One village after the other, Acacia, Sir Knight, and the others make their way across the nation as they start on the outskirts of her city. One village has been attacked by burrowing monsters that crawl through the ground for so long that it has found itself surviving by living on stilted structures and walkways, terrified to touch the soil below them. They saved it by simply drawing in the entire swarm of monsters themselves, pulling thousands and thousands of the thin, meat-eating worms into a void portal that Acacia opened, using herself as bait while hundreds of people watched her from above in awe.
One fishing village by the southeast ocean was under the spell of a strange, ancient creature from the sea, having to sacrifice a person to its hunger once a month to keep themselves safe from it in a devil’s bargain. They were a quiet and reclusive people, desperate to hide their secret from the outsiders who had come to them, until they saw Sir Knight sloughing through the ocean — his body changing in shape and size to that of a black-scaled hydra with an uncountable number of heads that tore through the water until it reached the monster-filled temple out in the ocean and broke it apart brick by brick, killing the sea-witch inside.
Another village had been suffering from famine for a time now, as the world around them had dried out entirely for no discernible reason. It was as if the rain would simply leak through the soil and never set in it. Every bowl they set out to catch water somehow never seemed to hold it overnight, and every flask seemed to dry out and evaporate even if sealed. Even mummified monsters could be found as dried husks all across the region, having been sapped of all of the moisture in their flesh. Nobody knew what the source of the dryness was, with some calling it a curse on their bloodlines and others blaming ancient legends of forgotten demons.
After a week of importing immediately disappearing water to help them survive through one of Sir Knight’s void connections, Chicory finally found the source of the trouble. Rather than being borne by monsters or ancient dangers, it was, in fact, an enemy weapon that had been strategically placed in the region by some sort of infiltration troop of soldiers. This region was known in the past for its overproduction of otherwise rare and strategically important herbs, so they were sent here to disrupt the production of such. After the production stopped, the capital became disinterested in the saving and redevelopment of the region, as they instead focused resources elsewhere on still-productive regions of the nation.
Once the artifact and the enemy base were destroyed, the detrimental effects on the region stopped immediately. In each of these places, Acacia, Sir Knight, and the others came in to be viewed as heroes, which they make full use of as Acacia makes sure to give a speech and war cry to every location, exciting the hopeless and abandoned people for her cause with ease as they are implanted with fervor and zeal for the power that came to save them.
While the first village they had helped — with the crystal mine — had only a hundred and then some souls, the one with the worm monsters had double that, and the same was true for the other two. While the city that is the core of her growing territory within the heart of the nation has more than that by orders of thousands, these little pockets all around it collectively begin to add together into numbers of note themselves. With every location that falls under her banner, Acacia’s renown grows, and the saying of her name spreads further and further as people begin to raise their voices, from whispers to shouts. Roads are built as the region is woven together by a mesh of constructions that seem to appear almost overnight from crews of black-armored soldiers who never eat or sleep. They rebuild destroyed houses and farms, clear out landslides from the broken hills, and carve out long-since collapsed tunnels and passageways. All the while, they scour the region, clearing out nests of monsters by the hundreds, driving them further and further away from the central node of her power.
And this safety that grows by the day brings with it influence, as traveling merchants from the rest of the nation make note of this impeccable new infrastructure and extremely safe roads — free of brigands, monsters, or enemy ambushes — and begin to flood toward her domain that sits nested in the heart of the nation like a growth that wishes to overtake its host. This becomes vital, as the nation — finally growing wise to her complot — begins to seal the borders and roads to her usurping domain. But the soldiers needed to establish these roadblocks are few and far between, as most are needed in the north-east for the front lines.
These claimed villages she has taken provide her war chest with precious resources. The first village provides the precious crystals from its mine, which begin to appear in the many magic-reagent shops of her city. The ocean villages send over fresh fish and sea food by the tons, held cold by ice-casting student sorcerers from the magic academy — who are happy to do so, as this work counts toward the time required for their apprenticeships to finish their education. The dry village begins to flourish as everything regrows, and they supply the alchemists of the city with herbs that would otherwise be impossible to get with the blockade around the territory — to Acacia’s luck, because she needs them to do so in order to create her medicine. The village that had been under attack by burrowing monsters, now able to return to the ground again, spread out far and wide, using their expertise in elevated construction to set up watchtowers and outposts at her behest.
