Chapter 241: Chapter 228 – Horses, Goats, and Basements

Chapter 228 - Horses, Goats, and Basements

Streams of blood scattered across the forest, staining its muddy trees with thick, crimson lines. Each splotch was accompanied by the roar of a beast, a howl loud enough to shake the dried, brown leaves free of their branches. With ears sensitive enough to hear ten miles away, Claire should have been reeling over in pain, but the qiligon was unbothered.

She ignored the flightless bird’s cries and swung her weapon over and over, biting away at its armour and blood. Boris, her iguana-turned-blade, pierced the rocky features with ease. With every slash, he cut several feet into the monster’s flesh, and yet, it continued to struggle, flailing about with its razor-sharp beak. It fought and screamed for the better part of a minute, but ultimately fell as the lizard grew to ten times his usual size and ran it all the way through.

Claire did not let up when her feathered foe collapsed. It was too durable for that. She delivered a chain of brutal blows to its head, stopping only as the goddess of the flow spoke the magic words in the back of her mind.

Log Entry 34927

You have defeated a level 618 Droudrish Bloodlord.

It was an incredibly resilient beast. Its spirit stat was so high that it was completely unaffected by any of her magic. And while certainly not nearly as exaggerated, its physical defenses were nothing to scoff at. Its skin was covered in a wall of stone, the sheer volume of which dulled the power behind her attacks; it had taken a full fifty strikes to finally smash through its skull.

“Your turn.” The halfbreed turned to one of her companions as she flicked the blood off her lizard—who had already returned to his usual almost organic form—and holstered him on her back.

“Was that three already? I wasn’t keeping count.” Natalya Vernelle, or Lia as she was commonly known, smiled awkwardly whilst looking up from her magical notebook. She had her quill in her other hand, scribbling something or other even though there was little to note.

“Five.”

“Five!?” The humanoid feline fluttered the lids that covered her bright green eyes, just in time for her glasses to slip halfway down her face. “Has it really been that long already?” Her long, thin tail, which was coloured the same way as her orange-brown hair, flickered to and fro as she looked around the arena.

“Mhm! She’s been going at it since you fell asleep ‘n stuff.” The fox sitting beside the catgirl got up onto her hind legs and stretched her back as far as it could go. Only after stifling a yawn did she fall back on all fours and shake the sleep out of her system.

“O-oh. I didn’t even realise I fell asleep,” she muttered. “We’ve been at this for far too long.”

“We have.” Their party’s backliner, a witch with an absurdly long head of raven-black hair, joined the conversation after fighting back a yawn of her own. “Perhaps we’d best move on. These droudrishes are no longer providing the experience they once did.” The moon-shaped accessory on her large pointed hat jingled as she rose from her seat. It always looked like it was on the verge of falling off, but the golden, ruby-crested arch never truly left its spot.

“Oh, oh, oh! I like that idea!” said the fox. “I’m already super bored of this place. I can’t believe you guys decided to sit down and grind this of all things.”

“The math says that it’s the most efficient,” said Lia. She returned her book to the clip on her belt and rose to her feet. “But you’re right. We should probably get out of here before we bore ourselves to death.”

“Ughhh, who cares about the math? This place sucks!”

“We should have stuck to the leviathan,” grumbled Claire.

“Ew, no way! I meant it when I said this place sucks, but at least these birds are kinda tasty! That dumb turtle thing is gross as heck!” The orange furball stood up on her hind legs again and made an X with her front paws.

“I found it rather delectable,” said the witch. “It certainly was on the sour side, but I found the acidity rather refreshing.”

“Oh, shut up Ciel! That’s just ‘cause you think everything’s tasty!”

“I most certainly do not.”

“Yes you do, liar!”

“It is not a lie, merely a statement of fact. I enjoy only that which is cooked in high-quality blood.”

As a whole, the conversation was grossly inappropriate. They were on the bottom floor of an incredibly hostile, unknown dungeon revealed by the goddess of the moon. Letting down one’s guard in such an environment was a fool’s choice at best, and a death sentence at worst, but none of the group’s members appeared to care. They were so much stronger than the boss that they had taken to challenging it to a series of one-on-ones; each member of the party was allowed to kill it three times before the next would step in and take her place. With Sylvia not participating and a respawn time of roughly thirty minutes, it meant that each could rest for roughly four hours after every session.

