[Are you telling me her real name isn't Fluffles?] I demand.
[Of course not,] Grey scowls. [What kind of a name is Fluffles?]
[That's the name she gave me!]
[I believe I told you before, we do not give out our names so easily. My name isn't Grey, and my student's name isn't White. These are aliases we use. Our real names are only shared with those we are close to.]
[Wait, so that guy's name isn't Barker? Somehow that fills me with relief.]
[What kind of no his name isn't Barker. It's Woofington the third.]
[REALLY?!]
[Obviously not.]
[Dang. That would have been amazing.]
[Are you going to let Phil get up yet?]
I look down at the turtle-Folk, struggling to rise under the weight of my empowered gravity field. I was nice. After I caught him in it, I made sure to turn up the pressure gradually until we reached this point. If I slammed him with full power from the get-go we'd have turtle pancakes here.
I expected the crowd to boo or react negatively in some way. They come to these places to see a skillful, honourable fight, I assume. Instead, they've got me standing around looking at a turtle-guy who can't stand up. Surprisingly, they don't seem uninterested in the slightest. There's no anger or disapproval even, they simply watch, eyes sharply focused on Phil as he battles against gravity.
[I mean he's still trying, right? Shouldn't I hold him there until he surrenders?]
Being rude is something I want to avoid. Also, I don't particularly want to let him take any more swings at me. Phil carries a blade much larger and heavier than what Barker used, but holy moly is he able to hit a lot harder with it. The guy actually managed to put a chip in my carapace, which is an impressive feat.
Looking bored, standing to one side with his arms crossed, Grey speaks to Phil, who snaps back something, causing Grey to frown. Seeing his expression, Phil capitulates and surrenders, so I connect to him with a bridge.
[Well done hanging in there. That can't have been pleasant. I'm going to assume that you aren't a blademaster after that fight, though.]
[I am of the seventh sword,] he growls, [I believed I could hold out until your power, whatever it was, became exhausted, then the fight would have been mine.]
I check my mana reserves.
[Yeah no. I could have kept that up for a day and night. Besides, that wasn't close to how strong that pressure can get.]
He looks a little taken aback by that, so I hasten to reassure him.
[Your sword was amazingly strong, though. Look, you actually managed to chip my carapace! Right here wait I think it healed already. I assure you it did, though!]
Shoulders slumped over in defeat, Phil makes his way out of the arena, clearing the way for the next challenger. Pete steps up next, bowing to show his respect.
[I am of the sixth sword, and therefore weaker than my master, but I hope we can engage in instructional combat.]
[Sure thing. Let's have a good fight.]
I trap him in gravity immediately. Gweheheheheh. Pete manages to unleash one wild swing before his sword becomes too heavy for him to lift, but the sword light sparks off my carapace without harm. After struggling to resist the pressure for five minutes, he too surrenders.
[Got to be a little quicker, I'm afraid,] I tell him. [Once I've got you in that field, you'll struggle to get out.]
[I've never experienced anything like it,] he frowns, clicking his hooked turtle beak. [What type of magic is that?]
[Oh just something I stumbled across.]
I'm not advertising my gravity mana more than I have to. If other people want to learn the secrets I worked so hard for, they can jolly well do it without help from me! Until they earn a bit more trust I suppose.
White steps up next and offers to fight, her cool dignity and calm demeanour unruffled when facing down a tier seven monster such as myself. I make sure Grey is fine with it before accepting the challenge, and he gives me the nod.
Fighting White isn't what I'd expected. The moment the fight begins, she's moving. She's fast, incredibly fast, but it appears almost effortless, like she's floating above the ground. In one hand, she holds a long, slender blade, a gentle curve running through its length, and when she strikes, my eyes almost bug out of my head.
So. Many. Slashes!
Her arm moves so fast I can't even see it, and a veritable forest of sword light is created, slashing toward me, curving through the air and cutting off my avenues of escape.
Even so, forewarned by my antennae, I execute a quick drop, stop and roll, avoiding the bulk of the damage and letting my carapace absorb the blows on one side. As expected, the slices are a heck of a lot lighter than what Phil and Pete were able to produce, but somehow much sharper. A centimetre-deep groove is carved into the exo-skeleton, which gives me pause.
For her part, White is still on the move, fluttering around the arena like a fairy as she continuously executes intense flurries of slashes. Clearly, she's a cut above Phil, possibly the eighth or ninth? I'm starting to get seriously interested in what a full blademaster is actually capable of.
As the fight drags on, it becomes clear that White isn't really capable of cutting through me on her own. Were she able to land a higher number of slashes, perhaps she'd be able to get more penetration, but so long as I avoid most of them, she can't get through.
I could just cover the entire arena in gravity, weighing her down enough that she slows down. Once that happens, I'd be able to focus the full might of my gravity well on her, but I want to test a few things against a higher level opponent while I have the chance.
Spinning up my minds, I start peppering her with gravity bolts, but she easily cuts through them all, dispersing the magic with her blade. However, it puts her on the defensive and dramatically reduces the number of slashes coming my way. I'm starting to see why you would normally need a team to take down a monster like me. It's hard for one person to defend themself against a monster's strength while also attacking.
Eventually, I go for a lunging chomp attack, which is when White reveals that I wasn't the only one going easy. Right in front of my face, she flickers and vanishes, reappearing beneath me, out of my line of sight.
Without my keen senses, I wouldn't have even realised where she'd gone, straight into the blind spot. As graceful as ever, she attempts to stab upward, directly into my carapace, but I'm already moving, rolling to one side while my minds focus on the gravity well.
If she's going to stop moving, then I won't let the opportunity slip by!
The moment she feels that crushing weight come down on her, White looks, just for a moment, a little irritated, before she bows and surrenders.
-x-X-x-
The Folk are, to some extent, an insular people. They hold a firm belief in relying on one's own strength to accomplish a goal, and as such, don't like solving their problems through the power of coin. If they are lacking a particular resource, then by far the more honourable course of action is to go out and acquire it for themselves, yet, in a complex world, such simple solutions do not always present themselves.
Since the Coalition was formed, that is, the united front of all the disparate clans that went on to be known as the Folk, they have engaged in an often clumsy and frequently error-ridden walk toward diplomacy. Early alliances were formed with the bruan'chii, yet their nature as a people remained generally warlike and suspicious.
After becoming entangled in battles they could not win, namely against the Legion and the Empire of Sand, the leaders of the Coalition decided a different approach needed to be sought. Ever since, we have witnessed the gradual opening of Freehill to trade, and a warmer, if still somewhat chilly, approach to diplomacy.
Excerpt from "An Outside History of the Folk" by Wassal
[What have you been doing?] Eran Thouris demands. [I've been fielding all sorts of enquiries about 'the giant ant monster' instead of negotiating prices like I should have been doing.]
I was called back to the temporary nest by some ant messengers during my twelfth fight. A seemingly never-ending line of challengers appeared over the course of my first few bouts, and I was worried it would be rude to decline the challenges, so I ended up stuck there for a while.
Fortunately, nobody too tough showed up, and the summons gave me a graceful means of retreat. Of course, when I get here, I find a rather annoyed brathian negotiator waiting with her family and the rest of the delegation.
[I've just been fighting in the pits,] I defend myself, holding up my front two legs in a 'cool out' sort of motion. [I haven't been able to go anywhere without getting challenged by a bevy of sword-wielding Folk. I got through twelve this morning, and there were probably another twenty in line when I got your message.]
She's annoyed, I can tell she's annoyed, but I can also tell she doesn't want to yell at me. I'm a valuable business partner after all.
[I shouldn't be surprised,] she eventually mutters to herself. [The Folk are obsessed with fighting, always have been, and the chance to prove themselves against a rare, mythic monster is like throwing gold in front of a brathian. They can't possibly resist.]
It's almost refreshing how open her people are with their own greed. They know exactly what they're like, they just don't care what anyone else thinks about it. So long as it doesn't interfere with business of course.
[I've been trying to establish business partnerships all morning, but all my contemporaries want to discuss is the exciting monster that came with us. If you've been beating high-ranked swordsmen and women in the pits, I shouldn't be surprised.]
[I beat the heck out of Phil and Pete.]
[Who are they?]
[My guards. Well, they were. They went back to the place thing, or whatever, to get stronger guards.]
[Of course they did.]
[Look, if this is getting the Folk excited, then I say we should lean into it. Bring your trading partners along to the pit and negotiate with them while I'm fighting. If I keep beating up on strong warriors, then it should only serve as a good advertisement for the Colony's goods, right?]
This sends Eran deep into thought, until she eventually nods.
[This could be a workable strategy. When will you be fighting next?]
