"A lead?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah," she said. "We have found the Serpent’s base. If we can conquer it, it will lead us directly to the Coalition grounds on Earth."
...Goodness.
It was madness as much as it was genius... but it still didn’t answer my original query.
"But will we still have enough forces to spare?" I asked. "From what I’ve heard, the Serpent is powerful. It’s one of the strongest Spirit Beasts humanity has consistently failed to take down over the last decade. Not to ntion its army of minions. Will we even have enough ships?"
My aunt glanced over her shoulder at . "Do not fret. We do have enough forces. And we’ll have more than enough warships as well... once House Morrigan lends us their vessels. Or rather, lends them to their daughter, Vereshia Morrigan. You must know her, I presu?"
I blinked. "Wait, what? Vereshia Morrigan? As in the Cadet Council President? Why would her family help us? The Morrigans are one of the Southern Ducal houses, are they not? We are about to wage war against their Monarch, so why would— Oh... Oh, I see."
I stopped speaking as soon as a realization dawned on .
My father...
He must have submitted a mission request to the Academy.
You see, after passing their first midterms, all Cadets were free to participate in conflict quests such as war, subjugation, exploration, and the like.
Take Ishtara, for example.
The second-years took control of the city after it nearly fell, injecting themselves into its politics under the guise of a "field mission" because the Central Monarch had asked the Academy to intervene.
Believe it or not, that wasn’t the first instance of a high noble or royalty using the Apex Institute as a cover for their own agenda.
My father was practically doing the exact sa thing.
The only problem was that Cadets were usually free to refuse a mission... unless they were forced by their Ace.
Now, guess what? By the end of the term, the first-year Ace was likely going to be either Thalia or . Either way, one of us would be dragging the rest of the first-year Cadets along for the ride, willing or not.
Unfortunately for my father’s plan, the Cadet Council could still disapprove of a quest, provided they had a good reason.
In this case, the "good reason" would be that first-years weren’t ready for such a high-stakes mission.
Fortunately, if they did it — if the Cadet Council blocked the quest — the responsibility for quest completion would fall onto the Cadet Council themselves.
At that point, the President would have to step in.
Vereshia must have done exactly that.
She likely had proposed that if the first-years were being forced into the Theosbane-Wayforge war, she would take their place herself.
Now obviously, she alone couldn’t compare to hundreds of Awakened Cadets, and she wasn’t the type to press-gang the third-year Cadets under her to follow her into a war.
So, she must have turned to her family for aid, asking them to lend her warships so she could complete the mission.
And that was my family’s end goal from the very start.
Really, what a cheap trick...
I was impressed!
Still, I wondered why the Southern Monarch wasn’t objecting.
Or maybe he was, but the Western Monarch was backing my father. Regardless of the intricacies of this situation, I was thrilled!
Because it ant I wouldn’t have to do much work.
The Morrigans were known for their naval prowess. They were second only to the great Stormwatch clan, the rulers of the five seas (so people would claim seven seas, but that was up for a political debate).
So I just had to deliver the fleets and the army to my brother, take a backseat while he led the charge, share so of the glory when he eventually won, and co back ho safe and sound!
Yeah, that was totally doable.
...At least, that was what I thought at the ti.
Dear gods, I was so stupid.
•••
We reached my aunt’s private chambers. It was, sohow, even more lavish than mine.
There were velvet drapes that seed to drink the sunlight, and far more self-portraits lining the paneled walls than I had of mine in my own room.
An assortnt of curios from places across the two worlds I couldn’t even start to na sat on every available surface.
The scent of incense was in the air, slling sweet and sharp, as if it had been brewed to stir both the thoughts and the nerves.
Inside the room, standing behind a large table that looked clearly out of place like it had been set up only recently, was a short old man with a stout belly.
He donned a sleeveless golden robe that left the wrinkled skin of his arms exposed, along with the tattoos of mantras and ancient quotes inked into his biceps.
His milky eyes suggested he was either going blind or wearing eye lenses in a fashion statent that I didn’t quite understand.
He didn’t move as we entered.
And I stopped dead in my tracks, too.
Because on the table before him was an array of... of arms?
I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and blinked again.
Yep. Those were definitely arms.
Entire arms, so human and so... kind of?
They were arranged neatly on the polished tabletop as if the table were both a display case and a surgical workbench.
So of those severed arms had strange markings carved into their flesh, while others— I kid you not— were even glowing faintly.
"Uh... Aunt Morgan?" I croaked, glancing nervously between her and the creepy old dude. "I know you said you’d get an arm, but I thought you’d... you know, grow one."
She offered a calm and amused smile that did the opposite of calming and amusing . "We can do that. We have healers for that, but it would take days. This thod is much faster."
"This thod?" I swallowed hard. "You an grafting? Aunt M, no! Absolutely not! I am not attaching so disgusting creature’s limb to my body!"
Aunt Morgan’s smile widened, still unshaken.
"Relax, Sam. Not all of them are fully sentient," she said, like that was supposed to reassure .
I took a quick step back. "Not all of them? You an so of them are?! What the hell are you doing to your nephew?!"
The old man behind the table finally spoke. His voice was so dry it reminded of cracking parchnt. "Do you think the Gods care whether the limb cos from a willing volunteer? Power has no morals, young one."
"What the fuck?!" I gave him a baffled look. "What the fuck are you talking about, you senile old man?!" I turned back to my aunt. "Auntie... please! I don’t think—"
She raised a hand, gently shushing . "Sam, you’ve been through worse. If you truly hate the idea of grafting, we’ll grow you a fresh arm later. After the wars are over. For now, think of this as a temporary inconvenience. A minor adjustnt."
"Adjustnt?" I repeated, incredulous, my eyes flicking back to the morbid buffet on the table. "I don’t care! I will not—"
"You know, most of them have special abilities?"
I stopped... and tried to sound disinterested. "What?"
"So of those arms possess unique traits since they are harvested from humanoid Spirit Beasts. Master Urvil here is one of our most competent healers. He can graft the arm of your choice, and I will connect your soul to it. You’ll be able to wield whatever power that hand possesses," she said, pointing to a hand like it was a sample. "That one, for example, can discharge high-voltage electricity to stun your opponent. That one has flesh that converts your Essence into a special kind of energy, enabling you to heal minor injuries and wounds on your person. That one can shift its form into tentacles. That one can phase through solid matter. That one..."
I wasn’t even listening to her anymore.
Because heavens help , I was already sold... and was now just considering my options.
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