Author's Notes: Had a bit of a hiatus there, but we're (hopefully) back on track with the fun. This is the first part of the Rad Arc, and going forwards there will more or less be multi-chapter arcs with a chapter or two of filler/whatever in between. Expect heavy emphasis on the particular region during each arc.
Reviewers -
Guest - No, she's a Persona.
Ekurman - Reaper's going to have a fun posse that will shift a bit during the story.
Disciple of Ember - the Brown Dust team is going to have a good amount of work set out for them, but they should be fun, and be good contrast to the dour Louk and his daughters. Plus, you can probably guess Maria is going to shine as the one who keeps making everyone (especially Louk) uncomfortable with some very heavily laden innuendos. As for Celeste… well, I can't promise it will be an entirely happy ending for our Goddess Reborn, but she is going to have some significant character growth (I hope).
Dark Queen Origa - I almost added a short scene between Maia and Roxanna, but didn't feel like it would be appropriate. Will expound on that at a later date, but Roxanna will be assuming the role of the mercenary-sensei for a few people.
ManwithaPlan113 - You're going to need a few college-ruled sheets to keep track of everyone by the end of this. :D
ErnestShippinglane89 - I mean... not completely lose it…
Victorules - Psh… 20 seconds? That's more than most Light Novel characters get!
SomeGuyOverHere - Celeste is kinda set up in this one for a ["Hey, the door is finally open! Let's-" falls in a spike pit] emotional rollercoaster.
Ken
It was a small column that left the city of Ken that morning. A dozen riders, two carriages and two wagons was small for a merchant convoy, but too large to be anything else. The size of the group would not have drawn an eye against the bustling crowds moving in and out of Eostia's capital city, save for the menagerie of characters filling the ranks of the travellers.
One man rode at the front of the column, his black warhorse Odin preening as if the curious onlookers were spellbound by it rather than the colorful array of persons. Resplendent in a freshly shined coat and a new saddle, it was certainly an impressive mount. Pity that the one riding it wore an obscuring coat and kept his face hidden by the upturned high collar. There was little to see about him other than glimpses of the murderous intensity in his eyes and the ghastly sword at his hip. One look at the unnatural thing, even in its scabbard, warned passersby that he was not one to mess with.
It was the presence of a familiar, well-liked figure just beside the cold-eyed man that caused the citizens of Ken to wave and cheer. Maia the Mercenary Queen sat on her mount with a relaxed posture that filled the hearts of the people with confidence. If Maia was so at ease, then shouldn't they be? It was said that the hearts of the Shields reflected on the faces of the people. Those that saw her calm smile and bright eyes knew that they were well and truly safe from danger.
Other riders filled out the column, riding alongside the four vehicles that made the bulk of the convoy. These were less recognizable and drew less notice. Standard guards, attendants, that sort of thing. It was the identity of the mysterious carriage-riders that drew the most curiosity. A few who dared to close up to the convoy to peer up into the windows of the first carriage gasped in amazement at the sight of a youthful dark elf with blonde hair, her eyes narrowed in a disdainful sneer as she gazed out over the city.
They must be ambassadors from the North, was the rumor. No one had seen or heard of any such ambassadors, but why else would there be dark elves in a carriage escorted by a Shield? That rumor caught like a wildfire, and before the convoy had disappeared into the forest beyond the city it had spread all the way back to the White Citadel.
To those that knew the truth, the rumors seemed a convenient lie that no longer needed to be spread. Admitting that the Dark Queen, the most powerful enemy of Eostia, had been allowed to leave the capital under comparatively loose supervision so suddenly after being brought to Celeste's doorstep would have caused panics and rioting. Faith in the Goddess Reborn's control would crack, crumble. It would have been a terrible blow to the people, and a costly wound to her authority.
Had she known the rumors sprang from the lips of men and women clutching gold coins from Maia's personal account, the Goddess might have groaned in astonishment. Such subterfuge was beyond her righteous mind, and the capability of her trusted companions to enact it would have shocked her to her core.
So she did not question where the rumors came from, nor did she consider even for a moment that paid informants were responsible for the lies. Instead she listened to the report with a small smile and offered a prayer for the simple minds of her people. With luck, they would never again experience the horrors of war. But it all depended on Louk Shannegh, the plans to mobilize Eostia's military, and on the newly restructured Black Dogs.
In the meantime, she had tasked Claudia with ensuring no one came snooping around Olga Discordia's abandoned quarters until the Dark Queen's return. She could only think of one or two that would even attempt to speak with the dark elf sorceress, and those would be busy for some time enacting the orders Louk Shannegh had given out.