Matthias, the final member of their party, had been relegated to sitting at home. The girls’ goal was to grow as much as possible as quickly as possible, and they had decided after some debate that he drained too much of the experience to be worth bringing along. The man in question had objected to the decision, of course, but there was little he could do in the face of a realm-warping fox.

“That’s just because your tastes are childish as heck!”

“My palate may not be as refined as Claire’s, but it is certainly not childish. There is no shame in relishing the taste of life.”

Boris was the one to have benefited the most from all the killing. He was the highest level in the group—perhaps because he needed the least experience to grow—and was already nearing his third ascension. Everyone else was sitting in the mid four hundreds, with Claire being on the lower end, and Arciel its opposite.

“Yes there is! That’s just like deciding that you wanna coat everything in ketchup! Come on, you tell her, Claire!”

“There is nothing to be told. She is sure to agree that it is a natural preference.”

Both girls turned towards the ascended lyrkress, eyes glimmering with the expectation that she would take their side. But instead of answering either party’s hopes, she prodded them both in the cheek, one with a finger, and the other with her massive, scale-laden tail.

“It doesn’t matter. Where are we heading next?

“I had intended on returning to Vel’khagan,” said the witch, with a tilt of the head.

The thoughtless comment was, of course, met with a slightly more violent cheek prod.

“Stupid squid. I meant after.”

“After?”

“Yes. After. Where’s the next training ground?”

“Ah, so that is what you were asking.” Arciel shrank her staff and tucked it into her hair. “There are no further training grounds. The leviathan was our final challenge, and the goddess has remained silent in the wake of its repeated death. I believe that she means to say that we are already prepared for the events to come.”

“You’ll be facing the queen in single combat, and she’s already thrice ascended. I doubt we’re ready.”

“It’s hard to say,” said Lia, as she adjusted her glasses. “The vampire queen isn’t known for being particularly strong. Everyone seems to think she’s a bit of a weakling, in fact.”

“I believe that evaluation to be false,” said Arciel. “The Vel’khanese royal guard may not be the most prestigious or powerful order, but neither is it entirely incompetent. And yet, she single-handedly triumphed over a dozen of its members.”

“Sounds like we need more levels,” said Claire.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. I shall inquire with Griselda at a later time,” said the moon-worshipper. “For now, I believe it would be better for us to return to the city so that we may enjoy the festivities.”

“Wait, festivities? What festivities?” asked Sylvia, as she perked up.

The scene shifted as she spoke. The trees and shrubs turned to kelps and corals as the air was made into water. Only half the group’s members had any need for air, but all were wrapped in a large, water-proof filter-bubble. The dungeon’s entrance could be seen behind them, a small hole slammed into the side of a particularly large pit. It was still bustling with life; monsters were filing out of it in waves, invading the nearby waters with their hearts burning bright, only to find themselves deceased, destroyed by the lack of oxygen.

Sharks, bluefins, and submarine bears fed on the drowned birds. Local fish fed on their scraps, and the bones that remained fueled the brilliant underwater reef, providing it with just enough energy to shine as it would had it been closer to the sun.

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“Why, the winter festival’s of course.” said Arciel. The environmental shift had failed to elicit a reaction, but the fox’s question had her completely taken aback. “Do you not recall the many decorations that the people had begun putting up around the city?”

“Oh, wait! Are you talking about those weird metal trinkets and stuff that everyone was messing around with?”

“Precisely.”

“Winter festivals are supposed to be an international standard,” said Lia. “Didn’t you have them back home?”

“Uhmmm… not really?” The fox placed a paw against her chin whilst warping them back to the usual city. “Al didn’t really care too much, and everyone else just kinda took after him.”

“Is that because the dungeon didn’t cycle its seasons the same way?” asked Natalya.

“I don’t think so? We never really kept track of the weeks and months and stuff, but summer and fall were pretty much just as long as they were out here.”

The year was neatly organised into eight months, each of which could be split into five weeks that spanned ten days apiece for a total of four-hundred days per annum. The seasons switched whenever the odd-numbered months came to an end, while the solstices occurred on the year’s mid and endpoints. It was a perfectly ordered system, strictly enforced by the cat-eared goddess, her believers, and her disciples.

But while the days were carefully enumerated by those that cared, the average citizen was not so granular in its tracking. It was fairly obvious when the seasons changed, and churches and temples the world over would announce the solstices whenever they drew close.

