11: How Lonely is the Mountain?_Tesla Stone and the World of Smoke and Mirrors

Carriage rides, Tesla discovered, were monumentally painful experiences. The suspension was bad, if not nonexistent, which made the ride over cobblestoned streets shaky enough to rattle the teeth. There was no salvation to be had when the princess' escort team led the carriage onto the smoother and more modern brick thoroughfares, either, as it became immediately apparent that the wheels were not symmetrically rounded. This caused the carriage to rock like a stereotypical noble swirling wine in a goblet, an experience guaranteed to cause a bout of seasickness in the middle of dry land. Top that off with a constant ringing from the hardened bronze that rimmed the wheels as they grated against the brick, and the seeming inability of the coachmen to keep the excitable rook that pulled the glorified wagon at anything resembling a steady pace... Tesla battled waves of vertigo as he sought to keep his stomach contents where they belonged.

"Do try not to soil the upholstery," Refireah intoned, "this is a royal conveyance, after all."

The company wasn't exactly making the trip any easier. The carriage was a classical two-seater with facing benches, and just broad enough for six occupants, but it clearly wasn't designed with a thick-tailed ryujin in mind. This forced Tesla to sit at one side and stretch his tail across the bench, but that also compelled the two young maids seated to his left to use his tail like an additional cushion. Their breathy little gasps and flushed cheeks every time he tensed up in an effort to maintain his balance were merely embarassing; the head maid's gaze, on the other hand, burned into his temple like the nastiest hangover imaginable. Trinzet's glare went above and beyond that; it felt like bolts fired from a heavy crossbow at point-blank range. The sixth occupant, another young maid, observed her two compatriots with half-lidded eyes that simmered with barely concealed jealousy. This only added to both Refireah and the princess' ire, and made any of their attempts at conversation both limited and somehow accusatory at the same time.

I swear, I will never set foot in another carriage as long as I live. Tesla tried to distract himself with the scenery outside the vehicle, but only succeeded in a glimpse of snow-covered buildings, marching guards, and a small sea of bowed heads as the common folk dropped to one knee before Refireah muttered something about assassination attempts and brainless common men. The ryujin lowered the drapes back into place over his window with a sigh, then nearly fell out of his seat when the carriage hit a particularly nasty bump. Unfortunately that prompted the girls on his left to squeal like virgins taken by their husbands for the very first time, which ramped up the opposing glares from misery-inducing levels to something approximating the fifth circle of hell.

For Refireah's part, she was long-since accustomed to the limitations of Diatomian carriages and fully capable of appreciating the superiority of the royal standard. What set her teeth on edge was not physical in the slightest, but rather the uncouth young dragon sitting as far away from her as the carriage would allow. Oh, he was a handsome devil to be sure, the worst type of all: There was nothing more dangerous to a woman than a man who was both devastatingly attractive and yet didn't care enough to take advantage of it. Such a man was unpredictable, and Refireah Linslet cared nothing for unpredictability. What she did love was a certain hand-raised cub that grew into a magnificent, if willful and militaristic, woman. Her secret pride and joy.

That thought drew the head maid's eyes to her left, where her view alighted upon the pensive visage of Trinzet Diatom. The Lioness of Rodannes squinted with exquisite sharpness at the commoner, and a low growl rumbled in her chest, but the victor of a hundred battles bit her lower lip and clenched her fists into the material of the poorly-fitting Temple robes that preserved her modesty even as she did so. The zoan woman's tail twitched endlessly in a pattern that Refireah had long ago deciphered as a mix of possessive anger and confusion. This was unacceptable. Her Trinzet was supposed to remain cool, calm, and confident at all times; a woman completely in control of her surroundings, like a general on a windswept battlefield, someone even His Royal Majesty thought twice about before he gainsaid her comments.

Such a woman should not be panting after a man like a teenager in heat, especially not some common-born bumpkin of a ryujin exile, walking the path of a cheap adventurer, taking risks that guarantee his life-expectancy could be measured in months rather than years... Refireah resumed her disappointed glare at Tesla with all her might and fingered the steel stiletto concealed in the sleeve of her maid's uniform. This infatuation would not be tolerated. Only princes and kings deserved to ask for her cub's hand, and even then they should immediately subordinate themselves to the princess' will. It was only fitting.