[From what I understand, in Freehill, your next fight is never far away. I could probably line up at any arena in the city and get a bout in five minutes. I can't leave until my next set of guards arrives, though. Not supposed to move around without them.]
The possibility of getting some trade done has Eran buzzing with excitement, so she rushes off to make preparations. Her brother-in-law, Marzban, sticks around to talk for a bit.
[You've been battling against the Folk?] he asks. [Do you know the ranks of those you've beaten?]
[Of course. The highest was eighth. I've not fought a blademaster yet, but I'm guessing it won't be long. Still not interested in fighting, Grey?]
The wolf-Folk shakes his fuzzy head.
[No. I do not draw my blade for the entertainment of others.]
[Are you, like, the only one in this whole city who holds to that?]
He doesn't deign to reply and Marzban taps me on one leg.
[It's impressive you've been able to fight so well. The Folk are renowned for their duelling prowess and monster-slaying ability. If you really do manage to find yourself in the pit with a master, be exceptionally careful. They have special protections in this city that you do not enjoy.]
[I have a carapace and they have fur. I'm pretty sure I'm protected well beyond what they can manage.]
The brathian warrior rolls his eyes.
[Legal protections. They can kill in the pits and not be prosecuted. Duels with blademasters are taken very seriously, and they don't like bloodless fighting. Much like your friend here, when they draw swords, it's serious.]
Well, that's something to think about. So if I end up in a duel with one of them, they'd be forgiven for killing me, but not the other way around? That hardly seems fair.
[Blademasters are the honour of their school, their family and their clan,] Grey speaks up. [When we fight, there is a great deal on the line. Pride, prestige, standing. For this reason, duels between blademasters are often private, with a few witnesses. To keep blades sharp, frequent practice is a must, but having one's clan undermined due to a few losses in a row is less than ideal.]
He sends me a sharp look.
[To fight a monster such as yourself in the Dungeon, even blademasters would hesitate to attack alone. Duelling one on one against you in a public arena is a tremendous risk.]
[So this is what you meant when you said you don't draw your sword for entertainment.]
[Practice is valuable, necessary. Public accolades are not.]
Well, even if the big bosses won't come out and fight, there's absolutely nothing stopping eight and nine sword fighters from giving it a go. With a little luck, it'll help our trade mission as well. What could go wrong?
-x-X-x-
Despite most of the peoples of Pangera using their own form of currency - even the bruan'chii used something they called a 'soul chip' to trade amongst themselves - there was one universal unit of wealth that was good for business everywhere in the Dungeon.
Cores.
Which was why Smithant and Cobalt had brought a healthy supply from the Colony's stores with them on this trip, though they had begun to suspect that they may have brought too many. Their brathian guide couldn't resist sending covetous glances towards their carry bags, strapped to their carapace, though she tried to hide it.
"Everything is so spread apart," Smithant huffed. "It's inefficient."
"It is," Cobalt agreed, "but it does allow room for specialities to bloom. If everyone were forced to compete in proximity to each other, every stall would be the same."
It was taking a long time to get from market to market; each district of Freehill was a sprawling mass of houses, shops, schools, fighting arenas, seemingly without much planning having gone into the layout. It was apparent that much of the growth was organic, new things being constructed when it was found to be necessary, and placed wherever the people at the time thought it would make sense. It deeply offended the ants.
Yet, it wasn't their place to criticise others' way of living, they were out looking for trade, and were having greatly mixed levels of success.
[What is this store?] Cobalt asked their guide.
Irisod read the sign and sighed.
[It is 'Big Hogs Swarthy Swords'.]
[You don't seem to approve.]
[I find the name of the store to be poor marketing.]
The ants didn't care one whit for marketing, only for quality goods, so they decided to head inside, squeezing through the entrance with surprisingly little difficulty.
The reason for the oversized door quickly became apparent inside, as they were confronted with the clientele. Large, pinkish-skinned and snout-nosed Folk turned to stare at the two monsters, wondering what the heck was going on.
"They are here to trade, with permission of the Council," Irisod assured everyone, holding up the official documents in case anyone wanted to inspect them.
Nobody did.
From behind the counter, a particularly huge, flap-eared man emerged, looking down at the two ants. He spoke to Irisod in short, clipped tones, and the two ants waited for the translation.
[He wants to know what you want to buy. Having monsters in his shop is making people nervous, so he says.]
[His best weapons,] Smithant said without hesitation, her antennae twitching as she took in the many blades on display.
The giant Folk, Hog, presumably, raised one brow before he stomped out the back and then returned bearing a huge, two-handed blade. He thunked it down on the counter and invited the ants to inspect it.
Smithant leaped forward, running her antennae over the metal, as well as her eye. It was an exceptional piece of work. If there was one thing that impressed her about the Folk, it was the amount of craftsmanship they put into their swords. Not only was the metal refined to the highest purity, not only were the weapons perfectly shaped and balanced, not only was the enchanting smooth and faultless, it was the extra details, the flourishes, the colours, the inscriptions. Everything was done to invoke the spirit of the sword as the maker saw it, and she loved it.
"I have to have it," she declared, smitten. "Look at the layering of the steel. What sort of temperature did they fire this, to get that effect? Or was it the quenching? And this metal! Is it an alloy? Of what and what?"
"Why don't we find out how much it costs?" Cobalt said, injecting some logic. "We can't even use swords, so I don't think it's necessary for us to spend all that much on them, regardless of how well-made they are."
"We make swords for the humans," Smithant pointed out, "and techniques for making good blades can also be applied to metal mandible enhancers."
A new line she was working on. It was tricky, since each set needed to be adjusted and fitted to the ant who used them, but a sharpened and enchanted set of barbs that fit over an ant's mandibles had proven to make their bites significantly more devastating.
[Can you enquire as to how much this costs?] Cobalt asked Irisod, firmly.
After some back and forth, the mage supplied the answer.
[He's asking fifteen-fifty. In my opinion, this is overpriced by as much as twenty percent.]
"Always with the overcharging," Smithant grumbled, still prodding the sword with her antennae.
[Can you ask why the item is overpriced by twenty percent?] Cobalt asked, a little fed up herself.
Again, there was some back and forth before they were supplied an answer.
[He says he would rather his finest sword be in the hands of a skilled swordsman, rather than sold to monsters who won't use it, so he is overcharging.]
The two ants considered this.
"That makes sense," Smithant conceded. "Making excellent things and then giving them to people who won't use them is disappointing, as a crafter."
"I agree. Twenty percent seems fair compensation."
[Tell him we agree to this trade. It is our intention to study the sword in the hopes we can one day replicate its incredibly high standard of craftsmanship. Please pass on our assurances that it will be treated with respect.]
The ants happily paid the required price and Hog looked somewhat sheepish as he handed over the sword to his latest customers. Smithant held the blade gently in her mandibles, extremely pleased with the purchase.
[Why can't your people be more like that?] Cobalt complained to Irisod. [If you were simply up front with us about your prices, we can engage in a reasonable discussion. All these half-truths and obfuscations simply take us further from reaching an agreement, not closer.]
Irisod rolled her eyes. They didn't get it now, and they likely never would in the future.
-x-X-x-
The famed sword schools of the Folk are as numerous as the leaves on a tree, each a unique and beautiful part of the overall picture.
Some focus on hard-hitting, heavy blows that crumple armour and shatter bones even as they cut. Others concentrate on speed, moving with light steps and attacking with hundreds, thousands of sharp slashes. And, of course, everything in-between is represented.
What gives rise to this diversity is, in my opinion, the nature of sword-light itself. I don't know how those ancient people thought of the phenomenon at the time of the System Descent, but perhaps they simply thought of it as a way for weapon wielders to extend their range. Now we know it is so much more than that.
At first glance, sword-light is a simple thing. Slash your sword, activate the Skill, and your blade will glow bright with light. That light will then detach from the sword's edge and fly through the air to strike at your target in the distance. This can be done with any weapon, even fists.
Yet over the centuries, we have discovered so many factors that play into sword-light. The quality of the weapon has an impact. The condition of the edge has an impact. The nature of any enchantments on the weapon have an impact. The level of the Skill, obviously, has an impact. The condition of the individual making the swing has an impact. The quality of the sword stroke has an impact; this includes the speed, power and technique. Even the mentality of the person making the strike affects the result!
When all of these things are perfected to the highest, most extreme point, then you create a blademaster.
-Excerpt from 'The Nature of the Sword and its Light' by Snips
I may have been overconfident when I told Eran to negotiate at the arena. I'm pretty sure Grey knew what was coming my way, since he guided me to a fighting pit more than double the size of the last one, radiating smug energy the whole way.