Taxes flow into the city from its people, of which she takes a small but sizable portion that runs into her own personal coffers, together with her income from her merchants around the nation — set up by Mr. Kaeufer. This back-channel of funding doesn’t seem to have been understood by the capital yet, as there are no sanctions on the movement and sales of his products, which are sold right under their noses — even in the capital itself.
By this time, a month and a half had passed since her proclamation of intent to rule the kingdom.
Black banners hang across the streets and roads as people live their lives in full flourish in the contrastingly bright and beautiful spring. Flowers blossom in corners they had not been seen in for decades, and the perfume of gentle petals fills the air as a soft, warm wind moves across the nation, putting the sense of peace in her domain fully in contrast with the horrors of the war-torn outskirts of the nation.
— Except for her personally.
Acacia lies there on her back, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes that carry in them a horror at what is to come.
“I can’t do this,” she says, her sweaty fingers clenching the sheets. “I won’t make it.”
This is it. This is how everything falls apart. All of the terrors they have fought against, all of the horrors and nightmares she has spent blood and tears to repel, all of the days spent planning the logistics and politics of her kingdom to come — it’s all going to come to a waste now after tomorrow. It will all have been for nothing, as if she were marching directly to the chopping block.
A head leans back from the person sitting on the floor. Junis, leaning back against the bed, rests her head against Acacia’s stomach. “Just one more page. Come on,” she encourages, looking just as tired herself. “We’re almost there.”
“I can’t,” says Acacia weakly, closing her eyes. “Go on without me,” says the exhausted queen-to-be. “Sir Knight,” says Acacia, reaching out and placing a hand on the round, stuffed, toy duck there next to her. “Bury me with ten thousand flowers,” she asks, her hand sliding to the bed. "Soft roses."
“Yes, Your Majesty,” replies the duck in Sir Knight’s growling voice.
Junis reaches out, grabbing Acacia’s arm. “Come on,” she encourages, shaking the living corpse of the princess. She lifts her head back up, looking down at the open book in her lap. “A caster depletes his entire reserve of magic,” starts the elf, reading a question from the tome. “If he wants to recover his energy, what is the fastest way to do so?” she asks. “Sleeping, meditation, or prayer?”
Acacia sighs. “Is drinking a potion an answer?”
“No,” replies Junis.
Acacia thinks for a moment. “Trick question,” she explains after a moment. “For most people, sleeping is the best option,” says the princess. “But holy-magic casters will find prayer faster if they’ve been trained in the church’s techniques.”
“Mhm!” mutters Junis, pleased. “The answer is right, and the additional context is even worth extra credit,” she explains. Nodding, she closes the book. “I think you’re ready for tomorrow, Acacia!” says the elf, looking peacefully satisfied.
Acacia opens her eyes, which feel burned through and dry. “What I'm ready for is the grave.”
“It’s just an exam. You’ve done them before,” remarks Junis.
Acacia rolls her head, looking at her, but not lifting it off of the pillow. “I will remind you that I failed them, Junis.” She rolls her head back up to stare at the ceiling with a fundamental, deep exhaustion emanating from her nearly lifeless body. “If I receive anything less than a perfect mark on this exam, my reputation will be destroyed,” says Acacia. “I may as well end my campaign for the throne here and now.”
“You can do it!” says Junis, encouragingly as she slowly rises to her feet and yawns. “I better get home,” explains the elf, rubbing her tired eyes. “We start early tomorrow.”
Acacia sits upright. “You may stay here, if you like,” offers Acacia.
Junis turns her head, looking back at her and then at the tiny, underground room below the adventurers’ guild. “…What?” asks Junis. “Like, a sleepover?”
“I’ve never had one before,” admits Acacia.
Sir Knight watches the two of them. Acacia seems to have gotten over her dislike of Junis, perhaps because of all the time the two of them had been forced to spend together in an effort to get Acacia up to speed for the academy exam that is coming. Or perhaps because of the nature of them fighting and working together every day for Acacia’s fight for the throne. Either way, there has been a change in their behavior around each other that he’s noticed. The stuffed duck watches them. If he dared to say it, he’d almost think that they were becoming something like friends.
Acacia crosses her arms, looking away. “It won’t do for you to walk home this late by yourself,” she remarks.
