Devil and Candlemaker

"Everyone knows about heroes, adventurers, nobles; people that matter. No one remembers the name of those shunned, or their descendants. Especially when their crimes were severe enough to sell them to Melromarc's enemies. Don't worry, though. Master has only one directive for me: serve the Shield Hero, kill any that wish him harm." F/F romance, slavery, dark themes.

All warnings placed in chapter 1 are in place for the duration of the story. I won't bog this down by placing anything more than chapter-specific warnings here.

Second Arc—Everything is a game, you need only decipher the rules

Chapter Twenty-Seven—To raise a Hero

8-8

Naofumi: "Stupid question. You do change your fan to each new form you unlock to train them? You won't get the passive bonus otherwise."

That's a thing? I flick my fans into my grips and load the Fan Hero menu. The first fan form that comes into view, I call its name and my fans shift into a snake leather form with vertical slits like snake-eyes.

Naofumi: "So I can teach the great guru something new. They train up by keeping them equipped. Just change form and go about your day. And mind the Equip Bonus and Equip Skill. Those are only available if you equip them. If they're not stated as 'Equip', just unlock it and move on."

Indeed, the mastery bar fills with no other input on my part—slow, but steady. I send Crayn and Stellar a message, relaying the new information.

"Sorry, just learned something new." My words narrow Lokk's eyes, even as she pants on hands and knees. She's skilled, make no mistake, but her endurance could use some work. "Up."

Lokk groans, but struggles to her feet just the same. Her knees tremble, ready to buckle yet again, but she throws a sucker punch at my gut, only for me to raise my hands, slip my fans back into their hidden sheaths, and knee her punch off course.

X-X

New Skill Unlocked: Hard Counter

X-X

Interesting. "Try attacking my attack."

I throw a slow punch at her, knowing she's too fatigued to handle more than that. She punches my fist, costing me a single HP and stopping the attack. Her eyes widen, her jaw drops.

Lokk works her jaw, no words come.

"That's enough for now." I walk over to the wall, turn to it, bend over backwards, and plant my balled fists, rising up onto them.

X-X BASE STAT BOOST! X-X

Strength raised to thirty-two

X-X

It's slow going, sadly, but it's far better than it was. Base Stats load, blurring my vision.

X-X

Strength : 32

Agility: 45

Constitution: 25

Intelligence: 41

Charisma: 25

X-X

As things stand, I might be able to challenge that dragon in about fifteen years. Maybe. And there isn't a doubt in my mind that the Waves, whenever they start, will eventually make a silly little dragon look like a walk in the park—especially if there are Heroes from other worlds that might well try to kill my babies.

I filter through the Fan Hero Menu, looking for any unlocked fans that boost Constitution and/or Charisma. Concubine Fans? Hmm, must have been from one of the sewer urchins. Plus four to Charisma, and plus two to Constitution. Small, but not nothing. I equip the fan and blink away the Status Menu, continuing my workout.

Lokk just stands there, staring, blinking. She mutters something I can't make out and walks over to me, props herself up on her balled fists, and starts doing standing push-ups alongside me. She can't match my speed—hell, she grunts and groans for each one.

"I," she reaches the top of the push-up and holds it, "won't," she slowly lowers until her forehead touches the floor, "give," she struggles to back up, groaning and huffing for every iota, "up!" She reaches to top of the push-up and holds it, before collapsing onto the floors in a heap. I feel nothing but pity for this poorly creature. Clearly, no one cared enough to ever train her properly.

"S'yne Lokk."

Flushed and sweaty with a look of self-reproach on her every feature, she looks up, silver eyes swimming with a desperation that is hauntingly familiar.

"You do not fail me. Nor do you fail yourself. Train your skills and spells so that your body might rest."

She looks away, tears welling up no matter how she fights it. That utter trash king, he sent her to me that I might train her and spare him the effort and cost.

Flipping down onto my feet, I walk over to her and scoop her up like a toddler. She's too shocked to even react, even as she instinctively drapes her arms around me and down my back. I walk her up the stairs, from the cellar, up to the first floor, and into the dining room, where I ease her into a cushioned throne to the table.

I take a seat beside her, turn our thrones toward one another, and take her right hand into mine.