My new guards, Poita and Phul, were apparently ninth swords, and they were keen for a bout, just as all my previous guards had been. Poita had a decidedly raccoon-ish kind of cast to him, but Phul was a straight up rhinoceros. I mean, the guy was abnormally huge, had grey skin, and a horn sticking up from his nose. Luckily, I suppose, he still had mobile digits on his hands rather than flat rhino feet, so he could wield a sword perfectly fine.
When we arrived, I was treated to the end of an entertaining fight between two high-level swordsmen employing techniques I hadn't seen before. One, a dainty, fairy looking fox-Folk(?) was sending out waves of lightning with each of her sword slashes, the crackling light and deafening booms rocking the arena every time she swung. Her opponent, a red-headed panda-Folk, was blasting back with thick balls of fire that shot from the tip of his blade as he executed piercing stabs.
[What the heck is going on here? I've never seen you guys launching magic from your swords!] I demanded of Grey.
[Just because you hadn't seen it doesn't mean we don't do it,] he replied, as even-keeled as a lily pad.
[That's obviously true, but I would have thought someone would have tried to roast me with fire or something by now. All I've seen so far is normal sword-light!]
He frowns and looks at me askance.
[What do you mean 'normal sword-light'?]
The question is posed so casually, I almost didn't notice the real curiosity behind it.
[Don't play coy. You think I can't sense what's going on down there? They aren't just flinging mana around. They've combined mana and sword-light.]
For once, Grey actually appears impressed.
[You are correct. The reason why none of your opponents have utilised the technique should be equally apparent to you.]
I look back at the area, confused, then it clicks a second later.
[There's a barrier.]
[Of course there's a barrier. If we want to fling around our most advanced techniques, then we can't have the mountain getting cut in half or everyone in the audience being burned to a crisp.]
The only reason I got away with using my spells was because I had such precise control over the area affected by them. Whoops.
[Makes sense. We use a barrier for Tunnel Ball also. Need to keep the crowd safe and the matches exciting.]
[What is Tunnel Ball?]
Although I'd love to start preaching on the great ant pastime, which I am the undisputed best at, I have another concern I would like addressed.
[Does this sort of invalidate my wins?] I ask, feeling a little awkward. [I mean I was using mana and such, but nobody else was?]
[Were there things you didn't use because of the potential for widespread damage?]
Like a literal black hole?
[Yes.]
[Then I think it's fine. Now that you've been seen here, I think I can move you to the front of the queue. We should get to see some interesting things now.]
Grey chuckles and it sounds suspiciously evil.
I get the feeling I'm not going to enjoy this.
Soon, I find myself down in the fighting pit, a much deeper one than before, with Phul the rhino-Folk standing on the other side, his oversized, overheavy blade in his hands, absolutely shining with sword light.
When the duel starts, he pulls back on that thing and, with a mighty roar, lets rip a blazing, blinding stab that takes the shape of a horn as it flies towards me, my danger senses blaring through my antennae.
Damn these sword-obsessed goons!
-x-X-x-
So I learned something. It's possible to shape sword-light into horns. Also it hurts. I dodge to the side, quick as a flash, and I swear the light curves, following me before it slams into my side with the force of Tiny's fist. Luckily, I was able to angle my body to deflect the majority of the force, otherwise it may have managed to put a crack in my carapace.
Not wanting to be on the receiving end of a never-ending series of similar swings, I decide I'd best put in a little offence to throw my opponent off balance. Considering the barrier is in place, I feel a little more confident unleashing some of my more potent abilities, so I decide to Dash and follow up with a Void Chomp.
Not empowered, obviously. I'm not trying to turn my opponent into paste.
The gap between my mandibles fills with a howling void that draws everything in as the dark jaws of pure energy form, extending outward from my own. For his part, Phul isn't going to stand there and take it. For a moment, I see him hesitate, as if he were weighing whether to meet my lunge with one of his own, but he decides against it at the last second.
Redirecting his slash into the ground, he uses the tremendous force generated to launch himself to the side, flying over my mandibles to land on my left flank. I expect Phul thinks he has time to recover there after I finish my chomp, but he's about to learn I can turn on a dime. I whirl around, six legs flashing to align myself before I execute a charge, unwilling to give the swordsman time to recover.
Trapped in place, Phul lowers his horn and commits, winding back and gathering a dazzling amount of sword-light on the tip of his blade. As I bear down on him, angling myself to slam straight on, he swings from right to left.
Like a herd of stampeding rhinoceros, the light forms into a wave of horns that smack into my side. The force is absolutely tremendous, and despite my best efforts, he actually manages to shift my enormous frame off course. As I barrel past, I manage to clip my opponent with my legs, knocking him a smidge off balance, and I use that time to dig in my claws, sending a spray of sand flying up to splatter against the barrier.
Holy moly. That was a seriously heavy swing, strong enough to knock me to the side, and I weigh like ten tons or something. I mean, I haven't been on any scales, but an elephant would be a snack to me at this point. I'm big.
My insides were positively rattled when I got hit, but thanks to my inner-plating, I was able to absorb the blow without any cracking in my carapace.
After facing Phul head-on once more, I decide it's time to get serious and bust out some gravity magic. Minds spin, power flows and I begin to pull together the energy I need.
Half my minds commit to forming the gravity well, while the others are tasked with peppering the swordsman with minor spells to buy me the time I need.
A mix of fire bolts, gravity bolts, shards of ice and everything else my sub-brains can think of is launched in a constant spray. To deal with this barrage of minor strikes, Phul simply ignores them. The fire doesn't burn him, the ice doesn't stab him, but unfortunately for him, the gravity bolts do take effect.
He doesn't notice at first. Shrugging off my assault, he pulls his sword up for a massive vertical swing, but as more and more gravity spells hit him, and more specifically, hit his sword, things start to go awry.
I can only imagine Phul and others of his rank are incredibly sensitive to changes to the condition of their swords. The moment he starts the downswing, he realises something is off, but he's already committed.
Sensing his hesitation, I decide to go straight for the finish, rushing headfirst towards him, weaving together a layered shield as the gravity well nears completion.
The sword light that blooms is unlike anything I've ever seen before. Not only does it take the shape of a horn, but it almost appears like a charging rhino itself, racing forward above the ground. As insanely impressive as that is, the swing was off. This strike isn't as bright as those before, the light isn't as dense, and when I meet it with my shoulder, I shatter it to pieces.
Phul is sent sprawling as I batter into him. The gravity well completes, and I slam it into place, pinning him to the ground.
Holy moly. How many more times do I have to do this today?!
Despite being held in place by the power of the well, Phul puts up a mighty struggle, but ultimately is forced to concede, unable to get himself off the ground.
Thankfully, he's unhurt, and not too unhappy about being defeated, even if the final blow felt like it was below the belt.
[What did you do to my sword?] he asks after I connect to him, peering down at it with concern. [It's not permanent, is it?]
[No. Basically, I made it heavier. It's only temporary, though, no need to worry.]
[You made it larger? Some sort of metal magic?]
[Uh sure. Let's go with that. As I said, totally temporary, no effect on the weapon itself.]
Perhaps unconvinced, Phul gives his weapon a few test swings, appearing satisfied by the end that I'm not lying to him.
[Our weapons are very important to us,] he told me, [I have worked with this blade for over twenty years.]
[Well, it shoots rhinos made of light at people, I can understand not wanting to lose it.]
He looks at me a little confused.
[That's not the sword,] he tells me, [that's me!]
[What?! I'd assumed it was an enchantment or something!]
[Oh no. Shaping the light is the pinnacle of our Skill. When I achieve mastery, I will reach the tenth sword, and be a blademaster.]
[Nice. How far off are you?]
[I hope to achieve my goal in another ten years.]
That far off? Yikes.
-x-X-x-
Once again, the strange ant, Anthony, had demonstrated insight beyond what one would expect of a monster. Eran Thouris, the lead negotiator of the Island Conglomerate, was delighted at how effective the monster had been, as well as being curious, if not apprehensive, about the source of his wisdom.
As the fights continue, the giant ant revealed himself to be fast, strong, adept in a variety of mana types, as well as wielding that strange purple energy to devastating effect. Those enormous mandibles, each as large as a person, unleashed frighteningly powerful bites, filled with a dark energy that rocked the arena every time the Skill was activated.
And he was so quick. Whenever a desperate situation arose, the enormous creature moved like a dancer, with the reflexes of a spider, speeding, sliding, six legs moved in a blur to push his enormous bulk away from danger. In key moments, when a burst of speed was required, he almost appeared to vanish, disappearing from one point and reappearing in another, throwing down his opponents, or catching them up in his deadly jaws.
