Chapter 341 - Debts and Dues V

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Dear Diary,

Today is only the third day of our trip, and we’ve somehow already been attacked! A whole group of bandits tried to steal our stuff, but we took theirs instead. Master didn’t even need to do anything! I beat up all the grunts, and Lina beat their boss in a duel. She didn’t even enrage!

Master keeps telling her off for it though. He says that not going all out right off the bat is a really bad habit and that it’s gonna get her killed someday, but he’s probably just overthinking it. Lina’s super strong. I just wish she would stop going through my diary. She keeps telling me that I’m supposed to be writing like I’m talking to it, but that feels kinda weird.

Lia

___

Claire leapt from rooftop to rooftop as she dashed her way through the city. To the sunaks, she must have looked like a giant. Even the hundred-and-thirty-centimeter frame that accompanied her smallest form towered over the local snake-rats. It wasn’t as if they were all that much smaller. The average sunak could have reached her height if it stood up on its back feet and stretched out its spine. Without the extra effort, however, the brown-banded ferrets only went up as high as her waist. Even the prathesians, who were effectively larger sunaks with purple and black fur, were barely three-quarters her height.

She would have been incredibly conspicuous had the weather been brighter, but the dark clouds had yet to depart. Heavy raindrops battered the city’s buildings and walls, pittering and pattering just loudly enough to silence the caldriess’ steps. Unseen and unheard, she carefully followed Panda’s instructions, turning each time he raised a hand and guided her in another direction. He was, of course, not granted the liberty of riding her body. Claire floated him two meters in front of her and made sure he never came closer.

A few minutes was all it took for the pair to arrive at their destination. In and of itself, it hardly stood out. It was just another tavern located by the side of the road. Its location was nothing to write home about, but neither was it particularly substandard. It was located on a quieter street whose width implied a middling amount of traffic.

Though he pointed her to the door, Panda scampered off before her final approach. She tried tracking him, but his trail vanished by the time he rounded the corner. She didn’t know what exactly it was, but something was impeding her skill.

A quick investigation proved fruitless. Despite having colluded in his escape, the alleyway had no hints to offer. It was just another back street identical to every other. There were certainly plenty of places for the raccoon to hide, but the only heartbeats she heard came from within the buildings. It was like the man had upped and vanished.

She didn’t know how he managed it, but after snooping around for about five minutes, she gave up and headed for the tavern. She began by walking around it and checking for exits. There were two doors on the ground floor and a few windows scattered all over. She only looked from far away. The dark cloak that covered her body certainly concealed her in the rain, but her figure was too foreign to remain hidden from up close.

Though somewhat inconvenient, the distance itself was not a true impediment. Seeing into the building was easy with her telescopic sight as powerful as it was. A few moments of staring was all it took to find her target. The only centaur in the room stood out like a sore thumb. Being a blackmist cloudrunner, he was of a smaller make than usual. He was slender for a man, especially one that had gone through extensive training, and only stood at a height akin to that of her lyrkrian form. As with all blackmist variants, his mane, his eyes, and his coat had all taken the eponymous colour. Even among other centaurs, he would have been impossible to mistake.

The man was slowly munching away at a plate piled high with grass, seemingly off-duty and off-guard. If the bits of ink and wax on his fingers were any indication, he had already penned his letters and sent them off. She might have been able to hunt down his birds had she been present for their release, but she was far too late. She would just have to trust that Panda kept his word.

Claire took a moment to check on her once-lost arm. She knew that it was fully healed—her allies had allowed her to drain some of their health as a means of topping up her own—but she flexed the muscles and tested her fingers before calling Boris to her side.

He was already in the shape that she wanted. His long, arched body was many times her height, and his string was so taut that it was impossible to pull in her smallest form. She could have turned him into a crossbow instead, but the half-mechanized weapon lacked the force required to execute her plan. She addressed the lack of leverage by assuming her true form. Her tail held the bow’s grip in place while she hooked its string with her talons and pulled it as far back as it would go.

A second Boris appeared in the space between the sight and her hand. It was only her tenth time wielding a bow and her second manipulating one that stood at over ten meters tall. It was more effective to throw her weapons in the midst of melee, but the sniper’s weapon held the advantage in terms of stopping power. Despite her inexperience, everything about the process felt natural. Her weapon mastery skill bestowed her with all the knowledge and muscle memory she needed to make the perfect shot.

