Chapter 2: Chapter 2: World’s Shittiest Archmage
Although all the bathing supplies he had to his name were bad-smelling soap, water, and a bit of alcohol, he relished in it.
Among the supplies, he had found a Cyclops-sized canteen of alcohol, which he would use sparingly with the soap and water to disinfect the myriad amount of germs he was covered with. It was tempting to use one of the large cups to bathe, but he didn’t want to waste that much water, even with the atrocious amount he had acquired. He could almost taste Bear Grylls’ salty tears as he rummaged through pockets larger than he was.
The soap in question wasn’t even a bar, it was some sort of cyclops-sized wad that smelled, like most everything else, as if it were made from bone. He recalled primitive soap could be made with wood ashes, or in this case, bone ashes. Though this made sense with a lack of trees, it didn’t explain how they lacked trees yet not fire. For now, he just chalked it up to magic, until proven otherwise. He had more pressing concerns than just soap.
The alcohol, however, smelled awful, even worse than the soap. It literally smelled like shit, which was rather telling of its origin. It was, however, the most reliable way to disinfect his heavily blood-stained body, so it was something he would have to bear with. He would eventually get some disease from the sheer amount of blood covering him, even with the soap, which necessitated it’s use. he’d have to thoroughly disinfect himself… even if it meant smelling like literal shit. This wouldn’t bite me in the ass later, would it? Surely not…
He scrubbed once, rinsed with alcohol, scrubbed a second time, and finally rinsed himself off with water. The resulting smell was comparable to if a man with dysentery was locked inside of a crypt that was going down in flames. Afterwards, he began the job of creating himself something to wear, as he didn’t want to just leave himself hanging, pun intended.
Although there was a set of needles, they were incredibly large, to the point where they were as large as he was. He found himself playing trial and error making a simple needle, though. He needed to take small chunks of bone and hoped he could chop them into the shape he needed before it was cut too small or crumbled in his hands. Even so, it didn’t take too long for him to make a crude bone needle. It was large for a needle, and was only a needle in that it was a sharp stick with a hole for putting thread through. It would at least work for making something simple, however.
From there, he just had to knit patches of fabric and leather together to create a simple tunic and pants. He even managed to make a somewhat comfortable set of underpants using some of the softer fabrics he found. Really, most of the time was spent looking through what scraps of fabric the cyclops had kept for repairing their clothes during the process. He wasn’t exactly a master with the needles, but it was a familiar sensation, like deja vu mixed with nostalgia; he couldn’t remember when, but he remembered sewing before.
He carried that with him when he started on his home renovations as well. He mostly just took chunks of leather off the giant’s armor and set it down inside, as opposed to fabric which would’ve easily molded in the dank room. He would’ve cut it into shapes, but he found the leather to be far tougher than the Cyclops’ skin, to the point where he could barely scratch it. Instead, he cut at the straps and moved it piece by piece.
There was another task he wanted to complete as well. He planned to pull the sleeping bag on top of the corpse and unfurl it the long way; this would make a heavy door and cover the hole up at the same time. He’d feel safer at night with it there. It was as heavy- perhaps heavier than- the backpack he had hauled from underneath the corpse using rope. He only managed to move it after removing the sleeping bag. Now, he would need to pull it on top of the corpse and unfurl it. First, he would pull it up by the straps by rope.
As he executed his plan, that familiar nostalgia set in again, though this time he couldn’t grasp what exactly felt familiar to him. Was it the task? The hard work? Perhaps it was the tirelessness he felt as he put a plan into motion, and had nothing but work ahead of him. He thought of this even as he slept, once he had finally fixed his shelter and the sun had set too far for him to continue working. What is it that I felt, exactly? What is it that keeps setting off these emotions?
As soon as I drifted into unconsciousness, rather than being embraced by blissful silence, I instead was met with what looked like an incredibly pissed-off 30-ish office worker. His figure was rather heavy-set, not exactly buff but definitely a head higher than he was, complete with a near-buzzcut, white collared shirt, shoes, and slacks.
“Shit, shit, shit!” The apparition flipped an imaginary table in an imaginary room, sending metaphorical shit all over the metaphorical place. The only things in this void was a desk complete with a set of monitors and a chair, as well as a large table, now turned asunder. Random objects such as books, papers, and even toys now lying across the tacky carpet that everything else stood on.
