Chapter 323 - The Northern Brigade VII
A qiligon-shaped Claire sipped tea from a wide dish as she watched the troops and their morning routines. Technically, her role was to scout for talent, and technically, she was not meant to be carrying out the responsibility just yet. Though there were a fair number of idiots that she fully intended to deny, she had been forbidden from kicking anyone out until the first three dungeons had been marked off the expedition’s trail; it was only as they approached the nation’s northern border that the judgement would be delivered.
“Why am I doing this?”
The person standing in front of the lyrkress twisted her lips into a pout as she swung a mop back and forth. With each attack came a minor adjustment. Vectors prodded at her limbs and put them into the positions that a Cadrian would have likely considered appropriate.
“Because you said you were tagging along. Now shut up and keep swinging or I’ll tell Ciel that you don’t want to do her laundry anymore.”
There was no guarantee that her countrymen’s martial arts were in any way applicable to the human’s frame, but Claire was largely unbothered. Nymphetel had done a fair job of adapting to the springblade’s style; she saw no reason for Chloe to struggle.
“Ughh… fine.”
The maid took a deep breath and raised her weapon again, but a jab to the ribs stopped her before she could bring it down.
“Aim forwards. Not down.”
“How th—”
“I was watching your eyes. You’re also using the wrong muscles.”
The maid sighed as she adjusted her stance and took another swing. “Why did I sign up for this?”
“Because you’re a dumb pervert,” said Claire. “That swing was a little better, but you forgot to use your hips. Put your back in it.” There was a swish and a clack as the maid followed through on her instructions. “Good. Now do that another thousand times.”
“A thousand!?” complained the maid. “How the h—”
“Ciel said that you can grope her breasts for a few seconds if you can pull it off.”
Chloe’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Really,” lied Claire.
“Consider it done.” The maid immediately resumed swinging. She took a breath between each and focused on her body. It wasn’t as if all of her mistakes suddenly went away, but her movements were sharper and more refined.
Leaving her to her own devices, Claire moved on to observing another group of housekeepers. Chloe was not the only one scheduled to tag along. Skilled as she was, it was simply impossible for a single maid to handle a hundred people’s worth of chores. Of course, while they were certainly training for combat, the maids were not being considered for the competition. Their practice was a means of self-preservation—a method of ensuring that they could at least try to protect themselves if they happened to come under attack.
The prime minister’s recommendation was the only exception. His personal maid and adopted daughter, Sophia Ray’esce, was a trusted member of the secret service. Her race was that of an ascended kelpfin, though she didn’t exactly look the part. Everything below her shoulders was entirely humanoid, save for the teal sharkskin that covered her body in its entirety. She had gills on her neck and an almost dolphin-like tail that grew from the back of her head. If not for its length and the flippers at its end, it would’ve blended in with the rest of her hair.
She would have been assigned more typical fieldwork had she a more benign appearance, but her unique frame disqualified her from the usual station. As such, she had been enlisted as the prime minister’s personal guard. As was clear from her designation, she was highly skilled in combat. One after another, she had defeated the other candidates and proven her strict superiority. Not even the pirate brat won against her. Sophia’s focus on blistering speed made for a poor matchup; Lana and her heavy weapon were simply unable to keep up.
The pirate in question had retreated to a far corner of the training grounds ever since the loss. There, she swung her axe as quickly as she could, refining her movements so they would not be so easily overcome. She would have made for the spitting image of a warrior if not for a certain fox; Sylvia was standing on her head, imitating her motions and expressions for no reason that Claire could easily discern.
It was as she contemplated the absurdity of the scene that the royal guard’s captain finally stepped out onto the field. Technically, he was on time; he should have used his presence to encourage the others to begin their training earlier, but he had never been bright enough to come to such a realisation on his own accord.
“Attention!” he shouted. His voice was loud enough to echo through the courtyard. Still, while they all turned their heads towards him, not all of the troops were quite inclined to listen. Distaste and contempt ran rampant throughout the crowd; his reputation was hardly the best. “I’m Philippe Kha’oen, the captain of the royal guard. I will be in charge of your training.”
