Chapter 25: City Conquerors (Part 1!)

When a legion arrives, it is truly a legendary event for all to see. Thousands of men born from the finest families decades ago, clad in shaped iron, ready to take on the foes of the Oligarchy.

Drilling and practicing every day, these soldiers were the machines of the Iozians, the ones that crafted bridges across rivers miles wide, built fortresses in a single night, and carved out the thousands of provinces that Iozians called their own.

You could see them through fog as the glint of their swords massed together into a violent star. Their stomps of their studded sandals scared off even the most brave of beasts. So many and so large that they could drink lakes into deserts and could turn civilizations into wastelands.

The commander and his battalion would be the first of the legion to arrive as the rest would arrive in the next hour. He was ready for blood.

What he wasn’t ready for was an army of prostitutes saving Fort Jao, stopping the Tripolians from sacrificing the people. Oh, and a scarecrow covered in brains.

“Hello! I killed a person!” She, unfazed by the gruesome actions of today, wasted no time in engaging the commander. He, at least to her, stood out among the many bodies laying on the floor. It might have been because he was alive, but don’t ask me.

“Right… you wouldn’t mind… getting out of the way construct?” Shifting uncomfortably on his horse, he tried moving past Vega. Each time he did, she would step in front of him. Her eyes alert and stitched onto his horse, showing her curiosity with his mount.

“Mind if I pet the horse-horse?”

“...Fuck it. Go nuts.” He slid off the horse’s side and the moment his heels hit the ground Vega went to play fetch with the beast. Unfortunately for Vega, the horse mistook her for hay and chased her.

“Hello Det, it's been quite a while.” The sound of Bolato’s voice echoing from a nearby alleyway reassured the commander that all was right. His appearance of blood stained on his blade made everything right in the world by Det’s standards.

Det the commander wasn’t bothered by that but by the amount of blood on the prostitutes. Shaking his head, he took a breath and assumed his high ranked costume. He was a stout and short man, with a face that had never been crossed by anyone in his life.

“Indeed it has. I assume you’re the one that led this uprising. Prostitutes, very resourceful.” Det’s voice was smooth, a tad condescending but passive. Bolato wanted to tell him the truth, but his face revealed a secret anxiety that Det noticed.

“No worries. I won’t take up more of your time. Men, get the translators. We need to collect some intel. Might take us a day, but we got time…” Det bowed and ordered his men around as he walked away. Unkind for a normal person, but Bolato knew this was Det’s way of saying ‘take your time, I won’t bother you’. Bolato took his leave and hoped that everything was alright in the clinic.

Skaldi’s face covered by bandages had the calm of a sleeping babe, unknowing of the world’s conflicts or mysteries. Potenti was the one following his near unhearable instructions, creating the herbal remedy needed to heal broken bones. His upper brow just above his right eye opened like a chasm in the earth, reaching to his hairline. This new wound connected to his old scar, like cracks in a window.

“Put in the root shavings… now.” He tapped the bowl beside Potenti, sliding it over to her knees on the ground. The clinic cloaked in the dark blue of the afternoon sky had all the ingredients needed to ensure his survival. But of course the doctors that were supposed to be here decided drinking themselves into a coma was better than doing their jobs. You know, as doctors do.

“Yes mista.” Potenti worried that one mistake could end his life, even how fine the powder or shavings could put an end to her friend. In reality Skaldi was just winging the recipe and regardless of how well it was, it would stop his head splitting headache, pun very much intended.

Taking a brush and collecting a powder of Hurius root, she painted over his bandage, letting a thick blue over his face. Skaldi’s chest rose high and slowly fell, his breathing stable. His eye felt that it was stuck in a blizzard as a hail of snow piled over it as it became numb.

He didn’t quite feel too bad anymore. Of course he was pissed that he only had one eye, but in combat, losing only an eye is quite lucky.

If Vega didn’t show up, he could have lost his life, Skaldi told himself.

“Do you feel any better?” Potenti asked, trying not to speak loud so as to allow Skaldi time to adjust.

“Fuck no. But thank you.” He reached out for her hand and it with his thumb. Skaldi was quite glad about her, how she was fighting for something. That she hadn’t given up. She refused to be nothing.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Creaking hinges alerted the two, as the worried Bolato entered. He went onto one knee and understood that Skaldi was in a stable condition. He had been privy to many injuries in his time in the navy. Arrow wounds, battered by storms, anything nasty or worth telling.

Much to his own dismay, Bolato had an uncanny ability to tell if someone wounded would survive treatment. He always noticed the alertness of the eyes proved that the patient would live. Although it would just be an eye in this scenario.

He was pleased to see Skaldi very much awake and active, even if his remaining eye was half closed. The soldier wondered how Skaldi felt, would he try to make this scar too into a great act?

Coming closer, Bolato gripped onto Skaldi’s hand and raised it to his lips. Potenti’s jaw lowered, not knowing that they were a couple.

“Wait… you two are-?”

“Together? Yes.” Skaldi answered, trying to avoid any more conflict for today. Potenti seemed like she was going to make a joke to lighten up the mood but her heart wasn’t in the right place to say it.

