Chapter 532 - The Rising Moon VIII

  A cloud of dust filled the gymnasium as Arciel crashed into the ground for what felt like the thousandth time. The force of the impact had reduced her body to a splotch of jet black ink, a black stain on an otherwise barren canvas. At least from an outsider’s perspective, it looked like she was dead, but she soon reformed and emerged whole from her shadow again. She was, admittedly, a little worse for wear. Her hair, which was usually tied into a neat ponytail, had stray strands springing out all over. Her clothes were similarly disheveled, and even with her health recovered, she was a dusty mess.

  “Again.”

  But she didn’t care. Raising her wand, she pointed it straight at Claire, who’d landed on the other side of the ring.

  “We’ve been at it for 35 hours. You should rest.”

  “I require no such thing.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re planning to go until morning.”

  “That is precisely my intention,” said Arciel, with a nod. “Now let us continue.” She waved her wand, forming a crimson trail that shaped itself into a circle. Runes, sigils, and symbols appeared within as the gymnasium was flooded by bright mystic light. But the spell never manifested. A flick to the forehead cancelled it out just before she could complete its cast.

  “Take a break,” said Claire. “You’re getting sloppy.”

  “I shall rest when it becomes necessary.” Arciel placed a hand on her oversized witch hat and channeled her mana through its seams. The relic responded in a heartbeat, pulsing as it grew a thousand threads. They danced down the length of her body and weaved themselves into a dress. Though her armour had yet to fully form, the hat had already applied its effect to her magic. Her mana surged, shooting from her body as it plagued the world with darkness.

  “No. Bad squid. Down.”

  But again, her spell was cut short.

  Claire removed Arciel’s hat before it could finish transforming and prodded the tip of the squid’s nose.

  “See what I mean?” she asked as she returned the hat. “You wouldn’t have let me do that three hours ago.”

  “...I suppose I’ve no choice but to acquiesce,” she said. “Very well. I shall take a brief reprieve.”

  “Finally! Holy crap, that was exhausting!” Wiping the sweat off her brow, Sylvia undid the bubble that had shielded the gymnasium’s walls from the dueling aspects and collapsed onto her butt. She was in her fae form; it was the one that needed the least effort to maintain. “You guys have gotten so strong that blocking all your stuff is basically impossible!”

  Chloe entered the room with a fresh tray of supplies the moment the barrier went down. She provided a towel and a cup of water to each of the halfbreeds before running over to Arciel and carefully blotting away her sweat. The squid’s drink was also a little different from the others—a fresh serving of blood taken straight from the maid’s bare wrist.

  “Thank you, Chloe.”

  The maid smiled. “Don’t worry, Mistress. You’ll get her next time!”

  “That is highly unlikely. I claimed only a single round.”

  “That’s still a step in the right direction!”

  “Perhaps I would be inclined to agree had we fought a more reasonable number of times,” said Arciel, still sulking.

  “So you were aware you were being unreasonable…” muttered Claire.

  “I am not a child, Claire. I am capable of seeing the line and making the explicit decision to cross it.”

  “Uhhmmm… Ciel?” Sylvia smiled awkwardly. “I don’t think anyone thinks you're a child. Your boobs are way too big for that.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true,” said Chloe. “I would’ve agreed with you before we arrived in Cadria, but some of the cow centaurs have chests out to here.” The maid extended her arms as far as they would go. “And it wasn’t just the adults that were fully developed. I swear to Alfred, even the kids could be mil—”

  “That’s enough out of you.” Claire pinched the maid’s mouth shut before she could finish. “I’m going to grab a snack and take a nap. You should probably do the same.”

  “I suppose I shall consider it,” said Arciel. “Chloe, what time is it?”

  “A little past midnight,” she said. “You can afford to stay up for about another hour.”

  Arciel paused for a second to think. “Then prepare the bath. I shall be there momentarily.”

  “I’ll have it ready in five.”

  And so, Arciel spent the rest of her evening unwinding. She sat in the bath, enjoyed a hearty meal, and received a massage from her maid before heading to bed. It was her usual routine. She should, by all means, have fallen asleep the moment she grabbed the nearest pillow and crawled under the sheets, but she lay beneath them with her eyes wide open. Though she knew she needed all the rest she could get, she couldn't quite seem to calm or otherwise fall asleep.