Trinzet's mind was a welter of cross-firing emotions so intense she was barely aware she was in a carriage. Tesla Stone was a disrespectful, dirty-minded man who offered her no honors and appeared to disdain her honorable position. He ran his hands all over her naked body while pretending to rescue her, then proposed that they have sex when she counterattacked and thought to strangle him, but talked about other women in her presence and even tried to run away when her back was turned. At the same time he was strong enough to single-handedly slay an entire guild of assassins, put clothes on her back to cover her nakedness, and escorted her all the way to the nearest guard station without complaint.

He was a useless male, only good for swinging a sword on the front line. He was a hero who saved her life. She hated his perverted eyes and his constant commentary on the size of her breasts. She liked his smile, and how he didn't care about status. He was too damn flirty. He was too damn dense. He should be executed for violating her purity with his groping hands. He should be rewarded for rescuing a member of the royal family. He should get his tail out from under those two maids! Trinzet hissed under her breath; by that point the both of them were lost in another world, their eyes rolled back and glassy. One of them was even drooling. Their confederate, seated to Trinzet's left, was practically an incandescent green with envy. That tail was a monster; she shouldn't have let it go. Perhaps she should have pinned it down herself so the poor maids wouldn't have had to endure... whatever it was doing to them, with all those silver-steel armored knobs and ribs atop muscular cushioning. The only saving grace was that it appeared he wasn't doing it on purpose.

Trinzet glanced to her right and noticed Refireah was fingering her favorite stiletto again. Silly old woman, she thought, overprotective to a fault. Someone in her position surely had more important concerns than the love life of a former charge placed under her care. Trinzet stiffened in her seat. Love life, what love life? What about a love life? She swung another vicious glare Tesla's way. Dangerous. Too, too dangerous. Perhaps I should send him away as fast as possible? No, wait, there's still that one woman; what if she's closer to the palace than the Heathers? He could... her imagination failed. Trinzet's only brush with the affairs of men and women amounted to the flowery poetry of the courts and the crash of blades in battle. Then she remembered his big hands back in the Heathers' dungeon, and the flushed-but-ecstatic expressions of the maids seated across from her. No. No way. Maybe I can get him attached to my detail as an aide-de-camp? That way I can keep an eye on him. ..Why do I want to keep an eye on him? The Lioness of Rodannes spun round and round in her own mind, but no answers were forthcoming.

The less that is said about the thoughts of the three maids, especially the white-washed electric thoughts of two out of those three, the better.

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Both the government district and, to a lesser extent, the western harbor district bracketed the royal demesnes of Lonely Mountain and it showed. The western harbor was festooned with military vessels and the toys of the nobility, all dry-docked to keep them out of the ice; the warehousing and maintenance facilities were of quality construction and supervised by the Royal Navy itself. The government district was a broad pile of quarried stone stacked into austere and self-important buildings designed to overawe state visitors to Diatom's shore with grace, majesty, pomp, and circumstance.

They paled in comparison to Lonely Mountain itself. When the first king planted his flag atop its peak so long ago he began the process of creating a home for his family, a magnificent fairy-tale castle that would rise gloriously into the skies for all to see. Generations later, construction seeped into the very bones of the mountain itself. By the three hundredth generation the entire edifice was remade into a fantastic architectural triumph. Be it a mountainous palace, or a palace that was a mountain, the Lonely Mountain of Diatom was one of the wonders of Corundum.

Here, Refireah consented to have the carriage's drapes drawn back, for there was no place safer for the royalty of Diatom than the home of the king. Like the real world's Vatican City within Rome, or the imperial Forbidden City in Beijing, Lonely Mountain was a city-within-a-city. It had its own streets and thoroughfares spiralling up the mountainside, shops, utilities, lesser temples, parks, gardens, and homes. The entire complex sparkled in a marriage of stone, crystal, and various metals. It was here that most of the extended royal family lived, worked, and played. No one dropped to their knees on Lonely Mountain as the carriage passed by, but everyone turned and bowed their heads.