The Folk were entranced. Despite limiting the fights to only eighth and ninth swords, the line was dozens long. Such a rare opportunity to polish their abilities against a growing powerhouse of the Dungeon. They could not resist it.
Nor could the merchants with whom she dealt.
"It is astonishing that this Colony was able to produce a monster of such immense strength in such a short time," Whiskers, the feline-looking folk praised as Anthony bested yet another challenger. "If you had not shown me, I would never have believed an ant could be so strong."
"The Colony produces many things, not only powerful individuals," Eran smiled with the exact, correct amount of warmth. "They are fierce, and intelligent. Proud, and industrious. Their forges produce thousands of tons of ingots every day, harvested from across all of their territories. They even cracked the methods of forging Fire Iron by themselves."
"Really," the old man stroked the long whiskers that emerged from his cheeks, eyes narrowing. "I don't suppose you have a sample?"
Without turning, Eran reached a hand over her shoulder and felt a heavy weight placed into it within seconds. She offered the metal to her fellow trader to inspect.
"This was forged less than a month ago outside the demon city of Orpule," she said. "You can see the date and mark are stamped on it."
It was a good thing the ants had decided to mark their products visually and not just with scent. Apparently they continued to use their pheromone glands for this purpose, but realised not everyone who lived and worked within their nests had their same sense of smell.
Whiskers turned the ingot this way and that, reading the markings, which included the date, a special mark which indicated the forge at which it was produced, and the ant who had acted as forgemaster when the ingot was cast. In this case, Smithant herself.
"It's better than I expected," Whiskers pronounced, tapping the metal with one finger. "I can tell they haven't perfected the process, but they've done enough that we can reforge the metal here to refine it further. I'd be interested in buying this, and I don't mind telling you I wouldn't be the only one. Of course, the need for further firing drives the price down, I'm sure you understand as much."
Eran's smile deepened.
"Why don't we discuss that in detail?" she purred.
~~~
"I wonder how many ants have reached such a level of evolution, there surely can't be many."
The trader who referred to herself, rather unfortunately, as Bilious, was a large bear of a woman, whose appetite more than matched her frame.
"As far as I'm aware, there is only one other," Eran replied smoothly, leaning away slightly to give herself a little space. "Though there are many who have reached tier six."
"The difference between six and seven is as vast as the ocean," Bilious said, a little condescendingly, "as I'm sure you're aware."
"Yes," Eran replied, no crack to be found in her pleasant exterior. "It seems your swordsmen are finding quite the challenge in Anthony."
The big ant was at ten wins in a row and didn't appear to be flagging in the slightest, despite the numerous hits he'd taken. The last fighter had managed to encase him entirely in ice, yet he'd burned his way out, seemingly unharmed.
"The Flowing Water School has fought, as have the Jade Dancers, the Steel Avalanche, the Advancing Rhino and Lotus Bloom," Bilious noted, "but none of the top ten schools have yet made an appearance. I'm sure one of them can put this ant in its place."
"You really believe a ninth sword will be able to defeat him?" Eran asked with genuine surprise. It didn't seem to matter what techniques Anthony went up against, he broke them all the same. No individual brathian would ever claim they could beat a tier seven mythic monster single-handed, not a sane one anyway. Perhaps a blademaster might, but they were the finest duelists on the face of Pangera.
The large woman harrumphed.
"I don't think an ant monster is capable of surprising me," she said with open disdain. "Not in the arena, nor in the marketplace."
Eran nodded politely.
"Then I suppose you wouldn't object to a cup of tea. I have a freshly brewed cup right here. Of course, the Colony has not come across the varieties the Folk prefer, but I know you yourself are partial to a good, dark tea."
Bilious openly scoffed as Eran accepted an exquisite porcelain cup from an assistant.
"This should be interesting," she said. "To think a monster could even approach something like an adequate understanding of the art of tea."
Nevertheless, unwilling to be too rude to one of her largest trading partners, she accepted the cup and took a deep sniff.
Eran was looking for it, and was gratified to see Bilious' eyes widen as the rich aroma penetrated her snout. With careful movements, she brought the cup to her lips, and took a sip.
There was silence for a long long moment.
"Do you still believe an ant can't surprise you?" Eran asked, the picture of innocence.
Bilious swallowed. Then frowned.
-x-X-x-
[Ha ha! Is this really all the fabled warriors of the Folk have got? I can do this all day long!]
Grey raises his brows as I send my declaration ringing around the stadium, broadcasting to all and sundry in the crowd. The audience, normally reserved and respectful, are well caught up in the atmosphere at this point, watching their skilled swordsmen fall one after another.
I mean, they don't boo or anything, but many of them frown, which is pretty severe by their standards. I've been working this crowd all afternoon.
[Are you really that keen to continue?] Grey asks privately, knowing full well what the answer's going to be.
[Absolutely not, are you crazy? I'm getting burned, I'm getting frozen, I'm getting beams of dragon-shaped light shot at me. The last one grew a tree out of their sword and hit me with it!]
[You seem fine.]
[I've been taking damage and healing it, that doesn't mean I'm fine. My guts hurt, my carapace has fine cracks that'll take time to repair and I've run my healing gland so often it's demanding a paid vacation!]
Grey grunts.
[Those healing glands are cheats. Monsters can repair themselves with criminal ease.]
[You really want to get into a conversation about balance between monsters and you weaklings? Maybe we get to be stronger so we can survive the murderous hellscape of the Dungeon and not get sliced by people like you? Think about that?! I mean how much money am I even worth at this point of evolution?]
Grey squints at my gleaming carapace.
[A lot.]
[Don't get any ideas. I come in peace. Also, think about how hard it would be to get shoes in my size.]
[Well, the line for fighters hasn't gotten any shorter. You can keep fighting as long as you want to. More and more schools are sending their pupils, even some of the better ones.]
[Like the sword-tree lady?]
[The Blade of Surging Life. It is ranked in the top thirty.]
I might be complaining a lot, but I'm only half exaggerating. I've been fighting mostly eighth and ninth swords, with the proportion of nines going up over time. One on one, they can't really hope to beat me, especially if I'm going all-out, but defeating them gracefully, one after another, dozens of fights in a row? I'm tired.
Up in the stands, I can see that the activity around my brathian trading partners has begun to slow down. Where once there was a surge of people, arguing, gesturing and conducting business, there's now a much smaller gathering, but even from my position, I can see Eran Thouris in her element.
She's wheeling and dealing, making inroads and helping the Colony's goods get in front of the people who need to see them. The entire point of my escapades here in the arena is to help make it a little easier for the Folk to accept us. Judging by the crowd I've managed to gather, and the sheer number of challengers, I think I've achieved my work.
[Alright, I'm going to call it here for today, Grey, if that's okay with you?]
Fur poking out of his robes, the wolf-Folk only gestures lightly with one hand.
[Why wouldn't it be alright with me?]
I shrug my antennae.
[I just don't want to step on any toes, culturally speaking. I'm learning a bit about your people, but I'm hardly an expert. We want good relations between the Colony and the Folk, so if it's going to annoy a lot of people if I leave, then I'll stick around.]
He folds his arms across his chest.
[Plenty of people will be annoyed, but only because they don't get a chance to fight,] he grins wolfishly, [and the crowd will be disappointed they didn't get to see more good fights. Ninth swords lining up to fight a powerful monster one after another? It's a rare treat.]
Great.
[So I should stay?]
[Of course not,] he snorts. [If you want to leave, then leave. We are the Folk, our appetite for the fight is bottomless. You could stand on this sand for a hundred years and people wouldn't have had enough.]
There certainly isn't any lack of people in the arena. Any time someone leaves, their seat is snapped up in seconds. Politely snapped up, but snapped up all the same.
[We should show you how to play tunnel ball,] I tell him. [I get the feeling your people would love it.]
And be good players, come to think of it.
Grey seems less sure.
[Tunnel ballis a game?]
[Oh, it's not a game, it's a religion.]
[We aren't religious, as a people.]
[Not yet.]
There isn't really an exit, as such, from the pit, so I just turn around and start scuttling over to the barrier and begin to poke my head through it. The crowd in front begins to move out of the way, a few people offering some claps, even the odd bow, then I'm up into the stands and out the back as Grey announces that ant Elvis has left the building.
I barely get two steps out of the arena before White appears in front of me, hand up, gesturing for me to stop.
[Problem?] I ask, but she only shakes her head.
[You want me to wait for Grey?]
She nods.
It takes him five minutes or so. I gather he had to speak to some of the swordsmen and women who were a little irritated they'd waited for nothing, but he appears unruffled as he approaches.
He speaks to White for a moment, and suddenly he looks quite ruffled indeed.
[White hasn't said anything to me. What's up?]
He growls, actually growls.
