The last day of the qualifiers end with a lack of action and a strange tension between the two teams crammed in and around our small shelter. I never expected problems but the sheer ease in which the test was accomplished is a bit surprising. Bell told me that my expectations for others’ abilities has been drastically skewed by my wife. She may have a point.
All I can think about this test is…disappointing. The other initiates we encountered were incompetent if not outright buffoons. Not in regard to their combat ability, I already knew they would be outclassed there, but their common sense. The next Harvest Hero had his mount swallowed in a completely avoidable situation had he used a hint of caution. Saints, it’s a little embarrassing.
As for the tension, that is from the frankly unnerving change in attitude from Mr. Talented’s team. They went from vaguely condescending and ambivalent to supreme ass-kissers as they attempted to befriend the members of my team.
Their blatant desire bordered on disgusting because of their fake sincerity. Cecile actually flirted with Arthur. Flirted with him, the walking bane to all women with standards. It was nauseating. Slightly impressive as well, as her smile never wavered.
Their act is still going strong as we march away from the shelter, heading for the gate to have our points totaled. Mr. Talented, Lanston, and Sebas each hold a corner of the blanket used to transport our prizes alongside Arthur, two more blankets thrown on top to hide our trove of points from greedy eyes. The privileged young men are sweating like pigs despite the cool morning but still engage in pleasant conversation with the seadog and William, who walks beside them keeping the man-mules watered.
The women of the group walk ahead, spared from the physical labor by virtue of my preference to see their shapely asses walking in front of me instead of William and the gang’s flat backsides. Orphelia, the schemer behind the forced harmony, has ceased her schemes against me in favor of a more receptive target. She and Geneva have been attached at the hips since yesterday.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned. Concerned for Orphelia. Concerned for the kingdom at large. They have no idea the beast I have released into their midst. Saints, I don’t know for sure what I have unleashed.
A few summoning records do not do a creature that has lived for centuries and schemed against the greatest minds across multiple realms justice. I may have given her restrictions but what does that mean, truly? Mere men have destroyed kingdoms with just their words. She has that and a coefficient of over a thousand.
The crown is royally screwed.
But there is also a bit of concern directed to an unexpected place. I’m worried for Geneva. My greatest fear for this situation is not that Harvest burns in the flames of a coup. No, it’s the thought that Geneva may forget her place.
To anyone who is not a summoner, those words would sound horrible but the truth is, I cannot afford to treat her as human. Trust will not be repaid with trust. Empathy is merely a tool that her kind will discard the moment it becomes inconvenient. Succubi can look like us and because of that, people make the mistake of believing they think like us. Feel like us. They absolutely do not.
At the end of the day, Geneva is a predator and all creatures that wield mana are her prey. She is the same as every other hunter but has evolved to use her body as a trap and emotion as a weapon.
For several months, she has played the good, docile servant. I truly hope that briefly returning to the role of a predator does not give her any ideas. I worry I haven’t properly sanctioned her with my orders and she uses this opportunity to pressure me in some way I won’t know about until it’s too late. What will I have to do to bring her to heel if that happens? Is it even possible?
Very disturbing possibilities but at the end of the day, fear can’t rule my decisions. Summoners are cautious by nature. Those that aren’t don’t tend to live long enough to pass on their recklessness. However, a summoner can’t be afraid of their elementals or they are useless.
I knew this day was coming the moment I summoned her, cemented it when I destroyed the Grimoires. I won’t shackle my own growth, in any field, because I’m afraid I can’t control my own elemental. May as well change my name and give up the art. I have to believe that my knowledge, my wife, and my constitution will be enough to see me through.
Catastrophe has not come yet so the thoughts are idle speculation as I trail behind the others, the little cutie in my palm munching on another scorpion captured by Bell. We aren’t far from the gate, having reached our shelter without wandering too deep into the reserve, and at the early hour, I anticipate a few hours of quiet travel before we go our separate ways.
That hope is dashed by the sound of pounding hooves.
I notice long before the others and ignore it. We are all heading in the same direction after all. Not surprising that another team would come upon us, especially a mounted one. However, I become a little more interested as the riders cease their parallel track and veer toward us. An unnecessary change of course that makes them incredibly suspicious.
After half an hour, William, who is carrying the looking glass of Lanston so he may serve as a scout between his watering duties, shouts, “We have people coming.”
