Chapter 166: Yes
This was supposed to be a quick, simple job.
It wasn’t.
With just three small, fast, and energy-efficient motions, Anelia ducked beneath the swing of an axe, took a lunging step forward, and then spun her body around so that she now stood behind its wielder. Lifting her arm as fast as she could, she pointed the ether cannon gripped in her right hand at the man before her, and with that, she squeezed the trigger.
Got’cha.
A loud bang echoed off the walls of the graffiti-stained buildings to both sides of her. Having fired the weapon so close to the back of the axe-wielding man's head that the barrel was practically touching it, Anelia had to lean her body sideways to avoid the splatter of blood, which would surely have covered her entire face. Now, as the man fell immediately forward and collapsed onto the filthy, diseased, and chipped-away pavement, Anelia extended both her arms, fired off two more shots, and killed two more leveled defenders of the Guild of Gentlemen before they even had time to react. Both were struck in the chest, and both collapsed backwards into opposite buildings before sliding down the walls onto their knees.
What the hell is going on?
The Guild of Gentlemen’s defenses here on 10th and 94th were absurdly heavier than they said they would be—and in a way that didn’t even make sense, either. This foul-smelling, crime-laden, and thoroughly unpleasant corner of the city was, at best, a rundown, impoverished cesspit that served as a seedy den of prostitution and illegal gambling and, at worst, the poisonous epicenter of a burgeoning illegal drug trade in Shadowfall Coast that provided the city's most depraved degenerates a place to buy the most illicit substances in North Bastia.
The unsavory area that ran from 10th and 94th to 10th and 92nd wasn’t just considered bad, but notoriously bad. Even during times of peace, the Guild of Gentlemen couldn’t seem to spare the resources to police this place, so what the hell was going on? Why were they here now? And how many were left? Had she gotten them all?
Anelia panted. She was exhausted and close to the point of E-debt. Adding in the three men she’d just killed, there were now eleven dead bodies around her, and every single one of them belonged to a member of the Guild of Gentlemen. Low-ranking? Yeah, maybe. But still, that was a ridiculously high number of leveled members to stash away on the most dangerous street in the most dangerous part of the city.
I could’ve died there. Why are there so many of them here?
Anelia wasn’t happy about this, and Gods, you better believe Vim Alazar was going to hear about this from her later today. For starters, she didn’t even want this fucking job in the first place. The only reason she’d decided to take it was because they’d kept nagging her and nagging her. So, to get the Royal Roses off her ass, she’d agreed to clear this one minor street on 10th Avenue before heading home. Now, she regretted it.
Desperate to catch her breath, she remained motionless to let her stamina regenerate. She didn’t plan to remain this way for long. Really, she just needed a few seconds—a moment or two to let herself recover. But she didn’t get it. Her moment was cut short almost as soon as it began, and once more, she had to raise her guard.
Ahead of her, a discolored, rusty, and puke-stained door burst open, and another four members of the guild burst out of the lobby of the apartment building they’d been hiding in. Seeing the eleven corpses, rage erupted on their faces, and one of them fearfully shouted, “Does he know?”
“It doesn’t matter!” cried another, sounding equally on edge. “Kill him! We’ll worry about what to do later!”
Anelia growled, and not because they thought she was a man. Most people made that mistake until getting a better look at her. No, she was just annoyed at the prospect of having to deal with yet another four pests—assuming she even had the stamina to take care of them. For sure, there was no way she could fire her ether cannons. She was far too exhausted for that. To deal with these assholes, she would have to go with something a little bit less taxing.
Dexterously, she spun both her medium-low exertion guns fast enough that the weapons became a blur, and then with a whip-like gesture, she holstered each while drawing her low-exertion-per-shot pistols in the exact same motion as though she had four hands and not two. Then she extended her arms and took aim.
“Kill him!” one of them shouted.
All four men came for her at once, two up front with swords, one hanging back with a dagger, and the fourth winding up some kind of magical spell from a brownish-yellow staff. She needed to be careful. She was badly tired and they weren’t.
Kicking off both her feet, Anelia threw herself backwards at the ground while pointing both her guns ahead of her and firing off numerous shots as she gained distance from them. Even as she landed on her ass on the filthy street, she continued to shoot. And Gods did she feel each and every shot.
