Kernoel77
patreon
Chapter 162: Plotting and Scheming and maybe a bit of Tomfoolery
🕑 Added 2023-09-16 03:10:10 +0000 UTCChapter 162: Plotting and Scheming and maybe a bit of Tomfoolery
Zyl and Nir talked, for a long, long while. It was evening when they started, and by the time they were done, it was past midnight. Mercury had zoned out for a good bit of it at first, when it was about their family things. Later on, when they were more busy catching up, he chimed in.
He learnt more about Nir. She liked to talk in short sentences, and using nicknames. By now, Zyl did allow her to use the short form of his name again. For which she hugged him profusely. Then chattered on.
Hour after hour ticked by, and eventually, Nir left again. She hadn’t reconciled with Zyl. It wouldn’t go this quickly, or this easily. But he was willing to at least give her a chance again. Which she was grateful for.
Zyl himself ended the talk with a somber smile. He was still a bit puffy-eyed and red faced, but he seemed pleased with how it went. “A necessary conversation,” he called it, before laying down on the mattress and passing out almost immediately while hugging Mercury.
It was a peaceful night.
- - - - - -
It was a miserable night for Berthorn.
He dreamt of the mopaaw again.
Every. Single. Night. Since getting that damn wound.
Distantly, he wondered what kind of Skill it was, at least in the moments when he awoke, bathed in sweat. He’d tried a couple potions to help him sleep deeper, but the nightmares always seemed to worm their way into his brain. If it was a Skill, it was strong, at least.
But was it?
Berthorn had lost weight because of this. He’d cut down on his sleep as well, sometimes only getting in a few hours of rest every night. And he thought during those times, so much so that some of his predicting Skills levelled.
They whispered to him, telling him that it was an item. The strange, liquid metal on the thing’s claws, the stuff that had cut through his skin so easily. Of course that little beast wouldn’t be able to do that itself, of course it needed an item, he was a dragon!
Had he been in his true form, unleashed all his might, a single kick of his could destroy that measly creature-
A deep sigh left his lips as Berthorn rubbed his eyes. The late nights were getting to him, driving him borderline insane. He was so easily agitated now. That was why his mood was bad.
Sure, the night was miserable, but it had been fruitful as well. Having a spy return, one with such valuable information, too, had been a windfall he desperately needed. Maybe it was because of <Underdog>? It did promise benefits when he was in a disadvantageous situation…
He shook his head. Whether the Skill had influenced things or not didn’t even matter. Things were just the way they were, no more explanations needed. He just had to make do with it.
And right now, that meant grinding a way to get rid of the nightmares. Which probably meant getting rid of that insidious rat that haunted him. Maybe he could have accepted it were it his brother, but now he had to endure a scar from something like that?
By reflex, he touched the wound, feeling the faint ridges where his skin had healed not quite right, the way it stretched differently, and grimaced. A dragon, scarred by a mopaaw. Something occasionally kept as a pet, and usually roaming forests in small packs. Yet, somehow, it had made it to his house…
Berthorn sighed again. What should he do, now?
He knew where they were. Where his brother and that beast were hiding. The orc had given out all the information, eventually.
There were already more people trailing them, different ones this time. He knew more about how things worked, and knew that a good deal of marking Skills could be exploited by the creature to find the person who’d applied them.
To counteract that, Berthorn decided to have his people use items. A compass that would always point towards a designated target, which he had one of. For his brother, the method was different but achieved the same effect. It was a leaf, which would change the direction of the wind around it to slowly fly to whoever it was bound to.
He hoped that these wouldn’t be traceable by the mopaaw. His skills seemed to tell him it should go well, but they had been wrong. Perhaps they were influenced by his bias? A worthwhile thought, but one that he discarded for now.
Instead, he plotted. With Zylnareth having returned, there was much more pressure on his mother. Especially since she did not know where they were, at least as far as Berthorn knew. She would hurry her artificers, and hurried workers were liable to make mistakes.
Perhaps he could exploit that.
