Chapter 206 - Forged in Purple V
“You didn’t need to come.”
“I wanted to.”
“Of course you did.”
“You’re making it sound like I’m being dishonest.”
“You are.”
A four-legged Claire and a slightly less four-legged Natalya walked side by side as they advanced through the misty woods. Accompanying them for their journey were two additional actors, one the elf placed upon the lyrkress’ back, and the other the fairy fluttering through the air. Sylvia had played a key part in Nymphetel’s incapacitation. It was her bubbles that bound his hands, and her magic that had sedated both him and his less-than-enthused partner.
“I really did want to come,” said Natalya. “You wouldn’t do something like this unless you had to.”
The feline was not the only volunteer mailman; the other two had also offered to come along, but Claire had refused on the grounds of keeping an eye on Drohkchar. It was a flimsy justification, but they agreed to leave her alone and give her the space she required to conduct her bloody business.
“She’s got a point!” agreed Sylvia.
“What makes you think that?” asked Claire, with a tilt of the head.
“Because if you really hated Nymn, you would already have killed him,” replied the cat, with an awkward smile. “And if you didn’t, you would’ve left him alone.”
The lyrkress opened her mouth to refute the claim, but shut it again without a word.
“Let me guess.” Lia twisted her lips into a confident smile upon confirming the moose’s lack of a retort. “The marquis is threatening to report back to your father and is using the contract as a way to force your hand.”
Claire paused for a moment to cross her arms before she nodded. “Something like that.”
“Huh?” Sylvia tilted her head. “Wait a second. I thought you were only going after Nymn ‘cause you were worried about him being a loose end.”
“He kept his end of the bargain. Pollux already would’ve known if he didn’t.”
“Uhmmm… oops.” Sylvia shifted her hands behind her back and turned her eyes on a nearby shrub.
“What did you do?” asked Claire. She positioned herself in front of the fairy to give her the usual skeptical stare, but the tiny vulpine fluttered into the sky to avoid meeting her eyes. “Sylvia?” she asked, slightly more sternly.
“N-nothing!” stuttered the fox. “It’s just that I’m starting to think I wasn’t supposed to give Droksie nightmares.”
Claire sighed. “You weren’t. I told you that you were just supposed to put her to sleep.”
“Oh…. well I have some good news and some bad news,” she said, with a nervous laugh.
“Why do you keep insisting on giving people nightmares?” asked Natalya. “It seems a little mean spirited.”
“Because I’m bored! Out of my mind!” grumbled the fox. “This dungeon sucks! It’s like the most boring dungeon ever. Even Farenlight’s was more fun.”
“Was it? This one’s monsters are stronger,” said the cat.
“Yeah, but the environment is like literally always the same!”
“We have more companions this time,” said Lia. “That’s bound to make it at least a little bit better, right?”
“I mean, kinda? But also not really? I’m still bored out of my mind.”
Claire grabbed the fairy by the tail and gave her stomach a poke. “Quiet down. We’re here. And turn back into a fox while you’re at it.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Because I said so. Do you want to be snuggled or not?”
“Mmmmnnnfff… okay, fine. You win this time.”
The fox was not the only one to transform. Claire followed suit, discarding her lyrkrian shell for one that appeared much more humanoid whilst foisting her cargo onto her feline companion. It was as close as she could get without running the risk of exposure. The Cadrian camp’s patrols would notice the sudden change in her footprints if she got any closer.
It took another twenty-odd minutes of navigation to reach the temporary stronghold. It stood out from all the others not only because of its size, but because its perimeter was decorated with the banners of many a Cadrian house. To most in the know, it was an intimidating sight, proof that the unit was backed by some of the country’s most powerful men, but Claire continued forward without a single shred of caution. She walked right up to the guards, as would someone that belonged.
The men regarded her with suspicion at first, but quickly relaxed as she pulled back her hood.
“Good evening, Lady Augustus.” One soldier greeted her with a nod. Like all the others, his eyes were not on her face, or even her chest, but her ears.
She performed a picture perfect curtsy before pressing one of Farenlight’s horns in the fox’s paws and speaking by proxy. “Good evening, gentlemen. I would like to deliver a prisoner at the Marquis’ behest. Might I be shown inside?” She looked at each man in turn, eyes upturned, ears fluttering. The motion was just subdued enough to look accidental, so that the fault would be theirs if they mistook it as an act of courtship.