Establishing trained militias, utilizing the church's charities to draw upon the desperate and jobless for soldiers. Though she disliked the idea of luring those in need into a dangerous occupation, she could not lie that the idea had some merit, and at the very least provided care and purpose to thousands of poor folk in the various regions. Vetted Black Dogs outfits were being sent out to cities and towns to establish training grounds, and the hope was that by winter time they would have tripled the effective number of warriors in Eostia for the new war.
There were reservations about this, of course. The church did not like that it had to pay for these new warriors. The local lords did not like that their workmen received massive orders for weapons and armor that took away from their own projects. Even the Black Dogs grumbled at the prospect of training a new generation of warriors that could very well invalidate the need for mercenaries in the next decade. The politics of this maneuver had caused ripples, and would cause many more.
By the time this was over, Celeste mused, ripples would be the least of her concerns.
For now, her smile faded as she gazed at the distant forest where the convoy now led trundled along. Every day away from Ken meant another day when Olga would be at his side, and not Celeste. Her chest ached with that nauseous sensation, and she hurriedly turned her thoughts aside before the anger rose up in her veins.
She would make Louk Shannegh hers, in time. It had to be that way. He was the only one who could free her from the pedestal she had ascended and now so desperately wished to abandon.
Celeste was tired of being the Goddess Reborn. Once this war was over she would petition the seers for a successor. Then, maybe, she and Louk Shannegh could disappear between the lines of the history books and spend their lives in quiet bliss.
-v-
The road to Bold Fortune, Rad
"So that's just how it is. Adventurers stay in Ur, and we mercenaries go everywhere else."
Louk accepted Maia's declaration with a nod. They had been travelling for three days now, and Bold Fortune had finally come into sight. The regions of Ken were quite small, though he had been told that the major roads between the regions had been enchanted by Celeste to quicken travel. The decision had been made for mutual support during the early years of the Demon Legion's incursions, but came with the side-benefit of making all travel between the major cities much faster. A journey that should have taken them at least a week took half that time, and they felt no more tired for it.
During those three days Louk spoke with the members of Brown Dust to learn more about them. Carlson, he found out, was a former knight-in-training from Geofu who had flunked out for reasons he did not disclose. Rigenette was a former thief who the previous leader of Brown Dust had caught, and when she realized she could make more money as a mercenary she signed on with them. Beatrice was a tribal woman from the nomads living around the eastern border of Ur. Elin was… well, she did not open up in the slightest; he had a sense her connection to the former leader was quite deep, perhaps romantically so.
Finally, there was Maria.
Maria. A woman both frustratingly dense but also hellishly intelligent. His conversations with her were all brief, hardly a few exchanged sentences before he backed away with a cold gaze digging into his neck. Olga's jealous side was almost cute. The way she would sit with her head against the frame of the carriage window, appearing bored for all intents but for the miniscule window of her mostly-closed eyes skewering his back. She did not show that sort of jealousy around the others. It was because Maria was so innocently flirtatious, or rather that she constantly spoke in double entendres or suggestive phrases. The other members of the small company frantically apologized for her time and time again, insisting she meant nothing by it, but from time to time he could have sworn he caught a faint glimmer of amusement in her eyes, or a pleasure smile on tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Either way, he learned to avoid staying around Maria for too long.
His other companions were not much better. Naestra and Arahan listened as he exhaustively explained everything that had occurred the first time he walked this world. Their attentive ears drank in every detail and they interrupted rarely. Their only questions were to clarify points of interest. Most notably, when he tried to skate around the subject of his and Grace's tryst, Naestra savagely redirected the conversation back time and time again until he finally admitted it. That earned him a withering glare of disapproval from Arahan, but she made no snappy remark as she usually would have. Since a few days ago she had become quite reserved, even more so than usual. Her usual anger muted itself to glares rather than words, and she accepted what he told her without any of the usual grumbling or irritation.
At some point he would have to delve to the bottom of her behavior change. On the road was neither the time or place for it.
Maia had her small retinue of mercenaries but they remained apart and eyed him with suspicion. Apart from brief words exchanged over guard duties, they remained detached. Each had the look of a hardened fighter though, and he expected they would prove competent should trouble arise.
The second carriage belonged to a priestess, someone who joined up at the last minute despite Maia's protestations. Louk spoke with her once, and only once. He realized the instant she pulled back the curtain of her carriage window that remaining near the woman would cause Olga's jealousy to morph into murderous rage, and cautiously maintained a good distance going forwards.
The priestess' name was Melpha, and she was a devoted acolyte of Celeste. According to Maia, this Melpha was quite possibly the most powerful channeler of Celeste's divinity in all of Eostia, and capable of extraordinary acts of healing in Celeste's name. She was also a bit naive and impressionable, and a personal favorite of Archbishop Grishom. From time to time the archbishop sent her out on goodwill missions in his stead, and she garnered a lot of attention and goodwill for the church wherever she went.