A figment of his mind, the man himself just kind of sat there. No longer were his thoughts occupied by the memories which eluded him. Instead, all he thought was: ‘how the hell did I get here?’ He just wanted some honest sleep. Whoever was in front of him didn’t care about that, though from what he could glean from their emotional state, he had brought with him bigger problems.
“You!” They suddenly asked, pointing at him as though he was accusing him of something.
“Me?” Donovan responded, pointing at himself, trying his best to look the picture of innocence.
They grimaced at him in immediate response, his face contorting in further frustration, “You fuck! You don’t remember? Do you not remember ANYTHING we discussed? What the fuck happened to the plan? Why are you fucking around with a corpse!” He was pulling at what little hair he had at this point in anger.
Donovan merely shook his head, “Hey, I don’t remember anything prior to me falling out of the sky. You wouldn’t happen to know why I’m here, would you?” Suddenly, the office worker stopped just long enough to give Donovan an incredulous look, cocking his head to the side. He scratched his chin a moment, contemplating.
One moment became two before he decided to respond, “Truth…?” He spoke, unsure of himself. He put his hand to his chin once more before literally glowing with rage, motes of red coming off of his skin, and kicked his desk in another fit of anger, sending it and his monitors falling with a crash, promptly bursting into flames. Not even turning around, he abruptly explained the situation. “Okay. Let me put it in real simple terms for you; you were brought here by a god, one I contracted. Of course, he found a new and unique way to get an exclusive spot on my shitlist by fucking up so bad that, not only do you NOT recall what we discussed prior to you descending, the remnant magic from you being taken here clung to you on the way down. Which is in and of itself an even bigger problem.” As soon as his spiel was over, Donovan opened his mouth to speak, “So-”
“Shut up.” The man interrupted him. Before Donovan could form a response, he pulled out a piece of chalk and blackboard seemingly from out of nowhere. Drawing a stick figure, he pointed to Donovan. “This is you. Not much to look at. Definitely not Obnoxiously Obvious Magical Beacon material, but this,” he said, blotting out the stick figure and forming a large circle around it with blue chalk, covering nearly the entirety of the board in a blurred motion, “Is what you look like to anyone with a magic radar and two brain cells to rub together. Naturally, it doesn’t help the plans we discussed that you now have forgotten if literally everyone on this side of the continent knows exactly where you are.”
Donovan was about to ask about who he contracted, but instead thought to stay on topic for the time being. “If I’m that saturated with, well, magic, how am I alive?” This time, the stranger showed an emotion besides extreme anger. Not exactly happiness; curiosity.
“That’s a great question, which even I don’t have a complete answer to. If I had to guess, probably your pseudo-homunculus body from being deconstructed and reconstructed to travel from Earth to Adamah.”
Donovan furrowed his eyebrows, Does that mean what I think it means? he thought. “Yes that means what you think it means.” They spoke as though they read his mind, “All of it, that is. Well, most of it- for now the only substantial difference is that you’re closer to this world’s humans than your world’s, as your body was modified so it wouldn’t implode in on itself the second you arrived because of the chemical imbalance. That, and it’s a better receptacle for magic.”
Still shocked at this revelation, he continued with the explanation. “However, the sheer energy could still degrade your body over time. It isn’t an immediate concern, but we’ll need to sort it out within…eh, at least a month or two before you start seeing damage. For now, though, our immediate concern is at least masking your emissions and getting back on track with our plans.” This was the second time he had mentioned it, and now Donovan couldn’t help but ask. “What plans, exactly? I don’t know who you are or why I’m even here, but I could at least get an explanation to what I’m being thrown into.” Donovan narrowed his eyes at him, “Show me why I should trust you.”
There was a moment of silence between them, as he simply put his hand to his chin in response. Another moment later, however, he decided to answer him. “Okay, I’m shit at dealing with people in an even remotely subtle fashion, so I’ll just explain this rationally. First thing you should know is, you won’t be able to get by in this wasteland without me, perhaps not even in the world at large. You simply don’t know enough about the world to avoid raising massive flags for the big and powerful.”
He motioned towards Donovan, “If nothing else, imagine you’re a big juicy transmigrator carrot and the rest of the world are hungry rabbits ready to literally put you in a tank and squeeze you of all the technological secrets in that head of yours, who would all be delighted to know that you’re constantly broadcasting your location. Delightful experience, wouldn’t recommend it; you’re not the first person to be transported here- hell, look at me, I’m living evidence. They know how valuable you are. Whatever notions of me you have, put them aside long enough to at least get you out of this fuckhole and, better yet, out of a bodybag, because they don’t even need to take you alive. It just makes the process easier.” He extended his hairy arm towards Donovan, motioning for a handshake. “Do we have an agreement?”