“Of course,” said one man. “Would you like me to show you to the commander’s tent?”
“That would be wonderful! Thank you so much!” Her face lit up and her ears twitched again. A direct hit on the guardsman’s heartstrings, powerful enough to flush his face crimson.
“Right this way, my lady.” His friends and comrades in arms kicked him in the leg or playfully smacked him in the back with a little too much force, but he ignored them and began walking her through the camp, their jealous glares only further fueling his ego. “This should be it. Excuse me for just one moment. I’ll make sure they get to you right away, my lady.”
“Thank you Castor!” Another innocent smile, accompanied by a faint blush as she played with her hair. Her eyes were shimmering and her gaze was flicking back and forth. An outstanding act by any standard.
“Y-you know my name?” The soldier’s eyes opened wide.
“Of course! How could I ever forget?” said the fox, as she pouted.
Castor’s thoughts likely would have been different had he known that she was contemplating his murder, but in that moment, he could not help but envision himself as the first and only man to lay hands on the untouchable jewel, a future where he rose to succeed the greatest general known to history. But alas, his fantasy was cut short when his superior appeared from within the tent and quite literally kicked his ass out of the way.
“Lady Augustus. I would appreciate it if you refrained from flirting with the men.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Sir Belen. I am doing no such thing,” said Sylvia, as Claire continued to smile. The moose glanced into the tent, through the open flaps, before continuing. “Is the lieutenant out?”
“Unfortunately, you’ll have to make do with me,” said the bespeckled baron. “Both the boss lady and her second in command have stepped out for a bit to do a bit of field work.”
“Awww… what a shame. I wanted to give them my regards.”
“I can certainly see that done for you.” Stroking his beard, he turned his attention to the elf slung over her back. “Now I take it we have matters to discuss? Would you like to come inside?”
“That would be wonderful!”
“Then please go right ahead. After you.” He opened the tent’s flaps for everyone else to enter before following suit himself. “I do apologize for the lack of courtesy. Unfortunately, we do not have a seat of honour set up right this moment. You are free to take any that happens to catch your eye instead.”
“That’s okay. I don’t really mind.” Almost skipping, she walked to the opposite side of the room and positioned herself atop a large, centaurian folding chair. Natalya seemed a bit confused as to where to go at first, so Claire patted the spot beside her and kept smiling, even as the cat wound up snuggling against her. Too close for comfort.
“How did you know their names?” whispered Lia, as the military man prepared his writing utensils.
“You learn a lot if you listen closely,” replied the longmoose.
“She means she heard them ‘cause their friends were saying them and stuff,” said Sylvia.
“And was any of that really even necessary? It seemed a little… over the top.”
“Of course. That’s how they think I am.” With one last whisper, she straightened her back and looked ahead again, just in time for Belen to finish sorting out his tools.
“Excuse the mess. We were just sorting through some new intel,” he said, with a calm smile. “Am I correct in assuming that this is about the prisoner?”
“Wow, Sir Belen, how did you know?” asked not-Claire, eyes wide. They were the exact same words she would have otherwise used, albeit spoken in a completely different tone.
“Call it experience,” chuckled the greying knight.
“How I wish I was as experienced as you. Father rarely gives me the chance to accrue any for myself.” With the saddest of pouts, the sheltered princess flicked her tail from left to right, and in doing so, smacked Nymphetel off the cat’s shoulder. She scrambled to try and catch him, but missed, and could only stare as he fell onto the floor headfirst. “Oops.” Her face turned as bright as a rose as she momentarily handed off the fox, lifted the prisoner with some difficulty, and propped him up beside the table. “Marquis Pollux told me I was supposed to catch Nymnphetel and bring her to his men.” She lifted her hand and presented Flitzegarde’s mark. “So here I am.”
“Really?” He cocked a brow, but shook his head soon after. “I suppose that does sound like something the master would want,” the baron breathed a sigh and shook his head. “Well in that case, consider her delivered. You may leave her anywhere.”
The mark on Claire’s hand greened as the words left the man’s mouth. Her half of the deal was complete; the marquis was god-bound to speak nothing to her father.
“In that case, I shall be leaving her right here. Thank you very much, Sir Belen.”
“You are very welcome, Lady Augustus,” he said. “Did you happen to have any other business items to address?”
“Not today. I will be taking my leave shortly,” she said, as she rose from her seat. “I hope that the tides of war may flow ever in your favour.”