Quickly, agents were sent out, the ones he had already placed informed of new arrivals. All the string’s he’d pulled to get people into position were paying off; within just a couple hours, Berthorn already had an entrance into his mother’s crafting room.
He didn’t cause much trouble. Instead, he just had a tiny vial of his blood added to one step in the process. As insurance, for now.
Before that happened, he thought more. His troublesome brother and his new “friend” were being harboured by Irrithuriel. He scoffed at that. The old snow-witch liked to cause trouble. She’d been annoying to reach out to before, and he had very few spies even in other members of her clan.
Could she be manipulated? Perhaps. Perhaps not. He would have to probe her to find out.
Slowly but surely the hours ticked by. When the night ended, Berthorn’s eyes were just as red as Zyl’s when he’d gone to bed. After a whole night of thinking, he plotted some more.
- - - - - -
Mercury, on the other hand, had a lovely breakfast the next day, eating some bread with soft boiled eggs on top of them. He didn’t start crying this time, but it was pretty close to be fair.
He’d slept well, enjoying the comforts of a soft bed once again, and stretched quite a bit when he woke up. By now, Zyl was back on his feet, and they could think about what to do next. Mercury just waited until they’d eaten breakfast to ask the question.
“So, when do we get out there and get your spark back, Zyl?” he asked, directing the question to Irrithuriel as well.
The red-haired dragon, who’d just begun leaning back in his seat, straightened a bit again. “That is a very good question, Mercury. I don’t know,” he said.
“The sooner we act, the better,” the other dragon interrupted. “Once the weapon is finished, getting your spark back out is unlikely. And both the spy and your sister are risks.”
Zyl grimaced a bit at the mention of Nir. They’d spoken a lot and were on better terms now, much better than when Zyl had just returned, really, but that didn’t exactly mean he was unaware of her faults. She was a horrible liar, and couldn’t exactly keep a secret very well, but she had promised to tell no one about meeting with them, so there was that.
Hopefully she’d stick to her word, and if she didn’t, well, they would be expecting it, at least.
“She’s usually more quiet, at least the way I knew her back when I lived with her,” Zyl said.
“Maybe she stood in your shadow, Friaminth.” Irrithuriel looked him in the eyes.
“Or your parents used to influence her more until she learned to care less?” Mercury supplied.
Zyl just gave a shrug and a half hearted sigh, and the three sat in silence for a little while, only interrupted by the clacking that the legs of irrithuriel’s assistant made while moving.
“Well, we need at least a plan,” Mercury said.
The other two turned to him with questioning looks. There was another pause.
“Wait. Are you both expecting me to come up with this?”
Irrithuriel gave a small sigh. “Well. To be fair. Attending the ball was your idea, Starlight, and it worked out rather splendidly.”
Zyl nodded in agreement. “Also, we’re planning to help, of course.”
Mercury blinked a few times. “Alright, fuck it,” he decided. “Let’s do it. Where is Tryn making the weapon?”
“There are multiple workshops, and all of their locations are secret, as far as I’m aware,” Irrithuriel answered.
“Well, how do we figure out where they are?”
“Trynakorie is meticulous. She’d keep record of it somewhere within her study, I’d wager,” Zyl said.
“Well where is her study, then?” Mercury asked.
“Most likely within the main building of our family, though that is just a guess.” Zyl shrugged.
Mercury raised an eyebrow at him. “You seem awfully calm for the person who needs a bit of themselves back.”
“Well, I suppose I’ve gotten used to the cold, dead void within my chest,” he said, defanging the words with a teasing smirk.
“Alright, Friaminth, if your words are correct, then we simply need to infiltrate Trynakorie’s study, steal the document of where the workshops are, invade those workshops one after another, find out where the weapons is being made, then take your spark back,” Irrithuriel summarized, trying to get the conversation back on track.
“Sounds about right. How do we do that?” Mercury asked.
“The main building is quite a distance from here. If I fly-”
“You really should not,” Irrithuriel chided.
“Fine. If you fly Mercury there, he should be able to get in.”
Irrithuriel raised an eyebrow. “Starlight is our infiltrator?”
