Chapter 75
I had taken the most active part in the destruction of a Great Champion of Nurgle. I had hacked through Orcs, Beastmen, Skaven, and Dark Elves. I had been interrogated by a Witch Hunter and survived, while the Witch Hunter did not.
Not to brag, but it sounds like a solid track record. What else could a warrior capable of such things possibly need to learn? Secret death-touch techniques? Three-blade fencing styles? A strike delivered during a double somersault? No, bitch! Footwork!
For two hours straight after breakfast, I was busy practicing movement in a spacious circular room. Steps forward, steps back, diagonal shifts. Through it all, I had to maintain the correct stance. Straight back, torso leaning forward, shoulders proudly squared. Every step had to begin with a push from the supporting leg. A kind of mini-jump forward or backward, not just a stride.
"You were taught a few combat techniques," Liandra explained to me during the process. "You have a good sense of distance. You know how to land powerful blows. Your problem lies in the excessive strength and speed you gain through absorbing the lives of others. Just as those born into wealth sometimes do not know how to save gold, you waste a portion of your movements unnecessarily. When the enemy is slower than you, it causes no problem."
"But when we are equals..." I sighed. "It ends up like it did with that swordsman. It gets tough."
"Correct. Therefore, you should master at least one of the proper ways to move in combat. The stance I showed you is best suited for shifting forward and backward. Simple, but effective."
Simple, but effective? Exactly what the doctor ordered. However, it is difficult to master something new when you are already used to doing things the old way. I marched perfectly across the training room. I repeated everything the elf demanded of me. In short, I was a diligent student. But when sparring broke out between us, I acted not as I should, but as I was accustomed.
Sometimes, I even managed to out-fence the elf or bring everything to a double-hit, but that was either a smile from fortune or the realization of my physical stats. I was already slightly taller than Liandra. Consequently, my arms were longer. We trained with swords without shields, and in that format, it mattered a great deal.
"Habits are hard to change," the dark one commented. "Especially those forged in blood. But we cannot give up. These skills could save your life and mine."
I had no intention of giving up. We would relearn for as long as there was time.
We intended to devote the entire day to training. In the process, even my repeatedly strengthened and upgraded body began to feel fatigue. Moreover, the sparring was easier than the drill.
Taking a small break, we snacked on delicacies we had acquired during our foray into the city. These included several types of cheese, dried meat, marinated seaweed salad, wine, and a low-alcohol herbal tincture. Everything, bitch, was impossibly delicious. You wouldn't just lick your fingers; you'd gnaw them to the bone.
The break ended and the torture of footwork continued. In parallel, we discussed various points related to the slaughter of enemies.
"There is also a problem with my main weapon. The axe is very lethal, but the reach is too short," I complained. "The previous owner wore heavy armor and a massive shield the size of a door. That allowed him to close with an opponent without fear. I am just a bare-assed berserker."
"Use a longsword. It is not difficult to get a good blade here."
"Good? I have already grown too accustomed to using legendary-quality weapons. This axe hacks through armor and monster hides like paper."
"Another habit that could lead you to the grave. You are very strong, Gil. That is precisely why it is so important to root out your remaining weaknesses. And it is better to do so before we head to the Underworld Sea."
The Underworld Sea. Liandra's main quest, through which she wants to reclaim her position in the Black Guard. Another high-risk venture toward which fate is pushing me.
As for the sword, the elf was right. It wouldn't be bad for me to acquire a long blade as well, to use against lightly armored targets. Only, carrying two full-sized weapons would hardly be convenient. Especially regarding the Axe of Khargan. It is heavy enough to hold in one's hands even without magical empowerment. Hang it behind my back? If such a chunk of Chaotic metal bangs against my spine from time to time, I could end up with a displaced vertebra at the most inconvenient moment.
Fine. We will figure it out.
By evening, the arrival of which was announced by the leader of the outcasts, I was specifically exhausted. The muscles in my legs, back, and glutes were completely cramped. They might even be sore tomorrow. Buy some goblin tomorrow and brutally dismember it to vampirize some energy? Sounds like an interesting idea.
While I was training hard, Tezal had managed to chip all the scandalous engravings off the walls—the ones where pointed-eared cultists were cutting or fucking each other in the name of the Dark Gods. Some of the particularly fierce ones the Skink broke and covered with the simplest signs of the main Lizardmen gods. Everyone fights Chaos at the level available to them.
I washed the sweat off myself with cold water from the fountain and prepared to enjoy some rest. Liandra had already locked herself in her cell, and Bone-Grinder sat near the barred door, melancholically scratching his snout. At that moment, Tezal's warning squawk rang out:
"Elf, Commander Jurg. The one from yesterday."
Was I really going to be pressured into betrayal again?
"The noblewoman is teaching the northerner how to fight..." With those words, the female scout approached my bedroll.
"You weren't peeping, so that means you were eavesdropping."