The old knight laughed. “I will not be done in by any monsters, my fair lady. There is no need to worry.”
“It is not the monsters that are my concern.” She curtsied, then left the room and the camp soon after. Along the way, she continued playing the part of an innocent maiden, doing her best to fight back her shyness, so she could wave back at all the men that greeted her, but her demeanor changed as soon as she exited the camp. Her smile turned into a frown, and her joy pure annoyance. Lia tried to talk to her, but she pinched the cat’s mouth shut and advanced, until the eyes on her back finally went away.
“Get ready to fight,” said Claire.
“Fight? What for?” blinked the cat, as she was finally released.
The scalewarden twisted her lips into a ferocious grin. “Did you really think I was going to let Pollux have his way?”
___
“Psssst. Nymn! Wake up!”
Nymphetel furrowed her brow as she awoke to a strange, ticklish sensation. Her mind was still hazy and unclear, focused on the meal she had in her dreams. She could no longer recall exactly what it was, but she was under the impression that it was home cooked, made by none other than her boney bride.
“Nyyyyyymmnn! Come on!”
The itching sensation grew stronger. It almost felt like there was someone tickling her face with a feather, a very on-brand prank indeed.
Slowly, Nymphetel moved her hands, ready to launch into a tickling assault, but soon found that they were unable to part. Both her wrists were stuck behind her, bound by something or other, something softer than rope, and more moist as well. She tried opening her eyes, but her vision stayed dark. Her eyes were covered by the very same substance that kept her hands tied together.
“Nyyyyyyyyynmnmn!”
That was when she finally recalled the circumstances surrounding her slumber. She had foolishly challenged the monster’s daughter to a duel and lost her freedom. The ramifications had failed to sink in at first, her head too hot to internalise them. But they hit home as she realised her helplessness. She was unable to break the chains. Her prided strength stat did nothing, and her agility hardly proved any better.
There was nothing she could do to escape her jailer.
Tucking her knees close to her chest, the elf began to tear up, tiny drops at first, with bigger ones following soon after. She didn’t want to accept it. But she was going to be turned into a man’s toy. Her greatest fear, since the day the world had suddenly ceased to recognize her manhood. And even worse, she had to say goodbye, all because the blood had gotten to her head, just as it had back then.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” she said, with a sniffle. “I’m so sorry…”
“Dammit, Nymn! Stop ignoring me!”
A sharp pain shot its way through her body as her forehead was struck by some sort of object. Shaken and extremely confused, she looked in the attack’s direction, albeit to no avail.
“W-who’s there?” she asked, with a nervous gulp.
“It’s me! The fox that put you to sleep! I just wanna talk!”
For a moment, the Cadrian trainee clenched her teeth and balled her hands into fists, but relaxed after taking her next breath. She would not allow them to further soil her dignity. “I have no words for you, slaver.”
“Okay, so uhm, I know we’ve kinda looked pretty mean so far, but it’s not really as bad as it seems. Promise!” said the fox. “Since you’re technically already in their care now, it isn’t gonna be our fault if you happen to break out.”
The blackroot elf scoffed. “Break out? Of a Cadrian camp? I wouldn’t be a squire if I was capable of something that impressive.”
“Don’t worry! Claire said she’s pretty sure you can do it, and we’ll help once you make it into the trees.”
Nymphetel narrowed her eyes. “And if I can’t make it that far?”
“Well… uhh… erm… good luck!”
With a few waves of the paw, the fox removed Nymphetel’s bindings and teleported her equipment into her hands. Everything was present. Her armour, her shield, her sword, all in even better condition than when it had been taken from her.
When she looked up from her gear, which she had immediately started to equip, the sprite was already gone. She had vanished alongside the magical barrier around them, exposing her to the world, and further asserting that she could rely on no other but herself. While it appeared that the puppet masters had at least some degree of confidence, Nymn herself lacked the blind faith. Escaping would have been easy, had she been a high elf. She could have easily asked the trees for their aid. They would have guided her through the forest and brought her to safety—not that such an ability would prove necessary, had she the requisite ascension.
Her lips twisted into a frown, the blackroot elf wiped the tears off her face and slipped on her helmet. It limited her visibility, but a decrease in her field of view was a small price to pay for a disguise that hid her features. The elf snuck out from beneath the tent’s fabric after double checking her gear. She quickly got to her feet and began marching through the camp, boldly, as would any other Cadrian warrior. There was one problem, a problem she failed to realise until half the soldiers’ eyes were on her.