When he pauses for too long, Alana prompts him with, “Details about these people?”
“Ah, yes, of course. A full team of five, mounted on horseback.”
“Can you tell their condition?”
“They seem healthy if not worse for wear. Understandable given the environment.”
I try not to scoff at him. No one cares how much dust is covering them.
“Where’s their guide?”
“…doesn’t seem to be present…ah. Saints. The man has just exited the cloud of dust kicked up by the horses and is keeping pace with them.” He lowers the looking glass with a frown. “They are decisively heading toward us rather than the gate.”
“Halt!” Alana snaps, stomping toward the men of the team as they lower the blankets carrying our haul. “Tuck those blankets in to hide our points and set up a defensive perimeter around it. We need to be ready in case they prove to be hostile.”
“A team headed for the gate this early should already have their required points,” Mr. Talented says with a hint of disapproval.
“Ah, yes. Someone with a chest full of gold at home would never rob a carriage full of gold. We prepare for a fight.”
“I am suggesting we don’t go looking for one,” he says, his voice a little too soft and his eyes a bit too intimate for my taste.
“And I’m suggesting you shut up,” I snap with a nasty smile as I stomp over to him. He averts his gaze as I’ve yet to find clothing and can’t be bothered to walk with a blanket wrapped around me. “Do we look like warmongers to you? They’re riding toward us. If anyone’s looking for a fight, it’s them.”
I stop when I’m uncomfortably close, leaning forward as I lower my voice. “And even if we did want to beat them stupid and leave them out here for the monsters, you don’t have anything to say about that, do you? Seeing as you are currently trying to stay in our good graces.”
He grits his teeth as he meets my eyes. I think he doesn’t like me equating him to a mercenary. Or a dog. Too bad that’s the life he’s chosen for himself. He could have said no to Orphelia’s plans, whatever they are, and stomped from the shelter with his dignity intact. He didn’t, so now he has to bear the consequences of his choices.
“Not at all, my lady.”
I grin in amusement as I lean back. “Good.” I slap his shoulder. “Then I expect to see you putting those four affinities to work if it comes to it.”
The last day of the qualifiers end with a lack of action and a strange tension between the two teams crammed in and around our small shelter. I never expected problems but the sheer ease in which the test was accomplished is a bit surprising. Bell told me that my expectations for others’ abilities has been drastically skewed by my wife. She may have a point.
All I can think about this test is…disappointing. The other initiates we encountered were incompetent if not outright buffoons. Not in regard to their combat ability, I already knew they would be outclassed there, but their common sense. The next Harvest Hero had his mount swallowed in a completely avoidable situation had he used a hint of caution. Saints, it’s a little embarrassing.
As for the tension, that is from the frankly unnerving change in attitude from Mr. Talented’s team. They went from vaguely condescending and ambivalent to supreme ass-kissers as they attempted to befriend the members of my team.
Their blatant desire bordered on disgusting because of their fake sincerity. Cecile actually flirted with Arthur. Flirted with him, the walking bane to all women with standards. It was nauseating. Slightly impressive as well, as her smile never wavered.
Their act is still going strong as we march away from the shelter, heading for the gate to have our points totaled. Mr. Talented, Lanston, and Sebas each hold a corner of the blanket used to transport our prizes alongside Arthur, two more blankets thrown on top to hide our trove of points from greedy eyes. The privileged young men are sweating like pigs despite the cool morning but still engage in pleasant conversation with the seadog and William, who walks beside them keeping the man-mules watered.
The women of the group walk ahead, spared from the physical labor by virtue of my preference to see their shapely asses walking in front of me instead of William and the gang’s flat backsides. Orphelia, the schemer behind the forced harmony, has ceased her schemes against me in favor of a more receptive target. She and Geneva have been attached at the hips since yesterday.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned. Concerned for Orphelia. Concerned for the kingdom at large. They have no idea the beast I have released into their midst. Saints, I don’t know for sure what I have unleashed.
A few summoning records do not do a creature that has lived for centuries and schemed against the greatest minds across multiple realms justice. I may have given her restrictions but what does that mean, truly? Mere men have destroyed kingdoms with just their words. She has that and a coefficient of over a thousand.
The crown is royally screwed.