As exquisite as the foot of the palace-city was, its quality and style only improved the farther up they traveled along the mountain's slopes. By that same token, the refinement of the highborn also improved the closer to Lonely Mountain's peak Tesla got. The clothing worn by the people was of a higher grade, the amount of money and the nature of the goods purchased increased by leaps and bounds, even the levels of the aristocracy (as displayed by Book) had an average increase of roughly thirty points compared to the common folk living outside the palace. For an inhospitable land populated by Embers with a double-digit level cap, that was saying something.

Even the greatest of pleasures and the worst of tortures have a beginning, a middle, and an end. At last, both the carriage and its armed escort drew up to the primary gates of Lonely Mountain's upper palace. A lattice work of multiple metals, both common and rare, the beautiful "Rose Portal" of the king's private halls soundlessly withdrew into the lintel and pillars surrounding it like a carefully orchestrated puzzle. The last piece of latticework disappearing into the walls served as a sign: The coachmen immediately leapt free of the carriage, efficiently prepared a stepping stool below the only entrance to the vehicle's interior, then gracefully opened the door with a cool, professional demeanor befitting a royal retainer.

"Thank god!" Tesla launched from the carriage's interior like a scalded cat, dug his claws into the brick road below as soon as he touched down, and skidded a good four feet before coming to a stop. "I'm never riding in one of those death traps, ever again!"

"Indeed." Trinzet stepped lightly down to the surface of the king's driveway with a warrior's snort. "Give me an ailuros any day of the week."

"Out of the question." Refireah dismounted from the carriage in a matronly flurry of skirts, then paused and looked back into the vehicle. "Constance, look after Rosemary and Lillian until they recover enough to walk on their own, then report in through the servants' entrance."

A sullen "Yes, ma'am." wafted through the carriage door as the coachmen casually stowed the footstool and prepared to lead the conveyance away.

The older woman turned back to Trinzet and Tesla with a sniff and, with the assistance of the guards behind her, effectively herded the two of them into the gate. "Enough dilly-dally; Your Highness must confer with His Majesty the king regarding this matter. Communication between Rodannes and Diatom since you disappeared has flown so thick and heavy the Royal Information Department's "Mirrors of Remote Viewing" are in danger of overheating and melting down."

Trinzet folded her arms with a growl. "That bad?"

"Given that you vanished into thin air in front of half a dozen onlookers in the middle of your office, whisked away to who-knows-where out of one of the most heavily fortified castles in the country, with no indication of who was responsible, how they did it, or why? What do you think, Princess? I've heard that Lady Hadron is beside herself with worry."

"My lieutenant should learn a little more patience and discipline, I'm thinking," Trinzet huffed, "it's not like I'm dead, after all."

"Hmph, the same could be said of yourself, child."

"What was that?"

"Nothing my Princess, only the quiet mutterings of an old woman."

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In Tesla's mind one would expect to encounter a king in his courtroom, seated upon an outlandish throne while making proclamations and handing out judgements. Instead, both he and Trinzet were ushered through a series of opulent corridors and into a spacious, well-kept study. There, behind a tremendous desk of carefully polished almond wood, they found the king; a muscular lion zoan, on par with Tesla himself, sporting a splendid mane and adorned in expensive silk robes. A king who, with one look at Trinzet, began laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his richly upholstered desk chair. "My sister... is taking up... the cloth! Which holy order... agreed to take... your worthless hide!?"

Trinzet loosed an outraged snarl, something Tesla was beginning to get used to hearing, and pounced across the king's desk without a care for the nearby royal guards (something else he was somewhat expecting). What he didn't expect was for King Augustinian to snatch his elder sister by the throat and plant a fist in her gut. She spun like a wheel from the impact, and crashed to the ground behind the king like a rag doll tossed onto its back.

