Chapter 17: Chapter 16: Architect

[Locate Specialist] pointed me at an Architect.

It didn’t surprise me that it was a Specialist class, since Strategist existed. Anything that helped with my kingdom building was probably lumped in there too.

Arter Rinstone/Beastman/Architect/Lv. 42

 

That he was a Beastman had given me pause, since as far as I knew, most of them lived in Tanar, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or whatever flavour of beast he took after.

He’d been in an alleyway toward the walls, in a run-down area that held nothing of note. When I wandered through, wearing a thick, hooded cloak with Hana at my side, I’d discovered why: these were slums, even more broken-down than the rest of the city.

Instead of houses, dilapidated shacks stood among these streets, so rickety I thought a strong breeze would be enough to collapse them. Everything was filthy, too, a sickly sweet smell rising through the air. At that moment, I understood the weight of my task. I wouldn’t just have to improve the economy.

I’d have to improve the standard of living, too.

Plans for sanitation systems and improved housing projects rushed through my mind, but I shuffled them away. One thing at a time. For now, I just had to make sure we had enough money to undertake those dealings.

As we wandered through the slums, a few hushed whispers broke out, sharp glares slicing us as we passed. Any approach was staved off by a glance from Hana, and we quickly came to a narrow alleyway between two disused ‘houses’.

Considering my best strategy, I asked Hana to wait outside, eager not to intimidate my potential Council member. I entered the alley alone, immediately wrinkling my nose as the stench of trash invaded it.

Halfway down, covered by gloom and shadows, a cross between a man and a German Shepherd lay curled on the floor, three people standing over him and jeering.

“Comin’ ‘ere and stealin’ our jobs!” said one, a man with pink hair and no shirt.

“Prince Ribera’s got it all right, y’know,” said another, thick of arm with a pierced nose. “That new King’s just makin’ things worse. Why’s he spendin’ so much money when we need it to eat!”

“Exactly!” said the last, a willowy elven woman with wild hair and a snarl. “Why don’t you go back to Tanar and leave this mess to the ones it belongs to?”

“I was born in Asha,” sobbed Arter, covering his head with his arms. Pink-Hair lashed out with a kick to his midsection, and he coughed blood.

Righteous fury rose through my chest, spreading to the tips of my fingers with blazing heat. I activated [Command Centre].

Hana, get here now.

After cutting the connection, I searched the ground for a suitable missile. It was covered in detritus, spoiling me for options, and I settled for a shard of wood.

Then, I opted to channel the most angelic and divine presence I knew.

“Hey!” I yelled, slinging it at the elf, “assbutt!”

The trio whipped around to face me, their expressions furious. They all stepped back when Hana came beside me, though, and I smirked.

“Say hello to my little friend,” I said, bad accent and all.

Rubbernecking, Hana knit her brows. “Sire, where is this ‘little friend’?”

I sighed. “That would be you.”

“But sire,” she said, “I am significantly taller than you, and—”

“Just save the Architect already!”

Her lips parted in realisation, and she surged at the racists. Within a second, they lay in a pile, groaning. At least she’d had the restraint not to kill them.

While their actions were despicable, they were still my citizens, and despair and hunger could drive people to horrifying extremes. Morale was still barely positive, after all. I wanted to make their lives better. Maybe then, people like Arter wouldn’t have to live in fear.

I strode over to him, crouching down and laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. He cried freely, one hand gripping his stomach, and glowered up at me.

“What now?” he said, his hackles raised. “Have you come to compound my humiliation?”

Chuckling, I patted him. “I came to stop it. You’re the architect Arter Rinstone, right?”

“Not much of one,” he said. “The old King laughed all my designs away, and I’ve been left with nothing to my name but a few bits and a pile of failures.”

Well, I could relate to that.

“Don’t you wanna turn it around?” I asked.

He spat crimson. “How do you propose I do that? Present a design to the new King, whose Treasury is a joke, and would also laugh me away?”

“Do you see me laughing?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

His snout quivered as he noted Hana looming over my shoulder, and his eyes shot wide. “You… you’re—”

“Yes I am,” I said. “Why don’t we talk?”