[The Legion is here.]
The way he says legion is almost like a curse word.
[Haven't seen them in a while. I take it you don't get along well with them.]
[We don't.]
[Hey, great! Neither do we!]
-x-X-x-
It only takes a couple of minutes before I'm swept into what can only be described as a tornado of well-intended coddling.
[We'll get you back to your nest immediately,] Eran assures me.
[We managed to get all of your people off the ships,] Marzban follows up. [We received permission once the Folk spotted the Legion fleet coming in.]
[They didn't come through a gate?]
He looks at me like I'm insane before rushing off to organise the brathian guards who are running alongside us. After a little thought, I realise that it's unlikely the Deep Legion are allowed to use a gate to travel here, since they likely aren't welcome.
Next to me, Grey is managing his own little firestorm as various Folk run in and out, trying to organise themselves. I mean, it seems weird that they didn't manage to notice a fleet of their enemies sailing toward their capital, but hey, the Folk seem pretty laid back, maybe someone just forgot to pass on a message.
For my part, I keep my mandibles shut and my mind quiet while everyone around me panics and tries not to show that they've panicked.
Eventually other wolf-Kin appear, dressed somewhat more importantly than the other commers and goers, judging by their robes. Grey listens carefully to what they have to say before the reserved warrior clicks his tongue in irritation.
[Bad news?] I venture.
As nice as it would be to leave all the worrying to everyone else, I wouldn't mind learning what's going on around here.
[Of a sort. It appears the Legion fleet was granted permission to sail by the Wind Clan, which would explain why they weren't spotted for so long.]
.
[And why is that?]
[Because the Wind Clan does much of the scouting around this mountain.]
[That might be a mistake.]
[It would appear so.]
Still, it seems odd.
[Is this wind clan close to the Legion or something? I thought you all hated them.]
The wolf-Folk raises a hand to stroke at the long grey fur of his neck.
[We don't exactly hate the Legion. They are respected among my people as strong warriors with an unwavering sense of duty. However, we have fought against them several times, and we faced resistance shall we say, when establishing ourselves as a people. Rich mana caused us to become the way we are, so the Legion argued we were basically monsters, even if we weren't born of the Dungeon.]
That's some interesting stuff.
[Well, they already tried to wipe us out once, as you're well aware.]
He grunts.
[You actually are monsters. They'll never stop trying to kill you. It's a minor miracle they haven't tried again.]
[We dealt with them last time.]
He chuckles.
[You really think you have seen the best of the Legion? The Praetorians are the only warriors we've ever seen who are superior to our blademasters one on one. As an army, they are spread out, stationed all over the Dungeon, all around Pangera. Were they to gather their strength, they would smash your Colony beneath their armoured heels.]
I'm not so naive as to think we can beat the entire Legion. We won last time because they didn't send enough to deal with us, and the Wave pulled our butts out of the fire. I'd assumed they would keep underestimating us, but perhaps the time for that is past.
[So what happens now?] I ask.
[As it turns out, they have permission to be here, we will simply have to watch them so that they don't attempt anything they shouldn't while on our land.]
So saying, he falls silent and I leave him to his business. The brathian delegation appears more worried than the Folk, if I'm honest. Despite the presence of Marzban and his guards, they aren't exactly outfitted to take on the Legion. The vast majority of our brathian colleagues on this journey are merchants, traders and craftspeople. In terms of sheer fighting power, they brought a heck of a lot less than the Colony, even if most of the ants in the fleet are carvers.
When we arrive back at the nest, predictably, it's buzzing with activity. First of all, the carvers are going nuts performing emergency construction. With all ten thousand ants needing to be housed in a defensible nest, they certainly have their work cut out for them. Not being allowed to tunnel underground just makes everything that much harder for them.
Secondly, the soldiers, scouts and mages are very much on alert. The area around the nest is swarming with patrols as the Colony attempts to enforce some level of security around the nest.
"Eldest! Thank goodness you returned. Are we under attack?"
Sloan is agitated, which is to be expected under the circumstances. She runs up to me along with a host of other generals and scouts, an ad-hoc command post, I suppose.
"No, we aren't under attack," I try to soothe her. "The Legion is landing on the mountain with a fleet, that's all."
"The Legion?! That's terrible!"
Emergency soothing has failed.
"Look, we don't even know they're here because of us. Could just be a friendly visit."
"Is that true?"
"No."
"So we are under attack!"
"Just calm down for a second. The Folk aren't going to allow the Legion to just start attacking us in the middle of the city. We are guests, and so are the Legion. From what I gather, the Folk are planning on watching them very carefully to make sure they don't start anything they shouldn't. In the meantime, we bunker down, make sure every ant is accounted for, and wait it out. Alright?"
"We'll do as you suggest, Eldest. I do want to ask that you consider that they may have come for you, rather than for all of us."
"For me? Why?"
"If they identify you as a threat like they did Garralosh, won't that mean they subject you to the same treatment?"
Oh nards. I certainly hope that isn't the case. From what I know, the Legion does do their best to hunt down monsters who may be a candidate for becoming an Ancient. Even if I don't want to be, I am a candidate, and I even have the Call yanking at my guts on a permanent basis to prove it. The pain hasn't been all that bad back on the fourth, but it's getting worse day by day. Tiny little increments of pain, barely noticeable, but they add up, and eventually I realised what was happening. If I were to hang around on the fourth for a few years, it would eventually become utterly unbearable, and I'd be forced deeper just to find some relief.
Stupid Ancients.
"Look, I hope not, but if they are, then that reduces the danger to the rest of the family, which isn't a bad thing. If we only need to keep me safe, then that's a lot easier than protecting ten thousand individuals, and I can take care of myself for the most part."
Sloan's antennae twitch, but she lets that statement slide past.
-x-X-x-
Morrelia drew a deep breath, letting the spray rising from the lake wash over her. Stood at the bow, she had a perfect view of Freehill as it drew ever nearer. Home of the fearsome blademasters and legendary sword schools of the Folk who trained them, it was not a place she had expected to visit, especially in circumstances similar to these.
"We'll be docking in ten minutes," roared Commander Chyron. "I want every Legionary prepped for battle. We don't expect a fight, but that doesn't mean we won't get one! Tribune!"
"Here, Commander!" Morrellia turned and snapped out a crisp salute.
In one glance, the grizzled veteran took in every detail of her appearance. As always, Morrelia was prepared for a fight. Both swords had been cleaned and oiled, waiting in their sheaths. She wore full Legionary armour, even on the boat, and that too was in immaculate working order.
"I want you to head below decks and make sure our troops are prepared, then report back to me."
"At once."
No doubt a similar check would be performed on each of the ten ships that housed Chyron's legion, but she was only responsible for this one. Morrelia's armoured boots thudded against the wooden deck as she hastened to follow orders.
Under her command, Morrelia had quickly learned that her father was not the only officer in the Legion with a well-earned reputation for demanding perfection. Commander Chyron worked herself to the bone to ensure her Legion was operating as flawlessly as possible, and she expected the same effort from every Tribune, Centurion, right down to the individual soldiers themselves.
Below decks was cramped and stuffy, everything packed in as tightly as could possibly be managed. It reminded her of nothing so much as the nests of the Colony, where the ants were more than happy to climb over the top of each other to get from A to B. There was a flurry of activity as final checks were being performed by every squad, centurions marching back and forth barking orders at any laggards.
"Ten minutes until we hit the dock," she bellowed, cutting through the noise in an instant. "If you aren't on deck in parade-worthy kit in five, I'll make you wish the blademasters had you!"
There was one clear path down the centre of the ship, and she marched down it glaring in every direction as her troops raced to finish their preparations.
"Tighten your damn straps!" she roared at one soldier. "Your chestplate is loose!"
"You better pray that's muck and not rust. One spot of rust on that armour and you'll be buried up to your neck in the latrine, soldier!"
"WHY ARE YOU WEARING TWO LEFT BOOTS, LEGIONARY!? If your answer doesn't involve an unfortunate surgical mishap, then you are in for a bad day!"
Despite the occasional slip-up, these were well disciplined and professional troops, Legionaries one and all. In less than five minutes, they were lined up beside their bunks, weapons and armour gleaming while the officers prowled through the ranks, ensuring everything was perfect. When they were satisfied, they let Morrelia know and she nodded.
"Remember, we aren't here to fight any of the Folk. There will be zero tolerance shown to any Legionary who causes trouble on shore. Instant discharge. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Tribune!"
With one final glare, she signalled her approval to the officers and made her way back to the deck. Freehill loomed even closer now, the chaos of the dock clear to see.
"The troops are prepared, Commander."
The woman gave her a glance before she returned her focus to the shoreline.