There was a moment of silence as the man scanned the training grounds.
“As we have already communicated to all of you independently, today marks the regimen’s beginning. Over the course of the next half a year, we will be devoting our bodies and souls to further refinement. We will be following a schedule provided to us by the goddess of the moon herself. Her trail will take us northbound, towards our enemy’s domain as we continue to struggle and grow. And that is why we will be the Northern Brigade.”
The orcaped twisted his lips into a smile.
“We will depart with the midday bell. Gather your things and say your farewells. Let us meet at the city’s northern gate once you have all prepared.”
The announcement was largely just a formality. All of the participants had been provided a copy of the itinerary well ahead of time, and the maids that had delivered the information had gone on to answer all the accompanying questions and queries. That was why it was particularly strange for one of the men to raise a hand and query the captain directly.
It was clearly an anomaly, but as he was, Philippe nodded in the man’s direction and encouraged him to speak.
“Yes?”
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.” The speaker was a large clam with half of a humanoid body hidden within his shell. “Why is someone that's weaker than the queen supposed to be in charge of protecting her? Hell, why is someone that’s weaker than us in charge of our training?” A murmur shot through the crowd. Few others were quite as forward with their antagonistism, but even those that disagreed with his outburst felt like the man was hardly without a point.
Evidently, even Philippe himself believed the statements to be true, as he only sputtered without answering the question. He was level three fifty, and the average level of the men gathered was four seventeen. Not even throwing the maids into the equation could put him above the average. He knew that, of course, but knowing and accepting the truth were two different beasts in their entirety. Philippe's anger flared. Had a certain magical glare not paralyzed him outright, he certainly would have blown a fuse and lost a physical altercation.
“Different people have different strengths. The captain’s isn’t combat.” Claire slithered over to the man in question as she spoke. Philippe immediately shot a glare, as if to accuse her of not defending him, but she ignored and gazed upon the crowd instead. Frankly, she felt like she was already doing him enough of a favour. She didn’t even know what his strengths were meant to be.
“Who are you, his woman or something?” said the clam, as he cocked his shell. “I’m not about to listen to some dick suc—”
Claire narrowed her eyes and flexed her talons, but another candidate bonked the clam before he could draw any more of her ire. The attacker’s fist broke through the shellfish’s natural armour and hit him right in the back of the head.
The man in question flashed a toothy grin when Claire turned her glare upon him. The clam-puncher was a lizardman with a slender frame. He was just shy of two meters tall, and the fine graining of his scales suggested that he was more of a skink than a crocodile or iguana. His colouration was on the darker side. His body was a muddy brown, with a deep green highlight that was most prominent on his head and tail. His neck was inked with a series of tattoos, but the red scarf he wore obscured the details of their shapes and symbols.
“Sorry. I figured you’d kill him if I let him ramble anymore.”
“No, not at all,” said Claire, with a gentle smile. “I was just planning on taking him on a quick misadventure.” After watching his reaction for a moment or two, the lyrkress lost interest and returned to her previous position.
The scarfed lizard didn’t think much of the statement, but when he looked around, he found half the others as pale as ghosts.
“You guys okay?” he asked, with a curious scratch of the head. “She wasn’t really that scary, was she?”
“If that’s who I think it is, then you don’t know the half of it,” said a bipedal shark. He briefly glanced at Claire’s back before raising a fin to his mouth and whispering under his breath. “I’m pretty sure that’s the headhunter.”
“The who?”
“The headhunter, man. You ain’t heard of her?”
“Ain’t ringing a bell.”
“You must be new around here or something. The headhunter is the crazy assassin that’s been running rampant in town lately. She’s killed a few nobles like it’s nobody’s business, and plenty of high-profile businessmen too.”
“And they’re letting her run free?” The lizard cocked a brow.
“They say it’s ‘cause she’s untouchable. You can report whatever, and the crown’ll straight up turn a blind eye. Her being here is pretty much proof.”
“Now hold on a sec. Ain’t the headhunter supposed to be a real pretty girl?” Another man, a turtle with a moustache as wide as his body, joined the conversation with a confused mutter.