Through it all, the king never stopped laughing. "Damn fool woman! Without your armor to restrain those ridiculous udders of yours, did you honestly think you could take me on with your center of balance so thoroughly offset? Eh? Come on, Trinzet, say something! ...Oh, looks like she's unconscious."

"Your Majesty!" Refireah hustled around the king's desk and inspected the princess' supine form before rounding on the king himself. "Lord Augustinian, this is most improper! To treat your honorable elder sister in this fashion is grossly inappropriate!"

"Hmph." The king's expression sobered as he returned to his seat and propped his booted feet atop the desk. "Save your histrionics, old woman. I place great faith in my sister's counsel, but Trinzet only has herself to blame for the situation she's in: Magical abduction in broad daylight, imprisonment by unknown assailants and unable to free herself, forced to rely on the goodwill of a Spark for her rescue... Were she not family, then you may rest assured that mere ridicule and physical punishment would be insufficient. Anyone else, and this disgrace would have cost her position!" Augustinian glanced at Tesla and offered him a nod. "I take it that would be you."

Tesla shrugged, unsure of how to properly respond, then said, "Yes. I encountered her by accident; to be honest, I didn't even know who she was until much later."

Augustinian nodded, then indicated a chair. "Have a seat, stranger; I only expect bows from my subjects. My family has long since learned that trying to get proper protocol out of a Spark is like trying to get water from a dry well. As to my sister, I'm not surprised you wouldn't know her. It isn't as if the woman carries herself with royal dignity. She eats, drinks, and breathes the soldier's life." The leonine king waited for Tesla to seat himself, then continued. "That said, she's still a Diatom. I cannot let word of this debacle spread too far. Luckily, she appeared in the Nobles' District. We can expect a certain degree of discretion from the loyal houses which, luckily, were the only ones around that particular guard posting. At the same time, that means I can't offer you any public recognition or large-scale rewards for rescuing a princess of the House of Diatom."

"I understand."

"Excellent." The king slipped his feet from the desk and leaned an elbow across it. "I've heard of you from the Temple. The movers and shakers of our diocese say you're good: You overperform on your missions and you're not a typical Spark asshole. In fact, the concensus is mostly that you're an asset worth keeping around. That's fine by me. They also say you're a new arrival to this world and that you're looking for a stable start. Given that you've managed to get your hands on your own land, I'll cut you some slack on the taxes. It's not like I was really making anything off the place with it tied up in escrow, anyway. I've already got a couple of trustworthy men contacting the realtor you made your little arrangement with; you'll have the deed in your hands before you leave Lonely Mountain. Also, I'll get a little more cash your way through some back channels. Not too much, just enough afford an ailuros of your own and assemble a basic golem workshop on your property. You can pass it off as funds you found when you cleared the "ghosts" out of the old Heathers."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Tesla bowed his head.

"Don't go all wishy-washy now." Augustinian leaned back in his chair. "So, tell me what you know."

Tesla nodded, then scratched his chin. Right, let's go this route. "Not much to tell. They were an extremely large gang, full of powerful members, possibly even a full-fledged assassins' guild. As luck would have it I got the opportunity to attack them from an angle they never would have expected, and I wound up wiping out everyone on the premises."

Augustinian snorted and arched an eyebrow. "A little too lucky, if you ask me."

"Even the greatest of warriors can fall when his pants are down around his ankles. The guild, either through rules, traditions, or something else, were unequipped to handle my attack within their own headquarters." Tesla frowned; now, let's tighten it up. "I'm not going to make some grandiose claim that I've single-handedly destroyed an entire guild, but I have cut the head off a particularly nasty snake hiding right in the middle of your capital. This has at least two repercussions I can think of, moving forward."

"Oh? -And those are?"

Tesla raised a single armored claw. "One: The potential is high that there are survivors and they'll have revenge on their minds, either against me or to recapture the princess."

"Naturally," Refireah butted in, "the guardsmen will find them."