“I mean… Sir Knight could walk me back?” suggests Junis, packing her book away into her rucksack.
“No,” replies Acacia plainly and quickly. The stuffed duck turns to look at her. “Sir Knight has to go to the dungeon tonight,” says Acacia, matter of factly. she looks out of the side of her eyes at the toy duck.
“Oh,” replies Junis, scratching her cheek. “Well… I mean… okay,” she says. “Sure!” Junis nods once, an almost excited smile on her face.
“Wait, what?” asks Sir Knight. “Why don’t I get to be a part of the sleepover?” he asks.
“Because, Sir Knight, you may see me in my pajamas,” explains Acacia plainly. “But I explicitly forbid you from seeing anyone else in theirs,” she says, picking the toy duck up with both hands. She begins to squeeze it together, twisting it like she were wringing out a wet rag.
“Actually, I don’t have pajamas with me,” explains Junis, fumbling through her bag. “Wasn’t really expecting to need them,” she says, grabbing the bottom of her shirt and opening a button.
“All the more reason,” remarks Acacia, watching as a black shadow drips out and slithers toward the cracks of the floor. She gets up, grabbing the broom against the corner of the room as she begins to sweep the shadow away, which rolls together as if it were a ball of dust she was pushing to the door.
“What am I looking for in the dungeon?” asks Sir Knight as he is swept away and out of the tiny room.
Acacia opens the door, pushing him to the other side of it with the broom, before leaning it against the wall. “A sense of character and an understanding of the privacy women sometimes desire from men, perhaps?” suggests Acacia, closing the door behind him.
The shadow that he is slides up and over the stairs, past the sleeping anqa and the guards that watch the alley and the marketplace.
He doesn’t know about anything like that, but he supposes there’s always work to do. Money makes the world go round, and he has a lot of expenses these days. It turns out that developing a nation may just be even more expensive than entertaining Acacia’s exorbitantly expensive tastes.
Sir Knight slithers toward the darkness of the night, winding through the legs of a group of tired adventurers coming back to the guild from a long day down in the dungeon.
What a bunch of suckers.
Hase laughs into her fist, full of coins, as she walks off down the hallway of the building toward the door that leads to ‘her room’.
Opening her hand, she looks at the obols that she had been paid — a hundred. They must have given her the wrong denomination and not noticed. Well, she sure as hell isn’t going to say anything about it. She can’t really tell what’s wrong with these people, but she’s sure that they’re high on their own supply. Every day, they’re giving her money to just deliver things from the kitchen to the tables out in the front room. She can only assume that this place is a front and that they’re selling drugs to the people coming in and out every day, since most of them seem to be regulars. Funnily enough, the majority of them are vildt like her. But she’s not getting involved with them because of that.
She doesn’t quite understand the situation, but she assumes that they’re using her as an in-between. If any guards come in and bust the operation, they won’t punish a young person like her as harshly as they would an adult who was doing the handoffs. Really, when you think about it, they’re using her more than she’s using them.
What a bunch of dopes.
Dropping the coin into her tucked shirt, she walks past the door to her room — that she never uses — and opens a window at the end of the hallway, crawling out of it and climbing up a spout onto the roof, where she stashes the coin away under a shingle together with all the rest of her stash that she has been putting away piece by piece. With a gleaming eye, the thief looks at the stash of money she has been getting ready. It’s really coming together. This time, she’s not going to lose it all like last time with those damn kids in the alley. She’s going to be smart about it.
When this situation explodes, like every situation always does, she’s going to use this money to escape this city and this time for good. A few more weeks of this and she might even have enough to buy a little house of her own.
But that thought makes her twitchy.
‘Weeks’.
Hase lifts her head, closing her secret stash on the roof of the building, behind the chimney, as she looks out over the dark city.
The thought of being somewhere — anywhere — for weeks makes her uneasy. The last time she spent so much time in one place was when she was working for the scratchy man. Being in one place for a long time is dangerous. The longer you stay still, the greater the risk you accumulate that the jaws wrapping themselves around you are going to snap shut.
With twitchy eyes, she notices a shadow streaking through a crowd of night-walking adventurers.
“…Sir Knight…” she mutters, recognizing the shadow that had gotten her involved in this scheme. She always knew he was a bad thing. But she never suspected that he was this deeply involved in the criminal underworld.
Maybe she underestimated him?