“Seemed like a looker to me,” said the lizardman. “Those were some shiny scales.”
“The guy I heard that from was an elf. Doubt he was into scales,” said the turtle. “Oh, nearly forgot to introduce myself. Name’s Maurice, westwater draul.”
“U’ula, greatreef kelpfin,” said the shark.
The pair turned their eyes on the lizardman. “Nice to meet you, gentlemen. I’m Ace. I’m an arclight lizardlord.”
“Ace? Doesn’t sound native,” said Maurice. “You not from around here or something?”
“Nah,” said the lizard. “I’m an adventurer, came from further west. Happened to be escorting a caravan when I heard about the situation.”
The turtle cocked a brow. “You’re a bit of a weird one. Most adventurers would head the other way if they heard of stuff like this.”
Ace laughed. “Thought it would be fun. I’ve always wanted to try fighting a Cadrian or two. Not to mention I’ve got some friends in the area, so y’know.”
“Good man,” said U’ula. “Extra hands are always welcome during tough times like these.”
“Just glad to help, Mister.” The lizardman chuckled. “Anyway, I’d love to stick around and chat some more, but I was planning on giving myself a tour of the city before we left, and it’s looking like it ain’t happening if I don’t get started.”
“In that case, you might want to head over to the northern wharf. It’s where all the tourist stuff is,” said Maurice.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Ace. He lightly waved at the other men as he turned around and headed for the castle gates.
Heeding exactly none of the turtle’s advice, the lizardman haphazardly wandered around the city, inspecting the state of the business and people. It wasn’t as if he had no interest in the tourist attractions—it was always fun to see the kinds of experiences that locals prepared for foreigners like himself—but the man had higher priorities.
He watched the people’s faces as he paced through the city and carefully listened to the rumours whispered between them. His lack of ears made the latter exercise more difficult than it would have been for another agent, but spying on normal citizens was simple enough that he went largely unhindered. The supposed free reign of an assassin had worried him for a moment, but at the very least, nothing seemed wrong at a glance.
“Maybe it was just a baseless rumour.” Muttering the conclusion under his breath, the man stepped into an alley and released a faint, magical pulse. It was so subtle that it was nearly impossible to detect with the cityscape the way it was. And yet, his coworker responded in kind.
Another man entered the space just a few minutes after the confirmation. Like Ace, he was of a race that didn’t stand out in Vel’khan. To be more precise, the man was a grug, namely an extremely rare ascended variety known as a thousand-year frog. It was impossible to tell him apart from an unascended peer based on his appearance alone. Increased stat growth aside, the only differences were his exaggerated lifespan and the faint golden glow that exuded from the tip of his tongue.
“Got any news for me, Mister Relay?” asked Ace.
“It’s about what you’d expect.” Even for people capable of telling grugs apart, Relay was especially unnotable. With bright orange cat ears, lime green skin, and the most boring facial features in the world, he was the spitting image of his species’ average male. “Everyone’s settled into position, but nothing’s been caught on the hook just yet.”
“Figured as much.” The lizard breathed a sigh and entrusted his weight to the wall. “Guess that means I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
“Best of luck,” said the grug, with a chuckle. He reached into his bag and retrieved a pair of cigars. One, he popped in his mouth, while the other was offered to his companion. “Local brand. Won’t give you away even if you give it a go.”
“Thanks,” said Ace. He snapped his fingers and lit both their cigars aflame. For a while, neither man said a word. They simply sucked on their smokes and basked in the city’s ambience. “Doubt we’ll have any more chances like these for a while.” Ace eventually broke the silence with a tired sigh. “Almost makes me wish I wasn’t stuck doing all this crazy shit.”
The grug laughed. “Says the idiot that picked the mission.”
“Hey, it was between this and the catacombs, and I don’t know about you, but I ain’t got a death wish.” The lizard flashed a toothy grin before patting the frog on the back and walking out of the alley. There was certainly more work to be done than expected. But to the lizardman in question, the only thing that mattered was that he had found an excuse to ignore the idiots that ran their HQ.
