Chapter 43: i'll fucking kill you i'll do it bitch

Middle Fire Month, 2nd Day, 600 AGG

"—Rajan Zrak," the head of Clan Zrak, its Kshatra's and all that she lay claim to, groaned as she pushed herself off the plush oversized cushion and onto the floor. "The druids of the south have requested your presence again."

"Niln," the Jaguar Zoastia stretched and released an eye-watering yawn. "It's too early to be hearing of these problems. Go tell it to Rithk."

"I did," Niln blandly replied. Bela'vish Ro Zrak clicked her tongue in annoyance. Damn slacker, couldn't he deal with minor issues himself? "He told me to send the message over to you, Rajan."

"Of course he did," Bela'vish brushed past the slave. "I'll look at it after I get cleaned up. In the meanwhile, go find me some food. Last night was more taxing than it should've been."

With Clan Shadiya refusing to leave their domain and Clan Vadh decimated, she had to take on the monster-killing responsibilities of the region that the two clans used to be responsible for.

She shouldn't complain too much. After all, she was the one who wiped out the remainders of the Bafolk clan after their stronger Kshatra's were killed or enslaved by the humans.

Her left arm and right leg throbbed with a phantom pain.

'Pallavi, your death was too easy,' Bela'vish recalled her humiliating defeat at the blade of the Sixth-generation Sword Saint. At least their comeuppance by the new champion of the humans was told to be a humiliating one. 'Heh, I'd shake their hand if I could.'

"There's not many live humans left," the human slave bowed his head in apology. "Ever since the stockyards were reclaimed by the Draconic Kingdom, we've had to rely on more local sources."

"It's fine," her mouth thinned in disappointment. "I'll hunt something down later."

She did have a stockpile of meat, but it wasn't the same. Even being preserved with stasis containers didn't help; nothing compared to the flesh of the recently slain.

Eating them felt a little wasteful anyways. Humanoids were naturally useful with their potential to develop deeper lifepaths in more production-type occupations. Of course, it was rare to find one that could rival a Rajan in combat strength, but who was looking for that in a slave?

Bela'vish felt a mild twinge of regret. Had she been limiting the development of her clan by sinking so deeply into decadence?

Oh well. It was too late to fret about that now. Just another lesson to remember for the future.

"Should I gift the remaining ones then?"

"Hm," Bela'vish hummed, leaping down the steps of the pavilion and into the cultivated forest that surrounded it. "Keep them for a few years. See if they have any talent in some useful field. If not…" she sauntered over to a nearby lake, dipping herself in the clear waters with a pleased purr. "Then do whatever gives us the most benefit. Throw them to the tamers, gift them to some other clan, whatever."

"I take that to mean you won't partake in them, Rajan?" Niln's face remained blank. Bela'vish supposed he was strange for a human, but maybe being raised to be a thrall of Clan Zrak from birth—in the same fashion his parents and their parents had—resulted in the remarkably composed man that stood behind her.

"Yeah, yeah," she dismissively waved him away. "I'll leave it in your hands."

"Understood, Rajan," Niln respectfully dipped his head and walked off. Bela'vish sank lower into the pond and closed her eyes as she groomed herself.

'With all their cities plus villages repossessed and thousands of beastmen killed in combat, the smart thing to do is probably to take the clan and move to Karnassus,' the jaguar woman contemplated as sun trickled down from the gaps in the verdant canopy. 'Would mean giving up all this land though… do we have a chance if we fight back?'

Deep in her heart, she knew the answer was 'no.' As much as she hated to admit it, someone who defeated that bitch Pallavi in single combat without suffering so much as a scratch wasn't a being she could triumph over.

'Heh… running away,' the idea didn't sit well with her. This was where her people had lived for nigh on two centuries. 'We don't have much of a choice, do we?'

Although, it was strange that the humans hadn't already launched a counterattack. With the speed they purged the beastmen forces from their land, they should've already set themselves like locusts upon the Republic. Or were there some arbitrary limitations angels had when it came to using them? Like, 'only actions done in the name of defense are permissible.'

'Definitely not that,' she recalled the reports she read of the human-summoned angels that had launched preemptive attacks on Republic outposts in years past. 'So why haven't they come yet? What are they waiting for?'

