When the stars had faded, the sound of screams had been replaced with pitiful moaning, did Martha finally finish polishing her weapons. Placing the rack of weapons into her minor realm, she dusted her hand, and with the snap of her finger, a large, golden dragon was summoned infront of her.
Rubbing the snout of the golden dragon with indifference, Martha stepped directly on top of its head, her armour clad feet creating a small depression in the dragon’s skull as she looked toward the city.
Having lived for so many years, Martha had developed countless hobbies, the collection of ancient armour and weapons being the most prominent, though in the past decade, touring the city atop of her steed was becoming more favoured, eventually surpassing the time she would spend polishing her countless collections of weapons and armour.
As for her love of gold and jewellery, it can not be considered a hobby, as it is more akin to the very nature of dragons to hoard mass amounts of wealth.
As the dragon roamed around the city, its’ footsteps were carefully placed in order to avoid stepping on an innocent bystander, or a person’s property. This was naturally not done out of benevolence, but rather, due to the strict legal code put in place to protect private property.
The subjects in the city meanwhile, seemed numb to the sight, occasionally, those in the trajectory of the dragon would part ways before they would return to their original position, continuing to barter.
When Martha arrived six streets away from of the hospitium that looked over the Straton Confluence, she kicked the golden dragon with her left leg, while walking directly into the second floor with her right leg.
With a single stride, she had crossed nearly half a mile, stepping onto the second floor, the sound of her armour clinking was particularly muted by the presence of the Cai Lun paper that covered the floor. The smell of rust originating from her armour was covered by the heavy scent of ink.
Martha’s eye fell upon the youth still writing next to the table, realising that this person’s background should not be small, Martha said in a direct and harsh manner, though not as authoritarian as she had been with her servant, “You have done a pretty good job at getting rid of the slaves in the city, I will pass you a list of all the human properties in the city. As long as you purchase all of them, I will grant you a boon.”
Ovid paid no attention to the words Martha said, aside from his quilt temporarily stopping on the paper, leaving a black spot on the Cai Lun paper. As the ink was personally produced in the heart of the Papacy, only a saint in the human kingdoms could receive such luxury. But the quantity of ink Ovid was using was far greater than the amount usually given to saints of human kingdoms.
The Pope had yet to announce a successor, although it was possible that Ovid was being groomed in secret, there would certainly be plenty of rumours were that the case. It must be then, stolen from the Pope’s private collection.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
The older someone is, the more afraid of death they would be. Martha was no exception to the ruler, despite that Ovid was not even someone of deacon level, she did not grow enraged at Ovid’s disrespectful behaviour.
“I am the governor of this theme, while I am not willing to give you any gold, I can guarantee that you will have immunity from any local laws. The only restriction that will be placed on you will only prevent you from murdering and pillaging. Or, I can help you kill a person, as long as he or she is not above the level of bishop,” Martha words sounded full of dignity, the various decorations she had placed on her horn swinging as a gust of wind blew by.
The quill was placed down after Ovid heard these words. Laying the Cai Lun paper atop the stack, he stood up from the table and stepped to face Martha.
The stature between the two when stood upright was as vast as heaven and earth. Martha’s was akin to a rod that stretched all the ways to the stars, her rough skin covered by the armour having endured countless years of tempering.
While Ovid was never prone to feeling many expressions, he could help but feel that this sort of figure was truly imposing, were she to stand in a crowd, she would be many heads taller than everyone else present.
Evidently, Martha was quite aware of this, which is why she had heavily decorated her horns that pierced through the sky like a great and mighty mountain.
“I don’t need any rewards for freeing the slaves, I am fine with you just giving me the locations,” Ovid said in a toneless and emotionless voice.
Martha looked down at the person with skin as transparent and ice, her brown eyes creating an endless void as she muttered a single syllable. The sound was as archaic as the syllables spoken by Julia but contained less strength in comparison, perhaps since the use behind them contained many differences.
Nevertheless, this syllable represented countless meaning, entering Ovid’s mind, the details regarding every slave in the city were given in rapid succession. It was fortunate that Ovid’s mental resilience was always excellent, were a normal person process all the meaning behind Martha’s sound, their mind would have likely been damaged.
After the echos of the syllable disappeared and Ovid had reorganised himself, he looked up at the figure and asked, “Why don’t you purchase the slaves yourself?”
Martha replied, “I don’t want to spend any of my money.”
Ovid then asked, “Don’t you have a treasury?”
“That’s also my belong,” Martha answered in a straightforward way, the armour caked with green rust seemingly transform into a golden shine, transforming her whole body into a golden mountain that rivals the stature of the Northern mountain ranges.
Truly, what an imposing figure.
Under the pressure, Ovid’s breath hastened as icy mist emitting from his face that is now flushed with red. With a flash, the spatial ring on his index finger produced a small ball of spiritual essence, coating Ovid’s body in a thin membrane.
The next moment, the ring flashed once more and emerged a wooden carving of a sword no more than three cun long.
(Using different units of measurement, cun is 1/30th of a meter - so the sword is pretty small)
Yet before it could strike Martha, the pressure disappeared, prompting the sword too, to return to the spatial ring.
Convinced that Ovid indeed has a powerful backing, Martha sighed, reaching within the deepest point of her bundled brown hair, she took out a single, golden gem. Hovering her hand over Ovid, she promptly stuffed it between Ovid’s cleavage.
After a long time, did Martha remove her hand, it was not because Ovid’s body was particularly cool, or was nice to touch. But rather, Martha was reluctant to part with her precious ornament.
Ovid however, feeling Martha’s touch, grew incredibly uncomfortably, swiftly removing the still warm gem, he placed it onto one of the many stacks of paper as Martha explained, “This gem should be enough compensation for all the slaves in the city. Seeing how important wealth is to you, the person behind you should also be a dragon, out of respect, I will not be unreasonable."