Chapter 323 - The Northern Brigade VII
A qiligon-shaped Claire sipped tea from a wide dish as she watched the troops and their morning routines. Technically, her role was to scout for talent, and technically, she was not meant to be carrying out the responsibility just yet. Though there were a fair number of idiots that she fully intended to deny, she had been forbidden from kicking anyone out until the first three dungeons had been marked off the expedition’s trail; it was only as they approached the nation’s northern border that the judgement would be delivered.
“Why am I doing this?”
The person standing in front of the lyrkress twisted her lips into a pout as she swung a mop back and forth. With each attack came a minor adjustment. Vectors prodded at her limbs and put them into the positions that a Cadrian would have likely considered appropriate.
“Because you said you were tagging along. Now shut up and keep swinging or I’ll tell Ciel that you don’t want to do her laundry anymore.”
There was no guarantee that her countrymen’s martial arts were in any way applicable to the human’s frame, but Claire was largely unbothered. Nymphetel had done a fair job of adapting to the springblade’s style; she saw no reason for Chloe to struggle.
“Ughh… fine.”
The maid took a deep breath and raised her weapon again, but a jab to the ribs stopped her before she could bring it down.
“Aim forwards. Not down.”
“How th—”
“I was watching your eyes. You’re also using the wrong muscles.”
The maid sighed as she adjusted her stance and took another swing. “Why did I sign up for this?”
“Because you’re a dumb pervert,” said Claire. “That swing was a little better, but you forgot to use your hips. Put your back in it.” There was a swish and a clack as the maid followed through on her instructions. “Good. Now do that another thousand times.”
“A thousand!?” complained the maid. “How the h—”
“Ciel said that you can grope her breasts for a few seconds if you can pull it off.”
Chloe’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Really,” lied Claire.
“Consider it done.” The maid immediately resumed swinging. She took a breath between each and focused on her body. It wasn’t as if all of her mistakes suddenly went away, but her movements were sharper and more refined.
Leaving her to her own devices, Claire moved on to observing another group of housekeepers. Chloe was not the only one scheduled to tag along. Skilled as she was, it was simply impossible for a single maid to handle a hundred people’s worth of chores. Of course, while they were certainly training for combat, the maids were not being considered for the competition. Their practice was a means of self-preservation—a method of ensuring that they could at least try to protect themselves if they happened to come under attack.
The prime minister’s recommendation was the only exception. His personal maid and adopted daughter, Sophia Ray’esce, was a trusted member of the secret service. Her race was that of an ascended kelpfin, though she didn’t exactly look the part. Everything below her shoulders was entirely humanoid, save for the teal sharkskin that covered her body in its entirety. She had gills on her neck and an almost dolphin-like tail that grew from the back of her head. If not for its length and the flippers at its end, it would’ve blended in with the rest of her hair.
She would have been assigned more typical fieldwork had she a more benign appearance, but her unique frame disqualified her from the usual station. As such, she had been enlisted as the prime minister’s personal guard. As was clear from her designation, she was highly skilled in combat. One after another, she had defeated the other candidates and proven her strict superiority. Not even the pirate brat won against her. Sophia’s focus on blistering speed made for a poor matchup; Lana and her heavy weapon were simply unable to keep up.
The pirate in question had retreated to a far corner of the training grounds ever since the loss. There, she swung her axe as quickly as she could, refining her movements so they would not be so easily overcome. She would have made for the spitting image of a warrior if not for a certain fox; Sylvia was standing on her head, imitating her motions and expressions for no reason that Claire could easily discern.
It was as she contemplated the absurdity of the scene that the royal guard’s captain finally stepped out onto the field. Technically, he was on time; he should have used his presence to encourage the others to begin their training earlier, but he had never been bright enough to come to such a realisation on his own accord.
“Attention!” he shouted. His voice was loud enough to echo through the courtyard. Still, while they all turned their heads towards him, not all of the troops were quite inclined to listen. Distaste and contempt ran rampant throughout the crowd; his reputation was hardly the best. “I’m Philippe Kha’oen, the captain of the royal guard. I will be in charge of your training.”