She was not a centaur.
Unlike Duke Augustus, who called all outstanding citizens to his employ, Marquis Pollux had a clear preference for those that were of the same species. Nearly everyone was a horse-man or some variant thereof. Deer, donkeys, and rams were abundant, and there was even the odd fighter with the lower body of a pig. While there did happen to be the occasional bipeds wandering about, they were so few in number that they were sure to be recognized. And recognize the blackwood elf, the soldiers did not.
She was approached first by a group of three, each armed with a long, fullmetal spear. All its members were true centaurs, their humanoid tops protected by thick sheets of leather, and their legs guarded by thick metallic skirts.
“Identify yourself, name and number.” The decorated commander at the front spoke to her in a loud, booming voice. Though his stance was neutral, his eyes revealed that he was ready to strike at a moment’s notice. The aura he exuded was one of confidence; he was convinced that Nymphetel would submit.
But she didn’t.
While she certainly did bend a knee, it was only to empower the lunge that followed. She flew through the air with enough speed to shatter the sound barrier and plunged her sword towards his neck.
His reactions were surprisingly slow; he failed to raise his weapon in time and fell in just a single blow. His second in command, however, was not as sluggish. He readied his spear immediately and jabbed it towards her gut, but she parried it with her buckler and kicked him in the leg. The next target, she assaulted with her blade. Leaping into the air, she split his head in two and splattered his brains all over her armour.
She charged again when she landed, springing off the ground as nimbly as a squirrel. A centaur dashed towards her, raising his sword to cut her in two, but she twisted past it, spinning her body around and kicking him straight in the gut. She bounced off his back right after, but found a wall of arrows lying in wait. One of the archers had unleashed a barrage with no regard for her allies. Her wind-blessed projectiles soared through the camp, piercing centaurs and tents, but not the elf that was her target.
Nymn bounced right off of their shafts, using the bolts like springboards to adjust her trajectory as she leapt through the air. A monumental, exhausting effort that failed to amount to a kill.
She could already tell, as the archer slipped out of her grasp, that it was going to be a long, long night.
Chapter 206 - Forged in Purple V
“You didn’t need to come.”
“I wanted to.”
“Of course you did.”
“You’re making it sound like I’m being dishonest.”
“You are.”
A four-legged Claire and a slightly less four-legged Natalya walked side by side as they advanced through the misty woods. Accompanying them for their journey were two additional actors, one the elf placed upon the lyrkress’ back, and the other the fairy fluttering through the air. Sylvia had played a key part in Nymphetel’s incapacitation. It was her bubbles that bound his hands, and her magic that had sedated both him and his less-than-enthused partner.
“I really did want to come,” said Natalya. “You wouldn’t do something like this unless you had to.”
The feline was not the only volunteer mailman; the other two had also offered to come along, but Claire had refused on the grounds of keeping an eye on Drohkchar. It was a flimsy justification, but they agreed to leave her alone and give her the space she required to conduct her bloody business.
“She’s got a point!” agreed Sylvia.
“What makes you think that?” asked Claire, with a tilt of the head.
“Because if you really hated Nymn, you would already have killed him,” replied the cat, with an awkward smile. “And if you didn’t, you would’ve left him alone.”
The lyrkress opened her mouth to refute the claim, but shut it again without a word.
“Let me guess.” Lia twisted her lips into a confident smile upon confirming the moose’s lack of a retort. “The marquis is threatening to report back to your father and is using the contract as a way to force your hand.”
Claire paused for a moment to cross her arms before she nodded. “Something like that.”
“Huh?” Sylvia tilted her head. “Wait a second. I thought you were only going after Nymn ‘cause you were worried about him being a loose end.”
“He kept his end of the bargain. Pollux already would’ve known if he didn’t.”
“Uhmmm… oops.” Sylvia shifted her hands behind her back and turned her eyes on a nearby shrub.
“What did you do?” asked Claire. She positioned herself in front of the fairy to give her the usual skeptical stare, but the tiny vulpine fluttered into the sky to avoid meeting her eyes. “Sylvia?” she asked, slightly more sternly.
“N-nothing!” stuttered the fox. “It’s just that I’m starting to think I wasn’t supposed to give Droksie nightmares.”