"Close your eyes."

Lokk blinks. Eyes narrow and head tilts to one side.

"Trust me. Close your eyes."

Her eyes close, lips curl down.

"Focus. You should feel a tingling against your palm." Mana herds to my pointer's tip, hovering it just above her skin. She sucks in air, hand twitching. "No need to fret. I would never harm you."

Lokk sighs, rights herself. Arm relaxes, no longer shying away from me.

"This power is part of you. Trust in it, open yourself to it."

A nod, brow furrowed. Nose scrunches up as fingers twitch.

"Feel it," I take a deep, audible breath through me nose, Lokk unconsciously mimics, "much in the way you feel your hand," breath whistles passed my lips, she instinctively copies, "the way you feel your nose." My mana dances about, just passed my skin, calm and unhurried.

"It's…what are…"

"Do you feel it moving?"

Lokk nods.

"Try to move yours to match. Go slow."

Lokk nods again, her hand clasping, clutching, as if grasp the power she senses.

"No. Don't fall into that trap. Akin to your hand, perhaps, but it's as related as your nose. Try to move your mana without moving anything else."

A feeling slushes up against my fingertip, as if I draw in coarse, dry dirt. Earth affinity, 'ey. She's about as efficient as Luna, truth be told, perhaps less so. Still, these baby steps are in the right direction.

"Good." I fold her hand and pat loose-balled fist. Silver eyes flutter open, teeming with questions beneath furrowed brow. "Your first step. Continue."

I head downstairs, to the cellar, to get back to training.

8-8

Make the impossible, possible.

Make the impossible, reality.

Break the impossible with your own hands.

But how?

Ang will find ways to circumvent giving this dragon what it wants. That means they will turn to me, whether to lead their armies or to take it out myself; realistically, sending an army will only feed the thing. Might get it so full it falls asleep.

How can it be defeated? It's faster, stronger, and has defences better even than that deranged wingless dragon I fought—and that was with my party at…what was it, level fifty? Granted, they hadn't put in the years of training I had at the time, but with me drawing its ire we came out on top. After fighting it for thirteen hours, or so.

Think, Sorrow. You have only your fans now. All other weapons are denied you, and perhaps even tools in the heat of battle. I can use shields and, presently, any armour I desire. But I've no mastery in either. Not that it would matter, with the stats shown—and they are apt to be estimates, or misinformation—one shot would kill me.

That means parrying is the way to go, but a dragon's breath weapon is area of effect; not something that can be parried, only avoided by not being there in the first place. With the speed stat shown, not being there is impossible.

Fighting it, as things stand, is a strategic suicide mission. And one that would stack up collateral damage, if that slurry of a forest is any indication.

"Mama?"

My eyes flutter open, already smiling for Stellar as she squats down—seeming upside-down just now.

"Supper's almost ready."

"Unn." I move slow, bending my elbows ever so slowly to lower myself and the stone block I've been balancing with my feet. There's an audible groan as the stone pillars I crafted take the block's weight. It's only a hundred kilograms, but I don't trust my strength to push further just yet.

Said groan reverberates, seemingly. The training room is suddenly filled with muttered complaints and not so subtle insinuations I'm a sadistic genius. It's impossible to not be impressed with how my party—other than Hope, for obvious reason—all decided to follow my training regimen. Even Bry and Deela.

"Six points," Archer brags. "How 'bout you?"

Tayrend just cocks an eyebrow and walks out.

"Aw, come on." Archer chases after him. "How much'd you boost your strength? You can tell me."

"Mistress?" Lyraynna offers me a hot towel, to help relax my muscles. I carefully rub my exposed abdomen, hissing in pain as the healing oils soak in. Curious—Tayrend's footfalls no longer retreat, nor do Archer's. They seem unwilling to leave me just now? "I've reviewed your notes. I believe Bodyguard is no long the better option."

"Oh?" I'm unsure how I keep the quiver from my voice.

"Unn. If it pleases you, Honour Guard should be available. It has all the pros, with much greater attack stats and skills. Though…"

"Higher requirements?" Where are you going with this? You're never nervous about things.

"Unn." Lyraynna bobs her head. "Forgive me for asking this of you, Mistress. I would wield a spear, bombs, and twin daggers, if you will it."