Was it possible that the humans had no desire to slake their vengeance on the blood of the demihumans?

A sharp laugh cut through the tranquility of the private forest. A foolish daydream.

"After that druid problem is dealt with, I'll send emissaries to Karnassus," Bela'vish mumbled to herself as she stepped out of the pond. "Argland? No, they're too far away. Argh, so troublesome…"

She spotted her enchanted battle garb hanging from a low-reaching branch. Niln must've left it there while she had been preoccupied.

'It'd be nice if all humans were like him,' Bela'vish equipped the embellished hydra-scale tunic, the skin-tight pants of wyvern leather, an assortment of other accessories, before hooking a pair of clawed gauntlets to her belt. 'A shame.'

After a quick trip back to the pavilion to grab her Bag of Holding, she leapt up a tree and ran across the canopy with a celerity that beggared belief. Her surroundings turned into a blur of green and brown as she fluidly dashed from branch to branch, each step following the last without a microsecond of delay.

A couple of minutes later she was out of the inner circle of the forest where she took up residence and in the second ring where her trusted Kshatra's lived when they weren't busy with managing clan affairs.

"Rajan," a Kshatra greeted her the moment her feet touched the ground. Bela'vish rolled her neck, bones cracking as she worked out the cricks. "One of the High Druids from the Oaken-Crag Nemeton is here to lay a petition before you."

"Tsk, no patience at all," Bela'vish equipped her twin gauntlets, the adamantine metal of the wicked weapons clinking with the closing and opening of her fists. "Did they say anything about what they want?"

"More monsters," the Kshatra—shit, what was their name, Ale'kh?—immediately responded. "They made sure to emphasize that the ones this time are 'strange.'"

"All monsters we haven't seen before are strange," Bela'vish grumbled. "Not a Mac'tal nest at least."

The psionic heteromorphs were a literal headache to deal with. If she didn't have to see another one for the rest of her life, it'd still be too soon.

Ale'kh stopped before a massive meeting hall formed through the intertwining of carefully cultivated trees and various other valuable materials. Bela'vish didn't care too much; her job was to determine what needed to be built, and other people figured out how to do the actual construction. "Forgive me for this rudeness Rajan, but there are still a number of slaves performing maintenance inside."

Bela'vish nodded, allowing the Kshatra to push the door open before them. Inside, a small group of elven slaves silently worked on repairing any wear and tear the hall of trees had sustained. The Jaguar Zoastia absentmindedly recalled one of the few times she had managed to get her hands on elven meat. A shame live elves were even more prohibitively expensive than humans—especially considering their talents for druidic magic.

At one of the long tables sat a wizened demihuman covered in a cloak in such a way that Bela'vish couldn't make out their face. It was just as well—she had once seen the mutilations the High Druids of Oaken-Crag wrought upon themselves and had no desire to scar her eyes again.

"Zrak," the High Druid croaked, voice withered in their old age. "You took your time."

"Get to the point," Bela'vish snapped at the druid. Something about them rubbed her the wrong way despite the services they rendered to her clan. "We had people perform a cleanup near your sacred grove just a few weeks ago. What is it now?"

"An aberration!" The druid pounded the wooden table with their bony fist. "A horrible thing has crawled into the heart of our Nemeton and—"

"I believe your colleagues made it clear that they didn't want, what did you call us, outsiders mucking about in their sacred grove," Bela'vish already regretted agreeing to meet with the High Druid. "Why shouldn't we let your circle deal with it themselves?"

"Fool! You don't understand," the druid snarled. "This monster, it shouldn't exist."

"Fine," she leaned back in her chair. "Say we do go out of our way to straighten out a monster that we should have been told about when we were there. What's in it for us?"

"Hrng," the druid looked like they wanted to spit on the ground. It was good that they didn't—Bela'vish was pissed enough that she might have beheaded them on the spot. "Everything."

"Everything?" Did she hear that right? The xenophobic and ever-secretive Oaken-Crag Nemeton was willing to give up everything if she dealt with this 'aberration?' "Just what is this monster?"

"Its appearance defies words," they laid a scroll on the table. "You'll know the moment its presence curses your sight."