Tesla chuckled. "That brings me to issue number two. Someone has allowed for the influx of a large number of armed men and women with questionable affiliations into the city of Diatom; you could have an army inside the walls and not even know." That takes care of that issue: The guards in this city are too damn lax outside of basic policework. If I can convince someone with authority that there's a recognizable problem, steps can be taken to rectify the issue. "Who knows how many soldiers there are within the city, how many plans they have running, or if there's a backup command post we don't know about?"

"Hmm." Augustinian ran a hand contemplatively through his mane. "Are you saying my city guard is compromised in some fashion?"

Tesla held up his hands. "Not necessarily. When was the last time Diatom faced a direct threat to the city walls?"

"Complacency, then." The king leaned back and stared up at the decorated ceiling of his study. "I'll have to think on this, but I can't afford to think long." The lion zoan glanced back at Tesla. "Anything else?"

"Not really. I couldn't find any documents linking the group to anyone." Damn fool that programmed the scenario didn't see far enough ahead to think it was necessary, probably. "I think they were in the process of moving out, so anything vital was already relocated."

"More food for thought." Augustinian sat up and clapped his hands. "Well enough. Refireah, have someone take Mister Stone to, hmm, the Ochre Light Pavilion in the western gardens. Bath, dinner, bed; the least we can do is put the man up for a couple of days while ownership of the Waving Heathers is properly transferred. Also, carry my elder sister to the queen. Amidahla will keep her corralled in the Inner Harmony Palace until a proper escort can get here from Rodannes."

"Yes, my king."

"See to it." Augustinian stood and stretched. "I have a little more paperwork to handle before I can retire for the night. Inform the queen I shall be late, but not too late. Tesla Stone, though you have given me much to think on, still I hope you sleep well tonight."

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The Ochre Light Pavilion, Tesla discovered, had a distinctly Asiatic design in terms of architecture and furnishings. While he felt he could appreciate the aesthetics of the Pavilion, however, he was uncomfortable with the decision to house him there. This was partially due to how accustomed he was to the classical European style of the rest of the city, partially due to how he felt hemmed in and unable to leave, and partially due to the fact that it was damn near impossible to barricade a sliding paper door against the night time assaults of a certain trio of maids who were inexplicably assigned to him shortly after his arrival at said Pavilion.

It wasn't as if their interest in him would not have been welcome under any other circumstances. All three of them were very attractive in their own right, with personalities to match. They had the same level as maids, which indicated that they started working at the same time, and their familiarity with one-another indicated a long association together.

The green-eyed Constance was a human girl with pouty lips and purple hair that tinged blue at the ends. She was built like a less-outrageous version of the princess, tended to act like she was all business, but used as many excuses as she could to grab Tesla by the arm and lead him wherever he wanted to go while squeezing his elbow in her cleavage. She also liked to claim that it was proper etiquette for a maid to sit in her lord's lap and hand feed him during dinnertime.

Rosemary was a gnomish woman with sleepy eyes and a pixie-cut of mousy brown hair. If one could ignore the oversized, triangular ears sprouting from either side of her head she could easily have been mistaken for a precociously intelligent child with a hyperactivity disorder. On the other hand, she took every opportunity she could grasp to whisper outrageously salacious invitations that boggled the mind both in their audaciousness and their creativity. Tesla found himself working hard to ensure that he was never alone with her for an extended period of time.

Lillian was a blonde, golden-eyed elven maid with a build much like Esperia Highwind's. She tried to act aloof and separate from the chase most of the time, but insisted she must be allowed to dress Tesla in the morning and bathe him in the evening. To make matters worse, for some reason she was convinced she had to engage in these two activities while she herself was stark naked. Last, but certainly not least, all three women would routinely try to sneak into his bedchambers at night "because it's so cold."

Again, under any other circumstances, Tesla would have long since given in. The difference was that he knew damn good and well that the trio's presence in the Ochre Light Pavilion was most likely due to the interference of a certain sour-faced prune of an old woman. Refireah was looking for a "fait accompli" to present to Trinzet, who would then promptly chase Tesla around half of Lonely Mountain with a rusty battle axe in a fit of pique. While Tesla didn't particularly care what a princess of the House of Diatom thought of him on a personal level, the idea of what it might mean to have a national war hero's disfavor (especially one who has the ear of the king himself) was as effective as a bucket of ice water dumped on his crotch.