Like its partner, the arrow pointed at the centaur was of an inordinate size; Claire had to stretch her body as far it could go to draw him to his maximum length. His shape was also rather untraditional. He looked more like a barbed spear or serrated lance than he did an ordinary bolt.

Claire poured her magic into both pieces; she channelled as quickly as she could, knowing that the sudden surge would easily give her away. The agent perked up, but it was already too late. Boris was released at the first hint of movement.

He was so fast that she was unable to accelerate him with her vectors. One moment, he was right in front of her, and in the next, the centaur found himself destroyed. Boris passed through his humanoid upper half and his equine rear, nailing the two parts to each other and the ground beneath him. The earth-bending impact should have been accompanied by an explosion, but Boris froze even that by unleashing the mana stored within his body. He erupted into an icy bloom that consumed everything within ten meters of his core. The tavern, the surrounding buildings, the patrons, and the horse were swallowed without exception.

Like the magical attacks she had leveraged against the cottontail, the blessed arrow pushed the lyrkress’ limits. Her circuits were unable to handle the sheer exertion, and the mana that leached into her flesh destroyed it outright; both her talons and her tail detonated into pools of blood.

Her chest roared with pain as her divinity ran amok. She had only released it for the briefest of moments, but it threatened to swallow her whole and crush her beneath its overbearing weight. If not for Griselda’s training, she surely would have found herself consumed. She was barely, barely able to fight it back. That, in and of itself, was a gamble. Just like all of the strategy’s other moving parts.

Perhaps because it was not true ice, the glacier born of her attack was cracked open and broken.

The centaur dashed towards her, brandishing his spear as he closed the distance.

But that was as far as he got.

The hole in his chest wouldn’t close. Because each of the shards of Boris that lay within his body was actively draining him of everything he had.

Though a Cadrian agent, the centaur was not the recovering type. He lacked the critical warrior class that brought his allies their on-demand healing. But it wouldn’t have mattered even if he was. Neither Pollux nor the unnamed assassin were capable of outpacing Claire’s theft. And with Boris inside of his body, he had no way of escaping it.

Three steps out the door, and the man collapsed, completely deprived of every resource he had.

Log Entry 850214
You have slain a level 736 Blackmist Cloudrunner.

This feat earned you the following bonus rewards:

- 3 points of vitality

- 72 points of wisdom

Log Entry 850215
You have levelled up. Your health and mana have been partially restored.

Your racial class, Caldriess, has reached level 508.

Your titular class, Witch of the Seventh Tempest, has reached level 3.

You have gained 2444 ability points.

Having gained a level for the first time in three weeks, Claire’s body started to heal. She wasn’t fully restored, courtesy of her ascension-related demerit, but at least one of her talons returned. Of course, the world did not sit idly and wait for her body to regain its function. The panicked locals rushed straight to the city guard, which was unsurprisingly already on its way.

Deciding that it was better not to sit around, Claire retrieved both Borises, rose into the air, and propelled herself back to camp. With one arm and her tail missing, her flight was painfully unbalanced, but she was able to ferry herself above the clouds by compensating with her vectors.

The first thing she felt, as she reflected upon the result, was a wave of frustration. She knew that she had done the best she could with the circumstances presented. If anything, she was satisfied with her approach. She just hated how limited her abilities were. Neither of the foes she fought were particularly resistant to magic. Both could have fallen to a single breath. But though she often told everyone otherwise, her body often outright refused. She could only use the attack on days with less pain. And even then, it would scatter her flesh and further damage her circuits.

She almost, almost regretted ignoring Vella’s offer, but she soon shook the feeling away. She had already decided that she would overcome her weaknesses on her own.

Repeating the statement three times under her breath, Claire filled her lungs with fresh air and dropped beneath the clouds. Setting herself down gently, she landed in front of their campsite and slowly closed her wings. The cave had been destroyed during the battle with the cottontail, so they had put away their tents and thrown together a large log cabin to keep out all the rain. Looking closely revealed that the pillars were really just made of large, wooden arrows, but their tips were buried deep enough underground that it hardly made a difference.

“I have been awaiting your return,” said Sophia. She was standing guard outside, hovering right beside the door, where it was still protected from the rain. “Have you completed your objective?”

Claire nodded.

“Good work,” she said, in her usual, stiff but friendly manner. “Any outstanding items that will require our attention?”

“None,” said Claire.

Sophia raised a hand to her chest, performing a picture-perfect Vel’khanese salute before stepping out of the doorway. “Understood. I will relay your circumstances to Her Majesty at my earliest convenience. We have set up a medical bay in the room to the right, having anticipated the case of your injury. Please report to it immediately."

