Chapter 306: Chapter 290 – Prelude of Storm VII

Chapter 290 - Prelude of Storm VII

Natalya fought back the urge to yawn as she sat at the front desk. It was a slow hour on an already slow day. The lunchtime rush was over, her classes had adjourned, and there would be another hour before the job-takers returned. The only customers present were drinking or browsing the aisles—an elderly couple having an early dinner, a fresh student in search of supplies, and a pair of fools too inebriated to work—five people in all.

On another day, she likely would have been engaged in crafting some lesson or other, but there wasn’t much else left to plan. She was ready to teach every active course from start to end, even with her students’ particularities considered, and she couldn’t put any more on offer with her abilities alone. There was simply nothing to do but sit at the front desk and idle her time away.

She wasn’t alone in her boredom. Nymphetel had her head facedown in her arms, while Charlotte had retreated back into her core. Even Garm was passed out, his feet up on the kitchen counter and his eyes covered with a crossboned hat. Estelle was the only other person not in the midst of a nap, albeit only because it was too early for her to have risen. In other words, no one but Natalya was awake. And no one but Natalya noticed when the door swung open.

The man who entered was so tall that he barely fit through its frame. His horse-like body was not quite conducive to browsing the shelves, and it came as no surprise that he headed straight for the counter.

“Good afternoon,” The centaur greeted the cat with a practiced fake smile. “Are you the owner of this establishment?”

“I am,” said Natalya. “How may I help you today?” Her expression was just as strained. She still wasn’t quite comfortable around Cadrians, and the pompous horse looked anything but friendly.

“Perfect. It just so happens that I have a warrant for the search of this shop.” He produced a document from the bag he had around his shoulder, “and I believe it states that we are free to seek out any criminals that may be taking refuge at this location.”

Natalya adjusted her glasses as she inspected the document. “Sorry, but this isn’t valid. The only signature on it belongs to Lord Pollux. This shop effectively belongs to Her Majesty the Queen, and you’ll need approval from a relevant Vel’khanese authority to conduct your search,” said Natalya. She spoke calmly but raised her voice just enough to awaken the others.

Nymphetel was the first to stir. She reached for her weapon as soon as she saw the centaur, the drowsiness vanishing from her face in the blink of an eye.

“Please leave,” said the catgirl.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” the horse-man glanced at his target. “Now hand her over. You don’t want to do this the hard way.”

He reached over his shoulder, but a plate shattered his fingers before he could grab ahold of his spear. Garm practically flew across the shop, bouncing off the tables and shelves as a feral roar escaped his throat. The centaur sidestepped the pounce, only to be caught by a lariat to the gut. His spine shattered with a sickening crack; a non-Cadrian would likely have found himself disabled for hours, or perhaps even murdered outright, but the fearless warrior grabbed his hips and violently shoved them back into place. Another moment, and he was back to normal, the dent in his armour the only evidence of the wound he suffered.

Of course, Garm did not simply sit around while the horse regenerated. He climbed atop his back and grabbed hold of his neck, locking it between his forearm and his massive, rippling bicep. In theory, it was an effective means of attack. Depriving his brain of oxygen would render him unconscious and end the cycle of healing, but the warrior was not so foolish as to fall for his ploy.

He drew the sword from his waist and stabbed himself through the stomach. The blade emerged out the other side, piercing horse and cat alike. He twisted the blade, mauling both their organs before ripping it towards their shoulders and tearing a hole in both their bodies. For one of the two, the wound was easily regenerated, healed in an instant. But the other was not as resilient. He collapsed from his mounted position, falling to the ground as the strength drained from his rusty frame.

His breathing was pained and ragged and his blood soon stained the floor.

Even without a weapon, Garm should have had the upper hand. His level was almost twice the horse-man’s, and the surprise attack should have given him the opportunity to seize the advantage. But there he was, half conscious with his foe out of reach. The gap between an outlaw and a knight.

Natalya was not anywhere as inefficient, however. Her blade flashed through the air, removing the centaur’s arms and legs before he could do any more harm. She wasn’t planning on finishing him, but his head rolled nonetheless, removed by the dagger that had come through the open door.

“Oh my, oh my. Now whatever do we have here?” A group of three centaurs entered the shop. One was an aristocrat, dressed in a fancy suit, while the others were a pair of knights sure to obey his every word. “Murdering a police officer in broad daylight? I do believe that is a felony, Ms. Vernelle.”