"Is that so… well, regarding your request, I might take it up after all," Bela'vish eyed the scroll. A bit of paranoia on her part, but a little cautiousness never hurt anybody. "Anything else?"

"One last thing. The augury you asked us to perform," the druid pushed the scroll over to her. "Again, the other High Druids would like to remind you that demihuman sacrifices are preferred over humanoids."

"Mhm," she ignored the unreasonable request with the same mild undertone of disapproval that resurfaced whenever they brought it up. Sacrificing beastmen, even Sudapra's, for blood auguries wasn't a good look for a Vizier. "Huh."

"We'll await your arrival then, Rajan Zrak," the druid slowly stood up and shambled out of the meeting hall. "Do try to hurry."

'Varush was in Shatterstone? He's not dead? And a Shadiya clansman as well,' The Oaken-Crag druid was already far and away from her mind. 'Then… what about all the angels? How could they overcome what thousands of warriors and champions couldn't?'

The High Vizier was strong, stronger even than Pallavi, but was he that strong?

Unease crawled over her hide, filling her with a chilling premonition she couldn't put into words. Due to timing, the augury didn't include what happened to Varush and that Direwolf Vizier while they were in the Draconic Kingdom.

'But how are they alive? And with two humans in tow, no less,' collusion? Some sort of bizarre armistice? Dare she think it, a victory over their foes?

Bela'vish didn't have the faintest idea of what was going on.

And that terrified her.

"Waygate's a few kilometers from here," Varush guided them through the city of Mahajarat with a cautious eye. "It's installed in an Archive subsidiary where we can rent out magic items if that's needed."

"Reagents too," Ithi muttered, carefully walking on the other side of the two 'slaves' with Rasthdaan "Although if we're hitting the Archives directly, we can just loot from there."

"Wouldn't it be better to be prepared…?" Yuriko's voice trailed off as Varush uncomfortably scratched his shoulder. "Erm, what's wrong?"

"I, ahem," the Minotaur cleared his throat. "Slaves usually don't… make suggestions unless directly prompted. Or speak at all for that matter. I apologize for the rudeness—that is, listen closely, slave. Shatterstone didn't have as many ears as there are here."

"Oh," Yuriko raised a hand to her temple in a salute. The angel had warmed up to the beastmen over the course of their week-long journey, helped in no small part by Varush's genial temperament. Draudillon still had her reservations; she didn't think she'd ever be able to see them with anything but hostility. "Yes sir!"

It was a ridiculous scene that the dragon queen had to struggle not to snort at. Instead, she settled with a smile and continued to look around the city.

To her surprise, the city of Mahajarat didn't seem more advanced than the major human cities she knew of. In fact, it would even be generous to say it was on par with any of said cities.

'Was I expecting more because of the clearly superior state of their magical advancements?' A slight tinge of disappointment colored her mood. It felt silly, hoping an enemy would display a superior level of civilization, but she thought there would be… more. Not just a collection of scaled-up living complexes and houses, among other sights that wouldn't seem out of place in Arwinter or Oriculo. 'It might be because this is a border city to what was once a weak neighbor. And the bit on racial levels resulting in less flexibility that Yuriko mentioned…'

In any case, Mahajarat only needed to be developed enough to serve as a staging ground for massing invasion forces before teleporting them over. Larger, core cities would probably showcase a higher stage of development. Either way, Draudillon supposed she'd find out sooner rather than later.

"There's a lot of beastmen here," Yuriko remarked, head moving from side to side as she took in the city with curious eyes. "Um, a lot of them are just, y'know, normal people, right?"

"During the," Varush nervously glanced down at an exasperated Draudillon. Their excessive deference was getting on her nerves; she wasn't going to bite off their heads for stating facts. "Ahem, war. At that time, a lot of infrastructure was needed to keep our forces running smoothly. It goes without saying that a sizable number of civilians were required to manage said infrastructure."

"And now they're all out of a job?" Draudillon evaluated the demihumans strolling the streets. There was a general air of unease, a belief that something was going to happen and that it wouldn't be anything good. "This city was a lot fuller before, was it not?"