"Good."
There was silence between them, the older Legionary radiating a tense energy, almost scowling at the sprawling city of the Folk rising before them.
"Bad memories, Commander?" Morrelia asked.
She grimaced, never taking her eyes from the figures on the dock.
"I've fought twice against the Folk, Tribune."
"I'm aware," Morrelia nodded.
Of course she examined the service history of her new Commander. Chyron huffed.
"They're terrors in a fight, but I'm not worried about them. I've fought against ants too, did you know that?"
"I did."
"You're well prepared. I suspect that's why I was given this command. I fought in the Solenopsis outbreak beneath the Tower."
"Fire ants," Morrelia shook her head. She'd read the reports, they were horrifying.
"They ravaged everything they could reach before the Legion arrived. I'll never forget what I saw on that campaign. Now we have a new ant outbreak, unlike anything that we've seen before. A tier seven mythic beast leading them. That's the highest evolved ant on record, Tribune, and if they can make one, they can make more."
Morrelia swallowed.
"I'm aware," she replied softly.
"The seers are certain it's here, part of this trade mission," the Commander sneered. "The enemy has already laid claim to the beast. You know what that means, don't you Tribune."
"I do."
The Commander drummed her fingers against the railing at the bow, taking in everything she could see as Morrelia continued to think. It was Anthony they were talking about, it had to be. To think he'd reached all the way to such a high level of evolution, and drawn the gaze of the Ancients in the process. Perhaps she should have realised something like this was possible, perhaps she should have warned him, but it had never entered her mind.
He, and the Colony, had come so much further than anyone had expected in a much shorter time frame than anyone could have thought possible. With everyone busy dealing with the Waves, the world hadn't had time to deal with an ant outbreak, and now it was too late to deal with them simply.
"I think the monster has come to greet us," the Commander observed wryly, and Morrelia snapped her gaze to the dock. There, unbelievably, she saw a truly massive ant, carapace gleaming with a dark purple light.
He was immense, with mandibles as long as a person, antennae longer than that, standing tall over the smaller figures that ran between his legs and beneath his carapace. Was that really the same ant who she'd travelled to Liria with?
"Why does it look like it's waving at us?" Chyron wondered.
"I have no idea, Commander," Morrelia deadpanned.
On the shore, Anthony was vigorously waving an antenna at her, clacking his mandibles happily.
That was him, alright.
-x-X-x-
For whatever reason, the Legion doesn't look happy to see me, but hey, it's Morrelia! I haven't clapped my thousands of lenses on her in ages! I'm tempted to reach out with a mind bridge and say hello, but I get the feeling such an act wouldn't be welcome. Answering questions about giant monsters trying to contact you the second they see you might be a little awkward for her.
Last time I had a good chat with her, she wasn't a fully fledged legionary, or at least I don't recall that she was, so obviously things are going to be a bit different now. Getting pulled into the family business is probably a pretty normal thing to have happen, I mean, I have no idea what my family did for a living when I was a human. My ant family? We just ant it up, it's great. Every single one of us is pulled into the family business just by being born an ant.
When the Legion finally docks and begins to disembark from their ships, a rather large gathering of the Folk has assembled to greet them, and they don't all seem to get along. At least, I think I'm sensing some serious tension in the air between a few of the groups. I try to ask Grey about it, but he's a bit reluctant to spill any gossip about his fellow Folk, even if one of the clans is in the naughty corner for these shenanigans.
One thing I do notice, because it's incredibly obvious, is how many of the Legionaries are glaring at me. Like, I'm getting so much stink-eye I feel like I need a shower.
Row after row of soldiers, decked out in their thick-plated, shiny legionary armour, with who I assume are the officers, along with Morrelia, marching up and down maintaining order. Despite acting so nonchalant, I'm self-aware enough to know that I am in fact in danger here. I'm depending on the hospitality of the Folk to keep me from being jumped by several thousand monster-hating super-soldiers. Not that Protectant shares my optimism.
"Eldest, are you going to leave yet? You said you'd just come to the docks for a look."
"And I'm looking."
"You have looked. We should go."
"My look is ongoing. It'll be done when I blink."
"Eldest, you are perfectly aware that we can't blink."
"Seems like a you problem."
The dedicated protector sighs heavily. It's rare enough for her to come out on her own and talk to me at all, no matter what ridiculous thing I'm doing. Clearly, she and the others are quite on edge.
"Look, I understand this is a risky position to be in. If anything dangerous happens, then I fully intend to turn around and sprint back to the nest like the heroic leader that I am, alright?"
"Fine. We would be much more comfortable if your guardians were around at times like this. In future, try not to leave the nest without them."
Really? They think having Tiny around at a moment like this would be helpful? I mean, it'd be great to have another powerful ally if a fight broke out, but him being here makes that fight about twenty times more likely.
Oh, looks like the representatives of the Folk are going to meet with the officers. Looks like the air is thick enough to cut with an antenna. Holy moly, these people do not seem to like each other.
By my side is a very nervous, though hiding it extremely well, Marzban, and a stoic Grey with his apprentice, White.
[No chance you can tell me what's being said?]
[From this far away?]
[Don't you have, like, wolf ears or something?]
He frowns.
[It's considered rude to assume things like that.]
[In that case, I apologise, and also insist you answer the question.]
[I accept your apology, and yes, I have 'wolf-ears' as you so delicately put it. I can indeed hear what is being said.]
I wait, but he doesn't continue. This guy
[Could you please share a summary of what is being discussed with this unworthy specimen, oh great Grey who I definitely haven't seen naked.]
The wolf-Kin's brows twitch, though his face remains stoically calm. White, on the other hand, buries her face in her hand in an effort to conceal her laughter. The silent shaking of her shoulders gives it away regardless, however.
[Fine. Representatives of the council are welcoming the Legion to Freehill, while subtly warning them to abide by the conditions laid out in the treaty signed between us.]
[You guys have a treaty?]
[We are no longer at war, so yes, we have a treaty?]
[What are the conditions?]
[Do you want me to tell you what is being said, or answer your inane questions?]
[Both.]
Grey pinches his brow, forcefully.
[They must abide by our laws while within our territory. So, as a random example, they can't kill any monster they wish if that monster is here as a guest.]
[That's a good example. Very relevant.]
[The Legionary Commander is subtly warning the council of the risks involved when giving succour to the enemy. That's you.]
[I got it.]
[More along those lines. Monsters aren't to be trusted. It's irresponsible to help strengthen them, making it more difficult for everyone when they inevitably are turned against us. Etcetera.]
[Man, they really hate monsters.]
[Not without good reason,] Grey says wryly. [The Abyssal Legion was born during the Rending, when the entire world was engulfed in a never-ending wave that nearly wiped out all non-dungeon born life on Pangera. They have a long memory.]
[They probably aren't happy that I've got the Call as well.]
[You what?]
Whoops.
[I think I hear my Colony calling. One sec.]
Next to me, Grey appears rather irritated.
[Don't bother trying to dissemble. The cat-Folk is out of the bag, as the crude amongst us would say. That explains why the Legion were willing to take such a direct course of action. They will hunt you to the end of the Dungeon rather than let you live.]
[Would they risk starting another war here on your land?]
[If they thought they would succeed in killing you, they'd attack right now.]
[Dang.]
This brings up another question.
[How do you guys feel about monsters with the Call? Are you similarly unfond?]
He chews over the question a bit before answering.
[It varies. The Ancients are a source of disagreement amongst my people. Some agree with the Legion, that the twentieth Ancient must never arise.]
[Let me guess Wind Clan?]
[I will not comment. Others amongst us have sympathy for sapient monsters such as yourselves. We were nearly counted amongst you by Pangera after all. Perhaps, if our luck was worse, we would have become monsters in truth, instead of becoming what we are.]
[Hmmm. Well, this trip has certainly gotten a lot more interesting.]
-x-X-x-
The Legion unload their ships, pack their supplies, and move onto the mountain. Apparently, they have some barracks or something, they certainly brought quite a few troops. A full Legion, which is five thousand soldiers, plus non-combat staff, I'm told. I mean, the Colony has ten thousand, but I don't like those odds. We have a heck of a lot of carvers in our mix, not exactly our strongest and best fighters. One saving grace is that we brought a decent contingent of mages, more than we usually would in a group this size, so we are packing quite the magical heat, as it were.
Still, as they move around, I make a point to greet them, friendly style. Clacking my mandibles every now and again, things like that. It's not like I'm snapping them as loudly as I possibly can or anything, just loud enough to send an ear-piercing crack through the air, like a gunshot.