Donovan took his hand. “Only if you promise you’ll explain everything as soon as we get out of… this dump, whatever it’s called. What about it, every other office worker?” He smiled and shook his hand, “Deal. I haven’t told you my name, have you? Call me Rau.” Donovan cocked his head at him, “Is that short for something?” Rau shrugged, “It’s short for Rau’jence. I was a reincarnator, rather than a transmigrator. That’s the name I was ‘born’ with.”
“What about your, well, body?” He pointed at Rau. “I decided to use this form because it’s what I was first born with, but names die more easily. At least, Rau stuck more than John. I mean, which sticks better, Rau’jence the Great Archmage, or John the long-dead 9-5 IT director? Wait, we’re already getting off topic.” He snapped his fingers and suddenly all the objects which had been smashed, tossed, or turnt over reverted to their original position, as well as with the addition of two more comfortable chairs across the table from one another.
“Well, that’s what happens when you get me talking about myself. Back to pressing matters.” He said, suddenly taking on a more serious expression, “We have maybe an hour or two before me imposing on your unconscious body begins inflicting permanent damage. Which, in layman terms, is our time limit; until then, I’m going to focus on teaching you an advanced ritual that will mask your emissions. I’d love to send the schematics directly into your temporal lobe, but as it stands, it would just fry your brain.” Donovan pursed his lips, That’s certainly not troubling at the very least.
Rau handed him a notebook and pencil from across the table, then clasped his hands together, “This is going to be a hell of a crash-course but thankfully you aren’t learning how to sling balls of napalm or construct man-made horrors beyond comprehension, just copy down diagrams and pour magic into them. Normally it would take much longer for a beginner to learn, but you can afford to be crude with your precision and waste massive amounts of magic considering you might as well be made out of it at the moment.” Once again, he pulled a chalkboard out of thin air, and placed it at the head of the table. On it, ‘Magical Diagrams for Dummies’ was written.
As he stood atop a large rock formation, Hueghe surveyed the landscape with the gaze of a hawk, dutifully watching for discrepancies that might indicate any signs of life. Decidedly, he sat down, not finding anything different from even an hour ago. Breathing in, he made a conclusion; “This place sucks ass.” He determined sagely, sighing into the warm evening air. You are reading story Spellsword at novel35.com
He and his unit had been called here late afternoon, transported to these coordinates via teleportation. He had been expecting to have a nice break while on standby in case of an event like this, but it was abruptly cut off by the Lady Guard herself requesting backup. In the fucking Wastes no less. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if his armor was suited for this situation, but it had barely enough time to adapt to normal temperatures after a long expedition in the frigid south. And of course his attempts to convince Boris to use cooling magic on the team fell on deaf ears; “Waste of energy.” this, and “This place has almost no magic to recuperate from!” that.
Even Gerard, whose massive body and set of armor is probably causing him to sweat like a pig in this heat, simply shrugged and told him to ‘take his lumps like a man’. Fucking Fortis-biased asshat. Now that I think about it, with how much magic he’s focused just into his skin he probably was able to enhance his sweat glands. Instead of being able to power through with hyper-efficient sweat, all he had was his stupidly powerful senses. Which may have well been useless in a place where you have an unimpeded view for miles around and no way to mask it.
Allegedly, Grade-7 emissions were detected from something that wasn’t a powerful beast. In a magically-deprived wasteland like this, he’d also count on it being the work of a mage doing something far away from civilization for the purpose of not being found by the time people reach them. He seriously doubted some great warrior had somehow made a breakthrough in power all the way out here. There isn’t even anything strong enough to be worth a challenge to someone of that strength.
Speaking of strength. His gaze landed on the Lady Guard’s shared tent with the princess; of course, artificed to keep the inside comfortable. Pricks. And yet, she was probably the strongest person he had ever met. This trip was originally an affair meant to train the princess in controlling her magic, but more relevantly, so the Lady Guard could hunt a powerful magic beast for sport. Like they were on vacation.