Every time her fingers squeezed the trigger, she further lost her breath and an increasing, painful squeezing sensation spread throughout the left side of her chest. Still, she kept it up, unleashing shot after shot into the two charging swordsmen. Yet with weaker guns came less damage, and with less damage came more shots. Still, the job eventually got done.
Right before reaching her, the two men succumbed to the myriad of holes she’d opened up in their chests, heads, and throats. Just as they came into striking range, both simultaneously fell forward onto their faces, with one even coincidentally kicking her shin with his deceased corpse as it rolled twice along the street.
Painfully exhausted, and still in a sitting position, Anelia lowered her arms slightly, took aim, and began to fire off another volley of shots at the spellcaster and the dagger-wielder, both of whom had only just unleashed attacks her way. Actually, the mage pulled off two attacks, with one coming in slightly earlier than the second.
First, a red light similar to a barcode scanner appeared above her and then crisscrossed her body until forming what looked like a targeting reticle. It disappeared directly afterwards, and now, Anelia felt a sensation of cold travel through her—one that she knew, even without checking, meant her RES had just been debuffed. There was a certain distinct, icy sensation that was impossible to mistake when one’s magic resistances had been lowered, and this was unquestionably it.
Following this debuff, the tip of the mage’s staff lit up purple, and then three amethyst-colored crystals blasted forward at Anelia while the man across from the mage threw one of his daggers. And all this happened in the precise instant that multiple shots from her pistols—three each—quickly put the two of them permanently out of commission.
With blood splattering out of numerous bullet holes, they dropped onto their backs, dead and unmoving—but their attacks lived on. Now, three sharp, amethyst-colored, crystal projectiles as well as a thrown dagger sailed across the air at her.
“Shit,” she said in a low, deep groan.
Anelia was terribly exhausted. Even still, she found the strength to lean backwards as the dagger flew right through the air where her chin had been. Then she hurriedly straightened her back and extended her right hand, and against the wishes of her tired, badly exerted heart, she squeezed the trigger.
Bang!
Her aim true, she blasted apart one of the three magical crystals, causing it to explode into a firework-like shower of purple and gold that soon disappeared. Unfortunately, the exertion of it made her widely open her mouth and begin huffing in as much air as she could fill her lungs with.
And yet, she somehow managed to squeeze the trigger and fire again.
Like before, her aim was impeccable, and she blasted another of the crystals out of the air. But this time around, the toll was finally more than she could pay. Though she did not pass out into E-debt, both her arms fell down to her sides on their own, and she became virtually paralyzed.
Bracing herself, Anelia released a grunt of pain as the third crystal blasted into her, and thanks to the magic debuff, it not only left a fist-sized crack in her armor, but it penetrated into her skin and then detonated, sending pieces of magical shrapnel further into her body and causing her to groan aloud.
“Ah, shit,” she moaned.
Gasping for air and now bleeding both internally and externally, she fought against her E-debt and struggled to raise her left hand. It didn’t want to move. So she fought even harder. She gritted her teeth and demanded her body to move, unwilling to kick the bucket to an attack fired by an enemy she’d already killed.
Blood was dripping out of her, making her even more exhausted. If she passed out here, she would never wake up. Her desire to live spiking her adrenaline, she managed at last to lift her shaking, trembling left hand, and then she reached inside her armor near her chest, fishing out a locket attached to a chain around her neck.
Her fingers shaking so fiercely, she somehow managed to pop open the locket, and her emergency red stone spilled out of it from within. A jolt of fear racing through her, she watched it fall straight downwards. If it hit the ground and rolled away, she would die before she summoned the strength to move after it. Yet through a miracle from the Gods, it landed with a very soft clack between her legs, remaining still. With her opposite yet equally trembling hand, she picked up the stone and pressed it into her chest, feeling it dissolve into nothingness.
And then she inhaled several times before falling over onto her side and passing out into E-debt. The world went dark, reality seemed to fade away, and right there, in perhaps the filthiest street in Shadowfall Coast, she slept—though it was a shallow sleep, one in which she remained partially conscious. Thus, in the back of her mind, she could even hear herself snoring.