Louk was sure that people liked her for the same reason Maia scowled when her name was mentioned, and why Olga's mood darkened whenever his gaze lingered on that carriage.
Melpha was, in a word, ideal. Blonde with soft blue eyes and an angelic face, a sharp little nose and those drooping eyeglasses that gave her a serious-faced look. Her chosen outfit seemed out of line with the rest of the priests he had seen as well, and Louk was sure that the archbishop had something to do with it. While lesser priests wore humble robes that hid their bodies and drew attention away from themselves, Melpha wore an outfit that seemed designed to draw the eye. From the tight white bodysuit that clung to her meaty thighs and voluptuous chest, to the knee-length boots of supple calf hide, the beige corset that propped up her breasts and the purple sash that mirrored the offset cut of her skirt, and the pale blue dress that would have been obscene for how little it clothed were she not wearing her bodysuit, Melpha stole the attention of any in sight.
Were it not for the genuine innocence on her face as she carried on entirely unaware of how her dress affected those around her, Louk might have considered her a threat. She still was, but not in the way he first expected. It was her naivety blended with that shameless outfit that made her truly intoxicating, and he made regular trips back to Olga's side to recover his senses when she called out a simple question from her carriage, or when he caught a glimpse of her brilliant smile as he rode up or down the column.
The first day and night had led to some uncomfortable tension between himself and Olga. Between Maria and Melpha there were enough accidental innuendos passed around that he spent the whole night on watch with two sets of angry eyes boring into his back. One set alternated between Olga and Chloe as the two elves took turns sleeping that night, and the other set came from his daughters, who were no doubt judging him harshly for imagined intent.
He had no desire to bed either of them, thank you very much! A different time, perhaps in a different world, he might have made a move on Melpha out of simple physical desire. Now that he had Olga his desires had become tamer. Olga had made it clear in the days before this trip that she wanted to be the only woman in his heart, and grinded her intent into him with commendable enthusiasm each night, and sometimes in a quiet hallway or on a lonely balcony.
That first night on the road had been lonely without her, though he overcame the regret in his heart easily enough. Loneliness was his default state. A single night without Olga's warmth was hardly the end of the world. He treasured those moments as best he could, but he knew they would not last. Once Virtuoso made its move, he would have to spend significant time away from her.
That second morning, Maia approached him privately and told him, in less polite words, to do something about that 'goddessforsaken tension' between himself and Olga. It surprised him to discover that Maia was not only aware of their affair, but had no judgments about it. In fact, she told him to 'fuck the shitty attitude out of that pointy-eared slut,' if it would improve Olga's mood. The angry dark elf had soured the morale of the whole convoy. Maia wanted that fixed in case trouble arose.
Assuming that others had taken notice of the identity of the passenger, and the dripping tension between Olga and himself, Maia was spot on about the state of the convoy's morale. Something would have to be done about it, because if any of the Eostian citizens snapped out of irritation or fear they may try to harm Olga, and that would just lead to a lot of people dying that did not need to die. So,taking her advice, Louk spent the day as before on guard duty for the convoy, then approached Olga that night. Not caring for the appearance of things, he took Olga by the arm and led her back to the carriage, where they proceeded to unleash several days of pent-up lust on each other in the confines of the cramped carriage. Jealousy was an incredible motivator, Louk had learned over the course of his long lives. And Olga was incredibly jealous.
That next morning Maia glared at him from over her fourth cup of coffee, her exhausted eyes mirrored across the whole group as they all shot sullen glances in his and Olga's direction. Chloe and his daughter appeared unaffected, though if their eyes could fire daggers he would have died a dozen times between opening the carriage door and reaching the ground.
"On second thought," Maia had grunted, "shitty morale isn't the worst thing."
By midday the Shield had recovered her cheerful attitude, and their meandering discussions about Rad and the mercenaries eventually touched on the subject of adventurers. Louk had wracked his brain, but could not remember a single reference to them the first time he came to this world. The more days passed, the more he was certain that this world had been subtly altered in a way only a god's hand could.
Adventurers, Maia assured him, were greedy, self-righteous assholes who only cared about their next payday. There was a very loose code of conduct that could mostly be simplified to 'no poaching' and they were as wild and unruly a bunch as could be found. Adventurers were all freaks of nature too, with most of them up in the realm of heroes, as some folk called it. For reference, every Shield was considered a hero-level powerhouse. Louk was not quite sure how Prim fit into that role, but he shrugged off his curiosity and decided he would find out in time. Probably another change in this new version of the world.
"Convincing them will require convincing every single adventurer, then." Louk huffed and stared at the distant walls of the city.
