Svenn immediately took a liking to Remicra, and the pair rapidly descended into technical blacksmithing jargon that went way over Dave's head. The conversation between the two buzzed with excitement and passion, a testament to their shared love for the art of crafting weapons.
Thirteen pairs of well-coordinated, undead hands that didn’t seem to tire were a welcome addition that helped the dragoness organize the mountain of stolen supplies at a much quicker pace.
Dave left the thirteen elkin and the dragoness in the now bustling workshop and stepped outside into the garden with Cedez, joining her on a wooden bench. He enjoyed the respite from the cacophony of things being rearranged and fervent discussion on the matters of smithing.
"So, what do you think about Svenn?" The dark vixen asked, her eyes eager for his opinion.
"I think that he's a great addition to the team," Dave admitted. "I should have gotten him earlier with you at my side, instead of blaming you for the world's problems."
"Mmhmm," Cedez smiled, clearly pleased with his response. "Am I the best Sovereign or what?"
"You're the best," Dave agreed. He ignored the incessant buzzing of the ghost-shield, quickly brushing his hand against her mane atop of her head.
"Mmmmmm," Cedez closed her eyes. "More pets, please. I like pets."
"Kind of worried about getting zapped by your absolute charisma," Dave said, hesitating slightly.
"Pet the hair, don't make skin-to-skin contact for longer than four seconds and you’ll be fine," she advised. "If you feel sparks dancing on your hand, just let go."
"Right," Dave acquiesced and proceeded to gently brush his hand over Cedez's soft fur.
The kitsune leaned against the stone cottage and began to purr, a contented expression on her face.
Dave couldn't help but smile at the sight. Things between him and the bewilderingly complex Sovereign of Shandria were finally working out.
"Cedez, why are you the way that you are?" He asked, genuinely curious about the enigmatic foxgirl by his side.
"Eh?" she opened one silver-blue eye, a playful glint in her gaze. "What's wrong with me?"
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"There's nothing wrong with you per se," Dave clarified. "Your personality intrigues me. You often act like a kid, and yet you have these moments of absolutely ruthless brilliance in between."
"That's because I'm both quite clueless as a peasant's daughter and packed full of arcane knowledge," she laughed, her infectious mirth filling the air.
"I guess I'm just trying to understand why Empress Nox and her Archmagi created this peculiar system where the ward selects random girls to host her Divine Shadow. Why not create, oh, I don't know, immortal, perfect copies of herself to administrate the Empire? Why start over with new Sovereigns?”
"Ah," Cedez replied, her tone growing more serious. "It has to do with the nature of magic on Arxtruria and how it interacts with human bodies."
"Oh?" Dave raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her explanation.
“Human souls harvest magical radiance spilled by Nihilim onto the world, turning it into mana. Mana slowly accumulates and crystallizes in people's bodies creating a skill-shaping structure within you. This crystalline-organic structure becomes harder and bigger with each year," Cedez elucidated. "Having power changes you on a fundamental, physical level. When you go past level one hundred this crystallization process reaches critical mass and mages become less like themselves and more like walking dungeons."
"They lose control?" Dave ventured a guess.
"Precisely," the foxgirl nodded. "In a lot of cases, high level mages get old and the flesh decays, leaving a crystal remnant behind that will try to murder everything living.”
“Right,” Dave nodded. “That’s what happened to Archmage Rim. So, what do people do with the crystalline core when a powerful mage dies in Shandria?”
“They burn the remnants of the flesh and bring the core inside a warded magisteel box to the central tower,” Cedez said. “There, the Ward Keeper deposits the core into a mechanism that grinds it into dust, thus disrupting the structure of the crystal, mixing it with the gargantuan sandpit beneath the city, adding its power to her Divine Shadow.”
“Damn,” Dave whistled. “Even after death everyone empowers the ward, huh?”
Cedez nodded.
“Are there really no healer archmagi that can keep the body healthy in perpetuity?” Dave asked.
“Oh there are,” Cedez said. “There are definitely mages that go past level one hundred. When an archmage relies on a healer’s power ad nauseam to keep their body functional past its expiration date, the flesh stretches, adapts to sustain a dungeon core inside it, but the mind... the mind slowly decays, gathering minute problems that the healer is simply unable to fix.”
“I see,” Dave said.
“Have you ever looked up at the false stars of the evening sky and asked yourself why there's so much war?" Cedez waved her hand at the heavens.
"I have," Dave nodded, recalling numerous nights spent pondering the nature of the endless strife on Arxtruria.
"Continuous immortality leads to madness," Cedez said solemnly. "The Dragon God-Emperor is an ancient bastard, a mass of stretched flesh shaped somewhat like a human... But there is very little humanity left in him. His actions are guided less by his mind and more by the massive dungeon core residing in his overgrown gut, a skill that simply wants to summon more heroes and grind them into dust, thus gaining more power with each death."
"Damn," Dave shuddered, the grim reality of local immortality settling upon him like a heavy shroud.