Chapter 333 - The Scheming God’s Apostle IV

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Dear Diary,

Today I killed a really strong bear with three eyes. It was really tough and it made my arms hurt a lot, but I managed to beat it up before it ate me. Master B says I’m gonna ascend soon. I can’t wait! I’m gonna be just like Lina.

Lia

___

Claire crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes as she carefully examined her surroundings. She was standing in the phantom’s living room, surrounded on all sides by his glowing rectangles. The various walls and objects were out of focus as usual, but the tingling sensation crawling up the back of her neck insisted that there was something amiss. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was exactly, but she suspected that it had to do with the lack of a host; neither the spirit nor his body were anywhere to be seen; she was free to explore his house with her goosebumps and rising scales as the only dissuaders. She checked each room, closet, and even cabinet in turn, half expecting something to jump out at her from around every corner, but she found nothing, not even when she gave up and ventured into the world that lay beyond his walls. 

She was all alone.

Not even Headhydra, who had recently become a common sight, was present to invade the space. The circumstances were so bizarre that it was like she had entered a different dream in its entirety. Either that or something had happened—something so absurdly horrifying that it had driven a figment of her imagination into hiding. Whatever the case, she spread her wings and took to the skies. Keeping her eyes on the ground, she explored the distorted world around her. She flapped her wings at a leisurely pace, often approaching the ground again to take in the foreign sights.

The blurry neighbourhood was just as eerie and deserted, consisting of nothing but a series of near-identical brick houses set up in an imperfect grid. A long, paved road extended to each, with its sides wrapped in carefully mowed lawns and perfectly trimmed gardens. If not for the houses’ tiny sizes, she almost would have thought it to be a district for the nobility, but there were too many inconsistencies that stood against the claim.

Many of the paved roads had strange-looking carriages parked outside them, but for some odd reason, none of the metal boxes had any places to attach their mounts. To make matters even more confusing, their shapes were all different. Some were boxier, while others were rounder and more compact even though it meant having less space to carry their goods. She considered the possibility that the district was one for wealthy merchants wherein smaller homes happened to be in fashion, but again, the thought was immediately denied. She couldn’t possibly believe a man of the phantom’s demeanour could have succeeded in the peddling of goods. He simply wasn’t the type.

Still pondering the question, Claire set her eyes on the fuzzy horizon and slowly ascended above the clouds, only for the sky to crack. The split was clear, unlike the distant horizon. It was almost like it was her vision itself that had been broken; she could see each distortion, each break and glassy splinter.

Once, twice, thrice they formed. Until the world was suddenly shattered to pieces. The individual shards collapsed and fell, littering the darkness around her with distant reflections of everything she had failed to see.

In the infinite mirrors, the scenery was finally clear, but she was not allowed to observe it. The broken sky was flooded with a blinding divine light before she could examine it in detail. The shards of glass were unceremoniously deleted, replaced with as many clouds as the eye could see.

For the first time since her ascension, the goddess of the eternal flow appeared before her. Flux’s features were the only specks of black that polluted the blue and white canvas, and not even they were entirely darkened. Distant nebulae shone within her pupils just as they spread throughout her hair. More than ever, Claire could see the details that made up her form. More than ever, Claire could feel her presence. And more than ever, she could feel her power, her strange, heterogenous power. It was still welcoming, as it had always been, but there was something about it that felt off, unnatural even, compared to all the other gods that she had faced. But it was precisely that which made it feel so familiar. 

“Wake up,” she said. “Wake up before you lose your path of escape.”

And then, without another word, the goddess was gone.

She was back in the tent when she next opened her eyes, with Sylvia in her arms and a certain maid’s foot deforming the side of her face. Claire wrestled it away, but that wasn’t quite enough to break free from the pile. Arciel’s arms were keeping her tail in place. The squid had hugged the scaly limb to her chest and buried her face in its fluffy tip.

The lyrkress had to wonder how she had gotten herself into the awkward position in the first place. There was a solid meter and a half between each of the bedrolls, and she was still in hers. Arciel was at least somewhat explicable given that their beds were neighbours, but Chloe had to travel two full body lengths in order to reach her. There was no logical reason for the maid’s foot to have extended so far, nor any reason for her head to be stuck between her mistress’ thighs. It wasn't as if a wind storm had swept through the camp overnight. Lana and Sophia were still in their positions and everything else looked more or less intact.

Untangling herself from the mess, Claire slipped out of the tent and set her sights on the sky. It was still dark out, but the stars were starting to fade as a faint hint of the sun worked its way above the horizon. It was a little earlier than the time of her usual awakening, but it was close enough that there was no point in going to sleep. One could argue that she ought to have taken over the guard’s post, given that the lizardman had long fallen asleep, but she pretended not to notice. Lightly stepping out of the camp, she found a small clearing a few minutes away and set her fox down atop a bed of moss.