"More or less. Those that are close or in groups could be convinced en masse, though good luck trying to instill a sense of duty in those assholes." Maia sniffed derisively, as if the mere topic of adventurers turned her stomach. "There are a few worth focusing on, at least. The 'top dog' as it were. Get them to fall into line and chunks of the rest might follow along."
"You got names for them?"
Maia grinned, shooting him a sidelong smile. "I thought you got a list from Vult's people."
"A long, uninspired and droll list that doesn't tell me much and has far too many names for me to pick out the top dogs, as you call them."
The Shield leaned back in her saddle, stretching her body to ease out some of the stiffness of their riding. The motion caused her tightly-bound body to shiver, but Louk did not find it enticing. A vision flickered across his eyes. The vision of Maia's bleeding, maddened face as she knelt amidst a mountain of corpses, her sanity long since departed. Blinking away the memory, he realized he was staring, and Maia had a triumphant grin on her face.
"See something you like, Reaper?"
If he had to be honest, her attitude was much better this time around. Not having to deal with the whole 'Vult's a traitor' mess had certainly toned down her hatred of him. This time around she almost seemed content around him, treating him like a comrade rather than a foe. Now he just had to convince her of the severity of the threat before another disaster occurred. Few of them truly believed in the threat. Not yet. He had precious little time to force the truth down their throats before it was too late again.
"I would if you had a list for me," he muttered.
To her credit, Maia dropped her teasing. "Well, I don't exactly have a list on me. Each guild location will have its leadership, one way or another. Sometimes it changes hands, and I don't exactly spend a lot of time investigating such things."
"But you do have one name," he accused, correctly reading where she was going.
"Yep. Newer guy, kind of a weirdo even among adventurers. Appeared a few years ago and makes his living killing goblins."
"Is it unusual to hunt goblins?"
He had been told that goblins were not related to the demons, but were a monster race that naturally infested Ur. Part of the reason for the adventurers' heavy presence in Ur was the constant need for culling of monster populations. To the rural folk of Ur, goblins were just as terrifying a threat as the demons.
"Most top-tier adventurers graduate into hunting bigger game. You can't make too good a living off of goblins. Annoying bastards, but not that hard to kill as long as you're careful. This guy though, that's all he hunts. Only accepts goblin hunting quests, or so they say."
"So why would I be interested in him?"
"You asked for names." She shot him a light scowl. "So shut up and let me tell you, alright?"
Louk chucked, enjoying her fearless banter. This Maia was a far cry from the one before, and he liked her spunk. He hoped she would keep it.
"From what I heard," she continued, dropping the scowl as if it had never been there, "he's actually really, really tough. Goblins might not be that tough, but he's out hunting almost non-stop, coming home just to sleep at night. He's a one-man wrecking crew, and can solo entire goblin nests."
"So he is strong."
"Yeah. Or something like that." The mercenary Shield nodded.
"What's his name?"
"Some people call him Orcbolg, though I don't know if that's his real name and I'm pretty sure only those that are close to him are allowed to use it in his presence. Generally, people just call him Goblin Slayer."
-v-
Bold Fortune, Rad
Blood sprayed across the sands, and the crowd roared its appreciation. Five thousand throats howled in triumph and agony, their voices blending into a dull roar that vibrated the very stands of the colosseum. Here and there small flurries of motion indicated a fight breaking out from the spectators, or a terrified gambler deciding to take their chances at fleeing before their debtors came knocking.
Several thousand souls, each as tiny and insignificant as the next. A mob of ants glutting their lust for violence and greed over the titans battling to the death for their amusement. Their only purpose was to serve, to provide, and that was why they were allowed to live. Precious coins earned from drudgery and labor funneled into the coffers of the great VarGolem clan. His lips curled in a dismissive sneer as he considered the size of the crowd and calculated the proceeds of the day's events. It was a good day, and the best even was about to start.
A tired sigh eased out of his sister's lungs. He cast a sidelong look at her, the radiant blonde-haired beauty of Bold Fortune. Lorelei VarGolem, as mysterious to her brothers as she was to the city. It was no secret that Lorelei came from a different mother than the rest of them; which mother Siegfried did not know. She was a bastard, but she was a bastard who had caught their father's eye. She was his favorite, in his own twisted way. Groomed her like no other, molded her into the monstrous thing that made even the hardest killers shiver and look away under her cold, inhuman gaze.
"Is this not to your liking, dear sister?"