It was a week's worth of torture in which Tesla mastered the art of saying no and sleeping with one eye open.

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Trinzet found herself routinely uncomfortable within the boundaries of the Inner Harmony Palace. As part of the older construction, Inner Harmony was reliably similar in design to Diatom's native architectural principles, but the Lioness of Rodannes wasn't particularly fond of ostentatious displays of wealth and excessive comforts. To make matters worse, she wasn't very good with children and was often teased mercilessly by the queen every time she was forced to make a visit.

Typically, the teasing came in the form Trinzet's regrettable lack of a man in her life coupled with a total dearth of offspring to inherit Rodannes. This would be followed by "gifts" of too-tight outfits and various wigs Trinzet would leave at Lonely Mountain when she returned home. Next came the barbed advice on what constituted the right kind of man interspersed with "thoughtful" commentary on how she wasn't getting any younger. Honestly, the queen was at least six years Trinzet's junior; why did she think she had to act like her mother? Amidahla's answer was usually "because it's funny."

This time, however, the source of Amidahla's amusement was focussed on the current occupant of the Ochre Light Pavilion and the circumstances that brought him to Lonely Mountain. Trinzet was expecting it; she tried to put off the little luncheon the queen arranged on her favorite verandah, citing her dislike for the endless round of ladies' parties that fill most noble women's social calendars, but Amidahla would have none of it.

Thus Trinzet found herself, decked in the formal uniform befitting a general of His Majesty's Royal Army, wielding a wine glass like some figurative shield against the twittering harpies in their perfumes and silks. The Lioness of Rodannes stood like a statue by the banisters and listened to the frolicking of the snow doves in the courtyard below while radiating an aura of professional untouchability that was meant to push away any attempt at conversation.

Unfortunately this didn't work for one gaggle of ladies that made up the queen's private circle, and certainly not the queen herself. Though they couldn't hear the queen's words, the inner circle giggled in counterpoint every time the national hero stiffened in response to Amidahla's whispered teasing. Trinzet could only sigh inwardly and remind herself, again, that emptying the dregs of her glass atop her sister-by-marriage's head would be bad form in a public venue.

"Oh, come now, Trini, tell me about him! The maids say he's built like some romance novel protagonist. How does he compare to my August? How does he look with his shirt off?"

"Hmph! How should I know?"

"But you must! Are you saying you offered him no favor for saving your life?"

Trinzet's hackles rose as she remembered pinning him down with not a stitch of clothing upon her. "...I brought him here, didn't I? That's favor enough."

"Hah! Pocket change, and a little errand work for a deed he's already earned from another source. You silly goose, why don't you put that ridiculous bosom of yours to good use?"

"Amidahla..." Trinzet couldn't keep the growl out of her voice.

As usual, the queen didn't care. "I've heard he has quite the tail on him. You know what they say about ryujin men and the size of their tails, right?"

"Amidahla...!"

"Hmm, perhaps you don't want your first to be so overwhelming? Don't tell me you favor boys?"

Trinzet ground her teeth and fought desperately not to shatter the glass in her hands.

"Now, now, Trini, you know I only want the best for you. As a woman, you are at the very peak of ripeness; in another year you'll start to spoil. Lines will form, parts will sag, gray shall filter in. Think about it, the man's a Spark! If you can get on as his follower, then time will stop at the perfect moment. He could knock you up for the next thousand years!"

At last, the stem of the wine glass snapped between Trinzet's fingers.

Amidahla laughed and cried out, "Victory!"

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"Well, crap."