Hase checks that her stash is secure and then runs, leaping off to another roof as she follows the shadow, stalking it toward the dungeon.
Mietze, the young vildt boy who works in the tea house, stands there before the desk of the establishment’s owner, Mr. Tatze.
“How is our newest waitress doing?” asks Tatze, looking over a stack of paperwork, which is his actual real job rather than running a tea house. The man is an ambassador of sorts for the vildt race — the half-animal people — in this city.
Mietze, standing there with his hands behind his back, looks back with a somewhat perplexed, quiet laughter that signals a state of lost confusion more than one of amusement. “She has… spirit,” he says. “It’s been a lot of work to get her to act a little more, uh, refined,” explains the boy.
Mr. Tatze nods, returning to his paperwork. “That’s fine,” he explains. “I’ll accept a small revenue loss for the tea house if it means gracing the shadow of royalty,” he explains.
“Sir?” asks Mietze.
Tatze shakes his head. “I knew that girl was a noble,” he says, referring to Acacia. “But to think that she was a princess of the nation…” he explains, stopping his work to rub his face with both hands for a second. “You did good, winning over her graces, Mietze,” explains the ambassador. "My faith in you was well placed."
“Thank you, sir,” replies the boy, scratching the back of his head. “But it was more happenstance than anything,” he admits.
“Take credit for the circumstances fate gives you, boy,” replies Tatze. He lifts his eyes, looking at Mietze, a sheet of paper in both hands as he works his way through a stack. “You making friends with her bodyguard might have done more for our kind than I have managed in years of my work,” he says, sounding almost sour for a moment, before sighing with a resigned head.
Mietze tilts his head, the fact that he doesn’t understand being clearly painted on his face. Tatze decides to leave it be. “You’re a fine young man, Mietze,” says the ambassador. He nods his head to the door. “Go to bed. Tomorrow is a new day.” The boy stares, confused. But then he bows his head and makes his exit, quietly closing the door behind him.
Tatze sits at the desk, watching as it latches closed, and then looks back down at the papers in his hands. One pile of documents are bills and order summaries for shipments of tea from all across the world. Numbers and descriptions of blends and harvests that seem benign at first.
But he slides them together, arranging them to overlap so that specific, hidden marks on the shipment orders align as he slides the papers apart into several layers, looking at the encoded message written there for him from the capital of his own country that comes together from a collage of letters.
‘Support her rebellion’.
Tatze slides the papers back together into a stack, placing them on a pile, before working his way through the rest of the documents.
The world never stops moving.
While this nation is at war with the neighboring empire to the north-east and there is a civil war going on in the opposite direction in the south-west, his own country is playing a third-party role in stoking the fires across the continent. After all, the worse things are here, the stronger their own geo-political situation is across the ocean. A war here not only strengthens demand for all of their shipments, but it also weakens their only real rival amongst the worldly powers.
If the girl usurps the throne and takes over the kingdom, this will be greatly beneficial for his kind, which has been held at a distance from society here for a long time. She’s supportive of them and their ilk, acting as a friend to his people. Having her on the throne here is of critical interest to his people, so his orders and those of others like him across the nation are to support her ascent in whatever way they can.
Tatze wonders if she would still feel the same about them if she knew of their secretive work in the shadows. But he shakes his tired head as he keeps to his tasks.
A noble, let alone a royal, knows how things work in the background of a nation. This might be a secret, but it isn’t hidden. He thinks that she knows all of the strings being pulled.
Sipping from the tea next to him, he continues his work, thinking for a moment that he hears something pattering on the roof over his head.
It grabs him.
Kaisersgrab, letting out a terrified scream, opens his eyes and shoots upright and into wakefulness again. The man, who had been resting on the floor, clutches his heart that he had felt a massive, shadowy hand reaching for a second ago in his dream, pants for breath as he looks around the room with paranoid eyes. His gaze falls over a heap of bodies all around him. Some of them turn over, rolling the other way. He looks around at his fellow grim — werewolves who act in service of the holy church in return for it having saved them from the otherwise horrible fates that had awaited all of them.
A pair of yellow eyes opens next to him, looking his way as he sits there, covered in the sweat of night terrors.