Natalya gulped as the man slowly approached. He rested his hand on his chin, stroking his flaming, pencil-thin beard. His eyes were narrowed, curved the opposite way of his vulpine smile.

“Y-you were the one that finished him off.”

“You don’t have to lie, Ms. Vernelle. Our witness caught you red-handed.”

“Witness?” Natalya furrowed her brow.

“Why, of course. Private Titus, would you mind?”

“Yes sir.”

The head, which had at some point reattached to its body, rose and stood at attention, its arms in a fresh salute. “I was present and on sight when a Cadrian soldier was attacked. She amputated all six of his limbs, and he was then subsequently decapitated before he could plead for his life.”

“There you have it,” said the marquis. “Now, Ms. Vernelle. I believe that you and everyone else present will have to come with us.”

Lia opened her mouth to speak, but the marquis continued before she could.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking. This is bullshit, a farce, yada yada. And yes, you’re right.” He got right up in her face, his lips a cruel smile. “But answer me this. Let’s say that, your dear friend the queen happens to stand up for you and condemn this as some sort of international crime. What do you think would happen? Who do you think would win, in a clash between Cadria and Vel’khan?”

The cat’s face paled.

“There are witnesses,” she said.

“Certainly, our side has many.”

He glanced towards the tiny pony following behind him, who nodded and swung her shieldlance. Eyes widening, Lia shouted at the customers to run, but it was far too late. The weapon’s tip flew from its body, weaving through the store like a snake and executing everyone in its path.

The old couple was dead.

Her student was slain.

Not even the adventurers had been able to mount a defense.

“I’m sure you already know this by now, with our little princess treating this as her playground, but it is might that makes right.” Pollux’s words were spoken in a whisper, a cold, sneering whisper. “And the only thing that stands a chance at beating it is the proper use of a hostage. Now if you don’t mind coming with me, I have a role for you to play.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’ll be reunited with all your friends soon. In my bed, of course.”

Shuddering, she leapt out of the way just in time for a crimson flash to meet the centaur’s waist. Nymphetel’s blade struck true. It shredded his clothing and exposed his skin, but even the direct hit amounted to nothing. No wound. Not even a tiny cut. The sword had stopped perfectly where it had met the man.

“Oh, why hello, Nymphetel,” said the marquis, with a cordial smile. “Finally decided to jump into my arms?”

“Hell no! Die, you deranged freak!” she dug her feet into the ground and twisted her hips as hard as she could. But the sword refused to budge.

“Well, I mean, I have been practically dying to finally see you.” Laughing, the centaur scooped the elf up before anyone could react and lightly brushed her hair aside. Nymn struggled, flailing her arms, but there was nothing she could do before the horse-man’s raw power. “Oh, so you were a man after all?” muttered the noble, as he brushed the knife-ear’s body with his wings. “Rather unfortunate, but I suppose I don’t mind too much. Your face is the only thing that really mattered in the first place.”

“Let go of him!” The lich behind the counter shrieked as she fired a raw arcane blast at the centaur’s face. But again, there was hardly a scratch.

“Hmmmmm… You’re not so bad, girl. Oh, and I mean your face, not your magic,” he said. “Shame you don’t have anything to penetrate.”

“Look at her like that again and I’ll fucking kill you!” shouted Nymphetel.

“With what? Some sort of venereal disease?” laughed the horse. “It’s your best bet.”

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“With my sword.”

She vanished from the centaur’s grasp, appearing again directly above his head with her weapon midswing. It was glowing with a crimson light—an enhancement cast by the lich that amplified her power threefold. The marquis eyed it for a brief moment, only to break into a grin. His hand moved faster than the elf’s blade, catching her by the wrist and smashing her into the ground.

Both the knife-ear’s arms were broken, and her spine likewise. But like the other Cadrian soldier, she shot to her feet without a moment’s delay and launched her skull into his chin. She rattled his brain, attacking his one weakness. But he shrugged it off and kicked her in the gut. The force of the hoof blew her body to bits. It parted her legs from her upper half, which flew straight into the nearest wall. Her hands, likewise, were no longer attached, torn off when he tightened his fingers into a vice.

“Fausta,” ordered the marquis.

“On it.”

The smaller soldier was on the elf before she could regenerate, pinning her to the ground with her two front hooves.