Hmm? "We have those in the armoury?"

"We…do."

"I'll ask another way. Do we need to acquire new weapons for you to train?"

"It's," Lyraynna looks away from me, face pinched as if in pain, "just that…I…"

"Raynna?" Hand reaches out, capturing her chin and coaxing her to look to me.

"You cannot wield your customary weapons, Mistress." My bluette, my Lyraynna, doesn't dare meet my gaze just now. She takes the knee, left hand on sword, right on her knee. "Please allow me to, that I might fill the roles denied you."

I…

What do I even say to that?

Strategically, I'd be a fool to deny her this request, and she knows it. Yet, she's not offering just her sword-arm, so to speak—not if the formality means anything.

"Please, Mistress. I know it isn't much, but let me repay you in this small way."

"What are you truly offering?" This isn't about that at all. This, the way she words it, the way she honours me. This is oceans deep and worlds broad.

"Grant me the privilege to learn House Lyght's fighting stances, and I shall be all the blades you'll ever need, swear it."

House Lyght's…fighting stances?

Is…is that why no fighting stance unlocked for the spear? Because my blood carries no magic bound to that weapon? Fuck, it's a good thing those recipes are scripted to only reveal their secrets to Naofumi.

"Why are you crying?" Stellar reaches up, her little hands clutching my armour.

It all makes sense. All of it. Why Siltvelt chose me, why I was trained to be a courtesan. They wanted Naofumi's descendants to inherit my blood, to be the ultimate fuck-you to Melromarc.

I load my Status Menu, go to my statuses.

Noble Birth*

I select it. Descended from an ancient bloodline, blinks into my vision. Logically, I knew this to be the case, but to see it hits me in all the wrong ways.

X-X

Royal House of Lyght Menu Unlocked.

X-X

The menu loads, the underlying skill already at mastery level three-hundred, with another asterisk behind it—ready for Class Up? I select it, curious when the Help Menu loads.

Noble Houses.

Block after block of text fills my already blurry vision, words my addled mind can't, or simply won't, absorb stares me down.

Me: "You've read the grimoire I left you?"

Naofumi: "And absorbed it into my shield. Having second thoughts?"

I need a drink.

8-8

Battle Formations: Invite Party Leaders under your command. As Fan Hero, you may Quick Travel with up to twelve parties under your banner at any time, assign them roles within your Formation, and determine XP and Loot Drop distribution. Parties under your banner may Quick Travel separately.

So much better than the Party System I'm used to. I knock back another shot of vodka. Let's see, what else?

Royal Accountant: Assign role to balance your books, oversee investments, and collect all debts in your name. All tactics they are permitted to employ, whether in investing or debt collection, is with your Royal Decree, therefore at your discretion.

Assign Ambassage: All lands, people, and possessions belong to the Crown. Anything assigned this status is of your domain. Infringement, accordingly, is an invitation to open warfare. Laws of your Kingdom are enforceable in all Strongholds, buildings, and carriages with this status.

I see.

Serf: Slave owned by the Crown, but not in direct service to their Monarch. They are often assigned as farmhands, street cleaners, and prostitutes, though only at their Monarch's discretion.

Much information at my fingertips. Why did I not take the time to peruse it sooner? I might well have made very different decisions in times past.

Sigh. What's done is done. Best not to dwell.

Royal Lock, Key, and Escutcheon: An unpickable lock, a skeleton key to open all locks in your domain, and a protective metal escutcheon to prevent anyone from plugging your locks. They all bear your Crest, thus none may claim ignorance whose property it is.

Yes, this is much better. I load Royal House of Lyght Menu. The first thing that jumps out is the role of Advisor. There are currently three slots available.

"Lyraynna. Gather the party. I need to discuss—"

A knock at my bedroom door interrupts me; it opens and my party comes strolling in. Saves time.

"Good. Shut the door and get comfortable. It's time to take things seriously."

8-8

The library teems with life just now. Not only are all my people throwing themselves into their studies to prepare for the upcoming term, but Bry, Hope, and Deela are especially adamant about learning all they can about their new roles as advisor.

Deela mutters under her breath as she commits law after law and custom after custom to memory.

