Chapter 162 - Headhydra III

Drawing a crimson saber, the hooded figure launched itself through the air and aimed straight for Claire’s throat. The lyrkress magically pulled her lizard mace into her hands and prepared to intercept, but the enemy’s blade was parried before she could strike it. Lia stepped between them and caught the weapon with the tip of her rapier.

Digging her feet into the ground, the cat forced the blade out of the way and retaliated with a heavy, overhead strike. Her sword was barely visible; it moved with such speed that it almost seemed to vanish. But it was deflected nonetheless, blocked by a tiny buckler made of wood and steel. Despite blowing both their hoods away, the collision revealed only the catgirl’s face. Her opponent’s visage was still hidden, sequestered beneath a red scarf covering everything below the bridge of her nose.

Such masks were typically used to hide key racial features, but the assailant’s species was not at all obscured. Her waist-length, orange-red hair, sharp pointed ears, and piercing coral gaze revealed her status as a blackroot elf. A local, much like the many sharks, grugs, and scyphs that filled the streets.

“The hell are you doing!? Both of you!? Can we not calm the fuck down for just one goddamn moment!? I swear to Dorr!” The dwarf placed both hands on his hairless head as he shouted, but he was ignored by everyone else involved.

The cat and the elf were too busy staring each other down, the water mage seemed to be hesitating, and Claire was in the middle of evaluating the status quo. Something about the elven warrior bothered her. She seemed familiar. And not just because of the way she looked.

The biggest hint was the girl’s stance. Her back was hunched over, her feet were spread wide, and her knees were aggressively bent. She kept her shield far in front of her whilst her sword was positioned closer to her body, its blade held into a reverse grip and its tip pointed at her foe. The entire posture screamed that she had come from the lands to the north. Because it came hand in hand with a sword mastery skill known as the Royal Cadrian Springblade—the signature of many a cottontail knight.

Her next attack only confirmed the lyrkress’ suspicion. The elven fighter straightened her legs and launched her body into a reckless charge. She moved with a speed exceeding even that of the catgirl’s blade. The air roared as it was pushed aside by her raw speed, creating a shockwave that blasted a thick cloud of dust through the arena. Natalya could barely keep up. There was no time for her to retaliate. She managed to dive out of the way, but even then, the attack nicked her, catching a few bits of hair as it passed.

The Cadrian knight slid to a stop a few meters behind her, her body already spun around and her stance lowered again. She was ready for another charge, whereas Lia had barely recovered from dodging the first. Still, the blademaster was unconcerned. The elf wasn’t the only fighter with a service record under her belt, nor the only veteran that had been classified an elite.

Digging her heels into the ground, she raised her rapier and pointed its tip towards the incoming bullet. The elf switched up her trajectory and ducked closer to the ground, but Lia deflected her blade regardless. The catgirl wasn’t any faster than she was during their first exchange, but her movements were more deliberate; her sword was positioned towards her opponent’s destination well in advance.

The third repetition was met with a similar improvement. Time almost seemed to slow as their weapons met, both fighters delivering heavy, diagonal strikes. A thousand transient sparks flashed, accompanied by an ear piercing, metallic screech. Half the elf’s crimson blade had lost its edge in the encounter, but Lia’s rapier, the infamous Belyaev’s Whistle, was ever pristine.

Realising that she was at a disadvantage, the elven knight refrained from repeating the attack a fourth time. She raised her center of gravity and pulled her shield closer towards her core as she focused her eyes on her foe. The knife-eared attacker had already identified the catgirl’s trick. There were many experienced swordsmen amongst her friends and teachers, and blademaster’s focus was a universal skill, acquired unconditionally by all that managed to obtain the class. She needed to change her methods if she didn’t want her opponent to acclimate to her technique.

A problem that Lia solved for her.

By denying her the opportunity to think.

Advancing, she closed the distance between them and delivered another heavy blow, a spinning, horizontal slash backed by the full force and weight of her body. The elf caught the attack with her shield again, but it was knocked out of the way, her arm erupting into a fountain of blood.