Mercury looked at him incredulously. “Yeah, I’m our infiltrator?”
Zyl gave a weak smile and another shrug. “Well, got any better ideas?”
“We could ask Nir to steal it?” Mercury suggested.
“Unnoticed?” Now it was Zyl’s turn to cross his arms and raise an eyebrow.
“... Point taken. Alright, then, I guess. I go in, grab the plans, get out. Seems like our best shot.”
“Please, do not take the plans. Just look at them, try to remember them, but don’t take them with you,” Irrithuriel said.
“Right, right. Got it. Just remember the plans. Do you have some kind of item that I could use to record what they look like?” Mercury asked. He didn’t directly mention a camera, since he was unsure whether <Language> would translate that properly.
Irrithuriel seemed to think for a bit, then nodded. “I do. Give me a moment.” With that, she headed off.
A few minutes later, she already returned, holding a vial of ink. The glass holding the liquid seemed to be covered in frost, though.
“There we are,” she said. “This is a bit of ice ink, enchanted to hold the shape of an image in the user’s mind. I usually use it to visualize what my spellforms look like when practicing, so that I can focus on imperfections, but if you get a clear image of the map, you should be able to just put it into your inventory and head back here.”
Mercury nodded. “It’s a plan, then. How will I not be noticed?”
“I can try drawing up a rough plan of the place, though it will have changed by now. As for not being noticed, most of the guards are likely not paying attention too well, given that invasions into other people’s homes are generally rare,” Zyl explained.
“Does your family have any sort of like… forcefield, Zyl? One that can detect when any lifeform comes close and vaporize it?”
The dragon grimaced at that. “Yes, though it simply sends a warning of something entering. Sadly, I don’t quite know how it works.”
“I can probably get you through it,” Irrithuriel said.
“What if the effect is continuous?” Mercury asked.
“We’d need someone to cause trouble with that, then,” Zyl said.
Mercury’s eyes lit up. “Maybe Nir can help us out.”
Immediately, both the dragons grimaced.
“Nirandia is certainly formidable…” Irrithuriel said. “But she is not exactly subtle.” Zyl nodded in agreement.
“Any better ideas, then?” Mercury asked, rolling his eyes.
Silence.
“That’s what I thought. Zyl, I know you gave her something to contact each other. Tell her we need the dome gone.”
“We’re not calling it ‘the dome’,” the dragon said.
“Yes we are.”
“Please, it’s a scrying field, just-”
“We need. The dome. Gone,” Mercury insisted.
Zyl could just sigh. “Fine, then.”
Irrithuriel snickered at the two for a moment. “Tomorrow we act, then. Firaminth, your sister will disable ‘the dome’ at noon.” She seemed to take pleasure in stretching out their provisional name for the scrying field. “Today, I prepare some potions. Tomorrow, I fly Starlight over, and apply any helpful spells I know. Then, I hide myself past the dome,” she grinned again, “and wait for Starlight to be back out.”
Mercury nodded. “Sounds good to me. I’ll figure out anything else inside. For today, I guess I should practice my stealth Skills.”
“Then I’ll get to making those potions.”
“And I’ll tell Nir about the scrying field-”
“‘The dooooooome’,” Mercury and Irrithuriel corrected mockingly.
- - - - - -
Stormbraver had rapidly become a very busy city. Somehow, where people had been leaving before, it now changed. New people came to the city day after day.
Avery sat at his desk, buried in paperwork, and groaned. “Marcel, bud, I should be out there doing cleanup, not writing my name down on things that are already all but confirmed.”
The receptionist shrugged, not bothering to hide the big grin on his face. “Well, boss, this is your life now. I’ve waited months for this. You’re not going out. You’re not running. This is your work, and I’m not doing it, because guess what?” He paused dramatically, then leaned forward and whispered evilly. “I’m taking a couple days off.”
There was a long groan from behind a stack of papers tall enough to hide the guild master’s face, and he leaned back in his chair almost far enough to fall. Not quite though. “Just why is there so much paperwork?!”