  Her heart was still pounding from all of the fighting, threatening to explode out of her chest. She recalled her mistakes every time she shut her eyes. At first, it was just the errors that she'd made in battle, like the poor placement of her wand and her still-awful footwork, but her thoughts soon wandered to the countless blunders she'd made throughout her life, like the time she accidentally called one of her tutors “Mom,” or the time she'd accidentally undid her camouflage in the middle of a ball and torn her dress to shreds.

  There was some comfort in knowing that very few people remembered. It was over fifty years ago, and just about everyone that’d been present was dead.

  Hiding her face in her hands, Arciel rolled around in her bed, flopping back and forth as her many tendrils writhed beneath the sheets—she'd returned to a half-squid form in hopes that it'd allow her to sleep—but she couldn't quite shake her discomfort. Eventually, she gave up, climbed out of bed, and wandered over to the balcony. She was about to step into the night without throwing anything on, but stopped as she recalled that the Cadrians were watching.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Reluctantly moving back inside, she made herself presentable and opened the sliding door.

  It was cooler in The Northland than it was in Vel'khan. That much was clear from the way that the evening breeze assaulted her skin. Prior to her stint in the Langgbjerns, she surely would have shuddered the moment the wind blew. But having survived in the mountains, and having endured so much of Claire's magic, she found herself enjoying the night's crisp bite. It was a welcome break from the heat that had otherwise accompanied the solstice.

  Sighing softly, Arciel fiddled with her ponytail as she looked up at the moon. Griselda almost seemed to return her gaze, growing just a bit brighter in response. Her presence was equal parts reassuring and not. She liked knowing that the goddess was always watching—that she would be there to support her regardless of what came to pass. But at the same time, she couldn't help but feel nervous, like she would make an embarrassing mistake precisely on account of the active observation.

  Vel'khan, after all, was the moon's chosen nation. And as its queen, Arciel represented her countrymen and her goddess in kind; a subpar performance would certainly reflect poorly on both.

  “Perhaps it might have been different had I been meant to take the crown,” she said, quietly.

  Closing her eyes, she thought back to the place that the party had gone following their journey through Skyward Spire—the lost city of Vel’rhast. She remembered the temple, both as a broken mess, and as it was in its glory days. She could see her sister, who’d fought to the very end, only to be slain by their own family’s treasure.

  Arciel grabbed Grimswald’s Thirstquencher—the blade responsible for the grueling execution—and drew it from its sheath. She marveled at its brilliant white blade, the red cross that marked its handle, and the gemstone that was its pommel. Like her hat, it was one of Griselda’s relics. Given to the very first moonblessed queen, the blade was proof of her right to rule, the only reason she still held the crown.

  She knew she wasn’t worthy.

  She had never been worthy.

  Arcadia would have handled all of the nation’s problems in stride. She would have grown so much more quickly and broken Vel’khan from Priscilla’s grasp without having to rely on foreign powers. Unlike Arciel, Arcadia was not just inflated by borrowed numbers, but a true gifted combatant. That was why the leech queen had killed her, nipped her in the bud while she was still too bound by duty to seek her own progression.

  Arciel bit her lips. If only she had been braver, she would have been able to take her place, to be the one who stalled for time while Arcadia was put in stasis.

  Violently shaking her head, the bloodkraken ventured over to the cabinet, where she’d hidden a small bottle of liquor, but it was gone, likely confiscated by Chloe, who had foreseen the downward spiral.

  If she wanted to drink her woes away, she would have to head into the city.

  The maid had grown sensitive enough to magic that she would likely notice if anyone was to open a portal, so Arciel resorted to a different trick. Throwing a cloak over her shoulders, she sank into her shadow and melded into the night.

  About half a second later, she reformed out on the streets. Specifically, she’d appeared in the smallest square in the city’s eastern quarter. It was located in the temporary district built for the summer festival, as well as one of the few places where it was fairly quiet—the easternmost part of town had just been expanded yet again to accommodate another influx of visitors.

  There were taverns and inns everywhere. The buildings had been thrown together in a hurry, and yet, they were of a higher quality than much of Vel’khagan’s permanent fixtures. Even in something as simple as emergency construction, Cadria demonstrated its might as a superpower and proved the efficacy of its army.