“Did he scare you that badly?” asks an almost mocking voice from the person lying there. Schurkenlied stretches himself out, which is a confusing sight as the man is an amalgamation that is on one half more womanly in form than some of the actual women here, but the other more dense and masculine than the roughest he knows. His long, brown hair dangles below his head as he rests it on his elbow. His lycanthropy had afflicted his body more than it had the rest of them. He had eaten and absorbed his twin sister in the womb before ever being born, resulting in his appearance being a melt of two bodies.
Kaisersgrab gets up, slapping his hands against his face as he walks over the pile of bodies that sleep together like a pack of wild dogs would. “You don’t know what it was like,” says the man with wide, haunted, reddened eyes. “…Der Ritter,” he says, his hands still on his face as his tired eyes stare through the gaps between his fingers that seem to have become stuck to his skin. “He’s out there,” says the man, turning his eyes to look through the gaps in his fingers toward the corner of the room, where a small shadow falls out of the firelight. With a wide gaze, he studies it, as if expecting it to come to life at any moment.
“…Breathe,” says a dull, monotone voice from next to him as someone grabs his ankle from the pile. Kaisersgrab looks down at Fichtenholz, lying there in a ball and staring at him with only one eye open. “Your bad energy is disturbing the night, puppy,” she says in a drawn-out lull, watching him with a sleepy, disinterested gaze.
Kaisersgrab hisses between his teeth, pulling his leg out of her hand.
These people are the 'family' he has spent his life growing up with. All of them are wretches of the same make and mark, all of them belonging to a clan no larger than the heap of sleeping bodies in this room, strewn across the floor.
Tearing his fingers through his hair, he steps out past them and through the door to the basement room, where they are contained.
They don’t know what he knows. They never saw him.
Stumbling forward through the dark space, Kaisersgrab walks toward an altar, folding his hands as he drops to his knees before the shrine.
He can’t sleep.
He’s paid his penance for failure, but still, ever since it’s happened, he can’t sleep anymore. Every time he closes his eyes, it becomes dark enough for a shadow to crawl through his mind. Every time he looks away from a space for a second, his thoughts race to it, falling into blackness, and a dark hand reaches out to grab him in his paranoid thoughts. Every time he exhales, he can only think about the emptiness in his body and about what could be inside of it this very second — the monster that has plagued him since he was a boy, chained to a tree outside of a village with no name. Kaisersgrab wants to start praying for help to manage his terror, but as his eyes rise to the statue of the saint of lost children, whom he is kneeling in front of, his eyes stop at the sight of his own folded hands a few inches from his face, and he can’t help but think about the emptiness present between his own locked fingers. He lets out a noise, as if pulling his burned hand back out of a flame.
“What are you afraid of?” asks a curious voice from next to him that he hadn’t heard approaching. A head of perfectly straightly cut, shoulder-length, dull green hair lies down on his lap, looking up at him with a dry, emotionless look. Fichtenholz lies on her back, looking at him with dull, almost lightless eyes. Her hands are folded on her stomach.
“Monsters,” replies Kaisersgrab, looking at the dull, empty eyes of the elf. She always been one of his best friends since they were little and grew up in the program, but even she doesn’t really understand his situation.
She blinks slowly, almost like a toad, before unraveling her hands. One points at her nose, and the other, moving with almost meandering speed, reaches up to touch his chin, as it can’t stretch further. “We are monsters,” she explains, as if stating the obvious in her dull, emotionless manner. Fichtenholz has always been a bit like a zombie in her demeanor. All of them have found various ways to process their past. As for her, she simply let her emotions and personality fall into a deep sleep as a child while she was trying to survive. By the time she got away from her situation, having been rescued by the church, it was almost like only a piece of her had woken back up afterward and the rest of the girl that she was chose to instead stay in its sleeping, safe place forevermore. Even if she’s his best friend, sometimes he feels like talking to her is like talking to a sleepwalker. Kaisersgrab often isn’t really sure if someone real and awake is actually there on the other end of his words. Very slowly, she brings both of her hands to her face, looks up at him, and folds her fingers out to the side. “Roar,” says Fichtenholz in a dull tone, fully without enthusiasm, speed, or urgency. Her expression doesn’t change in the least.
Kaisersgrab drops one of his hands down onto her forehead, stroking her hair as he looks back up toward the statue of a woman standing there with arms spread open wide. Smaller hands and arms reach up out of the base of the pedestal and latch onto her legs and dress as if they were the drowning dead, trying to pull her down into the brink with them.