Charlotte immediately targeted the pony with a powerful spell—a bolt of red lightning backed by a hundred thousand points of magic—but a strum of the lyre saw it deflected. The other soldier played his weapon with his face a tired frown.

The barrier lasted until he was split in half. Having finally retrieved her weapons from the auditorium, Lia closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Pollux was the only one to react, raising his brow and bringing a hand to his chin.

Knowing his ability to regenerate, the already enraged berserker swung her weapons a thousand times, turning the soldier into a pile of scraps. She moved onto Fausta as soon as she was done. The pony’s shieldlance repelled her longer blade, but the spinning rapier tore through her weapon and armour alike. The trick would have worked on her subordinate, but the veteran was not as easily slain. Grabbing her severed head out of the air, she reattached it to her neck and backstepped the following attack.

She dodged another three blows before countering with her broken blade. The weapon was on point to meet the cat between the eyes, but Nymphetel, who had regenerated her arms, grabbed the horse’s legs and yanked her off balance. Natalya twirled past the disrupted shieldlance and ran her longsword through the pony’s gut. Her rapier followed suit, carving itself into the space between her eyes. And then, the two weapons traded places, ripping her cleanly in two.

There was a feral, dying scream.

But it was not the horse that perished.

On the other side of the room was a lich with her core crushed, broken between the marquis’ fingers. And between them, a bipedal lion with an arm sticking straight through his heart. He had thrown himself in the centaur’s path in order to protect the mage. But his sacrifice had amounted to nothing.

Both had met their ends.

Nymphetel was on the other side of the room in a heartbeat. Even with no weapon in hand, she charged, roaring with the rage of a thousand. But she was easily subdued. The marquis threw her to the ground, applying pressure to her shoulders with his hooves and locking her in place.

He didn’t release her even as Lia charged. The marquis ignored her harmless longsword and focused his eyes on the other blade. He watched it carefully as it arced through the air. Its trajectory was clear, marked as the weapon was slow. And that was precisely why he was caught off guard by a sudden slash.

A set of five lines crossed his chest, shredding his clothes and exposing his flesh.

Claw marks.

Cuts left by her disembodied blades.

They were shallow, barely deep enough to draw blood, but they drew his attention for long enough that he failed to catch her rapier’s acceleration. By twisting her body and pulling the sword with it, she forced Balyaev’s Whistle to move at twice its previous speed. It dug into his collar and drilled through his flesh. It ran its full length, parting his arm from his shoulder and his shirt from his sleeve.

But it was back by the time she blinked.

Unrelenting, the cat continued with a flurry of wild blows, each faster and heavier than the last. The centaur began to evade as they dug deeper, sidestepping and ducking only her shorter sword.

Her mind was clouded by rage. Every swing was backed by her seething hatred for Cadria and everything that its people stood for.

But even as her class converted her emotions to strength, she slowly began to understand.

She couldn’t win.

He was faster, stronger, and more durable. It was only by his indifference that she continued to live. He could capture her whenever he wanted and force her to obey his will, to use her as a tool in dragging her closest friends through the mud. In dragging Claire through the mud.

There were any number of ways he could force her to obey. Anything was possible if she was forced to swear obedience. A power enacted by Flitzegarde that not even the fox could deny.

She didn’t know how Claire would react. But there was a chance that she would not prioritize herself—that she would fall into his trap. And knowing that terrified her. More than anything that would happen to herself.

So she took a risk and prayed.

She prayed for the god of lightning to take root in her body.

Only to be met with a firm refusal.

But where her god had abandoned her, another stepped into his place. Vella, the goddess of war, took the catgirl’s hands between her fingers and offered the berserker her power.

Lia’s frame began to glow with a coral-pink light as her internals were fried. She could not handle the divine weaver’s power. Everything from her muscles to her magic circuits to her nervous system was scarred by the resulting enchantment.

She would never forge a rune again.

She would never swing a sword again.

She would never walk again.

And her weapon was the same. Its tip was slowly eroding, giving way to the power that flowed through her frame.

But for everything she lost, her next strike was empowered. Fueled by the might of an all-powerful god, it was more than capable of ending his life.

It was a shame then that it never landed on target.

His hand pierced her gut as soon as she lowered her blade, and with a sickening twist, emerged from her back.

He clicked his tongue as she collapsed, a smile making its way to her lips as her holy aura dispersed, fizzling out like the final spark still left in her corpse.

Her health was at zero.

And he was still alive.

But she had accomplished her goal.

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