"You stomp so loudly that only the dead wouldn't hear," the elf said with a squint. "It is hard for me to even imagine what it is like: carrying such a mountain of meat on yourself."
"Envy in silence, or do you want to touch it?"
"I might even take a bite," the elf smirked. "So, do you understand me like this?"
She had likely switched to some other dialect of Norscan.
"Why wouldn't I understand," I replied. "I understand perfectly."
"Do you know the language of the Hung? Good. Your noblewoman is unlikely to understand it."
The scout sat on the floor opposite me, crossing her legs in a lotus position. The pointed-ears certainly have plenty of flexibility.
"I considered you Norses stupider than gobbos," the dark one admitted.
"You've crossed your legs well," I replied. "Say something like that again and I'll tie them in a knot."
I didn't care about the honor of the local Vikings, of course, but I had to maintain my cover.
"You lie. You threaten, but there is no anger in your words," the dark one grinned. "You are a liar. I feel it. I know it. Но listen further... I considered Norses stupider than gobbos. I don't even remember how many I've killed. Dirty, crude, hairy monkeys."
She was definitely asking for it.
The elf continued her speech:
"Then Hellebron led us to repel a raid of yours. The old hag gathered the entire army of Har Ganeth, the Witch Covenants from several other cities, and mercenaries to boot. A large army. And there were many of yours. Mammoths, trolls, even a giant. But all of that was nothing compared to the she-demon. She dove on us like a hawk. Like an arrow released. My older brother and four others died immediately. Instantly. I didn't have time to blink before they were torn to pieces. I have never seen anything like it."
The dark one's eyes sparkled with a mad glint.
"And what do you want now? To take revenge on us for the she-demon? Or to find her?"
"Revenge? On her? Do not laugh at me, northerner. When she was tearing ours to pieces... I never felt so... helpless. Even now, if I remember it, I go into heat like a cat in spring..."
Wait, whaaaaat!?
Where have I ended up...
I remembered how I had screamed profanities on the ship of the Corsair Liandra had made a deal with. That shout had perfectly anticipated many future events.
I wanted to joke about not having Valkia the Bloody's phone number on hand, but I remembered the backwardness of local technology in time. I maintained my cover despite being flabbergasted. In the end, I joked without mentioning otherworldly devices.
"Of all the parts of your body, that she-demon might only be interested in one—the skull. And she will spill your blood with pleasure. So what do you want from me, my dear?" I asked, barely suppressing a nervous laugh.
"You are marked by these gods, are you not?"
"Why ask questions to which the answer is obvious," I repeated yesterday's phrase.
"Marked," the elf smiled. "You have grown so much meat for yourself. I want to speak with you about them. About the gods."
"What for? You have your own, pointed-ear."
"Whether they exist or not matters little," the dark one shrugged. "We have praised Khaine for so many years, but he has never once sent a demon to help us. Do you see? Tell me about them."
"We are not going to preach the harmful teachings of the Ruinous Powers to this foolish elven creature, are they?" Loom-Pia inquired sternly.
On one hand, it was indeed strange, considering our mission. On the other hand, I could get into this psycho's head this way. She seemed to be having a crisis of faith. Such individuals are particularly vulnerable to bullshit. If I become her spiritual teacher, I can ensure a high degree of loyalty and control.
"Why did you call me a liar?"
"Is the answer to that question not obvious?" the dark one mimicked me, baring rather sharp fangs.
She was unlikely to be a vampire. Perhaps some minor mutation due to the proximity of the Chaos Wastes, or simply a feature of their clan. The Shades have lived in closed communities for centuries. They already have noticeable physical differences from ordinary urban Druchii.
"The gods didn't just throw meat on you," the scout continued. "You are smart. Too smart for a barbarian. Too clear a gaze. I know you have such a god. Char or the Blue Eagle, right? He grants magic, grants brains..." The psycho tapped her forehead lightly.
"Brains are indeed desperately necessary for this wretched creature," my Hypnotoad commented.
Well, yeah. The Chaos Gods are like that. Brains for one, courage for another, a heart for a third to feel everything better. Just like the Wizard of the Emerald City, only with mutations and sacrifices.
What did she call him? Char? That sounds like one of the Norscan names for Tzeentch. The Lord of Magic and Change from the Great Four of the Chaos Gods.
Hmm. She was already interested in the paths leading into the embrace of Destruction. If I play along, I can gain loyalty... and not only that. Though, how did the saying go on the Internet? Don't stick important body parts in mentally unstable women. However, perhaps this Jinx is quite normal by the standards of the Shades.
If the cities here are a tyranny with elements of anarcho-capitalism, then the outcasts are basically vicious anarcho-primitivists accustomed to existing in 24/7 survival mode. Gobbling up another elf is not some ritual joke or an act of particularly twisted pleasure for them; it is a harsh everyday reality.
"What are you thinking about, northerner?"
"I would tell you, but you wouldn't understand. Very complex world issues meant only for those gifted by Char. You desire to possess knowledge, then? To obtain unknown powers surpassing everything Khaine can give you?"