Bry gorges on every military aspect we have a tome on. From battle formations, to pack tactics, to training regimens, to hierarchy—muttering about the criminally low salary the grunts receive as she goes.

Hope, on the other hand, studies the tomes the Prioress loaned us on the god of light and the rituals, spells, songs, and prayers his chosen are permitted to use. She keeps referencing an almanac, muttering 'winter is coming' over and again.

Zaan and Lyraynna, on the other hand, stare wide-eyed as my quill transcribes skill recipe after skill recipe. Rising Phoenix, Dragon's Rage, Dancing Crane, Puffer Fish God, Tortoise, Eagle Claws—every fighting stance, every school within them, and every single move I know, though can't rightly unlock just now. If I hadn't remembered the steps to crafting the recipes, we'd have lost them all—paranoia working with me for a change.

"Mama?" Stellar tugs my pauldron, forcing me to dip my quill in inkwell to not muck this recipe up. "Can I learn that?"

My eyes narrow. "I thought you didn't want to fight?"

"I don't." Stellar's pleading eyes tell me she just wants me to spoil her a little. Or a lot—far more likely. "Please?"

"Start with these." I take a stack of finished recipes, all for Dancing Crane, and offer them to her.

Stellar squeals, eyes lit up with joy as she hugs me and thanks me. She takes the recipes at rushes down the line to an empty chair and plops onto it, glowing the whole time.

Yeah. My babies need time to grow strong.

8-8

The gangsters kneel before me, silk ropes binding them with constrictor knots. Nearly thirty of them this time, cramped into a house half the size of my manor, all men. No slaves, no hidden rooms or loot. Why are the marked for death?

Grin and Tayrend turn each cupboard, each bag, each of the gangsters' pockets inside out, searching for something, anything, to illuminate the issue. Nothing comes. In time, perhaps. For now, my fingers keep sliding in and out of one of the new acquisitions I brought along as insurance.

Every plan I come up with needs manpower—willing manpower.

"The fuck do you want with us?" the Chief speaks up, conjuring up all the anger in him to mask the fear. "Just kill us and be done with it."

Humans, the lot of them. Light-skinned Q'ten Loans. Inky hair, brown eyes. No visible scars. I pluck out the Chief's weapon, a tiny rifle with this strange rotating wheel to house the ammunition. I click out the wheel, finding four of the six slots vacant. Too poor to buy more? Too unskilled to craft them?

I flip the Chief's coat-skirt over his head, undoing his buttons and peeking into his shirt. Remnants of a slave-brand. Though as much. Coat-skirt lowers, revealing the now enraged Chief's glare—a lesser person would have died from the look alone.

"You may call me Candlemaker. And I lay two paths before you." Pistol in hand once again, I click out the wheel and empty the ammo into a little pouch for storage. "One, I kill you and feed your warm corpse to my fans." I toss the pistol up in the air, flick out my fan and let the strange weapon disappear into the green void. "Two, you allow me to enslave you and make your lives infinitely better."

While they process the offer, I look around. The house is tiny. Two storeys, not including the cellar. Two bedrooms, kitchen, and bathroom on the upper floor, with one large room taking up the ground floor. It will make for an excellent shop.

"What's the difference?" the Chief asks. "Serve you and die inside. Refuse you and die outright."

"The difference?" I tap my finger against my chin, wondering about that myself. No matter how truthful I am, they won't believe me—pretty words I wouldn't believe should anyone say them to me. The moaning from beside me hints they might enjoy what I have to say. "How about I show you?"

I walk over to the table. It looks worn, but stable enough for this. Shadows pool at my feet, tendrils shoot out and pick up all the worn and tattered wooden plates and flagons, feeding them all to my fan's gem. A cleaning spell soon follows, giving me a hygienic workspace as shadowy tendrils pick up the Chief and lay him out on the table. Three of the women I brought come forward, tossing their dresses onto the table to reveal their humble beauty.

"What are you doing?" The Chief stares, eyes narrowing as one of the women works his belt buckle.

"I show you Mistress's hospitality."

"Wait, I…"

For some reason, he quiets as she frees his little dagger.

"If you don't want this, just say so and I'll stop." The woman gives him a moment to let that sink in. No response, so I cast the cleaning spell on him while she slowly massaging his flaccid member one-handed. His face glows bright red as his little friend twitches to life. The other gangsters just stare.