She summoned Boris after making sure her pet was comfortable and began her morning practice. Though sleepy, the lizard carefully followed each of her instructions and took on a different shape every time she moved her arms.

Over and over, she repeated the same movements and transformations—a set of standard forms. Its Cadrian roots were clear and her father’s influence was undeniable, but the style was her own and it was far more aggressive than any he had taught.

In Cadria, traditional martial arts were focused largely on the flow of momentum—shifting from one motion to the next and cutting out the fat that lay in between. Boris allowed her to refine those movements further. By changing his shape and his weight, she could easily manipulate the influence of gravity so it would never work against her. She didn’t need to worry about the risk that came with her attacks. Even in the worst case, she could nullify her momentum outright and completely change directions. It was a handy trick, but she made a point to rely on it as little as possible. Hiding the ability was key to catching her opponents off guard; her first use of it on a given foe would always be among the most likely to succeed.

The caldriess continued to train by her lonesome until she heard a set of footsteps approaching. Turning towards the sound, she saw a lizardman lumbering over from the campsite, only half awake.

“Is it just you, Miss Augustus?” he asked, with a yawn. “Thought it might’ve been a predator or something with the way the grass was rustling.”

“I was practicing,” she said.

“This early? The sun ain’t even all the way up yet.”

Claire paused for a moment. “I always wake up early.”

“That makes one of us,” he said, with a yawn. “Would rather sleep another few hours myself.”

“Then why are you up?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Calm down, Miss. No need to get suspicious.” He lazily raised his hands. “Just didn’t have the best night is all. I ain’t exactly a bedroll kinda guy, and the lack of space didn’t do me too many wonders either.”

Claire nodded. “We weren’t expecting to take the clam when we picked out the tents.”

“Jules? I’m still surprised you took him at all, with his attitude the way it is,” said Ace.

“Attitude is irrelevant.”

“Guess so.” Ace shifted his hand to his blade. “Interested in a spar?”

“Not particularly.”

“Why not?” he asked, with a frown. “Weren’t you supposed to be one of the fighters? It’d be good to see what you can do.”

Claire nearly rolled her eyes. “Are you stupid? You’ll wake the whole camp.”

“Right. Good point.”

“And I know you know.”

“Know what? I’m afraid I ain’t too sure what you’re talking about, Miss.”

Claire raised her weapon. “Keep playing dumb and I’ll stab you.”

“Alright, alright, sheesh,” he said, as he backed off. “Look, Miss, I was just trying to play it off, you know, in case you were still trying to hide it. You know what they say about women’s secrets and all that?”

“It was never meant to be a secret.”

“Then why’d you disguise yourself in the first place?”

“So all the candidates would fight their hardest.” She pulled her blade back and planted its tip in the ground. “They’d have been less inclined to pull out their trump cards if they didn’t think they were going to die.”

The man laughed. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit mean-spirited?”

“I do get that from time to time,” she said, with her eyes on the fox.

“Yeah, I wonder why?” The man laughed as he turned around and lightly waved his hand. “Anyway, I’ll get back to camp and get breakfast going. Doubt it’ll be too long before the others wake.” He vanished into the underbrush soon after, leaving Claire to work on her forms.

The second half of her training was focused less on refinement and more on experimentation. She haphazardly swung her weapons around, with Boris constantly transforming, multiplying, and changing sizes as she searched for the best follow-up to each of her preferred actions. Her knife-based attacks were in particular need of attention, so she focused on linking them for about half an hour before wrapping up and returning to camp.

The sky had assumed a stable, blue colour and the champions had already risen from their beds. Matthias and Lana had already moved on to doing their drills, but the others were sitting near the campfire with bowls of stew held in their hands.

Notably missing from the picture was the individual tasked with most of the chores, but that was hardly a surprise. Claire had no doubt that they would have to rouse the maid when it was time to hit the road.

“Sylvia.” In the meantime, the snake settled for jostling the creature in her arms. “Wake up.” Claire grabbed two bowls of stew and sat down with her fox still in her lap. “It’s time for breakfast.”

“Mmmnnn? Breakfast?” The fox’s ears twitched as she slowly opened her eyes. “Is it fish?”

“Not today.”

“Awww….” Though reluctant, the furball slowly got up and slinked her way over to her bowl.

“Less sulking. More eating.” Claire pinched the vixen’s nose. “Don’t expect to eat lunch. We’re going to be on the road all day.”