Judging by the reactions of the soldiers, they seem to welcome my provocationthat is to say friendly greeting, glaring up at me. Morrelia plants her face in her palm and I see her taking several long, slow breaths every time I do it, so I'm sure she's enjoying it.
[Are they interested in talking to me at all?] I ask Grey.
The scruffy swordsman almost turns to look at me.
[Why would they want to do that?]
[They're here for me, aren't they?]
[They are here to destroy you. The context is important.]
[Is it a Legion thing to not talk to their targets?]
[Anthony, I do not hold long, philosophical conversations with the monsters I kill, regardless of how intelligent they are. If the Legion are one thing, it's stubborn. They haven't changed their attitude in thousands of years, and they won't now. To them, all monsters are dangerous and need to be eliminated. Monsters with potential for mass destruction, like ants, are incredibly dangerous, and need to be stamped out. Powerful individuals from a species capable of mass destruction]
[Let me guess. They need to be eliminated.]
[Correct. In addition, any monster who hears the Call]
[Eliminated?]
[Annihilated.]
[Great. That's that's great.]
I'm really trying to work on an angle where I can have a chat with Morrelia, check in, see how the family is, but I really don't see how it's going to work out.
[Why the hate against monsters like us anyway? Every time this sort of thing comes up, people seem certain that monsters are going to go feral, no matter what. The Colony hasn't gone stomping on anyone's toes unprovoked.]
Besides a few independent cities who found themselves within Colony territory. No need to mention those.
Grey just smiles grimly, but doesn't reply. I poke him with an antenna, or at least I try to, he steps smoothly away.
[What?] he asks, irritated.
[I asked you a question.]
Normally completely unruffled, he displays a rare sign of ruff and turns to face me.
[There's no way you don't know the answer to that,] he says flatly. [I'm insulted you would even attempt such base trickery.]
[Whoa, whoa! Hold on there!]
I bend my legs and lower myself down to roughly his level. A few people standing under me had to scramble out at short notice. Whoops.
[Look, I am not messing with you. The Colony is very young. I am very young, relatively. I genuinely don't know the answer to this question.]
Now the wolf-Kin just looks confused. He exchanges a glance with White, who similarly appears unsure, and shrugs.
[I learned enough about your history when I spent time with you to know that you've seen the phenomenon for yourself. You were attacked by the creature, Garralosh, who had amassed an army of monsters. Am I not correct?]
[You are,] I reply, slowly.
[There you have it,] he nods, satisfied.
[Have what?]
[Anthony]
[I swear I'm not being deliberately thick! I'm this thick all the time!]
Grey sighs.
[Weaker monsters can be overwhelmed by stronger ones. The force of your core, your Will, forms an an aura like effect. Have you ever felt such a thing?]
[Oh, for sure! Strong monsters, especially ones stronger than me, felt suffocating to be around. It sucked.]
[Yes, but sucking at your Will is not all that this effect can bring about. Should a monster sufficiently strong come close to one who is sufficiently weak, they can dominate them entirely.]
[Wait so that's how Garralosh had all those monsters following in her wake? She just hit them with the rizz?]
[Well if by 'rizz' you mean she crushed their will to resist and demanded that they follow, then yes. It seems absurd that you don't know this; you are more than capable of doing it yourself.]
Wha? That seems not good.
[I don't spend that much time around weak monsters I suppose. At least, I've never noticed it happening.]
I haven't been to the first stratum in forever. Demons didn't seem affected but I suppose they have some sort of connection with Arconidem perhaps they're immune to outside influence? I've been on the fourth for a while, monsters here may be born with such high mana concentration they aren't affected by me?
When would I have had a chance to notice something like this?
[You should have a similar effect against members of your own family. Any up to tier three could be susceptible to you right now,] Grey says. [You've never seen such a thing?]
I shake my head vigorously.
[Of course not! I'd be horrified if I did!]
[That seems unusual. Nevertheless, it is a real thing.]
[So the Legion are worried some big monster is going to swan up to the Colony and subsume their will?]
[They are worried an Ancient will do that,] Grey says flatly. [The Legion was founded during the Rending and they believe we should be prepared for it to happen again. If one of them got close enough to your Colony, you would become slave soldiers in an instant.]
Well, nards. I'm not a fan of that outcome.
[Why do those big fat monsters cause me so much trouble? What did I ever do to them? And how the heck do you know so much about the Ancients? I thought your people weren't around during the Rending at all!]
[Information exchange.]
His reply is terse.
[Information exchange?]
[Yes. We learned via an information exchange.]
[With who?]
He stares at me levelly.
[Ok, secrets. I got it.]
Yeesh. Well now I'm left with my original problem of wanting to have a chat with Morrelia and not being able to. How am I going to find a way to talk to her one on one? Just extending a mind-bridge to a soldier of the Legion could be construed as an attack. Getting caught even making an attempt will be disastrous.
Then I have an idea.
[Hey, Grey. Am I still welcome at the fighting pits?]
[Of course. All are welcome at the arenas.]
[Even the Legion?]
He blinks. Twice.
[Yes,] he replies slowly, [of course they are.]
[Sweet. Can you let the Legion know I'll be fighting tomorrow at the same arena as last time? They can come and have a crack.]
I snap my mandibles loudly.
[If they're brave enough.]
Gweheheheheheheh. I'm a genius.
-x-X-x-
[Hey, what's happening? How's your day been?]
No response.
[Look, I don't want to accuse anyone of being rude, manners are important on both sides of an interaction, but do you have any idea how hard it is to push a mind bridge through that helmet? The least you could do is say hello.]
My opponent, a centurion, judging by the look of his armour, does not respond, only raises his shield and blade, preparing to charge. After dealing with eighth and ninth sword members of the Folk schools, I don't want to say defeating individual soldiers from the Legion is easy, but it's certainly not as hard as what I was doing before.
The centurion erupts with energy and launches himself forward. To be honest, the speed is impressive, but it's very linear, and I'm a difficult opponent to surprise.
Turning on the spot, I rotate my body and smack my mandible into the charging soldier like a bat. There's a crunch, followed by a large thud as my opponent crashes into the barrier on the outside of the arena.
Home run!
[Nice attempt! Good speed, but you might want to work on your micro dashes. Puts a lot of strain on the body, but changing your angle of approach a few times instead of just charging straight in will help you in the long run.]
I don't get a reply, not that I was expecting one. I've fought five members of the Abyssal Legion so far, and although I managed to connect a bridge to each of them, not one has said a single word, no matter how much I natter at them.
The first four were rank and file, the last was the first officer I've fought. Honestly, I can give them some credit for being tougher than I expected them to be. Their armour is hard as nails, and each one of them is a disciplined fighter with polished skills. I get the feeling that, unlike the Folk, who train extensively to fight one-on-one in the arenas and fighting pits, the Legion trains to fight monsters in groups, as they should. If that centurion had executed the exact same charge along with a squad, it would have been much harder to deal with; batting one of them away would leave me open to the rest of them, leading to much stabbage.
The atmosphere in the stadium is a bit tense, I suppose is the word. The Folk are having a grand old time, and many swordsmen and women have lined up to challenge once again. However, filling up one end of the arena is a contingent of Legionaries in full armour, staring down at me in a somewhat unfriendly manner.
Alright, a decidedly unfriendly manner.
I'm not completely ignorant as to what they're up to. Obviously, they want to suss out my strengths and weaknesses here in this safe environment, maybe even lure me into underestimating them by having me beat up on the rank and file. As if. I don't imagine the Legion is so flush with resources they'd waste time on a trip like this. If this is the group they sent, then they're confident they can get the job done.
Surely, Morrelia is going to take the hint and get down here at some point. No way she hasn't figured out what I'm after.
Sadly, she doesn't appear, and I continue to beat down on Folk and Legion alike while Eran Thouris continues to wheel and deal in the stands. I start to get bored of the whole thing, and am frankly disappointed that she would avoid me like this until.
There's a stir among the Legion crowd as an officer steps out into the pit. Helmet on, twin swords sheathed at the hips and a decidedly red tinge to the heavy armour they're wearing.
This is obviously someone higher ranked, judging by the elaborate insignia engraved on the chest plate, along with the larger, more mana-dense armour. Could be her but I better check before I make any assumptions.
As my next opponent strides out into the arena, I prepare the mind mana I'm going to need, spinning up my minds and weaving together the magic. Battering through the protections the Legion seems to build into their gear is like smashing through a wall with my brain. Not fun. I'll get through, but the process isn't what I would call enjoyable in the slightest.
I need to take my own position for these duels, so I skitter over, making sure I don't have a leg too far forward as the legionary opposite draws those twin blades, each of them glowing an ominous red.
Surely
"Begin!"