I'm unsure what affects them most. That my party just keep bringing me things to feed to my fan, that they barely react to my other slaves giving a perfect stranger a handjob, or that the slave I've been fingering for the last few minutes arches her back and practically folds into me as she convulses, clutching me as best she can—with me standing behind her and all.

Or how my woman lowers herself onto the Chief, how she moans appreciatively as he stretches her.

"Mistress," my woman, the one riding the Chief, moans, her hands cupping her breasts and massaging them, "may I…?"

"Hmm?"

"I should be fertile. May I…?"

"No one tells you when to conceive. Not even me."

My woman nods, liking the sound of that. She works herself around, turning to face me as she rides the Chief reverse cowgirl. "I may have as many babies as I like?"

I nod. "Did you like that?" I murmur into to woman's ear as I hold her to keep her from collapsing onto the filthy floor. "Do you like knowing so many men were watching, and could never touch you without my blessing?"

"Uh huh." The woman nods. I really need to learn their names—too many new acquisitions to remember them all. She turns to me, her arms snaking around my shoulders as her legs threaten to give out. "May I take one of them as my husband? To father my children?"

"If they submit to me, you may select of them as you please."

None of the bandits, not even the Chief, has it in them to choose death over the life I offer.

8-8

Bry caresses her crystal ball, showing a map of Ulaan in electric blue with my Strongholds, now numbering over a dozen, in lime green. Apartment buildings, mostly, with three shops Stellar oversees, all nestled in this district, close enough that we need only patrol three adjacent streets to keep our people safe.

Map zooms out, shifts, and zooms in; three farms outside the city light up, lime green. Visions of Crayn working with Ginad to capture the herds we need, to grow our own meats. Though I'm most pleased with the castle walls surrounding each of the farms, and how Crayn has his workforce feeding the stone and dirt they dig up into his holy fillet knife. With the materials gathered, Crayn heads over to another section of the castle walls and crafts the stone blocks to continue construction.

Crystal ball's vision shifts down into the earth, to show the castle walls go all the way down to bedrock, deep enough that even the goblins cannot hope to dig under them, along with stone arches covered and surrounded by rock to support my lands and enchanted to alert my guards, should something still try.

I nod, crystal's vision shifts and blurs, revealing Stellar and her handmaids discussing plants they wish to grow, one of them taking notes—quite the list by now, it seems. Cotton, flax, hemp, even mulberry to support silk production.

"What about fruits?" Stellar asks. The others grow silent, unsure how to respond. "Wait and see. When you've tried it for yourself, you'll understand."

Yes, my babies handles themselves well.

"I'm heading out for a few weeks. Alone." My words upset the spell, blurring crystal's vision back to shapelessness. "You may keep my babies and my party updated. Relay anything to me that needs my attention."

"Please take at least—"

"Do you think Lyraynna and Zaan will hear of any other option?" I cock an eyebrow, honestly curious to her response.

"And S'yne Lokk. Please, Sorrow."

Sigh. Everyone else has their duties, and she knows it. So of course she suggests the one person that has nothing other than training.

"I leave in the morning. Please ensure Chandelier and Tallow—"

Bry's lips claim mine, silencing me. "They'll be cared for, Mistress. Stay safe, for our sakes?"

"Unn."

8-8

End Chapter Twenty-Seven

8-8

A/N: Part of me wanted to expand on everything mentioned (and a whole lot that got cut), but it just felt too telly. So I trimmed the fat, and this is what got left from this chapter. I'm sorry about that, but this is simply the better place to end it. Chapters 28 + 29 will focus onexpanding the world beyond the city of Ulaan, and rounding out the different cultures. But more importantly, with this arc drawing to a close, we have...something important coming up.

For those wondering if I'm slowing down with this story? Relax. I just need a few days to let a few plot bunnies germinate, while I was working on the garden and watching Shinchou Yuusha (the tale of the overly cautious hero). Seriously you guys, you need to watch that show!

Anyhoo. Venikas, please don't be too imporessed with the speed. My muse loves this story.

Wheel0fDawn, the next two chapters should really show exactly where this is heading.