Siegfried allowed his gaze to wander unashamedly over her robe-clad body. To his knowledge, his precious little sister had yet to take a lover of any kind, and she was so wonderfully succulent in form. The pleasing tautness of her calves, the supple beauty of her creamy neck… she appeared so helpless and delicate, yet he knew she was as ferocious as a demon when her anger roused. He had dreams of her, of taking her tender body and teaching her the softer side of a woman. Some day he might summon the fortitude to do it, though not without proper preparation and planning. One did not approach Lorelei without a plan for any matter, least of all something as passionate as what danced in his mind.
As if sensing his thoughts, Lorelei tilted her head away and let the cowl of her robe slide back just a little. One ice-blue eye glared over at him, her mood on full display. The handful of slaves in the booth all went still, their bodies locked in place by the overwhelming aura of killing intent that rolled off of the slight woman's shoulders. Siegfried weathered the assault with his unflappable grin. They had done this many times before, and would many times again.
"Do you enjoy watching the garbage scurry about under your feet?"
Her irritation stemmed from boredom, and Siegfried could not fault her for that. The showings today proved… less than interesting. To the masses they were clearly entertaining and wonderful, but to trained killers the idiots fumbling about in the arena did not merit a single glance. One would think the influx of former Black Dogs mercenaries abandoning the proverbial ship would lead to better fighters, but the wannabe gladiators here had less skill than he expected.
The promise he had received of a proper fighter amongst the ranks was growing less believable by the match. The point of their attendance had been to seek out new blood, fighters that could be molded into top-tier killing machines for the VarGolem clan. Siegfried could have done it himself, but his father insisted on sending Lorelei to these matches. Her eye, father claimed, could see things that others could not.
"Patience, dear sister. I have been told that there is one worthy of your time. They should be appearing soon."
"I will sit for two more executions," she murmured. "Then I leave. Calling these disappointments 'fights' is an insult to warriors everywhere."
"Your patience is an inspiration to us all," he told her. His eyes darted past Lorelei to the owner's box beside the VarGolem one. It was a lesser box, with half the space and only a single slave, but he cared not for the quality of the box. His attention lay on the short, greasy goblin that touted itself as Trainer Dogura. The goblin returned his stare, its glassy eyes opening to their fullest, and it held up a single finger.
Good. Perhaps his dear sister's boredom would be solved faster than he anticipated.
A bit of good humor filled his veins as he anticipated her appreciation of the next round. Summoning one of the slaves, a thin young woman with an artfully short dress that showed off her slender thighs, he ordered a refill of his wine. Her eyes had the dulled, lifeless expression that so many slaves adopted over time. Still… he gave her an appreciative look and marked her face for later. Once this dreary business resolved itself he would have a little fun before returning to the family estate.
When his attention returned to the arena he saw that the previous contenders had vacated the sands. Slaves were out raking the bloody streak where the fallen had been dragged out, returning the arena to its natural state. They were efficient, he had to give them that. The owners of the colosseum took pride in their establishment and had a small army of highly proficient slaves and servants maintaining the hygiene and atmosphere of the place.
"And here we are," Siegfried announced, leaning back smugly in his chair. He sipped at his wine as the announcer strode up to the podium, a parchment clutched in hand bearing the information of the next contenders. The details of the announcement were of no importance. Despite his desire to see this next contender, he had an idea already of what to expect. Nothing that would surprise him, though perhaps he might be intrigued enough to actually take on this supposed prodigy.
While he waited for the simpering announcer to finish his hype, Siegfried drained his glass and held it out for a slave to take. His gaze went over to the pit entrance to the right. The iron portcullis lifted slowly, and a hulking brute of a man the announcer named Blackoath stomped out. Face set with ugly scars, limbs rippling with overly-defined muscles. The gladiator wore heavy furs and carried an enormous battleaxe in one hand and a tower shield in the other. The very definition of a juggernaut, Siegfried thought instantly, his attention hooked on the powerful figure. Strength radiated off of the barbarian in a suffocating wave that silenced the closest spectators. The whole audience gradually fell silent, gazing at the contender in awe.
"Hm… maybe this trip is worth it," he muttered. At his side, Lorelei appeared unimpressed, though her eyes had narrowed at the sight of a potential prospect.
The barbarian strode into the center of the arena, his very footfalls echoing faintly as his sturdy trunk-like legs pounded the sand. Once in the center he threw his head back and howled, and the voice that rose up sounded more animal than human. The wolfen howl sent waves of surprise crashing into the stands. Siegfried heard a slight commotion behind and glanced back in amusement. The faces of the slave women in the box had all pinkened, and their eyes were dilated with unconscious arousal in the wake of that primal cry.
"Ohoho, I like this one. Blackoath, is it?" He chuckled to himself and studied his sister's face. She, of course, was unaffected by the man's howl. Though several thousand others felt its effects in one way or another, she brushed it aside. That was his dear sister, after all. Immune to any charms cast her way.