There was a moment of silence as the man scanned the training grounds.
“As we have already communicated to all of you independently, today marks the regimen’s beginning. Over the course of the next half a year, we will be devoting our bodies and souls to further refinement. We will be following a schedule provided to us by the goddess of the moon herself. Her trail will take us northbound, towards our enemy’s domain as we continue to struggle and grow. And that is why we will be the Northern Brigade.”
The orcaped twisted his lips into a smile.
“We will depart with the midday bell. Gather your things and say your farewells. Let us meet at the city’s northern gate once you have all prepared.”
The announcement was largely just a formality. All of the participants had been provided a copy of the itinerary well ahead of time, and the maids that had delivered the information had gone on to answer all the accompanying questions and queries. That was why it was particularly strange for one of the men to raise a hand and query the captain directly.
It was clearly an anomaly, but as he was, Philippe nodded in the man’s direction and encouraged him to speak.
“Yes?”
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.” The speaker was a large clam with half of a humanoid body hidden within his shell. “Why is someone that's weaker than the queen supposed to be in charge of protecting her? Hell, why is someone that’s weaker than us in charge of our training?” A murmur shot through the crowd. Few others were quite as forward with their antagonistism, but even those that disagreed with his outburst felt like the man was hardly without a point.
Evidently, even Philippe himself believed the statements to be true, as he only sputtered without answering the question. He was level three fifty, and the average level of the men gathered was four seventeen. Not even throwing the maids into the equation could put him above the average. He knew that, of course, but knowing and accepting the truth were two different beasts in their entirety. Philippe's anger flared. Had a certain magical glare not paralyzed him outright, he certainly would have blown a fuse and lost a physical altercation.
“Different people have different strengths. The captain’s isn’t combat.” Claire slithered over to the man in question as she spoke. Philippe immediately shot a glare, as if to accuse her of not defending him, but she ignored and gazed upon the crowd instead. Frankly, she felt like she was already doing him enough of a favour. She didn’t even know what his strengths were meant to be.
“Who are you, his woman or something?” said the clam, as he cocked his shell. “I’m not about to listen to some dick suc—”
Claire narrowed her eyes and flexed her talons, but another candidate bonked the clam before he could draw any more of her ire. The attacker’s fist broke through the shellfish’s natural armour and hit him right in the back of the head.
The man in question flashed a toothy grin when Claire turned her glare upon him. The clam-puncher was a lizardman with a slender frame. He was just shy of two meters tall, and the fine graining of his scales suggested that he was more of a skink than a crocodile or iguana. His colouration was on the darker side. His body was a muddy brown, with a deep green highlight that was most prominent on his head and tail. His neck was inked with a series of tattoos, but the red scarf he wore obscured the details of their shapes and symbols.
“Sorry. I figured you’d kill him if I let him ramble anymore.”
“No, not at all,” said Claire, with a gentle smile. “I was just planning on taking him on a quick misadventure.” After watching his reaction for a moment or two, the lyrkress lost interest and returned to her previous position.
The scarfed lizard didn’t think much of the statement, but when he looked around, he found half the others as pale as ghosts.
“You guys okay?” he asked, with a curious scratch of the head. “She wasn’t really that scary, was she?”
“If that’s who I think it is, then you don’t know the half of it,” said a bipedal shark. He briefly glanced at Claire’s back before raising a fin to his mouth and whispering under his breath. “I’m pretty sure that’s the headhunter.”
“The who?”
“The headhunter, man. You ain’t heard of her?”
“Ain’t ringing a bell.”
“You must be new around here or something. The headhunter is the crazy assassin that’s been running rampant in town lately. She’s killed a few nobles like it’s nobody’s business, and plenty of high-profile businessmen too.”
“And they’re letting her run free?” The lizard cocked a brow.
“They say it’s ‘cause she’s untouchable. You can report whatever, and the crown’ll straight up turn a blind eye. Her being here is pretty much proof.”
“Now hold on a sec. Ain’t the headhunter supposed to be a real pretty girl?” Another man, a turtle with a moustache as wide as his body, joined the conversation with a confused mutter.
