Two days. For two overly long days, the world had been a suffocating cage of jade and shadow.
The Buddheim Jungle did not just block the sun; it seemed to devour light and sound, replacing it with a damp, oppressive silence broken only by the squelch of their boots in mud and dirt. For Lacerta, it was less a test of endurance and more a test of trying not to complain about if they were nearly there or not, a statement that seemed to annoy Glenn.
And then, abruptly, it was over.
The treeline shattered, giving way to an open sky so vast and blue it made him dizzy. A real horizon, unobscured by the grasping claws of branches. A genuine breeze, carrying the scent of grass washed over him.
A breath he hadn't realized he was holding escaped his lungs in a shaky sigh. Compared to the claustrophobic nightmare behind them, the rolling plains felt like a paradise.
His relief was short-lived, however, stolen away by the sight that breached the horizon. It wasn't a city. It was a wound of grey stone carved into the landscape, a brutalistic testament to paranoia and power. Impossibly high walls, rose toward the sky, punctuated by the spears of countless watchtowers.
A gasp escaped Lacerta's lips, an involuntary sound of awe. Glenn, beside him, merely grunted, his expression as unreadable as the stone fortress before them. That nonchalance was almost as unnerving as the sight itself—was this colossal thing truly unremarkable, or had the man simply seen so much that nothing could impress him anymore?
――The Fortress City of Guaral.
Lacerta: ["Is this… normal? For a city?"]
Glenn scraped a hand over his scruffy chin, his eyes narrowed at the distant walls.
Glenn: ["Hrn… Normal? Nah. Big? I suppose so. But Guaral ain't famous for its size, kid. It's famous for bein' unbreakable."]
Lacerta: ["To keep out what? Witchbeasts?"]
A dry, humourless chuckle escaped Glenn's throat. He shook his head, a gesture of pity for the sheer ignorance of the question.
Glenn: ["Witchbeasts? Heh. In Vollachia, they ain't common, and they're damn sure not suicidal. Any beast stupid enough to charge those walls would be a red smear before its roar even faded. And if some freak of nature did manage to slip past? It'd regret it. Real quick."]
Before Lacerta could form a follow-up, Glenn's gaze hardened, a flicker of something akin to fearful respect in his eyes.
Glenn: ["――Because this place doesn't exist to keep Witchbeasts out. It exists to host far worse monsters. Second-Class Generals, rarely even a Divine General if the Emperor's in a mood. I've only heard stories, mind you. Never been lucky enough—or unlucky enough—to see one myself."]
The title was heavy, spoken with a reverence that pricked at Lacerta's skin.
Lacerta: ["A… Divine General?"]
Glenn's lip curled into a grim smile, his eyes finally turning to meet Lacerta's. They held a chilling knowledge, a warning that went far beyond mere words.
Glenn: ["Hah… They're living calamities, kid. The blades of the Empire. The reason this bloody country has never fallen. You think you're strong? You think you're some kind of monster?"]
Glenn leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly whisper.
Glenn: ["A Divine General… they're what real monsters have nightmares about."]
The Divine Generals were mighty warriors, the pinnacle of the Vollachian Empire's military might.
The strength of each of the Divine Generals was equivalent to a sizable army.
――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――
The stone gates groaned open, admitting them into the heart of a city Lacerta had only previously glimpsed in the flickering embers of his dreams. Soldiers, their armor reflecting the harsh midday sun, subjected them to a cursory 'Inspection' just prior.
A routine frisk that felt more like a performance than a genuine security check. Thankfully, it seemed their unassuming presence didn't warrant further scrutiny.
And then, the world unfurled.
Before Lacerta's astonished eyes lay not just a city, but a tapestry woven from exotic stone, a riot of colors and shapes that assaulted his senses. The sheer difference of it all was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the bleak plains they had traversed. He felt a surge of relief, a longing for the simple comfort of 'civilization', but the immediate question gnawed at him.
Lacerta: ["So, what now?"]
Glenn grunted and took a step forward, his one good eye scanning the bustling thoroughfare.
Glenn: ["Heh. Now... kid, I'm off to an inn. Gotta wash down all this bodily muck with some decent ale. Don't suppose you've got your own concerns, but this old man has earned it."]
Lacerta's brow furrowed.
Lacerta: ["But... I want to get to my objective. Now."]
Glenn: ["Argh... come on, kid. Look, I want to help you piece yourself back together, I really do. But surely, we deserve a moment's respite after all that. Who knows, maybe just the sheer novelty of these streets will jog something loose in that head of yours. A little relaxation might be the key, not a beeline for whatever it is you're chasing."]
Lacerta merely offered a tight-lipped frown, the unspoken frustration lingering in the air. Yet, he didn't argue further. Silently, he fell in step behind the one-eyed man, the exotic cityscape blurring around him as he followed the worn path of his reluctant guardian.
Glenn scratched the nape of his neck, a low, guttural sigh escaping him as his single eye appraised the boy beside him. The kid was an enigma, a variable that refused to be neatly categorized.
Glenn: ["Following me isn't a requirement, you know. Doubt a kid like you would find me drinkin' on my own… entertaining. Not that you're normal, I get that much. But still."]
His words were less a suggestion and more a weary observation, laced with the pragmatic cynicism of a man who had long since stopped expecting simple solutions.
Lacerta offered only a slight, almost imperceptible lift of his shoulders. The options before him—wandering a foreign city alone or tailing this irritable mercenary—were, in their essence, the same. A profound solitude.
Glenn: ["My concern isn't you getting snatched or anything like that. Frankly, I'm more worried about the opposite. If some fool does try something… please restrain yourself. That sword swing of yours, the one that bisected that Witchbeast… unleashing something like that here would cause a catastrophe."]
It was a warning born of cold calculation. He'd seen the result; a clean, brutal line of destruction that spoke of power far exceeding the boy's frame.
Lacerta: ["I am not stupid enough as to swing my sword at full strength in a crowded street."]
The boy's reply was utterly flat, devoid of inflection. It wasn't a promise or a boast, but a simple statement of fact, as obvious to him as declaring the sky was above.
Glenn: ["…Yeah. I know."]
Glenn's eye, sharp and discerning, didn't miss the battered state of the sword at Lacerta's hip. The grip was worn, and the blade itself looked like it would crumble apart at any moment. With a click of his tongue that was more habit than true annoyance, he dug into his pocket. His fingers closed around a single coin. A gold coin flicked through the air with a practiced toss, cutting a gleaming arc toward the boy.
Lacerta's hand snapped up, catching it without a single wasted motion. He stared at the small fortune in his palm, his brow furrowing slightly in silent inquiry.
Glenn: ["Use that to get a new sword. A single gold won't buy you a masterpiece, but it'll damn well get you something better than that piece of scrap metal you're hauling around. Consider it an investment. In my own peace of mind."]
Understanding dawned in Lacerta's eyes. He gave a single, sharp nod—a soldier acknowledging an order—and without another word, turned on his heel. He was immediately swallowed by the flow of the crowded main street, a current of humanity and strange, lizard-like creatures dragging around wood carriages.
A final shout chased after him, Glenn's voice having to rise above the city's din.
Glenn: ["Hey, kid! If you get lost, I'm just headed straight down this road! Don't make me come looking for you!"]