“Pray,” instructs a dull voice from down below, fully without emotion. He knows her; despite it being an emotionless word, it was a command. Kaisersgrab takes his hand off of her head so that he can lock his grasp together again. “No,” she says, grabbing the released hand and pulling it back to her head, where it was a moment ago. Lifting her other hand, Fichtenholz grabs his hand and folds it together so that — in the end — two palms are clasped before the statue — if not at a somewhat awkward angle. “Pray,” she says, closing her eyes as he does too.
“For what, though?” asks Kaisersgrab, his voice carrying up to the statue.
A head rolls in his lap. “Good hunting,” she replies in an emotionless tone, as if reading a pair of boring words from an old book.
By the time the sun rises in the distance and the others rise with it, it is time for them to set out again once more. They’ve been working to secure the border after his failure to secure the youngest princess as a bargaining chip in the war.
However, it seems that his failure was for their best interests anyway, as the young princess of the kingdom has begun a rebellion directly within its heart. The enemy nation, not having troops to spare from the war with them, can do little to stop her from festering and spreading in their core like a rot. She’s weakening them in a way they never could have. In a sense, she’s more valuable there than she would have been here.
— If not for the fact that she controls Herr Ritter.
If that beast with no face turns his blade toward them, then it doesn’t matter how much she weakens the nation. If the monster that eats everything, the monster that is the total emptiness of all things warm and loving, if it turns their way with one of its hungry, yearning eyes, then they’ll be consumed and swallowed by a war-scream from a mouth that opens to a belly with no end.
So they’re going to return to the chase before this can happen.
The troop of soldiers marches at her side as she walks down the hallway, the stamping of boots filling the building that almost seems to shake from every unified step of the legion as they walk, forming a corridor as they march on either side. Terrified students jump out of the way, squeezing against the walls or into rooms as the blackguards walk, their hands resting on sheathed swords as they move through the academy building.
Acacia looks around at a few faces she recognizes from her harder days, feeling smug satisfaction at them falling pale as her eyes land on them, and they remember the way they treated her back then.
Feeling happy with herself, she walks forward toward a door and slides it open.
The troop of soldiers spins around, planting their pikes at the ready as they face the hallway behind them, in which several unsure students are still standing — many of them having been heading this way too. Although their nervous faces suggest that they aren’t sure if this is still wise or not.
As the door slides open, the professor jumps up at his desk, sweat having already beaded on his face since he likely heard the approaching stomping heading toward his lecture hall.
Acacia looks past the sweaty man toward the classroom, in which only about half of the desks are full. She’s a little early. Swiping her hair back behind her ear, she strolls in as if it were her home and snaps a finger.
A few soldiers run in, carrying stacks of paper and inkwells as she sits down at her favorite table, quietly folding her hands while a few very nervous students sit like statues at their tables as armored guards provide small supply packages for everyone — bundles of paper, ink, and even a few snacks together with a glass flask of water each.
Smiling as the soldiers move out of the room, Acacia looks at the gulping professor.
She feels good about today. It’s going to be a good day.
“A barracks?” asks the captain of the city guard, scratching his head as he looks at Sir Knight, who is standing next to him. The man doesn’t seem to be sure if he had just heard right.
The two of them are outside of the city, near the rubble and ruins of what was once the baron’s estate. “No,” replies Sir Knight. “A garrison,” he says plainly, looking out at the fully empty space that can be put to better use than it is now. “More and more people are coming to the city,” explains Sir Knight, looking at the captain of the local watch. “Now that the roads are opening up again and the villages are being reconnected, there’s been an influx of people.”
The captain stands there, rubbing the back of his head. “That’s true, but…”
“— We need more bodies,” explains Sir Knight. “And these new people can use the work. Training a man to swing a sword is faster than training him to build a house.”
“I just don’t know if it’s popular,” he replies, turning back to watch as a few dark-armored soldiers already begin work on clearing away the old rubble into collected, organized heaps.
Sir Knight shakes his head. “Surviving will be very popular,” he says plainly. “Our growing prosperity is going to attract a growing danger.”
“You sure got us into a lot of trouble here, for a stranger to these parts,” says the captain, sighing. He nods. “I’ll have a man draw up the plans.”