"He is a wild thing." Lorelei's disapproval lined those words with condescension. "More animal than human."
"Sometimes you need a bit of animal passion," Siegfried told her.
Despite her position in the VarGolem clan directing the overhead of every brothel and tavern in their territory, his dear sister was largely untainted by the pleasures of the flesh. Had he not seen her in a brothel's office he would not have believed she even knew what pleasures the flesh could provide. That exhibition had been forever etched in his mind: Lorelei sitting beside a bed as the brothel's newest male hire went to work on a more experienced woman. His dear sister's cold, dispassionate gaze travelling up and down their bodies as she took notes and made suggestions to improve his services.
By the end of it she had guided the young man to a clever enough level that the experienced whore was left drooling on the bed, and every observer in the room was either hard or wet from the spectacle. But Lorelei… she was just as cold as when she had entered, and quietly stood up and left the room after judging his performance to be 'adequate.' Then she and Siegfried went to dinner, where she dryly commented on the young man's many failings and how she doubted he would last more than a few months.
True to her prediction, the young prostitute burnt out within six weeks, and was found a month later in an alley with a knife in his back.
"Hm?"
The second gladiator had been introduced. His thoughts had been so distracted that he missed the entry, and was startled to see that the entire colosseum had fallen utterly silent. And Lorelei sat frozen in her chair, her fingers digging into the armrests until the wood creaked under her strength. Those cold blue eyes had widened, and gazed enraptured at the newcomer to the sands.
"That one," Lorelei declared, her voice tinged with an emotion Siegfried had never heard before from his dear sister. It was an emotion that filled him with a shock of jealousy: hunger. Confused by this unseen side of his dear sister, Siegfried shifted his attention to the other fighter.
It was a woman, and a beauty at that, though she hardly appeared to be a trained fighter. Her skin was tanned from a lifetime under the sun, skin glowing with a healthy and wonderful shade. Long brown hair ran down her back in a simple braid, covering more of her body than the skimpy white bikini she wore. The only nod to armor she wore came in the form of several bronze rings that jangled about her wrists, perhaps able to deflect a poorly-aimed strike. A thick leather choker protected her throat, though the heavy chain link attached to it showed the collar was more for securing her as a slave than protecting her life.
Her weapons were even more depressing for a gladiator. A sturdy wooden buckler in her left hand, and a wooden training sword in her right. Compared to the massive barbarian, she appeared little more than a child. A slave-child at that, which soured Siegfried's mood. He had been hoping for a real fight to show off this barbarian's strength. Instead it looked like this would be a different kind of execution. Normally he might have enjoyed watching a scantily clad woman violated by a savage in front of thousands. This one was pretty, though. Too pretty to be wasted on something as boorish as this arena.
"It's a shame something finally caught your eye, only to be ruined in a place such as this," Siegfried grumbled. He genuinely felt sorry for his dear sister, who had abandoned all traces of aloofness and sat forward in her chair, a terrifyingly passionate expression spreading across her face. It was not lustful, but there was a jealousy glinting in her ice blue eyes. Having never seen her in this sort of mood before he wondered if he should stop the fight. Before he could consider the idea, the announcer's voice boomed as he called the fight to begin.
Oh well, perhaps she would still be alive and salvageable after thi-
The gong rang out through the colosseum, signalling the beginning of the fight, and the barbarian charged. He did not waste time taunting or belittling his opponent; it was clear to all in the arena that his intention was to finish her off as quickly as possible, and spend as much time as allowed enjoying her alluring body. His initial swipe came not with the edge of his axe, but with the flat of the blade. The impact alone would likely shatter her body, but better a broken body than half of one.
The woman… Siegfried had been distracted and missed her name, stood her ground as Blackoath charged. Her buckler came up defensively, a rather pathetic sight in the face of the rampaging barbarian. Blackoath was at least twice her weight. She would be obliterated by the impact alone.
"A foolish mistake," he muttered, speaking to no one in particular.
Blackoath's axe scythed from right to left, aiming to swat her aside like a fly. The woman held her ground until the last second and-
"What?"
A collective gasp rose from the stands as the woman vaulted into the air, her body twisting acrobatically as she skimmed over Blackoath's head and fell into a wild spin. The solid thwack of her training sword smashing against the back of his skull echoed through the colosseum with a loud, ominous echo.
Landing in a cat-like pose with her sword arm held out behind her, the woman spent a moment eyeing her opponent's reaction to her move before leaping backwards to put distance between them. The strike to Blackoath's head had sent him staggering, but it was hardly a telling blow. A mad howl tore itself from the barbarian's throat and he spun towards her, eyes blazing with rage.