“Did you tell her?” Bolato asked snidely.

“No, because I was listening to her and not giving details that didn’t matter.” Skaldi pouted as best as a man on painkillers could.

“Sorry, I’m glad you have someone like that mista.” Potenti giggled, brushing her hair to the side.

“Me too. But I’m not so sure that kissing is going to be the same. Bolato liked that eyeball a lot! Hehe.” Skaldi laughed and covered a few coughs that came out.

“Right. Well, good thing a battalion is here.” Bolato announced, happy that the Oligarchy was finally cleaning up the mess Periatus was. “I heard that they’re gonna award a Purple Heart to the man that organized this revolt.” Bolato leaned to the ear of Skaldi, tempting him to excitement.

Bolato believed that Skaldi, even in his healing, would bound out of bed and wear it with sneering pride. He wanted to congratulate him for his service, for his honor. The blue haired elf felt great pride for Skaldi, that she had been under such a fine man. And an even finer hero.

“Well I guess it should go to the boss then.” Skaldi replied quickly, before dozing off immediately. Both Bolato and Potenti were left with a single question.

“What?”

Under the yogurt cloud sky, Amir spent the day and the day before taking Valiato to his favorite tea parlors. It had been years since he had been in Fort Jao and Valiato was too young and unsophisticated to truly appreciate the pastime of tea. Vega and Bolato took some time to visit, giving her some gifts (Bolato got her a game set, Vega brought her a rock that someone told her was a gold coin. It was a really cool rock).

In secret, Amir had a special liking for a tea parlor right beside the Arena. It was a tall and orange plastered building, with a brass minaret having the Tripolian symbol for stars spinning around it.

The inside was clean and solemn, it resembled a rich hermitage. Full of history and paintings of Tripolian past and perhaps future, this building had been built two hundred years ago by a family of runaway nobles. Alone and secluded from any battle.

An exclusive class of customer patronized here, decked with so much garment and jewelry they looked like an embroidered rug rather than someone with a taste for fashion.

Amir, taking roughly a hundred gold coins for his daughter’s birthday, used it to have a close and calm time with her. Provided with spices coming from fields hundreds of miles away and the water created by river nymphs, her birthday was one to remember.

He even allowed her to take off her turban, letting her get comfortable and visible. He laughed at her reactions to the various tea and treats the parlor had, and she laughed at his humorous attitude. The father and daughter had quite a lot of fun, with these past two days not having the relationship of teacher and student.

Amir cracked a lot more jokes during this time, prompting Valiato to relax and enjoy her teenage curiosity. Valiato never remembered her father talking quite so much before, he looked truly happy rather than annoyed. Even his asthmatic cough didn’t plague him for long.

She finally got to learn a lot more about him, especially on who he truly was. But that came to a halt when the battalion started investigating Amir.

“~You! Pork bro!~” A translator misspoke while escorted by two soldiers.

“If you're trying to say pork breath, it's pronounced ‘tumin zyrezade’. Try again.” Valiato sassed, crossing her arms at the conduct of the soldiers.

“Shut it kid, and help us tie up this raider.” The translator ordered, as all the ropes that they tried using on Amir’s wrists were far too thin to restrain him.

“He’s not a raider, he’s… my… uhh-” She stopped, realizing that she shouldn’t reveal that she was an orphan, a ghost to Iozians. Luckily, Bolato flanked behind the soldiers with Det backing him up.

“A good man in the company of Bolato. Unhand him you dolts.” Det swat the back of his hand at the translator.

“But sir, you ordered us to take every raider in the city!”

“Why do I have to keep saying this? Every raider is drunk! The fucker is drinking from a porcelain cup, not from a wine pot.” Det rumbled his eyes in contempt, tired from his men trying to get action out of what was clearly a non combatant.

“If I find Runtaii, I will crucify him personally.” Det cursed to himself. All of this embarrassment caused by him drove Det in a silent obsession. He expected his men might have been itching for a fight, but not quite like this. Det cleared his throat and bowed with the Tripolian custom of grabbing at the collar.

“~Sorry sir. Please take this as an apology.~” Det courteous pulled out a cigar the length of Valiato’s arm.

Det was a Matigas Natao man, and they had the tradition of sharing a foot long cigars between upper class families for roughly a month. Amir inspected it and gently put the offering into his pack and bowed in response. The translator and his fellow soldiers stood with their tails between their legs. Not literally, none of them actually had tails.

Valiato recoiled back, confused that Bolato had blood on his sleeve.

“Bola? What happened?” She questioned with a twinge of concern.

“How to put this…” Bolato stared away and scratched his head until a proper response came to him. “You see, Skaldi and the prostitutes lead a rebellion against the raiders, we saved some prisoners from being sacrificed in a weird ritual, Skaldi fell down a sewer with Vega, he lost an eye, and… that's… that's roughly it.”

Valiato took several moments to take all in.

“~What did he say kid?~”

“~Skaldi did something and got… hurt?~” She shrugged, still coming to terms with Skaldi's injury. Amir laughed at the odd summary, knowing there was a lot more she was leaving out.

“~Haha! So business as usual?~”