As soon as the adjudicator not Grey today, he's off arguing with his brother or something gives the signal, I push forward my mind magic, slamming into the barrier head on. Whatever is woven into the helmet, it's tough stuff, and I fail to break through on the first attempt. I kind of expected it, what worked for the regular soldiers won't work on the higher ups, and I'm prepared to go as many times as it takes.
However, my opponent doesn't seem like they're willing to give me that opportunity. The instant the match starts, the swords, along with the armour, begin smoking, emitting a red haze that twists and warps the air. Before I can even wonder what the heck is going on, both blades slash out and my antennae start screaming at me.
Dodge!
I leap to the side, narrowly avoiding the twin arcs of sword light. Yikes! What the heck was that?! There was something weird about those strikes, I haven't seen anything like them from the Folk so far. The feeling I get from this fighter reminds me of nothing so much as Sarah when she's lost in her rage. Morrelia is a berserker, there's no way this isn't her.
I smash forward with the mind magic again as I clack my mandibles. She's trying to make this look like a genuine fight, which is sensible, I'll need to do the same.
More mind constructs spin into action as I whip together elemental mana, ready to unleash a barrage of fire and water bolts. This'll look awesome.
DODGE!
Streaking through the air like a sizzling rage-demon, my opponent zig-zags, alternating dashes left and right before homing in on me like a comet. Blades flash, red light screams, and I am outta there.
Unable to roll in time, I jump!
Many tons of magnificent ant leap directly upwards, majestically soaring into the air. My opponent doesn't hesitate, crouches low, and leaps up after me, blades glowing, ready for the next strike!
Holy moly!
Forced into a corner, I react unconventionally, spinning my body in the air with force magic and whipping around my legs. I catch the soldier on the rise, smacking them across and into the barrier, but not very hard. The move gives me enough time to land and reorient myself, which is nice.
Yikes! If this is Morrelia, she's really taking this a little too seriously!
Then I feel a stinging pain coming from my leg and look down to realise she took about thirty centimetres off the end of it! When the heck did she manage that?!
A bit irritated now, I focus my minds and push out a staggering amount of mind magic, overwhelming the defences embedded in the armour and finally connecting the mind bridge.
[Oi! What the heck was that?! I know that's you in there, Morrelia!]
All I get back is white hot rage and one thought.
[KILL!]
-x-X-x-
Great. Just great. I finally get Morrelia to come out here, and she's berserking. I'm hardly likely to get a decent conversation out of her at this point. So does this mean I'm going to have to fight, make it look convincing, while she goes full wild-style?
That's not going to be easy.
For starters, I let my mind constructs pelt her with water bolts, a near endless hail of compressed water balls that slam into her armour with loud, concussive blasts.
Not that it seems to bother her. Despite hitting like a well-swung hammer, they barely move her. Once she's back on her feet, the blades come up, gleaming with red light, and she starts slicing through my magic as she draws closer.
Oh, you're approaching me? Are you sure that's a wise idea?
It probably is, it's not like I can deploy a void chomp without worrying about biting her in half. Irritated by how complicated things have gotten, I trigger my regeneration gland to start healing my leg. My mobility is a bit shot at the moment, which means I'll have to fight more directly. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem, but Morrelia's sword strikes are nasty.
Her moves aren't nearly as artful as what the Folk can bring to bear, but they're still extremely effective. The fact she was able to shear through my leg while off balance in mid-air is a little worrying. She might be the first person I've fought in Freehill who can actually damage my carapace.
[Alright then, bring it on! You want a piece of this? Come and get it!]
No more piddly basic spells. I throw away the elemental magic I'd conjured and start focusing on something a little more spicy. Given a little more freedom, Morrelia goes back into dash mode. Considering how bulky that armour is, she moves with lightning speed. Is this what Legionaries are really capable of?
Once again, the twin blades flash, but I don't flinch. Instead, I charge in headfirst, angling my body expertly to deflect the blow.
When the sword light strikes home, I'm stunned. It's unbelievably heavy, and indescribably sharp. Like twin shards of pure rage, they slam into my carapace and start to bite into the gravity compressed diamond. It's not enough. Despite cutting deep, the blows are absorbed, and my strength, size and mass is simply too much to be knocked back by her strikes. I dash forward, jaws wide.
CHOMP!
I don't use any Skills, out of fear of causing permanent damage, but I use as much of my raw physical strength as I dare. My physical jaws slam shut on the Legionary with terrific force, and for a moment, I'm worried I might have gone too far.
Except she's fine. And there's a chip in my mandibles! What the heck did they make this armour out of?!
Two blades stab forward, sending sword-light spearing towards my eyes, and I have to stop, drop and roll. Letting Morrelia hang in midair, I release my grip, duck and get the heck out of the way.
[Dammit, Morrelia! You're becoming just as ridiculous as your dad!]
That guy was scary as heck, and pretty much cut me in half. Not fond memories.
The moment those words ring out over the mind-bridge, the burning, rage-filled energy surrounding the fighter dims, ever so slightly, and a coherent thought comes back to me at last.
[You're lucky you never met my mother,] Morrelia says.
At last! I've finally broken through!
[About time! Is this the way you treat your former allies? You cut off part of my leg!]
[You bit me.]
[You're fine! I didn't even use a Skill!]
I can hear her rueful laughter over the bridge.
[Anthony, how in the Dungeon did you get so big?]
I mean that's obvious isn't it?
[I evolved. You're part of the Abyssal Legion, right? Aren't you all supposed to be experts on Monsters? I'm tier seven! I'm mythic! Of course I'm big!]
We can converse a lot faster with thought than people can verbally, but that doesn't mean we can stand around gabbing with everyone watching. Morrelia steadies herself and brings up her blades, sending a flurry of slashes my way, which I take on my left side before unleashing several powerful blasts of force magic, trying to push her back.
[Aren't you the one who's gotten unreasonably strong? What have they been feeding you, Biomass?]
[Of course not. I've been training. Hard. Although, you could also say I had the talent for it from the beginning.]
We continue to fight, doing our best to put on a good show as we converse.
[As nice as it is to see you again, Morrelia, I kind of wish you didn't turn up with a death squad. I don't think I've done anything so nefarious as to deserve this kind of treatment.]
Even behind her helmet, I can tell she has a grimace on her face.
[There are some things the Legion won't let go, no matter what. They told me the Dungeon Seers said you had heard the Call. Is that true?]
[Heck yeah, it is, and I hate it! Have you ever had a fishhook lodged in your insides? Just constantly yanking and pulling until you think your guts are going to fall out of your body? It's like that.]
[Oh, Anthony. I'm sorry.]
[Hey, it's not your fault. It's not so bad while I'm here on the fourth, but I suppose it'll keep getting worse over time. If I ever get down to the Ancients, I'm going to give them a chomp or two, I can tell you that much!]
[I didn't mean that. Although the pain must be terrible, so I'm sorry for that as well. No, I meant the prophecy. Twenty monsters will destroy the world. The Legion believes that if the twentieth Ancient ever rises, it will mean the end of the world. And they aren't the only ones to think so. As long as the Ancients themselves think you're qualified, they won't leave you alone.]
[You mean the Legion is going to chase me into the fifth even faster than the Call can drag me there? Kind of feels self-defeating, doesn't it?]
[Wait, you're going to go into the fifth? Can you even survive there?]
[Of course! Are you underestimating the Colony again? We're going to get in there and purify the whole place, mark my words!]
[That would be quite the achievement.]
We continue to trade blows, and I have to say, Morrelia is strong. Really strong. Perhaps she can't shape the sword light as well as the ninth swords, and lacks their grace, but she is an engine of destruction. Fast, powerful, her blows are razor sharp and heavy as a concrete truck. I don't know if she's on a blademaster's level, but she is definitely the strongest I've fought in Freehill.
[How's Enid?]
[She's still kicking, though her health is on the decline. She retired from the village and is relaxing in our mountain here on the fourth.]
[That's good to hear. She's a remarkable woman.]
Eventually, I decide to stop mucking around and bust out the gravity magic. The Legion can hear all about it from the Folk, so it's not like I can hide it from them.
Trapped in place, Morrelia is forced to give up the fight.
[Gweheheheh. Still got a few tricks up my sleeve. Yeah, there's a few people from Renewal kicking around the place. Beyn is still alive somehow. In fact, there's a few here with me now.]
Morrelia rolls her shoulders as the weight of the gravity well is released.
[As long as Isaac isn't here. That guy drove me nuts.]
[Isaac? He's here.]
[What?! WHERE?!]
[He's behind you.]
[Nice try.]
[Nono, for real.]
[You expect me to turn around and AGAAA!]
"Fair Morrelia. The sight of you is like fresh mountain water as I lie dying of thirst!"