"Yes, yes," the elf nodded, almost hanging on my every word in her impatience.
"Excellent. Wonderful. Admirable. Only, what made you think I would teach you anything for free?"
"And? What do you want? To remove someone? To take pleasure?"
"To take pleasure, specifically to sleep. The path of knowledge requires patience. Come tomorrow evening, seeker."
By then, I'll have figured out what kind of bullshit I can feed you.
Watching the dark one's reaction was true delight. Her face twisted with a mixture of anger, entreaty, and impatience. She almost ground her teeth.
"Perhaps..." she said, forcing a smile. "We can find a common language right now?"
"Patience," I repeated, enjoying the moment. "Without it, any sacred knowledge will destroy you. If you have no patience, then go and bring a few more sacrifices to the god with the bloody hands. Perhaps then he will spare you even a drop of his precious time. Though, you shouldn't count on demons dropping from the skies into the thick of battle."
"F-fine..." the elf hissed through her teeth, making an effort to control herself. "We will meet tomorrow evening. I will come. I will definitely come."
That was the second time I'd shot her down, yet she still endured it. Good. She has some self-control at least.
She is crazy, of course, but she possesses useful intuition. First, she identified Liandra's weakness. Then she managed to understand that I am smarter than I try to appear. True, she guessed wrong about the source of my power, but that's not surprising. She likely has seen no one but Dark Elves, Orcs, and Chaosites in her life.
I fell asleep quickly. In the darkness of unconsciousness, the familiar image of a knight among the mists was already waiting for me, calling me to immediately head to Albion and save the world. I would be glad to. I seemed to have gotten a little bit closer to that goal. I'd gained some strength, but I was still among dangerous sadists, and it wasn't so easy to break free from such surroundings.
When I woke up, I felt a dull ache in my cramped muscles. No matter. We'll endure it. I expected to endure much worse things from the Druchii than training.
"What did you and her talk about yesterday?" Liandra asked after waking up.
There was a temptation to mock her too, but I decided that in this case, honesty was the best policy. I recounted the nightly conversation with Jinx to her. In doing so, we specifically walked to the far part of the dungeon, putting the Skink on lookout. We spoke in Reikspiel. In short, we took every possible measure to ensure the Shades didn't overhear us.
"Pathetic creature," the dark one said with contempt after listening to my narrative of the nightly talks. "She wants to worship the gods of the Norses? A disgrace. Having lost loyalty to the true king, the outcasts have become no better than the beasts they hunt in the wastes and mountains. Do not judge our people by them, Gil. I turned to them only because of a lack of other options. When they are no longer useful to us, I will gladly put them to the sword myself."
It was rare to hear defensive tones in the girl's voice. It seemed that in the barracks of the Black Guard, they had instilled in her a grim but uniquely noble image of Druchii society, led to prosperity by the great Malekith. And now the noble girl had dived to the very bottom of the Dark Elf world along with me.
"Forget it," I waved it off. "They are weak and stupid. This can be used for our benefit. I have an idea how to cloud the scout's mind—she's lost her faith—without defiling myself with the evil of Chaos."
"There is sense in trying, but be careful. These outcasts actually believe in nothing. They seek only advantage. It is thought they are called Shades because of their stealth and tracking skills. Now I think differently. They are shadows of their former selves. A ghost people. Exile did not kill their bodies, but it destroyed their essence."
Pathetic, even poetic. I wonder, does Liandra not realize that the same could be said about the Druchii people as a whole? Should I tell her, or is it better to spare my ally's psyche? I'll tell her. One shouldn't be too good and convenient to talk to, either.
"Enemies once exiled you from Ulthuan."
She understood the hint and answered quite logically. Perhaps such questions are part of the ideological training of the Black Guard.
"We too are exiles, but we have a goal. Something that unites the people and leads them forward. To restore justice, to take revenge, to flood the halls of the traitors' palaces with blood! The Shades merely survive, but we are preparing to take back what is ours."
I could have argued with her on the subject that such a negative goal is also, in its own way, a method of survival. A means to unite a vicious ghost people who have lost everything. However, it wasn't worth painting the picture too dark. Especially since they had come for us.
In the dusty corridor where we had retired for our conversation, hurried footsteps rang out. Usually, Shades walk almost silently, but this time their leader was in a great hurry.
"We were on watch above," he said, handing Liandra a piece of paper rolled into a tube. "A bird arrived and brought this."
Liandra unfurled the message. I also peeked at it out of the corner of my eye.
"Gracious mistress, remembering your kindness, I myself wish to repay in kind. Rumors have been crawling through the city for several days. Those who worship the god with the bloody hands are looking for you and your friend. This morning, one of the priests began gathering warriors to storm some hideout. Perhaps they have found you.
Findil of Laurelorn."
That junkie elf who tried to score a dose from us. He had found our hideout, and it seemed he wasn't the only one.