“It’s what I do best,” replies Sir Knight, looking back at the plot of land that is just outside, but still connected to the city.
The baron had been deeply unpopular and feared. Erasing the last traces of him, even after the destruction of the manor, which essentially resulted in a frenzy and day-long celebration in the city just by itself, will be another victory for Acacia’s reign and control over the populace. They’re quickly coming to love her. Just the same as her soldiers have been working day and night to reconstruct the region, they’ve begun to do the same for the city. Old bridges have been tightened up, crumbling walls have been refinished, and all manner of projects across the city that had gotten stuck in red tape or in some state of disarray have been taken care of by the cutting of a sword through the paperwork. Day by day, the city is reshaping and transforming into something more polished, clean, and refined. The merchants and adventurers are behind her efforts — the latter she secured by revamping the nature of the city’s adventuring guild. Now, anyone with an official adventurer’s license who completes at least one quest a week is entitled to free room and board there — at her expense.
This is all very expensive.
But building a garrison here, a mustering ground for fresh ‘real’ soldiers and able-bodied fighters, as well as an emergency fortress should a crisis arise, will be very popular amongst the people if this is built in the ruins of the house of a man they all hated.
This will also be extremely expensive — frighteningly so, in fact.
“I have to get back to work,” says Sir Knight, waving with a hand over his shoulder as he returns back to the city and the dungeon.
Between the financing of all of these projects — even including absolutely free labor and the free procurement of many resources because of his soldiers — they’re running into the realms of tens of thousands of obols every single day.
Their main lifeline at the moment are the merchants, who move in and out of the region with the goods being produced here at an increased rate, thanks to the strengthened villages all around the city, who are essentially acting as force multipliers for the city’s internal production capabilities. Plus the adventurers and their dungeon work every day, who add in an array of exotic products that can be sold. All of this added in together with their national business enterprise with Mr. Kaeufer is coming together to just enough to foot the bill and then enough left over to squander on duck-themed pajamas, rugs, and bedding.
These have thankfully gotten somewhat cheaper, as Acacia’s liking for them has spread a trend across the city. Basically, there are ducks everywhere he looks. The bakers are selling duck shaped biscuits, and the toy-makers have row after row of wooden birds in their windows. As Sir Knight walks through the city, over the bridge toward the dungeon gate, he looks at a dark-elven woman, covered in splotches of paint. She’s an artist, painting small ducks on people’s skin for a token fee.
What kind of strange world has he helped create here?
Sir Knight walks down the stairs into the dungeon, pulling his sword from his side as he sets out to get to work.
A shrill, shriek, banshee-like cackling fills the air as Acacia struts past them with a gait like a proud bird, showing its plumage to the world. “What a waste of my time this was,” she says, flippantly throwing a strand of hair back behind her ear. Smugly, she stands there, resting a finger on her cheek. “I could have answered these questions without studying for a minute.”
The sound of dozens of clapping hands comes from around the back of the alleyway as several blackguards follow Sir Knight’s sarcastic example of applauding every little thing she does. “As expected of Her Majesty,” says Chicory, applauding with them as Acacia holds up her exam into the air — scored with a perfect mark as a grade.
Acacia stands there with one hand on her hip, the other holding the paper up for all to see. The smug expression doesn’t leave her face. “I think I can even stand your boot-licking today, Chicory,” says the princess. “Praise me more.”
“It is my place in this world to bring nothing but honor the royal family’s name,” replies Chicory, who does not remark on whether she enjoys what she perceives as being her duty or not. “But even that is only a whisper of what your shadow carries with it.”
Acacia laughs triumphantly, like a witch standing over a slain hero, as she rolls the exam paper together. She turns her head, snapping a finger at a guard. “Bring me Junis,” she orders. The blackguard salutes and then runs off into the city. Acacia looks back at Chicory. “Chicory. We’re celebrating today,” says Acacia. “Let’s go out to eat,” she offers. “My treat.”
Chicory grabs her robe, bowing. “It is not my place to dine at your table, Your Grace,” says Chicory. “But I will check your food for poison.”
Acacia walks up to the royal agent, pressing the paper tube against her. “Cut the spiel for today, Chicory,” says Acacia, sighing. “Do me a favor and act like a real human for the next few hours.”
“I thank you for the offer, but we do not need to spend time together in such a manner,” replies Chicory. “There is no need for you to spend your evening in the presence of someone you dislike, your Highness.”