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Name: Tesla Stone (Character Lvl: 376)

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Race: Dream Eater; Ryujin Variant (Race Lvl: 29)

Job Class: Golemeister (JC Lvl: 15)

HP: 37,825/37,825 MP: 37,770/37,770 NP: 9,678/9,678 DP: 8,712/8,712 EXP: 0/376,000 (To Next Lvl)

Physical Attributes: (Strength: 724; Dexterity: 699; Stamina: 749)

Mental Attributes: (Intelligence: 779 (Exceeds Calculated Values); Perception: 689 (ECV); Wits: 764 (ECV)

Social Attributes: (Appearance: 921; Charisma: 729; Manipulation: 714)

Character Skills: Improbable Access

Racial Skills: Claw Strike; Tail Swipe; Nocturne Dust; Sleepwalker; Nightmare Conversion; Dream Conversion; Lunatic Shot

Job Skills: Golem Mastery (x7); Improved Output (Passive); Control Override; Control Override Protection (Passive) Golem Repair; Golem Construction (Basic)

Unique Traits: Dream Eater; Virstauf's Chosen; Candidate for Consort; Moloch's Agent; Mass Slaughterer

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Tesla was surprised to discover that Lonely Mountain had its own Reagan Stone. He shouldn't have been; with a palace complex that was effectively a small city in its own right, he should have known that a royal cathedral would exist somewhere on or in the mountain. He should have known that the royal family could not be too dependent upon the Temple for the development of their personal power. The king needs his own Reagan Stone to maintain balance between himself and the "separate-but-equal" Temple.

Unlike the Temple, the royal family appeared to place much more emphasis upon the Stone and its functions. It was the centerpiece of the main cathedral, a rough-hewn block of unknown rock struck through with veins of raw crystal, levitating under its own power while restrained by a web of heavy chains and hawsers. The priests of the royal cult prayed and sermonized beneath the stone, but did not interact with it. Parishioners could attend the sermons and access the stone as they willed from the pews below with no one to know the results save the users themselves.

Worried about the results of his most recent escapade, Tesla was glad to take advantage of it. The results were... expected, but not exactly welcome. I was hoping the assassin's guild wouldn't count, since I spammed their kills by coding them dead. Damn it, I'm nearly four times the level cap for Diatom! Book, how is this going to affect my gameplay in the zone?

Book patiently spiralled into Tesla's view.

I figured that much. Tesla rose from his pew, then sighed inwardly as Constance immediately latched onto his arm and began leading him back to the Ochre Light Pavilion. What I mean is, how's this going to damage Diatom's level cap?

Good. Next, explain this "Improbable Access."

That's a lot of responsibility... Wait, what about "Virstauf's Chosen?"

Lunatic Shot?

...Mass Slaughterer?

Have you ever figured out what "Candidate for Consort" means?

"Hoo~ray."

"Is something wrong?" Constance clutched tighter to Tesla's arm and gave him a concerned look.

"...Nothing, nothing at all."

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Two days later, Tesla had a visitor; a somewhat officious and needlessly self-important page sent to invite the ryujin to "attend a display of martial endeavour" being held at a salon hall called the Corridor of Shields. Expecting a string of fencing competitions and a table or two of finger food, Tesla agreed. He felt a slight amount of concern when the page declared the maids could not come, but chalked it up to the salon being a males-only event.

The Corridor of Shields was pretty much exactly how its title intimated: A massive and hall-like room, liberally decorated with every style of shield known to warfare, exuded an air of military excellence and respectable power. None of the hanging shields were decorative, and all of them had patches and welds that showed long lifetimes of service before an honorable retirement. Each shield had a plaque attached detailing the battles it went through as well as all the men and women who wielded it in the past.

The Corridor was impressive yet minimalist at the same time, so much so that it took Tesla a moment or two to realize that the page did not follow him in. Likewise... he swept his tail back and forth in agitation as the door loudly locked behind him. "Invited to an exhibition, and I'm the only man to show up." Tesla swept his gaze to the door on the opposite side of the hall. "Either I'm the butt of a practical joke, the target of an inside assassination attempt, or..." The opposing door crashed open on its hinges and Princess Trinzet Diatom, Duchess of Rodannes, the celebrated Lioness of the Rodannes Plain, stomped into the Corridor of Shields fully armed. "Of course; someone or something has got Her Highness' panties in a twist."