The knife ear had failed to anticipate the sudden increase in the catgirl’s strength; there had been no reason to suspect that she could empower her attacks with no obvious tell. She was at a disadvantage and her mind was racing to catch up. Still, the Cadrian fighter evaded the stab that followed. She twisted her neck out of the way, and retaliated with a stab of her own.

She managed to skim the side of the Paunsean’s arm, but a blast of water separated them before she could do any more damage. The mage, the elf’s companion, had finally made his move. The skeleton had launched his attack from the sidelines, where he stood with all the other nonparticipants.

But though the lich was the first to act, it was not the first to speak.

“Stand down, Nymphetel Blackroot.”

Claire waited for the Cadrian warrior to steathe his blade and kneel before stepping forward and taking on her humanoid form. When she peeled back her hood, she revealed an uncharacteristic smile, innocent and gentle, even kinder than the one she had when she so often petted her fox.

“Y-yes, my lady,” said the knight, in a distinctly feminine voice. With just once glance, the squire decided it was best to keep his head bowed. He didn’t know how she had suddenly managed to appear in Vel’khan. But whatever the case, he knew better than to disobey.

“You may rise.” The noble lady came to a stop directly in front of her servant and continued in a whisper. Just quiet enough for only the elf to hear. “Do not reveal my identity. This is an order of utmost importance.”

“U-understood,” he whispered back, then raised his voice again. “Good tidings, my lady. It pleases me greatly to see that you have recovered from the injuries you suffered in the recent attack. I feared the worst, when I first learned that you had been bedridden.”

“Don’t be silly, Nymphetel.” The lyrkress pressed a hand to her lips and giggled. “I’m fine.”

Claire almost wanted to sigh. She had expected nothing less than for her father to claim that she was either kidnapped, bedridden, or deceased. There was no other way to justify her sudden disappearance, and he was never one to miss the ample opportunity it provided.

“A great relief indeed, my lady. I admit that it was shameful for me to flee, and that I am embarrassed that you have personally come to retrieve me.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but nodded and smiled when he looked to her for confirmation.

“But from your display I see clearly the error of my ways. I shall return to your service immediately and accept whatever punishment you wish to dole.”

“Woah, you even have knights and stuff?” Sylvia popped up from her position in Claire’s hood, and cast a curious gaze on what was likely one of her distant cousins.

She was the only one to join the conversation. The others were all too confused or afraid to interrupt the game of charades. Because even to the outsiders, it was clear. Nymphetel had only attacked because he recognized the lady in question, and said lady had been ready to retaliate in kind.

“I guess you really did use to be a fancy noble thingy after all!” Because she was the only third party, the fox expected both the conversation’s participants to pay her heed. A questionable assumption indeed.

“My father certainly might have condemned you, but he and I have never quite shared sensibilities.” Another giggle. “There is no reason for you to be so formal. Please, relax.”

“Wait a second! Did you just ignore me!?” cried the fox.

“You are too kind, my lady.”

“Wait! Both of you are ignoring me!”

Nymphetel was a new recruit, a trainee recently brought to the manor just a year or two prior to Claire’s sudden departure. Like many other fresh squires, the elf was a local adventurer, known for slaying powerful monsters far beyond what most could manage. And as a greenhorn, the monster hunter was set to be trained by all the manor’s masters as to best match talent with function. That was why the lyrkress found Nymphetel’s motives unclear; the duke’s spymaster training had resonated far too well with the blackroot warrior.

Adding to the lyrkress’ concern was the knowledge that the elf was precisely the sort of agent that her father often sent back into the field. The Blackroot’s duty may very well have been to function as her captor, or perhaps as a scout meant to determine and relay her location. She was tempted to immediately resolve the problem by drawing her blade. And she would have, had she not caught an abnormality in one of his claims.