"That was… interesting," Siegfried admitted. He corrected his posture and watched with renewed interest, his eyes following the lithe tan figure as she skipped backwards, narrowly avoiding each of the barbarian's broad swings. The axeblade nearly kissed her skin time and time again, but she dodged with incredible precision, always avoiding by the slimmest of margins. To the untrained observer it appeared a desperate, narrow series of escapes, but Siegfried could read her body language and saw that she was not only unharried by her rapid retreat, but entirely relaxed.
Indeed, her expression had become bored, as if Blackoath was merely a child she was training in the basics of combat.
He stared down at her, this delicate gladiator making a mockery of a savage beast, and realized that he wanted her. He wanted to feel her tender flesh in his hands, to push her down and claim her for his own. Carnal desire blossomed in his belly as he eyed her, wondering where such a magnificent creature had come from, and how much he would have to pay for the pleasure of making her his own.
Wood splintered under his fingers, crushed by his white-knuckled grip as he joined his sister in rapturous delight, rejoicing in the sight of a creature they had not expected to find in this miserable arena. This woman was not just a beauty, but an exceptional fighter. A wonderful combination that he needed in his bed.
A roar of approval bubbled up from the throats of thousands of bystanders as the woman tired of her playful retreat and assumed the offense. Ducking under a savage swing that would have split a heffer in two, she slashed her training blade across Blackoath's shins and toppled the barbarian. Blackoath's howl grew strained, and he rolled wildly in the sands as he recovered his axe and threw a blind sweep to keep her distance.
The woman had not closed in again, but retreated to the center of the arena. She stood there, glaring up at the box beside Siegfried's. The goblin trader, Dogura, grinned back at her, a lecherous smile on his greasy face.
"That bastard," Siegfried muttered. So she was the expert fighter Dogura had in his pocket. His hackles rose at the thought of something so beautiful being owned by something so hideous.
The woman's eyes shifted slightly, crawling across the arena. Those glittering eyes landed on Lorelei, and the gladiator-slave went rigid. Shock bloomed on her distant face, and the color drained from her skin as if someone had sucked her blood out through her feet. Lorelei leered back at her, basking in some unseen recognition that Siegfried did not recognize. His blood quickened at the reaction his dear sister drew from the fighter; his competitive nature saw that as a challenge, and one he needed to answer swiftly.
Before he could hope to catch the woman's eye, Bloodoath charged back into the fight. The woman made to dodge away, but just before she moved there was a glow across her left thigh and she crumpled to the ground. The barbarian's attack sliced overhead, but she had no counterattack at hand. Instead she writhed on the ground, her face flushed with a sudden heat and pain.
Dogura wiggled a control rod in his hand, and Siegfried's mood darkened further. To cause such a beauty pain… and to risk her precious body with a display like that… he would have Dogura killed after this. Butcher that filthy vermin and acquire all his assets. Yes, that would do nicely. Surely this woman would look on him fondly for eliminating the shitstain goblin that held her captive.
After seeing the incredible warrior downed, the crowd's thirst for blood was up. They hooted and hollered at the woman as she grovelled in the sand, her body twitching and shaking from whatever vile energies the slave brand poured into her body. Utterly defenseless, she lay there for the taking as Bloodoath approached her cautiously, his wariness overcoming his rage. Now that she had appeared disable the berserker side had faded, and he gazed down at her with cruel intent.
Siegfried hissed angrily.
The warrior woman's head tossed this way and that, her pleas drowned by the roaring crowd. Her elbows dug into the sand as she tried to drag her body away from the approaching axeblade, weapons forgotten. Bloodoath stepped in closer, drawing near until he stood directly over her legs. Words passed between them, and the only indication of what was said came in the horrified scowl on the woman's face.
Several boos began to flesh out the noise, and more began to voice their discontent as they realized that the fight had been rigged. Yet even more screamed out obscenities, encouraging Bloodoath to have his way with the warrior for their viewing pleasure.
"Get up," Lorelei murmured softly.
Down in the sands such a quiet voice could never have been heard even had the crowd been silent. Maybe it was a coincidence, but the woman's head jerked towards their box, and Siegfried could have sworn the gladiator-slave's eyes locked onto his dear sister's.
"Get up," Lorelei repeated, a sneer of disdain coloring her words.
The warrior woman stopped struggling. She propped herself up on her elbows, glaring up at Bloodoath despite the pain clearly wracking her succulent frame. Each shiver of pain caused her body to twitch alluringly. It took all of her strength to manage that much defiance. It was hardly enough.
"Get. Up."
The armrests of Lorelei's chair cracked, shattering under her grip. Rising to her feet in a streak of crimson cloth, his dear sister stood against the edge of the box and raised her voice, speaking in a loud tone Siegfried had never once heard in his entire life.