“Fine.” Despite complaining, the fox practically evaporated her dish. She asked for seconds, thirds, and so on and so forth, eating a total of eleven bowls before finally deciding that she was sated.

The rest of the morning went fairly smoothly. Arciel rallied the troops shortly after breakfast and announced that they would be continuing north. She didn’t say anything about investigating the firerot, however. The queen decided to adopt a more passive approach—they would only make it their problem if it happened to get in their way or otherwise prove profitable.

In practice, that meant only eliminating the local monsters whenever they approached the party. But even then, it was hardly worth the effort. The trees were incredibly weak; none of the individuals that attacked the party were even close to being ascended, and it wasn’t like they ever caught anyone off guard. The few they encountered were all right by the highway. The walking trees never stumbled out of the forest or left any clear tracks that seemed to lead within it. The only offroad wagon trail they found after half a day’s investigation was that of a merchant whose horses had bolted.

The lack of clues and attacks left most of the northern brigade off guard. They were still more or less in formation—the melee fighters took the outer edges and the ranged attackers sat in the middle—but that was about the extent of their caution. Ace, Lana, and Matthias were telling myths and legends about powerful warriors, Sophia and Chloe were squabbling over whose master was better, and Krail and Jules were working on their spells. Despite his less-than-social personality, the clam was not without some level of respect for the elf’s knowledge. He certainly did not hesitate to scream about the knife-ear’s supposedly stupid mistakes, but he always had specific, actionable solutions and openly acknowledged when the other man’s criticisms correctly addressed his faults. Their discussion was the most productive of the bunch and it stood out in especially stark contrast to the singing in which the final group was engaged.

Though there were certainly a few lulls and awkward silences, the overall joyous mood lasted until the party came upon its first village. Its first ruined village.

It should have been a quaint little settlement situated at the bottom of a valley, but there were no homes, no fields, no people still standing. Everything from the local churches to the town hall to the fence erected around the village’s square had been burned to oblivion. A few of the trents’ corpses lay outside the barrier, but the remaining monsters were alive, well, and still roaming the torched ruins.

Jules rolled forward almost immediately and started channelling his magic, but the hand that attached itself to his shell drained his mana, interrupted his cast, and pulled him into cover.

The accompanying dizzying sensation threw him off balance; his shell rocked around in the dirt as his innards spun round and round. Still, it only took a moment for him to steady himself.

“What the hell was that for!?” he shouted in a whisper. 

“Wait,” said Claire.

“Wh—”

“Killing them now isn’t going to change anything. They’re more useful alive.”

Though he continued to tremble, the man eventually closed the lid to his shell and took a deep breath. “The fuck does that mean?”

“We might be able to follow them back to their nest. If they even have one.”

“Would be more surprised if they didn’t,” said Ace. “Most tameable monsters like these live in herds or groups to begin with, and this one looks like it’s got somewhat of a hierarchy to it.” He pointed to a slightly larger trent with an extra pair of legs. “Probably ascended, that one.”

“It is,” said Krail, with his eyes glowing. “It’s about level eighty, whereas most of the smaller individuals are between twenty and forty like most of the others we’ve seen. I don’t suppose we could pretend we never saw them? Tracking them down really doesn’t sound like it’s worth our time.”

“I would rather we assisted in eliminating them in the interest of aiding the locals,” said Arciel.

Krail cocked a brow. “Wouldn’t that be a waste of time. All it’ll take for Moros to fix this is a handful of knights. Vel’khan is in much more of a perilous situation, and if I had to choose I must say I would rather choose my own peo—”

He wasn’t allowed to finish. Jules grabbed him by the collar before he could and raised him into the air. “You wanna shut the fuck up? Or do I gotta make you?”

The elf raised a brow. “And what, exactly, has you so angry, child?”

“Open your eyes and look around, shithead.” The clam gritted his teeth. “Why the fuck aren’t you mad?”

“We have higher priorities than chasing down a group of monsters worth no experience.”

“Heartless bastard!” Jules raised the elf further into the air. “This is why you knife-eared heathens shou—”

“I would prefer if you were to leave it at that.” Arciel placed her fan on his wrists and shot him a glare.

Jules gritted his teeth, and after slowly glancing again at the queen, reluctantly released his grip.

“While I certainly do see your point, Krail,” said Arciel. “I remain of the opinion that we should endeavour to help, having seen the extent of the damage that is done. With how cheery our last source of information was, I had been under the mistaken impression that the villages had a means of defence. Knowing that they do not, I can turn a blind eye no longer to the circumstances at hand. Should anyone else disagree, I ask that you voice your opinions now.”

She swept her eyes over her forces.

“Excellent. Then let us begin by following their lead.”