If anyone else from the Guild of Gentlemen happened to emerge right now, she knew she would die. She had no idea if there even were any more enemies left to kill. If so, she didn’t see how she could survive them. Her only option was to pray that she’d gotten them all while her body went through this mandatory process.
Thus, she lay there for a while, eventually falling into a true sleep, one in which she dreamed, though she could not remember of what she dreamt when she finally woke up. Her eyes popping open, she lifted herself up into a seated position and raised her guns, her head darting nervously around her. There were five men in front of her, and all were—
No, you idiot! You’re still sleeping. Get the fuck up!
Her eyes popping open—this time for real—she brought herself into a sitting position. How long was she out? Groggy, she checked her phone. It had only been about two minutes, yet the sleep had distorted her sense of time and made it feel far longer. The situation around her, however, remained unchanged. She was still right where she'd been, and the corpses all around her were fresh.
In a weakened state, she gave her body an additional few minutes to recover, dozing off twice more, though this time in a very light sleep. By the time five minutes had come and gone, she was ready to get back to her feet. She’d lost a considerable amount of blood, but she did not have a yellow stone to replenish it. She’d just have to tough it out.
I should just go home, she thought to herself. Fuck Vim Alazar and the Royal Roses.
Had Anelia been even the slightest bit less of a professional, that was indeed what she would’ve done. Yet she had a reputation to uphold, and for that reason alone, she stumbled her way into the apartment from where the four men had emerged. They had paid her to clear this area, and until she knew what was inside, she couldn’t honestly say she’d completed her mission.
Pausing a moment just before entering, she shook her head to wake herself up. Though still a bit weak, she did regain enough of her strength to where she felt confident that she could handle herself if she had any more run-ins. She decided to stick with her low-exertion guns for the time being, however, as she stepped inside the apartment, extended her arms, and kept her eyes moving as she searched for any targets.
“Disgusting,” she muttered as she entered into a living room. The place was filthier than most. In addition to the typical cockroach-infestations to be found in this part of the city, Anelia was fairly sure the carpets were stained with piss and shit. The stench was horrendous. The kitchen was also so filthy that the thought of eating anything in here made her want to puke.
Why were they even here? she wondered.
She took a look around at her surroundings. There was nothing special about this place. The apartment consisted of a living room, a kitchen, and a bedroom. There was nothing else of note. She had no idea why the Guild of Gentlemen had been hiding in here, but it also wasn’t her business and, to be honest? She didn’t care, either. As far as she was concerned, she’d done her job and now it was time to go home. She doubted she’d ever want to return to Shadowfall Coast again.
“What a miserable city,” she muttered. Having cleared the apartment, she turned around and prepared to leave.
Crack!
Anelia stopped short at the sound of something breaking: something that sounded like shattered glass. A terrified-sounding gasp followed, and then after the gasp there was the distinct, unmistakable sound of a man making a “shh” sound along with what sounded like whimpering from several female voices.
What the hell?
Slowly, stealthily, Anelia moved in the direction of the sound. She was careful not to make any noise as she crept along the floor, the disgusting carpet muting the thud of her boots. She took her time as she made her way back across the living room, and now, there was total silence as she moved. But this silence did not last. No, eventually Anelia could hear several people whisper, though she wasn’t quite sure from where their voices originated.
“Be calm,” a voice said.
“I’m so scared. I’m so scared.”
“Shh. Please. Be calm.”
Anelia continued to make her way in the direction of the voices, but she came to a stop upon reaching a stained, deteriorating wall. Was someone hiding behind there? It sure sounded like it. Holstering just one of her weapons, she gripped her right hand into a fist and then smashed it forward, blasting it right through the wall and causing about two-dozen voices to all release a scream in unison.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Anelia’s mouth fell open in shock. The entire wall collapsed in on itself, revealing another, secondary kitchen, but this one was pristine, immaculate, and looked as though it had been built extremely recently. It was also very large, contained about ten full-sized tables, and there were people here: more than twenty of them.
“It’s the Royal Roses!” a woman wearing what looked like a lab coat screamed. She, along with many other similarly dressed individuals turned around and began to flee. Anelia pointed her guns at them.
“Don’t move!” she shouted. “I said don’t fucking—Gods dammit!”
