Our village is livelier than before. Like a graveyard—grey, bleak, but restless at night. But in this instance, the skeletons arising at night are chained, evil nobles with spiteful faces.
Evan of Cicily stoically oversees the droves of captured; it seems like Leara held up her end—they’ve been busy. It’s a prideful feeling, watching your shitty hovel erupt into a thriving tropolis.
Obviously hyperbolized. These captured students are living out of several dedicated run-down village houses, and likely being fed a bit above the minimum.
Not exactly thriving, but I do love seeing these fuckers humbled. The way they slouch from a day’s work, or quiver at the sight of more terrible overlords who’ll make them chop so wood or wash so clothes—it’s all so thrilling. It’s a fraction of the collective pain of all non-Humans. Their situation is comically easy in comparison.
Allies and slaves alike watch in awe as three raggedy cats stroll in with wide grins, holding a world-record tuna like a trophy.
Evan gives an acknowledging nod. A few hoots and hollers from the other allies. It’s not every day such a powerhouse is restrained.
Honestly, it’s a miracle. There’s no conceivable way we should’ve gotten away with that. I was convinced that we had to play the long ga—despite it being a relative non-option.
Cossa thought he was unbeatable. But by so greater being—my constantly polarizing hidden Luck stat, I’d say—both Maximillian and Gabriel left without a fuss. And with Valeria in that close, the fight was over before it began—specifically, before Cossa could actually use his sword; so Swordmaster you are, chump.
Nicklas peels off, citing that he’s hungry, dirty, and tired. I’m surprised he didn’t shit himself. Would’ve fit his Poomancer title, certainly.
Valeria follows as I head toward the chapel, visibly trying not to limp. Her jaw is locked, her gait uneven—pride drags her body forward when her muscles would rather stop. Blood darkens the bandage I wrapped not long ago, a crimson badge of stubbornness. Her leg is far worse off.
"Go wash, rest, and get bandaged. You’re being ridiculous."
"Later," She brushes off. "Leara first."
Sure. Whatever. Fucking Neanderthal.
We enter the dusty chapel—well, it’s less dusty now. Natural light floods in from the sides and ceiling. The building reminds of the Interrealm Hub chapel entrance that I used a while ago.
Leara stands behind the solemn lectern, spotlighted by the glass-do sunroof, intimately attentive to the paper behind the stand. She doesn’t fidget, doesn’t lean—her stillness is sohow calculated, and it’s disorienting. The kind that makes everyone else feel like they’re moving too much. I suppose that’s just the lack of rest talking.
"You have a flair for the dramatic," my voice echoes throughout as we walk down the center aisle.
"You have a flair for the impossible," she quips back with lazy ease, her eyes downward. Her words land like the scratch of a quill, deliberate and dry.
"Didn’t believe we could handle it?"
"I knew beforehand that you could."
"The word ’impossible’ says otherwise."
I gently set the hogtied Cossa on the closest bench to the front. Valeria sits down off to the side with an exaggerated exhale. She’s been on her feet for a while, to be fair.
"Again, you have a flair for it," Leara looks up, eting Cossa’s angry gaze, still speaking to . "What’d you do to him?"
"A light punch to the stomach. He then proceeded to shock himself to the point of heart arrhythmia because I commanded him not to harm anyone on our team, so we had to tie him up."
Leara’s face scrunches at the thought. Isn’t it absolutely ridiculous? I’m positively elated to be in the presence of an actual functioning person, finally.
"What else?"
"Maximillian was with him when we arrived. The Landeskogs were getting as desperate as we were, because once Maximillian got stonewalled, they attacked his camp and tried to pin it on us. They even had Gabriel of Lomberg facilitating it as a double agent."
"An adorably awful gambit. I’ll have to find out who thought that one up," Leara seems to hold back a laugh. It could be any one of those dullards. "But still, that doesn’t seem to explain why you decided to take him by force. Wasn’t repelling the attack an option?"
"The fucking bastard has no intention of joining us!" Valeria curses in the near distance. "It’s like he’s in his own world."
"The attack occurred after we had already captured Cossa," I reply. "Besides, neither logic nor sympathy points seem to have any persuasive effect on him."
Seriously, he does not care at all that Gabriel betrayed him on behalf of the Landeskogs while also dubiously destroying his camp and allies to then manipulate him into hating us and thereby join their side. Not one bit. He sees us and a rope—and alternatively, noble slaves—and thinks we are irredeemable. The Landeskogs probably have a whole slave harem in that mountain castle.
"Forcing to choose sides in a petty Guild conflict is what earned my enmity," Cossa finally speaks up, his tone tinging with stoic wrath.
So, so clueless.
"Sebastian," Leara finally acknowledges his existence. "It’s—"
"Just Cossa is fine."
"...been so ti," Leara’s tempo groans to a halt, but she continues. "I haven’t conversed with you since Constantine Landeskog’s wedding banquet."
"I’m not interested," Cossa states as a matter of fact.
"You have every reason to be involved," Leara rebutts with a fact of her own. "You have every reason to join my side. It’s the sa reason you breathe air and drink water: self-preservation. Survival. It’s a hard-coded ideal—you love those. It can’t be denied."
"That’s—"
"You aren’t as dull as you like to appear," Leara continues, stepping down, lording over the Black Horse. "You’ve denied Landeskog. You’ve continued to deny them. So you’re their enemy. And that ans you are as good as dead. But I can help you protect yourself."
She extends a hand.
"I won’t play these gas."
...
Leara... chuckles. Low. Soft. Yet it borders on maniacal.
"Funny. Very funny." Leara’s laugh dies as quickly and strongly as it arrived. "I was thinking the sa thing."
Leara yanks Cossa’s collar with fierce speed. Unease fills his upward gaze like a misbehaving puppy wary of punishnt.
The collar glows, reacting to the Essence.
"Act as my ally."
The collar dies down. The command is set.
"You’ve forfeited the privilege of choice," Leara domineers. "Eventually, the universe catches up."
Reviews
All reviews (0)