  Arciel groaned. She hated how her mind had immediately jumped to national affairs. Her life had revolved around her role ever since her reawakening. It almost felt like she didn't have the opportunity to be herself, like her only value was in her blood and position.

  "Perhaps I am due to retire," she said. Her aunt was doing a fair job of handling her duties in her stead. Seeing Virillius had only dissuaded her from reclaiming the throne upon her return. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck living a life like his—to be forced to put on a facade for his nation's sake and to become an icon to inspire the young. She wasn't nearly that strong. Even ten years of service would drive her insane. She couldn't even begin to imagine how he'd found the strength of will to last for over a thousand.

  Still lamenting the way her life had turned out, Arciel walked into one of the nearby taverns. She'd chosen the most populous of the bunch—a rowdy drinking hall packed to the brim with clients. There weren't any seats available, but there seemed to be plenty of people hovering around inside with their backs against the walls, so she chose to do the same.

  She didn't expect to be served until some seats were cleared, but she was immediately approached by an elf carrying two giant trays of food and drink. Arciel thought that the server was female at first, but a closer inspection revealed that the supposed skirt was a highland kilt, and his blouse was really just an ordinary oversized dress shirt. It didn’t really help that his face was awfully feminine and his hair was done into a long, curly ponytail.

  "Good evening, and welcome to The Drunken Greenwood!" he said. "Is this your first time here?" His voice was yet another ambiguous trait, almost more feminine than masculine. For some odd reason, she found it somewhat familiar, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

  "Yes," said Arciel slowly, taking extra care to mind her manner of speech. "What's on the menu?"

  "We don't exactly have a menu," said the server with an awkward smile. "You can let us know what you're in the mood for, and the mixologist will figure something out. We also serve most of the common liquors straight if you really insist, but you didn’t hear that from me."

  Arciel paused for a moment. “I’m in the mood for something strong and sweet, but not too sweet. Is that specific enough?”

  “Of course. We’ll have that out for you momentarily.” Smiling, the elf quickly handed out the items on his tray and wandered back into the kitchen. Arciel took the opportunity to take a closer look at the establishment. The method of ordering was a little peculiar, but the decor adhered to the Cadrian standard; the walls were covered in wartime paintings and crest-laden tapestries.

  The drunkards were treating the tavern as something of a hangout, but most everyone else was shuffling in and out fairly quickly. Tables emptied once every few minutes, only to be filled right away. The food menu, for the most part, appeared to work in the same lackadaisical way as the drink one; the customers would describe their wants and the wait staff would return with something more or less appropriate soon after.

  It took about five minutes for Arciel’s order to come out of the kitchen. She didn’t realise it was meant for her at first—the feminine elf had been replaced by a large, mouth-breathing minotaur who didn’t seem nearly as dexterous. He was struggling despite holding only one tray with just six drinks atop it.

  “Your citrus delight, ma’am.” He handed her a cocktail in a tall glass and flashed an awfully stiff smile. “It’s uhhh... mostly lemon and lime? Pretty sure we mixed in some vodka and orange juice. I dunno, I’m not the drink guy.” Despite his claim, he watched eagerly as she accepted the glass, going as far as setting down his tray and rubbing his hands as he waited for her to consume it.

  “You’re not the drink guy?” Arciel slowly swirled the mixture around and carefully observed its sparkling colour. “Is that why it’s poisoned?”

  The man’s behaviour alone would have been suspicious enough to keep her from drinking even if her skills hadn’t peppered her with warnings. It didn’t help that so many of the new faces that had shuffled into the shop were looking her way. She didn’t need Claire’s sixth sense to tell that they’d all been watching the glass as it drew closer to her lips; they weren’t exactly trying to hide their gazes and all of them were armed and armoured.

  “You should’ve just taken the poison,” said the man, with a chuckle. “It would’ve saved you a world of pain.” He tossed the rest of his drinks away, cracked his neck, and palmed his fist as he twisted his lips into a grin. “You’ve pissed off the wrong people, Arciel Vel’khan. You’re a cocky piece of shit and the council’s got you marked. Draw your weapon, say your prayers, and prepare to fight to the death.”

  The minotaur was clearly having a world of fun.

  But Arciel was only annoyed.

  Retrieving her wand from within her hat, she pointed it at the man in front of her, sighed for the umpteenth time, and fired a crimson bolt.