She chased after them. And this was where things began to get really weird, as they fled down a staircase: a very, very long staircase. One that not only led down, but seemed to run as deep as the one from the prison from her last job she’d done earlier in the middle of the night.
Only, whereas the prison had been a filthy, rotting place every bit as disgusting as the apartment, what she found as she descended the stairs was a fresh, clean, and incredibly well-furnished lobby, one which led to numerous corridors, some containing opened doors. Inside these doors was what looked like individual laborites complete with scientific instruments, testing stations, and other research equipment.
“Nobody better fucking move,” Anelia said as she began to corner and wrangle her captives. “Or I’ll start blowing brains out.”
“Please!” a woman begged. “We’re friends of Prila! She was working with you, right? We saw her vanish. We know she’s with you.”
“We aren’t loyal to them!” a man shouted. “Ask Prila! Prila will vouch for us!”
“I don’t know who the fuck that is and I don’t give a shit,” Anelia growled. “Every single one of you better come out and sit down right here”—she shook her gun at a spot in the middle of the lobby—“or I’m going to have to start exploding heads. Don’t test me. Do yourselves a favor and just don’t test me.”
The whimpering, begging, and crying began immediately. Yet it was something another of the women said to her that drew Anelia’s attention and made her realize that this must have been the real reason she’d been sent here.
“We’ll give you all the research if you let us live. Please! Please!”
“Research?”
“Yes!”
Anelia sighed. “It looks like I need to make a call.”
She tried to raise Vim, but unsurprisingly, he was busy. The Orc wasn’t, though. He’d have to do.
******
The moment that Norc O’cral, the 9th ranking member of the Royal Roses and Vim’s chief intelligence officer, emerged from below deck and came scampering over in a hurry, Vim knew that he was at last going to be privy to some good news. He could tell this just from the way the gigantic Orc made such big, excitable thudding sounds as he ran barefoot along the deck.
Unlike the other high-level members of his guild, Norc was not participating—nor would he ever participate—in any combat that wasn’t strictly PVE in nature, but this was merely what one would expect from an Orc. Attempting to get an Orc to fight in a battle was a hopeless endeavor; they simply wouldn’t do it. Almost as a whole, their race was a fairly soft-hearted group—or at least they were when it came to matters of war and violence. On other issues? Not so much.
While it might have been nearly impossible to enlist an Orc to use their considerable strength and brute force on the field of battle, that didn’t mean Orcs did not constantly partake in fights; no, one could often find them engaging in constant battle on social media, where they were known to scold and shame people for using offensive language or engaging in “problematic” behavior. Vim himself had personally been condemned by the Orcish queen for his social media posts on twenty-seven separate occasions, and that was just in the past six months.
“Sir Alazar,” Norc said cheerfully as he approached.
The nearly eight-foot-tall Orc tended to tower over most people who stood next to him, but to someone like Vim, it was more like being in the shadow of a giant. He actually had to stretch his neck just to look up at the man, his dual tusks protruding from his mouth, his upper lip naturally raised enough to provide a clear view of his sharp, dangerous teeth. It was said that, long ago, Orcs were a warrior race, and on the one hand, Vim could totally see why.
For starters, Orcs were the only race of beings on all of Galterra that did not enter this world with a mere 1 point in every stat; to the contrary, a level-1 Orc was born with 3 points into strength. They were also born with a passive ability that gave them a five-minute, stacking buff to their strength whenever they personally landed the killing blow on a target, sentient or otherwise. Thus, it made sense that pre-civilized Orcs were as ruthless as history claimed. Yet…on the other hand, it was just so hard to visualize them behaving in such a way. They were just so Gods-be-damned passivist that mentally drawing a picture of them charging into battle was too hard a thing for Vim to do.
As Norc approached, he paused a moment to bow to the queen. She lowered her head slightly in acknowledgement. Then he turned to face Vim. “I bring good news your way, Sir Alazar,” he said.
This, Vim was pleased to hear. “Your agents have located which bunker Sir Morrison is cowardly hiding in?”
“Huh? Oh, no, no. It’s about the—”
“Quiet!” Vim shouted, suddenly realizing what Norc was about to say. It clicked in the back of his head as though hit by a bolt of lightning. Awareness flooded into him, and it caused his heart to pound in his chest. “Say nothing!”