But there is also a bit of concern directed to an unexpected place. I’m worried for Geneva. My greatest fear for this situation is not that Harvest burns in the flames of a coup. No, it’s the thought that Geneva may forget her place.
To anyone who is not a summoner, those words would sound horrible but the truth is, I cannot afford to treat her as human. Trust will not be repaid with trust. Empathy is merely a tool that her kind will discard the moment it becomes inconvenient. Succubi can look like us and because of that, people make the mistake of believing they think like us. Feel like us. They absolutely do not.
At the end of the day, Geneva is a predator and all creatures that wield mana are her prey. She is the same as every other hunter but has evolved to use her body as a trap and emotion as a weapon.
For several months, she has played the good, docile servant. I truly hope that briefly returning to the role of a predator does not give her any ideas. I worry I haven’t properly sanctioned her with my orders and she uses this opportunity to pressure me in some way I won’t know about until it’s too late. What will I have to do to bring her to heel if that happens? Is it even possible?
Very disturbing possibilities but at the end of the day, fear can’t rule my decisions. Summoners are cautious by nature. Those that aren’t don’t tend to live long enough to pass on their recklessness. However, a summoner can’t be afraid of their elementals or they are useless.
I knew this day was coming the moment I summoned her, cemented it when I destroyed the Grimoires. I won’t shackle my own growth, in any field, because I’m afraid I can’t control my own elemental. May as well change my name and give up the art. I have to believe that my knowledge, my wife, and my constitution will be enough to see me through.
Catastrophe has not come yet so the thoughts are idle speculation as I trail behind the others, the little cutie in my palm munching on another scorpion captured by Bell. We aren’t far from the gate, having reached our shelter without wandering too deep into the reserve, and at the early hour, I anticipate a few hours of quiet travel before we go our separate ways.
That hope is dashed by the sound of pounding hooves.
I notice long before the others and ignore it. We are all heading in the same direction after all. Not surprising that another team would come upon us, especially a mounted one. However, I become a little more interested as the riders cease their parallel track and veer toward us. An unnecessary change of course that makes them incredibly suspicious.
After half an hour, William, who is carrying the looking glass of Lanston so he may serve as a scout between his watering duties, shouts, “We have people coming.”
When he pauses for too long, Alana prompts him with, “Details about these people?”
“Ah, yes, of course. A full team of five, mounted on horseback.”
“Can you tell their condition?”
“They seem healthy if not worse for wear. Understandable given the environment.”
I try not to scoff at him. No one cares how much dust is covering them.
“Where’s their guide?”
“…doesn’t seem to be present…ah. Saints. The man has just exited the cloud of dust kicked up by the horses and is keeping pace with them.” He lowers the looking glass with a frown. “They are decisively heading toward us rather than the gate.”
“Halt!” Alana snaps, stomping toward the men of the team as they lower the blankets carrying our haul. “Tuck those blankets in to hide our points and set up a defensive perimeter around it. We need to be ready in case they prove to be hostile.”
“A team headed for the gate this early should already have their required points,” Mr. Talented says with a hint of disapproval.
“Ah, yes. Someone with a chest full of gold at home would never rob a carriage full of gold. We prepare for a fight.”
“I am suggesting we don’t go looking for one,” he says, his voice a little too soft and his eyes a bit too intimate for my taste.
“And I’m suggesting you shut up,” I snap with a nasty smile as I stomp over to him. He averts his gaze as I’ve yet to find clothing and can’t be bothered to walk with a blanket wrapped around me. “Do we look like warmongers to you? They’re riding toward us. If anyone’s looking for a fight, it’s them.”
I stop when I’m uncomfortably close, leaning forward as I lower my voice. “And even if we did want to beat them stupid and leave them out here for the monsters, you don’t have anything to say about that, do you? Seeing as you are currently trying to stay in our good graces.”
He grits his teeth as he meets my eyes. I think he doesn’t like me equating him to a mercenary. Or a dog. Too bad that’s the life he’s chosen for himself. He could have said no to Orphelia’s plans, whatever they are, and stomped from the shelter with his dignity intact. He didn’t, so now he has to bear the consequences of his choices.
“Not at all, my lady.”
I grin in amusement as I lean back. “Good.” I slap his shoulder. “Then I expect to see you putting those four affinities to work if it comes to it.”