Claire sighed. “You weren’t. I told you that you were just supposed to put her to sleep.”
“Oh…. well I have some good news and some bad news,” she said, with a nervous laugh.
“Why do you keep insisting on giving people nightmares?” asked Natalya. “It seems a little mean spirited.”
“Because I’m bored! Out of my mind!” grumbled the fox. “This dungeon sucks! It’s like the most boring dungeon ever. Even Farenlight’s was more fun.”
“Was it? This one’s monsters are stronger,” said the cat.
“Yeah, but the environment is like literally always the same!”
“We have more companions this time,” said Lia. “That’s bound to make it at least a little bit better, right?”
“I mean, kinda? But also not really? I’m still bored out of my mind.”
Claire grabbed the fairy by the tail and gave her stomach a poke. “Quiet down. We’re here. And turn back into a fox while you’re at it.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Because I said so. Do you want to be snuggled or not?”
“Mmmmnnnfff… okay, fine. You win this time.”
The fox was not the only one to transform. Claire followed suit, discarding her lyrkrian shell for one that appeared much more humanoid whilst foisting her cargo onto her feline companion. It was as close as she could get without running the risk of exposure. The Cadrian camp’s patrols would notice the sudden change in her footprints if she got any closer.
It took another twenty-odd minutes of navigation to reach the temporary stronghold. It stood out from all the others not only because of its size, but because its perimeter was decorated with the banners of many a Cadrian house. To most in the know, it was an intimidating sight, proof that the unit was backed by some of the country’s most powerful men, but Claire continued forward without a single shred of caution. She walked right up to the guards, as would someone that belonged.
The men regarded her with suspicion at first, but quickly relaxed as she pulled back her hood.
“Good evening, Lady Augustus.” One soldier greeted her with a nod. Like all the others, his eyes were not on her face, or even her chest, but her ears.
She performed a picture perfect curtsy before pressing one of Farenlight’s horns in the fox’s paws and speaking by proxy. “Good evening, gentlemen. I would like to deliver a prisoner at the Marquis’ behest. Might I be shown inside?” She looked at each man in turn, eyes upturned, ears fluttering. The motion was just subdued enough to look accidental, so that the fault would be theirs if they mistook it as an act of courtship.
“Of course,” said one man. “Would you like me to show you to the commander’s tent?”
“That would be wonderful! Thank you so much!” Her face lit up and her ears twitched again. A direct hit on the guardsman’s heartstrings, powerful enough to flush his face crimson.
“Right this way, my lady.” His friends and comrades in arms kicked him in the leg or playfully smacked him in the back with a little too much force, but he ignored them and began walking her through the camp, their jealous glares only further fueling his ego. “This should be it. Excuse me for just one moment. I’ll make sure they get to you right away, my lady.”
“Thank you Castor!” Another innocent smile, accompanied by a faint blush as she played with her hair. Her eyes were shimmering and her gaze was flicking back and forth. An outstanding act by any standard.
“Y-you know my name?” The soldier’s eyes opened wide.
“Of course! How could I ever forget?” said the fox, as she pouted.
Castor’s thoughts likely would have been different had he known that she was contemplating his murder, but in that moment, he could not help but envision himself as the first and only man to lay hands on the untouchable jewel, a future where he rose to succeed the greatest general known to history. But alas, his fantasy was cut short when his superior appeared from within the tent and quite literally kicked his ass out of the way.
“Lady Augustus. I would appreciate it if you refrained from flirting with the men.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Sir Belen. I am doing no such thing,” said Sylvia, as Claire continued to smile. The moose glanced into the tent, through the open flaps, before continuing. “Is the lieutenant out?”
“Unfortunately, you’ll have to make do with me,” said the bespeckled baron. “Both the boss lady and her second in command have stepped out for a bit to do a bit of field work.”
“Awww… what a shame. I wanted to give them my regards.”
“I can certainly see that done for you.” Stroking his beard, he turned his attention to the elf slung over her back. “Now I take it we have matters to discuss? Would you like to come inside?”
“That would be wonderful!”
“Then please go right ahead. After you.” He opened the tent’s flaps for everyone else to enter before following suit himself. “I do apologize for the lack of courtesy. Unfortunately, we do not have a seat of honour set up right this moment. You are free to take any that happens to catch your eye instead.”