***

In the spirit of killing 2 birds with 1 stone, I took Arter to the Lion’s Den. It was an inconspicuous establishment, and besides, it held a good memory. Maybe I could make more there.

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Still, I kept my hood up, wary of being mobbed. The barmaid recognised me and, with a cheeky wink, charged me for my first drink in Larheim along with the pitcher of cider I ordered. Nothing ever comes free. Afternoon was melding into evening, and though still not full, the patronage was increasing.

Rowdy construction workers hammered on several tables, and the atmosphere held more energy than it had previously. The barmaid—Celestia— informed me that her bard’s performance would be starting soon, so we wouldn’t have long to wait.

We occupied a square table in the corner, me and Hana on one side, Arter on the other. I’d ordered him drinks and a meal of mutton and gravy, which he devoured in the spirit of the dog he resembled.

As he did, Hana sipped at her cup, her cheeks quickly turning red and hiccups forcing their way from her throat.

I marvelled at her swaying in place, holding back my laughter.

“You really have no tolerance at all, do you?”

She hiccoughed, frowning. “How dare thee! I will have you know that my tolerance is unmatched, after all, I must tolerate you and your—hic!—impropriety.

“Huh?” I said, perplexed. “Is it really proper to say that out loud?”

“Fuck propriety!” she cried, and I wondered if I was a bad influence. She leaned into me, her face barely an inch away, and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you think so, Oliver?”

I liked that she used my name, but damn, she was way too close. The sweetness of her breath tickled my nostrils, her warmth invading my muscles as her firm but supple body pressed into mine. Her heartbeat thumped against my ribcage. My cheeks grew hot, and so did… other areas I’m not as comfortable mentioning.

Oh, balls. What was this woman doing to me?

“I think you shouldn’t drink,” I said, trying to push her away. I failed miserably, as her strength meant she barely had to resist.

Then, I shit you not, she giggled. “Why are you so boring? Is it because, when you think about it, I actually have authority over you?”

My face tried to settle on something, but couldn’t; I was far too confused. “Honestly, I don’t really care.”

“Go ahead, try to give me an order.”

“Please get off me,” I moaned.

“Make me!” She promptly did as I asked, drained her cup, and slammed it on the table, grinning.

I turned to Arter, who was gawking at us. “Sorry,” I said, “she’s not usually like that.”

“No, it’s quite all right,” he said, relaxing. “It’s actually rather entertaining. I’d always thought of the Arbiter as more stoic and imperious, if truth be told.”

“She tends to be more uptight, most of the time.”

“I can think of something I’d like to tighten,” she said, stroking my chin. Shifting my head away, I gaped.

“I’m—what?”

Ignoring me, she refilled her cup and proceeded to get even more drunk.

“Let’s talk, then,” I said, squashing my worry that Hana would end up starting a brawl. Surely not, right?

“All right,” said Arter. “What is it you want from me, sire?”

In the corner of my eye, I spotted the brown-haired bard take her place in the opposite corner, and smiled.

“Just listen,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ll understand once you do.”

The musician began plucking her lute, producing a mournful melody that instantly silenced the raucous groups. Each note wove directly into my soul, directing my emotions wherever she wanted them to go. It was beautiful.

When she started singing, it was almost supernatural, as if the clearest amplifier carried her voice through the room, dominating it.

Arter sat stunned, his jaw hanging and tongue lolling. As the chorus came, the music lifted into a hopeful, energetic beat, and a few men even stood up and started dancing. Cheers returned, and soon the crowd’s adoration mixed with her haunting lyrics:

And though I know one day Vox will come calling at my door,
Another thread leads me towards the curtain’s rising roar,
All my life I dreamed of such a bright, unerring dawn.
So I set myself to walk into the unknown new morn.

Applause almost shattered the rafters when she finished, and she grinned, promising that the next song would be even better. She launched into a marching tune, but I had all I needed.

“You see?” I said, still buzzing from her rhythm. “Imagine sitting in a place that could hold the entire city, listening to that.”

His ears perked up. “An amphitheatre, you mean?”

“Yep. Now imagine sitting there, knowing you designed it.”

He needed no more prompting, and immediately started carving on the table with his fork.

Specialist Recruited! Arter Rinstone/Beastman/Architect/Lv. 42 +10 XP +5 SP