“It’s quite simple, really,” Marcel said, pulling out a clipboard from his inventory. “See, first, there are records of our sponsoring of the reconstruction efforts. Contracts for each building we’re funding, which need your signature, as well as confirmations of missions we are willing to accept as the scope of our actions expand. Especially as more seekers are helping with the construction of new buildings, they are being sub-licensed out to other guilds and therefore need your approval.”
He continued relentlessly, taking grim pleasure in the way his employer slumped over the table. “Then, of course, there are the multitude of order we are placing at the blacksmith’s guild. As well as their newest competitor within the city. New seekers have begun arriving here due to mister Ryuutesai being in the city, and all of them need to be recorded and confirmed. Some need their license updated. You may be required to perform some hands-on evaluations yourself, too, boss, since some of them are decently high up there in rank.”
“Of course, that’s not all-”
On and on it went, the eternal droning in Avery’s ears. He’d already zoned out, until Marcel threw the clipboard at his head, shocking him awake with a small bruise. But when the guild master raised his head, his assistant had already pulled out a second clipboard, filling this one out.
Avery tried to focus, desperately, as Marcel kept talking at breakneck pace and recorded all his thoughts on clipboards. He made a point to throw all of them at Avery when he’d just finished a single page. Would he likely put them up on the pinwall labelled “reminders on what you need to do while your best Employee is gone ;P” pinboard? Yes, yes he would.
Would Avery still be miserable if he had to read all that instead of hearing it?
Certainly,yes.
In his head, Avery already thought of just going to the forest ag-
“Stop that!” Marcel said, knocking him on the head. “Don’t even think of running away. Listen to me. Listen. To. Me.”
The receptionist grabbed his guild master by the collar, holding him right in front of his face. He was so close, he could see Avery’s reptile-like eyes through the sunglasses, but the fear effect left him completely unphased.
“I’m going to tell you this once and only once. You’re taking care of this. If you even think of running away from your responsibilities, stop. If you even dream of getting out of this, stop.” There was fire in his voice. “Look into my eyes, motherfucker. One thought of running, and I’ll find you. No matter where you go. No matter where you hide. If you dare interrupt my three days off, I’m going to fold you, buddy. I’m going to chain you to that chair and make you sign dumb contracts until your skin flakes off. I’m going to make you transform just so your stamina restores for you to sign more paperwork. Are we fucking clear?”
Avery swallowed drily, then nodded a few times.
“Great!” Marcel said, flashing a bright, kind smile. “Then next, this stack is for-” and on and on he prattled.
- - - - - -
Yasahiku had arrived in Stormbraver, and it hadn’t taken him long to set up a shop. In fact, that very first act was what made him a bit of a local legend.
When he was younger, he once had a very silly idea. Someone told him about a legend of a sword made from a stone. And, of course, he decided that it was an idea he wanted to chase.
By then, he was barely a beginner smith.
(Author’s Note: this is by his current standards, he would already have been considered a master by anyone sane.)
And as a beginner, he sometimes chased those silly ideas. So he took some stone and started forging it.
Which went about as poorly as it could have.
He even burnt a hole into one of his boots with the molten rock, and it was horribly hard to get into the shape that he wanted. Which made it a perfect challenge.
Over time, this had led to him acquiring a very generally useful Skill, called <Stonesmithing>. It allowed him to construct a rudimentary workshop by smacking one of the rubble buildings with his hammer a few times and watching as it reformed into a proper house within a couple minutes.
Then he headed inside, slamming the heavy stone door shut under the eyes of anyone watching, rolled out a tatami mat on the building floor, then a futon on top of that, and slept for 16 hours straight.
The Skill took a lot out of him, especially stamina-wise, which is why it wasn’t at a higher level yet. That, and the fact that it was enormously impractical, because anything he made from it needed to be either architecturally stable or was held together by just his stamina and spite alone, so the things he made with it were quite a bit inferior to his usual quality standards.
Soon, though, he had become even more of a local legend, when he had spent the amount of money people usually made in a decade within a single day to furnish his new workshop. Of course, that mostly meant legally acquiring the land from the prior owners, and buying decorations and the licenses, so on and so forth.