Acacia opens her eyes and looks at Chicory. “You’re a conniving, fake snake of a person, Chicory,” says the princess, plain as day, as she looks Chicory in the eyes. “One moment you’re shadowing me and saying you’re trying to protect the royal family; the other you’re acting like an actual priestess and tending to sick children in the park; and the next you’re stalking and threatening Sir Knight to get him to fight your war,” she lists, tapping Chicory with the rolled-up paper each time.
“Yes, Your Grace,” replies Chicory plainly.
Acacia rolls her eyes. “But you know what?” she asks. “I’m still telling you to join me for dinner tonight, as my guest, not as whatever you are pretending to be today.” Acacia turns around, looking at the alleyway as a terrified, screaming elf is being carried in on the shoulders of a troop of soldiers.
“Why?” asks Chicory, watching as the blackguards set down Junis, who holds onto a wall and pants for air as if she had been spun around and fully lost her orientation.
“Because I’m the queen-to-be, and that’s what I’ve decided,” explains Acacia. “Junis! Look!” she calls excitedly, holding out her exam to Junis, whose pale and queasy face lights up with a glow.
“That’s amazing!” says Junis excitedly, grabbing Acacia’s shoulders as the two of them laugh and hug, jumping in a circle.
“Right?! Thank you!” beams Acacia, looking at her. “Get ready; we’re going out to eat tonight,” she says. “My treat.”
The two of them really have become friends.
“Do I get to come too?” asks a voice from behind Chicory. She turns her head, looking at the long, drawn out splotch of dark ink that stretches over the wall from her shadow and looms over her. Sir Knight sticks there, like a lightless imprint on the bricks.
Acacia looks his way. “Did you begin work on the garrison?”
“Yes,” replies Sir Knight.
She narrows her eyes. “Did you earn today’s money, including what I need for my provisions?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” says the shadow.
Acacia lets go of Junis. “What about Pepper?” asks Acacia, pointing at the anqa. “Is he groomed and fed?”
“He’s almost as spoiled as you are, Your Majesty,” replies Sir Knight, as she looks at the sleek and rounding anqa.
Acacia plants her hands on her hips. “Have you swept the alleyway?”
“With every fiber of my being,” replies the shadow, turning to look at her. “You know, I’m starting to feel like this workload is a little unbalanced now that you’re listing it all out,” he remarks.
Acacia waves to him. “Then I suppose I can manage to stand your presence for tonight, Sir Knight,” she explains, smiling as she holds out a hand. “Today is a good day, after all,” says Acacia. “Just like I predicted.”
The shadow peels off of the brickwork, forming a mass of armor that her out-held hand grabs onto. “I live in constant awe of your abundant wisdom and kindness, Your Majesty,” replies Sir Knight, with sarcasm clear in his tone. But Acacia doesn’t let that bother her as she tapes the rolled-up exam paper and pushes it in between one of his armor’s gaps. With a light touch, she pats it a few times to let it slide into the empty metal.
“As you well ought to,” replies Acacia with the same smile that she has had this entire time. She holds out her other arm for Junis to take before the four of them head out into the city.
Standing on a hill, the wind blows past his cloak and robe, his wide-brimmed hat billowing in the wind as he looks toward the city in the distance. Zabinayah stares at the walls of the place and at the towers, which are being erected on many points of fortification. Carriages move in and out of the city by the dozens every minute, and the inside of it is full of movement and life. It looks like it’s prospering.
He shakes his head, feeling a sickness well in his gut, as he thinks of the cost of such success.
These people may think they are being led by the divine, but they don’t know that it is the devil who pulls them forward — not toward success, but toward the abyssal fires of destruction.
The inquisitor from the southern nation hoists his bag up over his shoulders as he makes his way to the final stretch of the journey. This city is the nest and hive of the brood queen of the demon swarm. He’s walked all of this way from his home in order to restore his honor and name.
Now he must do so, no matter his fear. It does not matter if the cavaleiro is here guarding her. He doesn’t need to fight him.
He just needs to get past him long enough to kill the girl, the princess — Acacia Odofredus Krone — so that he can cut her black heart and take it back with him to the church that has called for it.
Tipping his red hat to block out the sun, the man moves toward a caravan and follows it along into the city.