Both were treated as a time for festivities to take place. The summer solstice was the sun goddess’ day of reckoning, a chance for criminals to confess and have their sins lightened before her judgement. Of course, parties were still thrown, and men and women from all walks of life drank themselves silly, but most considered the summer festivities to be the lesser of the two. It was simply by virtue of the timing that the bias was made. There was still much to be done in the transition between the fourth and fifth months; farmers could not simply put down their hoes and allow their fields to waste away, merchants had places to be and wares to pedal, and hunters were too busy maintaining the balance between predator and prey.

The winter, on the other hand, was a time of natural indolence. The biting winds deprived Mara’s inhabitants of their energy, and the shorter days their time. Despite its seaside location, Vel’khan was no different. It was not as far north as Cadria, but snow had fallen upon the semi-aquatic nation as soon as the seasons had started to shift. With no crops to watch, farmers were left cozied up in their homes, with all the time in the world to work on their crafts and hobbies. Merchants would return to their motherlands with their wallets full of foreign coin, and hunters would be left to retreat into their burrows, exactly as did the creatures chased by their arrows.

It was precisely because there was so little to do that the citizenry sought entertainment. For two straight weeks, the last in one year and the first in the next, they would celebrate. So merry and careless were the festivities that some would begin drinking the night before they began and awaken from their stupor only three days after they were over.

Officially, there were only eight holidays spread over the twenty-day period, but as dictated by Vinblunt, god of gluttony, liquor, and joy, any two days that lay between two others of festivities would in turn be observed themselves.

There was still a bit of time left before the celebrations officially began, but it was clear that Vel’khagan was already in the most festive of moods. There were magical lights strewn across nearly every rooftop, all bright and shiny even with the day still young. Ice mages of all ages were working on large structures in the public spaces, reliefs of the gods, depicted in the midst of celebrating the same holy days as their mortal believers.

When the lyrkress saw the Cadrian exhibit, positioned awfully close to the center of the city square, she twisted her lips into a frown.

“Claire? What’s wrong?”

Sylvia transformed into a fairy and catapulted herself off her mount’s head. Dropping all of her momentum in midair, she spun around and hovered in front of the other girl’s face. She was the only one to have noticed the change in the lyrkress’ demeanor. The other three—they had regrouped with Matthais shortly after returning to town—were walking in front of them in search of a place to enjoy a midday meal.

“That statue pisses me off,” muttered the snake, as she gazed upon the half-complete, spider-shaped goddess.

“It does? Is there something wrong with it or something?”

“There isn’t. And that’s exactly why it pisses me off.” She glanced at her countrymen from afar whilst lowering her voice. “Vella’s been annoying me. Ever since the time I made the mistake of visiting her temple.”

“Oh… Right, I almost forgot that happened.” The tiny pixie floated back atop the other girl’s head, this time, choosing to seat herself atop one of her massive ears.

The lyrkress was mildly annoyed by the sexual harassment, but she didn’t let it show on her face. Waiting until they were under a large sign, she twitched her ear and flicked the tiny foxgirl into it headfirst.

“Ow!” cried Sylvia, as she pushed herself out of the freshly deformed metal. “What the heck was that for!?”

“Figure it out.”

“You’re such a meanie!” The fairy puffed up her cheeks before returning to the exact same spot, clearly not having learned her lesson. “It’s not my fault your ears are the softest spot on your head.”

“Yes it is,” said Claire.

“Huh! How!? That doesn’t even make sense!”

Shrugging, the lyrkress quickened her pace to catch up with the others and followed them into a nearby building. It had taken them some time to figure out what they wanted to eat, but eventually, they settled on their usual haunt.

Gulfweed Reef was a middling eatery. It suffered greatly from its lack of a draw—the establishment offered nothing but standard seaside dishes at the standard seaside quality and standard seaside price—but precisely because it was so average, it all but guaranteed that only the pickiest eater, who surely would have been annoyed wherever they went, was left dissatisfied.

Claire would have picked a high-end restaurant instead had she been in charge of the decision, but such extravagance lay beyond the realm of their budget, and continued visitations were sure to draw attention from people in high places. They very well could have eaten at Madame Popov’s restaurant for free and even had their food taken up to their rooms to avoid unwanted gazes, but Lia had objected, citing that they had already relied on her godmother for a place to stay, and that it wouldn’t be right to ask for any more.