Most of the actual equipment was taken from his old house. It had survived the blood eclipse, even, after all, his tools weren’t flimsy enough to break from that.
And within three days of arriving, he lit the fire in his forge for the first time, carefully depositing one of his Skills into it as well.
By the day after, he’d sold dozens of tools. Saws, hammers, shovels, hoes, anything and everything that needed to be shaped from metal. He refused all orders for weapons firmly, saying that “This city needs workers not soldiers right now.”
As though that explained everything, he refused to elaborate on any further questions and simply stopped speaking to anyone not making orders.
Then, on the fifth day in the city, he took it off, instead asking around for any painters or anyone who knew a “Mercury Rainfall Starlight”. Not too long after that, he met with the heads of a few guilds, introduced himself politely, and had wanted posters made for the mopaaw.
“ALIVE ONLY!!” they read.
With some help, he soon had them plastered all over the city.
Some people were tearing them down, but Yasashiku didn’t care. He threw money at the problem, and the merchants in the city were easily convinced to restore damaged portraits whenever they saw ones.
Avery told the seekers to do so if they had time as well, and Esmeya told the mages, too.
Then, on the sixth day, with three of the posters sticking to Yasashiku’s own walls, he was back at the forge, hammering away, from morning ‘till nightfall. Luckily, he had already thrown money at that problem, too, and Esmeya herself had installed silencing wards that wouldn’t let his hammering be heard on the nearby buildings, while still having it ring across the alleys.
Why was that necessary? The mage didn’t know, but the old blacksmith had grumbled about “needing to hear the echo if he was to work properly.”
And so, with seven days of mild insanity done, the old, grumpy blacksmith had become a bit of a local legend, and already proven to be by far the greatest smith in Stormbraver.
- - - - - -
When Yvette came to the city, the last thing she expected was for there to be dozens of posters looking for Mercury. She was hoping to find him here, but seeing his face every second alley was a little strange. Especially with all the mean glances many people threw at the posters.
Some others looked at them fondly, though, as though the mopaaw’s reputation was split in half with the population.
A smile cracked onto her face at that.
It would be just like him to be loved by half a city and hated by the other half.
Not very long after Yvette arrived, when she was just eating at an inn, Lucia burst open the doors and stormed in. “What are you doing in my city?!” she yelled.
Yvette gave her a dopey smile. She was… maybe a bit tipsy? When she noticed that there were, in fact, two distinct Lucia’s in her vision she reassessed that. A bit more than a little tipsy.
“Heeeya, priestess,” she slurred.
Almost immediately, the fury was wiped off Lucia’s face. Well, maybe not wiped off. Confined to a single vein on her forehead, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. But she shoved the fire in her chest down. “Yvette. Please. What are you doing here?”
The swordswoman leaned back, crossing her hands between her head, causing the chair to sway. “I dunno, you tell m- uaaagh!” she leaned back a bit too far, crashing to the floor, then laughed as though it was the most hilarious thing to ever happen, her blonde hair sprawled across the floor.
With a deep sigh, Lucia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yvette. Focus.”
The swordswoman didn’t stop laughing, but gave a thumbs up anyway, albeit one that swayed in the air.
“Why did you come here?” Lucia asked, enunciating every word.
“See my li’l saviour,” Yvette slurred, a grin on her face. The thumbs up she gave was now an open hand, with which she seemed to be trying to grab the ceiling light.
“Your what? Who?” Lucia asked, but received no answer. For a moment she considered yelling at Yvette again, but then it clicked. “Ah,” she said, her voice suddenly turned somber. “I see now.”
Without any further commentary, she picked up the swordswoman, who giggled, and ran her fingers through the priestess’ hair, mumbling about how shiny it was. Lucia paid the innkeep, apologized for the disturbance, and walked out.
She gave a long look at the sky and sighed, ignoring the drunken mumbling on her back. “What am I gonna do with you, idiot…” she said, staring at the blue sky. “What am I gonna do if I can’t even be mad at you?”