“Seemed like a looker to me,” said the lizardman. “Those were some shiny scales.”
“The guy I heard that from was an elf. Doubt he was into scales,” said the turtle. “Oh, nearly forgot to introduce myself. Name’s Maurice, westwater draul.”
“U’ula, greatreef kelpfin,” said the shark.
The pair turned their eyes on the lizardman. “Nice to meet you, gentlemen. I’m Ace. I’m an arclight lizardlord.”
“Ace? Doesn’t sound native,” said Maurice. “You not from around here or something?”
“Nah,” said the lizard. “I’m an adventurer, came from further west. Happened to be escorting a caravan when I heard about the situation.”
The turtle cocked a brow. “You’re a bit of a weird one. Most adventurers would head the other way if they heard of stuff like this.”
Ace laughed. “Thought it would be fun. I’ve always wanted to try fighting a Cadrian or two. Not to mention I’ve got some friends in the area, so y’know.”
“Good man,” said U’ula. “Extra hands are always welcome during tough times like these.”
“Just glad to help, Mister.” The lizardman chuckled. “Anyway, I’d love to stick around and chat some more, but I was planning on giving myself a tour of the city before we left, and it’s looking like it ain’t happening if I don’t get started.”
“In that case, you might want to head over to the northern wharf. It’s where all the tourist stuff is,” said Maurice.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Ace. He lightly waved at the other men as he turned around and headed for the castle gates.
Heeding exactly none of the turtle’s advice, the lizardman haphazardly wandered around the city, inspecting the state of the business and people. It wasn’t as if he had no interest in the tourist attractions—it was always fun to see the kinds of experiences that locals prepared for foreigners like himself—but the man had higher priorities.
He watched the people’s faces as he paced through the city and carefully listened to the rumours whispered between them. His lack of ears made the latter exercise more difficult than it would have been for another agent, but spying on normal citizens was simple enough that he went largely unhindered. The supposed free reign of an assassin had worried him for a moment, but at the very least, nothing seemed wrong at a glance.
“Maybe it was just a baseless rumour.” Muttering the conclusion under his breath, the man stepped into an alley and released a faint, magical pulse. It was so subtle that it was nearly impossible to detect with the cityscape the way it was. And yet, his coworker responded in kind.
Another man entered the space just a few minutes after the confirmation. Like Ace, he was of a race that didn’t stand out in Vel’khan. To be more precise, the man was a grug, namely an extremely rare ascended variety known as a thousand-year frog. It was impossible to tell him apart from an unascended peer based on his appearance alone. Increased stat growth aside, the only differences were his exaggerated lifespan and the faint golden glow that exuded from the tip of his tongue.
“Got any news for me, Mister Relay?” asked Ace.
“It’s about what you’d expect.” Even for people capable of telling grugs apart, Relay was especially unnotable. With bright orange cat ears, lime green skin, and the most boring facial features in the world, he was the spitting image of his species’ average male. “Everyone’s settled into position, but nothing’s been caught on the hook just yet.”
“Figured as much.” The lizard breathed a sigh and entrusted his weight to the wall. “Guess that means I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
“Best of luck,” said the grug, with a chuckle. He reached into his bag and retrieved a pair of cigars. One, he popped in his mouth, while the other was offered to his companion. “Local brand. Won’t give you away even if you give it a go.”
“Thanks,” said Ace. He snapped his fingers and lit both their cigars aflame. For a while, neither man said a word. They simply sucked on their smokes and basked in the city’s ambience. “Doubt we’ll have any more chances like these for a while.” Ace eventually broke the silence with a tired sigh. “Almost makes me wish I wasn’t stuck doing all this crazy shit.”
The grug laughed. “Says the idiot that picked the mission.”
“Hey, it was between this and the catacombs, and I don’t know about you, but I ain’t got a death wish.” The lizard flashed a toothy grin before patting the frog on the back and walking out of the alley. There was certainly more work to be done than expected. But to the lizardman in question, the only thing that mattered was that he had found an excuse to ignore the idiots that ran their HQ.