While downgrading to Gulfweed Reef had certainly worked wonders for their budget, it remained a fact that the girls did not exactly blend in. Most others in their line of work had their parties’ gender ratios skewed in the opposite direction, and it was not uncommon to hear men complain about the sausage fests they were bound to. That alone, however, would not have grabbed the eyes of so many. There were plenty of groups that consisted strictly of either males or females with no intermingling. Relationships often threw wrenches into well thought out power dynamics and plans, and an unwanted child was a surefire way to put an immediate end to a spelunker’s career.

For Claire’s group, the problem was not that they were mostly girls, but rather that they were mostly beautiful girls. It was not uncommon for men drunk and sober to approach them and attempt to court one of their members. As it stood, Lia was by far the most popular; the former Paunsean soldier had at least twice the suitor count of all the others. Three brave souls had even attempted proposing immediately after introducing themselves, only to be shot down just as promptly as all the others.

Arciel’s lack of popularity, the lyrkress understood. The deposed princess had disguised herself in an unassuming human form, and her body was covered in tattoos signifying her belief in the moon. It was clear, despite her often revealing outfits, that she was a chaste devotee to the goddess that hung in the sky, perhaps even a priestess that one would be smited for attempting to touch. Likewise, Sylvia’s headcount was lackluster because she spent most of her time as an oversized rat. She was pretty as a picture in her elven form, and the combination of her features and her bubbly personality drew the affections of men and women alike, but it was seen only once in a blue moon and treated by those not in the know as something of a local legend. 

Matthias, the party’s final member, was certainly not beautiful or a girl, but even he had seen more courtship than the lyrkress. The local succubi spread rumours that he was surely a god beneath the sheets, given his ability to satisfy an entire party of women, while those that saw more interaction with the knight claimed that he was an indisputable man of virtue that deserved nothing but respect. To that end, he drew suitors from both sides of the spectrum, fathers hoping to marry off their daughters and lovely ladies that preyed on vitality alike.

It was not as if Claire wished to be flirted with. She very much preferred to be left alone, especially considering her experiences in the Cadrian court, but she was disturbed by the results as they were. The halfbreed knew that she was by far the most beautiful of the bunch. Her face was finely sculpted, her fluffy, shapely ears were large enough to be deemed objects of worship, and her scales were sparkly as a glacier beneath the sun. Even her bloodline was outstanding, drawing from two of the continent’s greatest lineages. She was quite literally the embodiment of perfection. And yet, the odd pervert aside, the locals continued to overlook her charms.

“I don’t get it. Why does everyone like catgirls?”

“H-huh?” The party’s feline reacted with a start. “Sorry, uhmm, what was that about catgirls?” 

“Nothing.” Claire kept her mouth sealed as she looked out the window and found a strange group of men. They were clearly out of place when compared to the locals, not only because of their racial traits, but also because most of their members lacked the festive cheer shared by nearly every soul in the city. Each of the twelve had their elephant-like heads twisted into a grimace and their stalwart, bulky arms held neatly to their sides. Long tails grew out of their rears, flat and wide like a beaver’s, but at least three times as long.

“Erdbrecher mercenaries,” muttered Arciel.

“Urdawhat?” Sylvia blinked. Thrice. “What are those?”

“The erdbrechers are a race of people from the south,” said Natalya. “There aren’t many of them, but I’ve heard that they’re pretty tough. Most of the adult males go into mercenary work, apparently.”

“I fear that they may be here to assist the harlot.” The vampire watched as the elephantmen marched down the city’s main street. While it was impossible to say for certain, it looked as if they were headed straight for the castle. “If that is the case, then we may require a change of plans. We are prepared to eliminate the queensblades, but we may not have the means to contend with an erdbrecher band as we are now.”

“You better make up your mind quickly then,” said Claire.

“I shall order Count Ray’esce to investigate.” Arciel twisted her eyes away from the castle and turned them back on her companions. “For now, let us relish this time of joy and make merry like the cityfolk. It would be a shame to allow this beautiful festive air to go to waste.”

Nodding, Claire cut a piece out of her freshly served sandwich and fed it to the fairy on her head.

The queen’s crown would certainly fall. But only after they had their fill of fun.

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