she found it almost impossible to resist.
Claire mimicked the flamingo’s gesture—a graceful bow perfect enough to hinge on unnatural—before taking a few steps back and assuming a stance with her blade.
Boris felt a little strange between her talons. Her arms weren’t necessarily stubby, but they were far enough down her body that it felt a little awkward to hold him. It wasn’t a complete surprise, but she didn’t have enough time to think through her approach.
Honking once more to signal the battle’s beginning, the flamingo kicked off the ground with its one free leg and launched itself like a missile. Its weapon filled with power as it moved, a bright green glow pulsed out from its core, leaving a trail of light in its wake. The bird’s speed spiked each time it flapped its wings. Mach three, mach seven, mach twelve. With each beat came a ridiculous burst of speed.
Its first strike was a rapid thrust. Fueled by the might of its wings, it drove its blade straight towards her throat. Despite its incredible velocity, she deflected it with ease. She immediately shifted into a slash to counter the blow, but the flamingo ducked under her attack and retaliated with a vertical sweep.
Again, it was fast, barely visible, but again, Claire caught the blade with Boris and forced the bird into a deadlock.
A grin on its face, the flamingo honked aloud and leapt away, but Claire threw her blade before it could land. It moved in place to parry, but deploying her own wings and matching its backwards acceleration, she grabbed her sword out of the air and twisted its trajectory just before the moment of contact.
The flamingo caught on and immediately tried to shift its guard, but a gentle prod of the tail saw its weapon displaced.
The resulting wound was shallow, only a light scratch across the pink bird’s chest.
Claire almost wanted to smirk, but her opponent beat her to it. With a honking laugh, it lashed out with its foot and delivered a rapid flurry of stabs. But again, everything was parried.
Though it was certainly a better fighter than its wilder, more obedient cousins, the flamingo had a clear weakness.
It was far too honest.
Its attacks were heavily telegraphed by the motion of its eyes. It never struck without looking at the place where it intended to attack, and even its feints were clear as day. Or at least that was what she thought until she found a foot lodged into her jaw.
Neither the foot that it was using to pivot nor the one that held its sword, the limb was an extra one, something that it had kept hidden from the moment they had met.
Its honesty had been a perfect ruse. And Claire had been thoroughly deceived.