The only reason she called for backup at all was because a Grade-7 mage has an infinite number of cards up their sleeves. Without a team of anti-mages, it wouldn’t be difficult for them to just vanish into thin air as soon as they realize they’re outmatched. Capturing one alive is impossible, even. And so, we’re here. Grade sixes themselves, he and his team are mainly just extra support to ensure the princess is sufficiently protected. Just add-ons; all the insane woman needs to beat them is the antimages. He seriously doubted they would even get any action out here.
His focus shifting to the antimages’ tents, they looked to be similarly modified to keep out the heat. Even so, two of the twelve were sleeping outside- completely upright of course, weapons to their side. They didn’t entirely trust me to watch for the night, but at the Lady Guard’s insistence they compromised, except of course in an antimage fashion.
Full units of antimages are rare, but the few out there are usually managed by the military directly. They’ve earned a well-known reputation for how sheerly strict they are, which is saying something for a country like Pysanda, where even the most freelance of mercenaries has to deal with intensely regulated guild management. The bastards basically live and breathe to kill mages. The expression that nobody has ever escaped the sight of a Pysandian anti-mage holds true as far as Hueghe’s concerned. He didn’t say it out loud, though; they were elitist enough without him further inflating their ego.
The night came and went without a fuss. He could go a few days even without sleep, and it wouldn’t affect him. Bored, Hueghe stole a book from Boris’ tent to read as the moons passed overhead, lighting the night well enough for him to read. He picked it since it was tucked away from the other books for some reason, and now he was curious. To his shock, it was literal smut. Hard-cover copy too, he knew his stuff. The book didn’t have a cover for obvious reasons, but it was apparently focused on sexy succubi and other demons. He was almost tempted to keep it, but he would’ve noticed. So once he had his fill, he quietly tucked it back where it was. What’s yours is mine, what’s mine is mine…
Sizzling could be heard as the dawn broke and the moons were long swept away. Using a small magical tool, one of the princess’ attendants cooked a simple breakfast for her and her immediate hires. Thankfully she also thought to make some to share with the rest of us, including the antimages who took it ‘begrudgingly’ as they didn’t want to rebuff her kindness, yet wolfed it down just the same as the rest of them. That little magical tool of hers apparently enhanced the flavor of the food, and he almost thought he could see them crying with how good it was. And hell, he agreed. Who knew meat and oats could taste so goddamn good!?
Immediately after breakfast was finished, they got into formation. In the front were both mercenary team’s bruisers; Seymor and one other nameless soldier who was on the lithe side compared to the others, as well as my team’s, Gerard and Counsil, Gerard being the only one without hulking armor. ‘My skin does the work just fine.’ he claimed, and seeing it in action, I believed him. Counsil, meanwhile, was your standard warhammer merc, no offense. Blunt end towards the enemy is how the saying goes.
Behind them was yours truly, as well as Ferris and Tyran, the latter being a woman of a similar set of skills to him, but with a focus on hit and run tactics instead of tactical awareness. As for the former, he was in my team, a ranger specialized in archery. Strong yet limber arms to pull back powerful arrows and a mind just as flexible to predict his target’s movements. Saved my ass from needing Boris’ menistrations more than once.
Speaking of Boris, it was just him and a mage with the name Quiere in the middle. It isn’t that they’re that much rarer; it’s that this place utterly sucks ass for mages to pool magic from. Even Hueghe knew that. He didn’t know the specifics, just that the ambient mana was so low it strained their reserves. Luckily, they had backup options. At least, Boris did. Quiere wasn’t talkative; I had to ask his team just to find out his name. He probably did, he would be stupid to be working out here if he wasn’t.
Boris had the most interactions with him out of everyone, unsurprisingly. He said they mainly just talked about how low the magic was here, which was an apparently illuminating talk for him. The conditions were caused by a magical nuke, whatever that was. Quiere was very hush-hush about it, but had sources to confirm it. Not exactly a cheerful lad, but he was at least nice enough to share that information.
Being the most perceptive member of his team, both literally and figuratively, it was his job to screen their ‘coworkers’. Unlike his team, Quiere’s commonly came out here to hunt the monsters as well as act as guards and guides for scholars and sometimes even caravans that wished to avoid the border between Pysanda and Vers.
While it wasn’t luxurious, it was profitable and there was considerable demand yet low supply when it came to willing mercenaries. Not that he wanted any part of it; Tyran was just eager to list off the perks of it. He enjoyed the woman’s company though, so he let her prattle on as they marched towards where the Clandestine Class was sighted. She wore a white cloak to keep away the heat, but that barely hid the sway of her auburn hair which flowed out of it.