Vim’s shout came out as louder and more frantic than he’d intended, and it caused Norc to twitch, Fylwen to take a reflective step backwards, and Haisel Ragora to lift his eyebrows. Norc, seemingly confused, tilted his head to the side and said, “Sir Alazar, I don’t understand what…did I perhaps say something to offend you? If so, I apologize.”
Vim nervously glanced off to his left, where Queen Vayra was glancing back at him as though perplexed and mildly annoyed. This wasn’t good. Or…or it was good, rather, but it was bad that Norc had stupidly almost blurted out what Vim strongly suspected Norc was about to say: that someone from their side had located where the Guild of Gentlemen were building the weapons, something he’d specifically asked not to be announced over the Comm.
“Let’s talk in private,” he said. “Excuse me a moment, Fylwen.”
“Do hurry,” she replied, her tone dry. “I’ve elsewhere to be, and there are a few more issues I wish to discuss with you. I sincerely hope this matter between you and the Orc is urgent enough to keep me waiting.”
“It is,” Vim said.
Norc nodded. “Oh, rest assured that it is, Your Majesty.”
He half-turned away, and Vim filled with an icy sense of fear and apprehension as Fylwen took a suspicious step towards them. “Why?”
“Why what?” Vim asked her defensively.
“Why is it so important you cannot speak in front of me?”
“Private guild matters,” Vim said. “Obviously.”
“Hm?” Norc tapped his sharp-fingernailed thumb against the side of his head. “Oh, no, no, no, that’s not it at all, Sir Alazar. If that’s why you’re leading me away, I can assure you, this is by no means a private—”
“Will you shut the fuck up!” Vim hissed at him under his breath.
“What’s that? I didn’t hear you, Sir Alazar.” Then, before Vim could stop him, he turned to the Gods-damned queen and said, “Don’t worry, Your Majesty. This is nothing nefarious. I’ve just received a wonderful report that we—”
“Shut up!” Vim hissed again.
“—have located their primary nuclear research facility!” he finished, excitement and merriment in his every word.
Vim scowled, and so too did Fylwen, only hers was darker, more sinister, and incredibly dangerous. “You’ve what?” she yelled. “What is the meaning of this, Orc!”
Norc’s jaw dropped. “Why do you look so displeased?”
Fylwen took several quick, urgent steps in his direction until she practically bumped into his impossibly muscular midsection while she stared fearlessly up at him. “I heard nothing of this over the Comm. How can this be so? One of you had better answer me at once!”
Vim felt a mixture of both outrage and misery as Norc smiled down at the Elvish queen. “It’s nothing nefarious at all, Your Majesty. Sir Alazar ordered us—wisely, I might add—to say nothing over the Comm in the event that we found anything pertaining to that awful, dreadful weapon, and though he did not state why, it was understood by me and those under my command that this was to ensure it was properly destroyed and that the Lords of Justice did not attempt to whisk such abhorrent technology back to Dal’Zarrah.”
Vim clenched his teeth furiously. That big fucking idiot! How could he be so stupid? Did he actually have to spell everything out? He supposed that, in some way, this was his own fault. He should have been clearer in what he wanted from Norc. But wait…no, that still wouldn’t have helped the situation, because if Norc knew what he’d actually intended to do, then unlike Haisel, who also took issue with it, he wouldn’t have gone along with it. It made Vim curse the fact that he’d ever appointed an Orc to be his chief intelligence officer in the first place, a decision he’d only made because it meant he could be absolutely certain he wouldn’t be backstabbed or plotted against—but alas, here was the “con” part of that to complement the “pro.”
He probably just got me killed, the big idiot!
Now, thanks to Norc, the queen might actually murder him right here in font of everyone, especially since Queen Vayra was far too intelligent to be fooled. She would likely understand exactly what had taken place—probably right away, too. And as understanding flashed across her face in a matter of mere seconds, Vim could see that was exactly what was happening. He could not help but feel the slightest pinch of fear in his belly as her pupils dilated and her brow furrowed.
