Chapter 42: Arc III Chapter 8

III

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Arc III Chapter 8

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Aurora was pleased, but she had hoped for far more. Learning local architecture was all well and good, but not exactly what was desired.

 

Aurora addressed her will-o-wisps, “Do you have anything else to show me?“

 

Her loyal subjects nodded, and led the way, guiding her to an abandoned storage room. An ancient wooden door reinforced with metal plating blocked their path. Despite centuries passing, the wood showed no signs of rot whatsoever.

 

Her fluffballs looked at her with hopeful eyes.

 

...

...

...

 

Aurora had a hunch what they wanted from her. “Let me guess, there is something inside the room?“

 

Her fluffballs danced in confirmation.

 

“And you want me to open the door, don't you?“

 

Her fluffballs collectively averted their eyes, unwilling to meet her icy glare.

 

Aurora narrowed her eyes. They were using her as a glorified door opener. Once again, she was being used by her bunch of lazy freeloaders.

 

After all, it was her who fought the giant hairy spider, while they were hiding behind a corner, shivering in fear.  

 

A series of swift kicks solved the issue. One. Two. Three. Four. Amplified by mana, her legs breached the door. Unable to resist her onslaught, the hinges eventually failed the door.

 

The dust of centuries greeted Aurora, together with a large stack of ... crystals ... lightning crystals.

 

Her fluffballs danced in joy, and starting nibbling on their delicious crystals. They were hungry. The crystals would provide them with nutritious aether.

 

...

...

...

 

Aurora didn't share their enthusiasm for crystals. Her mood deteriorated considerably, only to be replaced by a cold glare.

 

Aurora fumed. Her subjects abused her trust in the most heinous way imaginable! This was lèse-majesté! This was high treason!

 

Her pride demanded justice, punishment, executions, exile!

 

They brought her all the way here just for some stupid, nonsensical crystals! Ungrateful rascals, only thinking about themselves and their voracious appetite!

 

The sticky cobwebs, the spiders, the bugs, the dust, and the dirt, all for naught.

 

Aurora crossed her arms. Her eyebrow twitched. Her will-o-wisps summoned her divine wrath, and now, they shivered in fear. Rightfully so. Hell hath no fury like a noble girl deceived.

 

Aurora narrowed her eyes. “You know your crime ... How do you plead ...“

 

Her doll interrupted her raging tirade.

 

Aurora stared at her doll. “What, you found something?“

 

Her doll nodded, pointing behind her.

 

Aurora followed her gaze. Among all the rubble, all the fallen stone, all the destruction, her eyes spotted a shimmering object, reflecting the bright daylight.

 

Her eyes widened in surprise. It was the shimmer of polished metal, The entire hall was littered with remnants of armours and weapons. This hall wasn't a ruin. This hall was a battlefield.

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Aurora scavenged the ancient battlefield. An ancient battlefield was not much different from a modern battlefield aside from terminology. Just fewer corpses, and more skeletons, but the purpose remained the same. In the end, rich looters were happy looters, as the dead had little use for their former belongings.

 

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They would be put now to better use, like enriching a poor little girl with limited funds. Their gracious sacrifice shall never be forgotten. At least, not until tomorrow.

 

Aurora offered a short prayer, a moment of silence for the deceased, a gesture of solemn respect before lining her pockets. Might their restless souls find peace in these accursed ruins.  

 

Afterwards, Aurora engaged in merry looting and plundering, assisted by her doll in an act of superb teamwork.

 

Her doll served as spotter, tasked with identifying worthwhile targets, while Aurora scurried across the battlefield.

 

Skeleton after another was marked, investigated, and stripped of all valuables. Jewellery and coins, gems and precious metals, were preferred due to weight and space constraints. Her pockets weren't as deep as she would wish for, and her satchels were already reaching their limit.  

 

So little space. So much loot. A greedy girl was forced to make though choices, but desperate times required desperate measures.

 

The vast majority of loot was worthless junk. Armour and weapons fell prey to an insidious enemy, rust. Exposed to the sun and the elements, the gear wasn't properly maintained for a long time.

 

Corrosion made short work of their weapons and armours. The tooth of time turned even the hardest steel to scrap, but not all was lost. Gold and silver cared little about rust and corrosion.

 

Even in death, the dead desperately clung to their status. The defenders fielded a force of soldiers, warriors, knights, aristocrats, a force composed of light and heavy infantry intermixed with mages, and archers.

 

A solid choice for narrow corridors, and bottlenecks. Infantry and mages were always a good choice. They offered a solid defence, and a powerful offence.

 

As their name suggested, the light infantry was lightly equipped, predominantly wearing mail and little plate. They wielded sword, axes, spears, and bows. Nothing exciting.

 

The light infantry formed the bulk of their forces, and the bulk of their cannon fodder.

 

They carried nothing of value. Just some rusted copper and bronze coins here and there. Small coin used by the common man.

 

The heavy infantry proved more worthwhile. Once clad in refined heavy plate, in polished armour adorned with gold and silver, coat of arms, crests, and emblems, they now rest among the dead,

 

hiding jewellery of all kind beneath their armour. Precious rings, earrings, bracelets, necklaces. Impractical and useless accessories, but ostentatious for sure.

 

Aurora took them all. Even their gold teeth. Nothing was safe from her thieving fingers.   

 

Rich knights and pampered aristocrats displayed their wealth and status even on the battlefield, much to her delight.

 

They probably served as officers, commanding troops, shouting orders.

 

It would explain why they were mainly found at the back. Apparently, the aristocracy rarely braved the frontlines, preferring instead to command from the safety of the rear, surrounded by their entourage of guards and adjutants.

 

In the end, they still got slaughtered, meeting the same end as their less illustrious peers.

 

Nevertheless, their weaponry attracted her curiosity. Their weapons were clearly different from the rest. Unlike their rusted counterparts, they stood the test of time surprisingly well. Unlike steel, the metal showed no sign of corrosion or degradation.

 

Aurora retrieved a peculiar short sword from the ground. Light and nimble, the blade glimmered silver under the sun. A sword was forged from a metal, from an alloy unknown to her. An alloy that looked like silver, yet offered the hardness and resilience of steel ... Mythril.

 

A single word. Aurora remembered as memories of the past invaded her mind.

 

Mythril, the metal of legends, light in weight and famous for its mana conductivity,  valued by smiths and forges across the realm, easily worth its weight in gold. Her father taught her so.

 

...

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...

 

As usual, a headache accompanied her flickering memeories, but this time, at least, her past knowledge proved useful. Despite all her shortcomings, Aurora was still a noble, versed and educated in various matters.

 

Aurora injected her mana. As expected, the blade responded well. Her mana encountered little resistance.

 

Her memories didn't lie, mythril was indeed an excellent conductor, and an excellent catalyst. No wonder that the mental was sought after by mages and nobles alike.

 

Aurora made her newest acquisition disappear in her satchel. It barely fitted. Fortunately, her blade was on the shorter end among short swords.

 

After all, she had little interest in her new swordie being requisitioned by a certain moody adventurer. Her find, her sword.

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