Underneath was similar gear to his, though with way more knives and an absence of items like a telescope to further enhance his clarity of vision and a set of headphones for plugging into the ground to hear far away footsteps and the like. Neither would find much use out here, unfortunately. He sighed into the hot air as they marched. “What is it?” Oh, she heard that. “I… well, to be honest, I just feel kind of useless. I mean, I’m not picking up anything nobody else here can and a national hero is sitting right there. I’m not ambitious enough to feel a need to leave an impression, but I certainly don’t want to feel like a waste of rations.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I don’t really think she cares about your team in general, she’s been kinda distant from the rest of us after she called you guys in.” Oh? I glanced over at her. The woman was a towering blonde with darker skin, strong thighs and even stronger arms. She and the princess walked behind the two mercenary teams with her attendants and specialists in tow. They apparently could afford to have a radar operator and scrier, even, with packrats to carry their equipment.
Oh yeah, the Antimages. Almost forgot about them. They marched in perfect formation behind the attendants, four sets of three all in tandem, making the rear guard behind them from the first team look sloppy in comparison. Whoever this mage was rather thoroughly pissed the Lady Guard off, enough to call in these goons. Said vacation was cut off by a need to put down an Archmage, and she can’t wait for extra guards for the princess either. I’d imagine that even she's going to have trouble explaining the expenses to the treasury.
Each of them wore black garb marked with some kind of sigil, rather spartan in design. Just enough to protect them from spells with special enchantments yet with little to no personal effects or physical armor, almost like some mad scientist had made 10 too many clones. Despite the heat, they continued using their clothes. As likely as it was that they were just soldiering through it, he imagined they had them modified to keep them comfortable in the heat as well. Not that they’d tell him even if he asked.
They were silent the whole time, but they were vigilant of their backs as they marched on. As for the mercenaries, they just bickered to stave off the tension. Each of them was walking into a possible fight with a grade-7 mage after all. Unlike a monster or a warrior, classifications weren’t nearly as much to go off of for them. While they had their own set of ranks that were a bit more standardized than others, they couldn’t determine that just with magical emissions. At least, not from a long distance and not without highly specialized equipment as Boris complained when he poked him about it. They could possibly either be much weaker or much stronger than a warrior of a similar playing field.
This just made the presence of the antimages all the more reassuring. They could even said playing field by targeting mage’s weaknesses and counteracting spells through their own training in the arcane. Namely, each and every one could deny them from teleporting, which was essential for dealing with higher ranks. He hated to say it, but their odds were significantly better with them here in the unlikely case of a full-blown Archmage.
Unlike the others, he stood to the side to peer around the group. As the man managing the radar warned them of them coming up on the source, he began watching more closely. Eventually, he spotted a noticeable dot on the horizon.
Pulling out a telescope, it looked to be the desiccated corpse of a cyclops. There were even birds picking at the remains. “What is it that you see?” the Lady Guard suddenly asked from behind him, startling him. “Oh, uh, it looks like the corpse of a cyclops. At least a day or two old by the looks of it, the birds have gotten to it.” Looking in the telescope again, he saw the damage to it. “Dear god, a massive hole has been rent into the back. What in the hells could’ve done that…” This time, it was Tyran who startled him. “Eviscerators.” She quipped. My eyes went wide, “What are those? The name sounds dubious.”
She shrugged at that, but explained further. “They’re the apex predators of the Wastes. They can get by on even less magic than a human can, and come in massive numbers. They’re like wolves crossed with bears, nasty things. I’m not surprised that they could take down a cyclops, what I’m more surprised about is why a cyclops was alone in the first place.” Lady Guard also raised her eyebrow at this, “The Wastes’ Cyclopes are tight-knit groups of nomads, they don’t veer off from their groups. Doing so is a death sentence. If I’d have to guess, he was either sent on a specific mission, exiled, or both.”
“Both?” asked Hueghe. “There’s a tradition for the Wastes’ Cyclopes where a criminal can earn back their place by doing something dangerous yet important to their Band.” She detailed, well versed on the topic. “However, I’m not seeing any signs of a mage, are you?” I shook my head. “No, not that I can see. We’ll have to get close.” She grumbled, “I’m going to enjoy pummeling them.”