“I believe you, noble Orc,” she said, her tone softening. “At least, I believe that is how you interpreted our little Gnome’s instructions.” Now, Fylwen turned her icy, angry eyes his way. “But rest assured: Sir Alazar’s intentions were not to destroy whatever research you may have stumbled upon.”
“What do you mean, Your Majesty?” Norc asked, sounding worried.
Fylwen knelt down so that her face was right in front of Vim’s. She poked him hard in the chest. “You were going to attempt to secretly build more of the human weapon in Giant’s Fall, weren’t you? Do not lie to me, Gnome!”
Vim scowled at her. “Of course I was, Gods-dammit!” he shouted, no longer bothering to hide it. She’d figured it out, and there was no point in attempting to deceive her. So instead, he became angry and indignant. “What else would I do? Leave my people defenseless? Leave them in a state of helplessness so that the next time this happens we’re forced to endure the brunt of it all over again with no means of retaliation? No! I will never let my people be in that position ever again!”
The sound of a gasp came from behind him—from Norc. “Sir Alazar,” he whispered. “That is an incredibly toxic thing to say. Tell me it’s not true! Have you learned nothing from the destruction of Ogre’s Axe?”
Vim grunted but did not reply—something he did only because he was being lectured to by an Orc. Had it been anyone else from any other race on the planet, he would not hesitate to engage in a prolonged defense of his actions. But if there was one thing in this world that Vim could not bring himself to do, it was get into an exhausting argument over morals and ethics with your typical self-righteous, holier-than-thou Orc. Why would he even bother? It was a fruitless endeavor, as nothing he could possibly say would ever stand any chance of penetrating their literally thick skulls; even worse, every word he used in his defense would only be turned against him in ridiculous ways to somehow imply that he hated this group or that group.
Once, Vim had asked an Orc if he could have a glass of water. The Orc had then spent over an hour accusing Vim of hating women. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t be spun into some kind of personal moral failure. And right now, Norc was demonstrating that first hand.
And here he goes…
Norc opened his mouth and began to speak. And then he continued to speak. And then he continued to speak after that. And still, he continued to speak. Words came out of his mouth one after the next, and Vim groaned as he was forced to endure it.
“…and none of this is to mention the inherent fascistic nature of your duplicitous actions, which reeks of toxic masculinity. Did you ever stop to consider what the women of the guild would think of your actions? Have you ever stopped to consider how it is women who are hurt most by these weapons? You didn’t even think of that, did you? Of course not. Of course you didn’t. Heavens, if only you knew how…”
He continued. And then he continued to continue.
“…in 6582, the oppression of the merfolk was also tied to the patriarchal, hetero-normative behavior that…”
Unbelievably, right here, in the middle of a warzone, with the sound of gunfire plainly audible from the city, he continued.
“…and Peter IV’s actions were only possible because of his enablers. How many times did you yourself, Sir Alazar, excuse his madness as mere ‘jokes’ and try to say that he ‘wasn’t actually serious about destroying the other races?’ Have you heard what he did to the Elvish in secret? All along, we’d believed them to be extinct, and we’d have been right, too, if his barbaric treatment had gone on for any longer. So, I don’t see how I can continue to serve as your—”
“I’ll write a fucking apology letter!” Vim snapped at him. “Just shut the fuck up!” To Fylwen, who was still kneeling in front of him, he said, “If you’re going to kill me, then just do it already. I’m not going to beg for my life. But if you have any mercy in your heart, then do it now so I don’t have to listen to another fucking word from this tusk-faced beast of a—”
Fylwen began to move, and Vim snapped his mouth shut and braced himself. Now, he awaited the end. This would be the point where the Elvish queen executed him. Right here in front of all of his people.
Except…she didn’t.
No, Fylwen did not kill him. She didn’t even strike him or take another finger. She merely rolled her eyes and got back to her feet. “You and your paranoia.” She straightened her back. “Get it through your head, little Gnome: the Gods have personally tasked the Elvish with defending the world from the existence of such vile and cruel tools of humanity. You must trust in us. What we do, we do to protect all of Galterra, and that includes your regions as well.”
Vim, confused, raised his pointer finger. “Wait, so you’re not going to kill me?”
“Not this time, no.”
And then Vim finally understood. Just like that, it dawned on him.