"GET UP!"
An oppressive wave spilled out from his dainty sister, unleashing a presence so powerful that Siegfried's body went rigid with danger warnings. It made the fierce glares she had given him before seem nothing more than a child's tantrum in comparison. This aura… it was otherworldly, inhuman. Sweat broke out across his body as he wilted under her anger. He heard the slaves collapsing behind them, crumpling to their bellies in terror, and the colosseum fell silent before the extreme weight of authority that slapped their petulant desires aside.
Bloodoath himself staggered backwards, unbalanced by her will. His impressive strength and aura paled in comparison to Lorelei's and his primal instincts forced him into a submissive posture where he knelt humbly in the sand.
The warrior woman stumbled to her feet, galvanized by the explosion of Lorelei's presence. The glow around her thigh wavered, faded, and finally went dark. With that crippling input gone, she had nothing holding her back. A surge of newfound energy filled her body with confidence as she stalked back over to her training sword and shield. The gladiator-slave picked them up, faced Bloodoath, and offered a sickeningly sweet smile. It was a ghoulish smile, one that dripped condescension and derision. The kind of smile that promised only total destruction without mercy.
Her lips moved as she said something to the barbarian, and Bloodoath scrambled for his battleaxe. The two gladiators took their places, and after sizing each other up threw themselves back into the battle. There was no more retreating, no more coy playing with the hulking Bloodoath. Blood splattered across the sands, weapons clashed, bodies hurled themselves with fatalistic fury.
In the end, the bloody play reached its natural conclusion. A conclusion the audience had realized within moments of this new and deadlier clash.
The brutal, terrifying figure of Bloodoath sank to his knees in the sand, his body broken and battered, his throat crushed by the woman's final blow. The massive battleaxe slipped from nerveless fingers, its blade still dry and unblooded, and he toppled over without having landed a single blow on his opponent.
Roars of applause and exultation thundered throughout the colosseum, so loud that the whole city could hear the uproar, and those travellers drawing near to the city gazed out with sharpened stares to seek out the cause of such revelry. It mattered not that mere minutes before the crowd was chanting for her violation; the gladiator-slave had proven herself in the sands, and that was what mattered. That the winner was a delicious paragon of a woman only fanned the flames of their cheers, and the less restrained shouted out their declarations of love to the blood-stained woman who calmly left the corpse of her opponent behind in her dogged trek closer to the boxes. She did not come forward to greet her master, however, but held eyes only for Lorelei.
Siegfried switched his gaze between them, and felt that sickly twist of uncertainty roiling in his belly. The look in his dear sister's eyes reminded him of a starving dog who had just found a discarded leg of beef. It was ravenous, incendiary.
"I must have her," Lorelei murmured, the greater world seemingly forgotten in her uncharacteristic obsession.
"She is… quite a fighter," Siegfried agreed. "She will serve the clan well."
"Not the clan," Lorelei countered, shooting him a savage glare. "Mine. She will be mine."
His dear sister turned and stormed out of the box, clearly aiming to loop back to Dogura's private box. Siegfried stared after her, struggling to comprehend this strange turn of events. In all his life he had never seen, much less heard of, Lorelei exhibiting any sort of selfish behavior. Her entire life had been dedicated to the clan. Her very being was the soul of the family, according to father. That was how he had raised her, how he had groomed that innocent child and twisted her into the monstrosity that catapulted the VarGolems into the top ranking families of Bold Fortune.
Now she had found something she wanted, and Siegfried did not know what to make of it. The gladiator-slave was pleasing to the eye, but Lorelei could have her pick of the women in the city should she desire that. Her fighting skills stood leagues above the crowd, but Siegfried felt confident he could best her in a fair match. Lorelei certainly could.
What was it about this fighter that drew such emotion from his dear sister?
He frowned as he examined the gladiator-slave. Now that she stood closer he could make out more details, and he liked what he was. A proud, but gentle face, with different colored eyes of red and blue that sparkled like gems against her tanned flesh. Her thigh, the one that had glowed with the slave magic, bore an intricately drawn tattoo of chains wrapped around her leg: her brand. Even as he watched, one of the chain's links glowed white-hot, causing the woman's brows to knit in discomfort, before vanishing from her skin.
Once the crowd's cheers had quieted, the announcer spoke again at the podium. He offered congratulations and the usual chatter before telling the gladiator-slave to leave the sands so the next match could be prepared.
"Branwen… is it?" Siegfried stroked his chin as the woman retreated to her gate, her head held high and her back straight with pride. Off to his right, he heard a commotion as Lorelei forced her way into Dogura's box.
Just what was this world coming to?
Crossover Characters:
Queen's Blade - Melpha, Branwen