“I missed you dearly this last month, Nymphetel. It was difficult not to wonder where you might have gone.” Claire pressed a hand to her chest and frowned. It was a disappointed, almost sad look. One that only the conversation’s participants were aware was fake. “What happened?”

“Hellloooooo?” Sylvia leapt off the lyrkress’ head and kicked the elf in the face. But there was no response. Not even a flinch.

“I must admit that I felt fear. I was not aware that our enemies were capable of such careless devastation, and I wished not to be on the receiving end.”

The elf’s face was just as calm as Claire’s, but internally, he was in a complete panic. Like most of the other knife ears working for House Augustus, Nymphetel had always been convinced that the noble lady possessed some sort of hidden strength, and that her facade was another product of one of her father’s schemes. He refused to believe that the daughter of such a powerful man could have been so weak, or that the duke would have allowed her to forgo active duty, where she would kill and grow stronger.

Seeing the conspiracy finally validated, he was convinced that execution was the only fate that awaited. They would not let him live with knowledge of the truth; Virillius was the sort of man that would always ensure his secrets were kept. And death was a currency in which he often dealt.

“I understand that such spinelessness is difficult to forgive, but I implore you to find it in your heart to provide me the opportunity to make amends.”

“What the heck, Claire! Stop ignoring me!” Her patience at its limit, the fox climbed back on her mount’s shoulder and promptly bit one of her ears.

The knight nearly gasped in horror. “W-what manner of creature is this, my lady? And why have you allowed it to commit an act so vile?” Nymphetel immediately drew his blade and took up a stance, but settled back down when the lady raised her hand.

“This is my pet.” Claire lifted Sylvia off her shoulders and pulled her into her arms. “It is certainly lacking in intellect, but its actions are to be forgiven regardless.” She looked down and gently prodded one of the critter’s cheeks, before whispering without moving her lips. “I wasn’t ignoring you, Sylvia. I’m busy.”

“You were totally ignoring me!” complained the hat, in an equally hushed tone.

“Your pet?” The elf gave the other forest dweller a heartfelt look of pity, one that leaked through the supposed intelligence officer’s carefully crafted mask. “I was under the impression that the master had forbidden you from having such a thing.”

Setting the fox down on the ground, Claire placed both hands on her hips and puffed up her non-existent chest. “Perhaps in the past, but now I happen to be at liberty to do whatever I please.”

It was an obvious lie. Even if Virillius was to relax his grip, he would do it slowly, not all at once. But Claire didn’t care. She had already concluded that the elf was not present on her father’s orders. Nymphetel’s training was not scheduled to be complete for another two years, and their meeting was too much of a coincidence. She surely would have continued to suspect him had they encountered one another on Cadrian soil, but Virillius’ influence was not as omnipresent in regions so distant. He simply didn’t have the manpower to cast a net so wide.

The Tal’ihirian native was instead exactly as he claimed—a runaway, someone who had abandoned the army but still lived in fear of the Cadrian hero’s shadow. So she clasped her hands together and put on another innocent smile.

“I shall accept your allegiance, Nymphetel Blackroot. But I have no commands to give, as it happens that I am in the midst of a task of my own. You may continue to act as you please, abroad or not.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

It was a dismissal. She had effectively told him to get out of her face. They would go their separate ways, and that would be the end of the encounter. Neither would have to deal with the other, ever again.

Understanding the unspoken message, the elven knight nodded and got back down on one knee. “By your command, my lady.”

She was still tempted to kill him. Nymphetel was only a squire, a fresh trainee. But a squire was still a Cadrian knight. And though she had yet to see the full extent of Lia’s power, she suspected that they were unlikely to come out ahead.

Turning around, she gestured for the catgirl to follow and made her way back over to the stairs.

Lia hesitated at first, but soon greeted the other party with a nod, secured her blade in her holster, and joined the lyrkress in her retreat. There was a lot to take in, but at least two things were made clear. There was a reason Claire was hiding her identity, and it would take an impossible amount of self-restraint not to pry.