“That’s okay. I don’t really mind.” Almost skipping, she walked to the opposite side of the room and positioned herself atop a large, centaurian folding chair. Natalya seemed a bit confused as to where to go at first, so Claire patted the spot beside her and kept smiling, even as the cat wound up snuggling against her. Too close for comfort.
“How did you know their names?” whispered Lia, as the military man prepared his writing utensils.
“You learn a lot if you listen closely,” replied the longmoose.
“She means she heard them ‘cause their friends were saying them and stuff,” said Sylvia.
“And was any of that really even necessary? It seemed a little… over the top.”
“Of course. That’s how they think I am.” With one last whisper, she straightened her back and looked ahead again, just in time for Belen to finish sorting out his tools.
“Excuse the mess. We were just sorting through some new intel,” he said, with a calm smile. “Am I correct in assuming that this is about the prisoner?”
“Wow, Sir Belen, how did you know?” asked not-Claire, eyes wide. They were the exact same words she would have otherwise used, albeit spoken in a completely different tone.
“Call it experience,” chuckled the greying knight.
“How I wish I was as experienced as you. Father rarely gives me the chance to accrue any for myself.” With the saddest of pouts, the sheltered princess flicked her tail from left to right, and in doing so, smacked Nymphetel off the cat’s shoulder. She scrambled to try and catch him, but missed, and could only stare as he fell onto the floor headfirst. “Oops.” Her face turned as bright as a rose as she momentarily handed off the fox, lifted the prisoner with some difficulty, and propped him up beside the table. “Marquis Pollux told me I was supposed to catch Nymnphetel and bring her to his men.” She lifted her hand and presented Flitzegarde’s mark. “So here I am.”
“Really?” He cocked a brow, but shook his head soon after. “I suppose that does sound like something the master would want,” the baron breathed a sigh and shook his head. “Well in that case, consider her delivered. You may leave her anywhere.”
The mark on Claire’s hand greened as the words left the man’s mouth. Her half of the deal was complete; the marquis was god-bound to speak nothing to her father.
“In that case, I shall be leaving her right here. Thank you very much, Sir Belen.”
“You are very welcome, Lady Augustus,” he said. “Did you happen to have any other business items to address?”
“Not today. I will be taking my leave shortly,” she said, as she rose from her seat. “I hope that the tides of war may flow ever in your favour.”
The old knight laughed. “I will not be done in by any monsters, my fair lady. There is no need to worry.”
“It is not the monsters that are my concern.” She curtsied, then left the room and the camp soon after. Along the way, she continued playing the part of an innocent maiden, doing her best to fight back her shyness, so she could wave back at all the men that greeted her, but her demeanor changed as soon as she exited the camp. Her smile turned into a frown, and her joy pure annoyance. Lia tried to talk to her, but she pinched the cat’s mouth shut and advanced, until the eyes on her back finally went away.
“Get ready to fight,” said Claire.
“Fight? What for?” blinked the cat, as she was finally released.
The scalewarden twisted her lips into a ferocious grin. “Did you really think I was going to let Pollux have his way?”
___
“Psssst. Nymn! Wake up!”
Nymphetel furrowed her brow as she awoke to a strange, ticklish sensation. Her mind was still hazy and unclear, focused on the meal she had in her dreams. She could no longer recall exactly what it was, but she was under the impression that it was home cooked, made by none other than her boney bride.
“Nyyyyyymmnn! Come on!”
The itching sensation grew stronger. It almost felt like there was someone tickling her face with a feather, a very on-brand prank indeed.
Slowly, Nymphetel moved her hands, ready to launch into a tickling assault, but soon found that they were unable to part. Both her wrists were stuck behind her, bound by something or other, something softer than rope, and more moist as well. She tried opening her eyes, but her vision stayed dark. Her eyes were covered by the very same substance that kept her hands tied together.
“Nyyyyyyyyynmnmn!”
That was when she finally recalled the circumstances surrounding her slumber. She had foolishly challenged the monster’s daughter to a duel and lost her freedom. The ramifications had failed to sink in at first, her head too hot to internalise them. But they hit home as she realised her helplessness. She was unable to break the chains. Her prided strength stat did nothing, and her agility hardly proved any better.
There was nothing she could do to escape her jailer.
Tucking her knees close to her chest, the elf began to tear up, tiny drops at first, with bigger ones following soon after. She didn’t want to accept it. But she was going to be turned into a man’s toy. Her greatest fear, since the day the world had suddenly ceased to recognize her manhood. And even worse, she had to say goodbye, all because the blood had gotten to her head, just as it had back then.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” she said, with a sniffle. “I’m so sorry…”
“Dammit, Nymn! Stop ignoring me!”