He wasn’t sure why he only understood things now, yet for whatever reason, it wasn’t until this moment that it really occurred to Vim that Queen Vayra didn’t treat him quite the same way that she treated most others—and no, it was not because she secretly wanted to get him naked and ravage him, unfortunately.
It was something else: something that should’ve been obvious from the start. It was something Vim should’ve realized when she did not kill him earlier despite the way he’d spoken to her. He’d thought his rank and status had shielded him, and even more foolishly, he’d also thought there was a part of her that secretly enjoyed their little banter despite pretending otherwise, but he could see now that he was mistaken about both things. It was something so much more fundamental and basic.
It's because I’m not fully human, he realized with a sharp inhalation of breath.
Though Vim did have some human blood in his veins, and though he had masqueraded as human for most of his life, it was difficult to dispute he was primarily of Gnomish ancestry. And that fact alone was likely why he could get away with speaking to her the way that he did, and it was also why she displayed no such desire to slaughter him in front of his guild. It was humanity that she reserved such impulses for. That was the only possible explanation. There must have been a very real compassion and patience within her that she held for non-humans as well as the very few humans that she actually liked, such as the boy.
Still, this didn’t mean she was willing to compromise on her ridiculous, stupid beliefs. And this, Vim was reminded of as she crossed her arms and gave a demanding yet not quite menacing look to Norc. “You seem like a caring, morally upstanding Orc.”
“But of course I am, Your Majesty. Being a good person is my ultimate pursuit in life.”
"Then please do tell me all that you have learned regarding the humans' weapon."
“With pleasure, Your Majesty.”
Look at him, betraying the guild right in front of me, Vim thought ruefully. And to make matters worse, Haisel was just standing there and letting it happen. He looked relieved of all things, the short-sighted idiot.
As Norc explained in detail what he’d learned, Fylwen listened intently, never interrupting a single time—not even when he went on a totally unrelated tangent about the way animals were treated at the Whispery Woods Zoo, even demanding the queen do something about it. Vim seethed listening to this. The worst part was that he couldn’t even demote the Orc as the mere fact that an Orc held such a high rank in a powerful North Bastian guild was going to help big time when it came to repairing their image with the rest of the world.
“I hear your concerns, noble Orc,” Fylwen said. “Perhaps we can discuss this matter at a more opportune time.”
Norc bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Wasting not another word, Fylwen craned her neck to look at her Elves, who were standing at attention near their unicorn mounts. Having been quietly listening in to each and every word, they seemed unsurprised by what she had to say next.
“I want all of you to fly immediately to this research facility and destroy any documents related to—or no, wait a moment.” She wet her lips and shook her head. “No, we must be thorough. Destroy the entire compound and make absolutely certain you slay everyone inside of it except the mercenary, as we cannot know what information they hold in their minds, and the risk of them dispersing it if they somehow survive our upcoming bombardment is far too great.”
To Vim, she said, “I’ve shown you an overwhelming amount of grace and forgiveness. As undignified as it may be, I tolerate your disgusting vulgarity and your disrespect towards me. But I cannot and will not allow you to stand against the Gods, and if anything like this should ever be attempted again, you will be killed without a second thought. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Vim said, bowing before the queen. “You win. Thank you for sparing my life.”
“Very well.”
“I’ll be right back. I need to use the bathroom. I thought for sure I was going to die, and my bladder is barely holding.”
Vim turned away and stormed off towards a quieter section of the ship. “Anelia, are you there?” he asked into the Comm on the private channel Haisel had told him about.
“Yah, and I got a lot of shit to say to you. I don’t know what the hell is going on. You told me this would be an easy job, and then I get fucking ambushed, and now I’m hearing that Elves are on their way to—”
“Listen to me,” Vim interrupted. “I don’t have much time. I need you to take a picture of every document you found. As many as you can in the time it takes the Elves to get there. You should have at least two minutes.”
“Huh? Why? Look, I’m not about to get involved in—”
“Fifty-thousand gold for each picture. That’s what I’m paying. Enough for you to retire for good if you get enough photos. They have to be legible, though. I need my scientists to be able to see what’s on the page. And if you agree, just say the word ‘yes’ and get to work because you’ve got almost no time.”
“Yes.”
Vim smiled. Things were going to work out after all.