“Orders received,” said Claire, as she mimicked the prime minister’s heir.

Sophia didn’t seem to think much of the salute. She simply held her position and silently waited for Claire to change forms and pass before returning to her position.

The cabin’s interior was neither particularly shabby nor particularly well-decorated. There was a large fireplace set up, with its smoke moving up through a wooden chimney and transporting itself outdoors. The few surviving adventurers and merchants were already gone. From his non-presence, it seemed likely that Krail had offered to escort them somewhere safer.

Claire nodded briefly at Ace and Lana, the only two to look up upon her return. The group’s other members were too busy staring down several sheets of paper, which at a glance appeared to describe some of the more likely Cadrian participants.

Deciding to let them concentrate, Claire made for the supposed medical bay. It was impossible not to head over with Sylvia poking her head out from the other side of the doorway. The expression on the fuzzy fox’s face was filled with concern. She looked like she was about to run over at any moment, but the lyrkress was largely unbothered. Neither her missing arm nor her missing tail hurt any more than the rest of her body. Her usual pain was so much greater that she barely felt it at all. If anything, it was the shard in her chest that hurt the most, but that wasn’t anything that the fox could fix.

“Stop looking at me like that. I’m fine.”

The room was set up to look exactly like the infirmary back at the shop. There were imaginary beds, imaginary curtains, imaginary supplies, and even an imaginary doctor. Said doctor, of course, was the fox, who had put on a hat that sported a red cross right before her favourite person walked through the door. Her haste had left the hat a little lopsided, and careless as she was, the fox didn’t quite seem to notice. Deciding that she liked it better as it was, the patient refrained from describing the error aloud.

“Mmmnnn… you don’t look fine to me.” Sylvia pointed at a gurney, but Claire didn’t sit down until she put her paws on her hips and released an audible huff. “What the heck even happened to your arm and your tail anyway? I thought your scales were supposed to be tough enough to take a few hits.”

“They are,” said Claire. “All of this was from recoil. I used too much magic.”

“I’m not even surprised.” Sylvia said the words in a singsongy voice and invoked her healing spell. With Claire’s health pool inflated post-ascension, the magic was not quite as quick to heal her wounds, but the missing limbs and the corresponding third of her health were still fairly rapidly restored; the light that enveloped her body formed into its missing parts before blinking out of existence and leaving only her flesh behind.

“Thanks.” Claire scratched the bridge of the fox’s nose.

“You really need to take better care of yourself.” The furball inspected Claire again before crawling into her lap and leaning against her stomach.

Almost habitually, Claire wrapped her arms around the critter’s chest and pulled her just a little bit closer. “You worry too much. Everything went according to plan.”

That, of course, was a lie. The original plan was to kill the centaur with the physical damage alone. The spell was nothing but a contingency, but somehow, he had survived even that. She had nearly panicked when he started walking towards her; she was lucky that Boris’ health drain had sufficed to finish the job.

“Uhmm… Claire? What you’re saying and what you're thinking don’t really match up.”

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” Claire squeezed the fox just a little bit harder.

“Yes, you totally do!”

“I really don’t.” Claire turned her eyes away, only to stop her hands as she spotted a raccoon on the windowsill.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” The rat held up a scroll. It wasn’t the garden variety that one could quite find anywhere, but rather a high-quality page reserved for the likes of a noble house. “But there’s something you’ll want to see.” The letter was stamped with an awfully clear seal—the southernmost marquis’ mark. “You’ve made an enemy of the Pollux march. And it turns out our dear friend Marquis Ephesus has been so kind as to share a bunch of information on the nameless knight.” He crossed his feet and leaned back against the window’s frame. “They’re coming for you, battlecruisers, gladiators, and all.”

“Good.” Claire balled her talons into fists. “Saves me the time of hunting down his kin.”

“Not good. With how much you struggled against one cloudrunner, I’m more inclined to believe the opposite,” said Panda. “You’ve only about a week before you run into each other. Most of the Marquis’ personal forces died with Tornatus, but it’s not like that was his only major city. You’re up against an army this time, and their commanders have still got the strength to back it.” The raccoon narrowed his eyes into a glare. “Fighting isn’t gonna cut it, especially not if you keep going the way you are.”

Claire refrained from responding aloud.

The raccoon might not have been in favour, but the fight was one that she had long picked.

She didn’t care how she did it or who she involved.

His brood would pay the due it owed.