A sharp pain shot its way through her body as her forehead was struck by some sort of object. Shaken and extremely confused, she looked in the attack’s direction, albeit to no avail.
“W-who’s there?” she asked, with a nervous gulp.
“It’s me! The fox that put you to sleep! I just wanna talk!”
For a moment, the Cadrian trainee clenched her teeth and balled her hands into fists, but relaxed after taking her next breath. She would not allow them to further soil her dignity. “I have no words for you, slaver.”
“Okay, so uhm, I know we’ve kinda looked pretty mean so far, but it’s not really as bad as it seems. Promise!” said the fox. “Since you’re technically already in their care now, it isn’t gonna be our fault if you happen to break out.”
The blackroot elf scoffed. “Break out? Of a Cadrian camp? I wouldn’t be a squire if I was capable of something that impressive.”
“Don’t worry! Claire said she’s pretty sure you can do it, and we’ll help once you make it into the trees.”
Nymphetel narrowed her eyes. “And if I can’t make it that far?”
“Well… uhh… erm… good luck!”
With a few waves of the paw, the fox removed Nymphetel’s bindings and teleported her equipment into her hands. Everything was present. Her armour, her shield, her sword, all in even better condition than when it had been taken from her.
When she looked up from her gear, which she had immediately started to equip, the sprite was already gone. She had vanished alongside the magical barrier around them, exposing her to the world, and further asserting that she could rely on no other but herself. While it appeared that the puppet masters had at least some degree of confidence, Nymn herself lacked the blind faith. Escaping would have been easy, had she been a high elf. She could have easily asked the trees for their aid. They would have guided her through the forest and brought her to safety—not that such an ability would prove necessary, had she the requisite ascension.
Her lips twisted into a frown, the blackroot elf wiped the tears off her face and slipped on her helmet. It limited her visibility, but a decrease in her field of view was a small price to pay for a disguise that hid her features. The elf snuck out from beneath the tent’s fabric after double checking her gear. She quickly got to her feet and began marching through the camp, boldly, as would any other Cadrian warrior. There was one problem, a problem she failed to realise until half the soldiers’ eyes were on her.
She was not a centaur.
Unlike Duke Augustus, who called all outstanding citizens to his employ, Marquis Pollux had a clear preference for those that were of the same species. Nearly everyone was a horse-man or some variant thereof. Deer, donkeys, and rams were abundant, and there was even the odd fighter with the lower body of a pig. While there did happen to be the occasional bipeds wandering about, they were so few in number that they were sure to be recognized. And recognize the blackwood elf, the soldiers did not.
She was approached first by a group of three, each armed with a long, fullmetal spear. All its members were true centaurs, their humanoid tops protected by thick sheets of leather, and their legs guarded by thick metallic skirts.
“Identify yourself, name and number.” The decorated commander at the front spoke to her in a loud, booming voice. Though his stance was neutral, his eyes revealed that he was ready to strike at a moment’s notice. The aura he exuded was one of confidence; he was convinced that Nymphetel would submit.
But she didn’t.
While she certainly did bend a knee, it was only to empower the lunge that followed. She flew through the air with enough speed to shatter the sound barrier and plunged her sword towards his neck.
His reactions were surprisingly slow; he failed to raise his weapon in time and fell in just a single blow. His second in command, however, was not as sluggish. He readied his spear immediately and jabbed it towards her gut, but she parried it with her buckler and kicked him in the leg. The next target, she assaulted with her blade. Leaping into the air, she split his head in two and splattered his brains all over her armour.
She charged again when she landed, springing off the ground as nimbly as a squirrel. A centaur dashed towards her, raising his sword to cut her in two, but she twisted past it, spinning her body around and kicking him straight in the gut. She bounced off his back right after, but found a wall of arrows lying in wait. One of the archers had unleashed a barrage with no regard for her allies. Her wind-blessed projectiles soared through the camp, piercing centaurs and tents, but not the elf that was her target.
Nymn bounced right off of their shafts, using the bolts like springboards to adjust her trajectory as she leapt through the air. A monumental, exhausting effort that failed to amount to a kill.
She could already tell, as the archer slipped out of her grasp, that it was going to be a long, long night.