~
Our guards were up and our search thorough as we more closely inspected the corpse and also site of the Grade-7 emissions. Or at least, what was left of them.
“What do you mean, they’re gone!?” Shouted the Lady Guard, in visible rage. “I’m sorry, Lady Guard, but my scrying isn’t of use either. It’s almost like he didn’t exist in the first place, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen such thorough masking! I wouldn’t have noticed it at all if there wasn’t such a clear absence of where a person should be.” She swore under her breath. Searching the rest of the camp wasn’t of much more use. The trail had gone cold.
But that wasn’t the only thing that was odd. It was clear that Eviscerators as Tyran called them killed this cyclops, but they ran away suddenly as they were feeding. If they had finished, we wouldn’t even be looking at bones. No, there were frantic tracks leading away from the corpse of what must’ve been hundreds of them. We stipulated that the mage must’ve scared them off and… used the corpse as a home? “Necromancy?” I thought out loud; it must’ve come to everyone’s heads as well. My mage friend, Boris, thought otherwise. “No, there would’ve been much more of an imprint, both magical and physical.” he countered. “It definitely doesn’t match how spontaneously he vanished. I’m starting to wonder if either the Scrier or the radar were faulty…” was just as baffled as the rest of us at the mage’s disappearance.
With the goal turning from finding to tracking, I was both elated and surprised to find my enhanced senses to become the most valuable in this situation. We looked for anything of use for said tracking, but we came up empty. At least until I stumbled upon a wet patch of ground the others ignored. “Hmm?” I thought to get a smell, and I was repulsed by the combined stench of both alcohol and shit hitting my nostrils at once. “AUGH-” I spat outHoly shit that surprised me. My enhanced sense of smell can’t take that, dear god.
“Did you find something?” Asked Gerard as the rest of the team aided in the search. He got a whiff of the air, “The hell’s that smell?” He spoke, his face contorting in disgust. Tyran came over as well, but instead of being repulsed, she looked surprised. “Is this… cyclops alcohol?”
We both raised an eyebrow at that. “Alcohol? That?” We said nearly harmoniously. She abruptly explained, “It’s made using feces. I had the honor of trying some, and honestly, it tastes better than it smells, though that doesn’t say much. Shit is still shit.” She glanced at the wet pile. “Did the mage pour out some as an ode to the cyclops? That’s a dwarven tradition I’m pretty sure…”
‘Why is it on the ground? Did our evil mage really feel that bad for them? Or…’ Suddenly, it clicked. “Oh shit, did he bathe using it?” Gerard practically exploded at that, in the kind of big bellowing chuckle that belonged in a tavern. “A mage, bathing with shit alcohol? Has to be the shittiest archmage I’ve ever seen!” He said, holding his sides as he tried and failed to keep in his laughter. Tyran shrugged as she also caught his laughter, “I guess that explains why we didn’t find bloody tracks leading away. The ones we found just trailed around the corpse instead of really going anywhere.”
“No, guys, if this means what I think it means, I think I can track him using the smell.” The two of them shut up at that, suddenly going wide-eyed. Gerard was the first to speak up, “We need to tell her what you found!” We practically scrambled to find her, and we relayed what we discovered. “Well, fuck, that’s unbelievably stupid, yet it’s the best lead we have.” Lady Guard said, impressed and disgusted at the same time. “Look around the camp for a trail. If you find one, tell me immediately and I’ll organize the rest.”
Sure enough, the smell of the alcohol carried off in a seemingly random direction to the north-west, yet carried in a consistently straight line. Quickly, I returned to her, “I was right, there’s a trail that spans directly to the north-west.” She grinned wide, with the toothy smile of a predator that just found it’s prey. “Wonderful, we have something. Now we just have to track the bastard down. MEN! WE’VE GOT SOMETHING!” She abruptly shouted, almost bursting my eardrum.
“Ahhh, fuck, that was loud.” I complained, grasping the sides of my head. “Ah, I’m sorry about that. Accidentally damaged our tracking hound.” She apologized, grinning again. “You’ll be sitting at the front this time, so we don’t lose our direction. Don’t let it go to your head, you just need to steer the group.”
This time the other team of mercenaries were positioned so I took point along with the princess and the Lady Guard, because the princess couldn’t leave her side. Which of course sat me right next to the crown princess AND the Lady Guard herself.
Well, shit, I certainly got the recognition I wanted now didn’t I? Let's just hope I don't fuck up...
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