"Many people moved," any beastmen in their way parted before the High Vizier and his contingent. Several of them stared at the Minotaur—some in surprise, others in awe, and yet others in distaste—but barely any bothered to give a fleeting glance to her and Yuriko. "The Republic is a large place, and there's always a need for fresh bodies somewhere."

'So even the Beastman Country has its problems,' the reminder was an obvious yet sobering one. 'Some things just don't change no matter where you go.'

"Woah," Yuriko pointed at the towering building growing with each step they took. The alabaster spire stood in stark contrast from all the others in the vicinity, a symbol of arcane prowess separated from the ordinary denizens of the city. "Is that the Archive thingy?"

"A subsidiary of the Archives," Ithit corrected. "And our destination. The waygate is located there."

"Cool! Let's go—"

"High Vizier!" Their small party came to a stiff halt as a monstrous Tiger Zoastia approached from the opposite end of the plaza they were crossing with lazy, swaggering steps. A beastman lord? "None of us expected you to be back so soon."

'We're expected,' confirmation that they had been watched en route to the Beastman Country. There wasn't any other explanation to why the Zoastia was waiting for them here. 'Now to hope that they weren't monitoring us twenty-four seven.'

"Our endeavor proved to be more fruitful than we had hoped," even Draudillon could tell that Varush was struggling to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "I'm afraid I don't recognize you…?"

"Lasaath Kroh'or," the tigerman proudly pounded his chest. "The new Rajan of Clan Kroh'or. Won the spot after Faa'zh, that old bastard, was killed by the humans. Come to think of it, I should thank you for—"

"Congratulations," Varush blandly replied, taking a few steps forward. "I and my companions would be more than happy to talk with you after we've settled a few matters."

"Convening the Council?" Lasaath roared with laughter. "Yes, yes, of course! Since you've returned from meeting with the ruler of the humans, then I'm sure you have good news to tell!"

"Of the sort," Varush tilted his head. The Tiger Zoastia didn't move out of the way. "You'll be made aware soon enough."

"Oh, come now, friend," Lasaath wrapped a muscular arm thicker than Draudillon's thighs around the Minotaur's shoulders, murmuring urbanely in a way that was completely incongruous with his appearance. "Surely a few hints here and there can't hurt? What did you do? Break into their stronghold and slaughter them to the man? Defeat that winged champion of theirs in single combat? I'm dying to know."

Draudillon surreptitiously rolled her eyes.

"Like I said," Varush easily shrugged the arm off himself. "You'll know soon enough."

"We've been keeping an eye on you, High Vizier," Lasaath's voice dropped to an intimidating rumble. "Captured by the flaming angel, and dumped in the middle of the humans' capital. I'm sure you can understand how this all looks a little suspicious?"

"You. Will know. Soon. Enough," Varush remained unaffected, allowing an inkling of impatience to enter his voice. "Do you have anything else to ask about aside from our trip?"

"No. No, I don't think I do," Lasaath pulled away and peered at her and Yuriko. "I see you even found the time to bring along some souvenirs. Isn't this your first time owning slaves, High Vizier?"

"They have their uses," Varush frowned. "It's about time for me to find people to manage the more tedious parts of my work."

"I could give you a few tips—Hm?" Draudillon fought the urge to flinch away as the Tiger Zoastia bent down, inspecting her like a butcher might appraise a choice cut of meat. A heavy hand rubbed her arm, testing its texture and consistency. "These slaves… where did you get them? With flesh like this, I could only imagine how they'd taste—"

Bloodlust.

Bloodlust so thick that Draudillon could almost taste it. A terrible rage that choked the air and strangled the senses.

The beastman Vizier stumbled back, nearly falling on his rear and all the while appearing as if the specter of Death was calling his name.

Draudillon found it hard to blame him. If that kind of hatred had been directed at her, she suspected that she wouldn't have fared much better. As it was, the entire plaza had come to a standstill—everyone holding their breaths out of fear for their lives.

Everyone but her. How could she fear, when Yuriko stood between her and harm's way?

"Rajan Kroh'or," Varush recovered with astonishing swiftness, stepping in between the two women and his colleague. "I would ask you to keep your hands off my possessions."

"H-High Vizier. Was that really necessary?" The Tiger Zoastia shook off the terror that lingered even as the external expression of the angel's fury gradually subsided. "To think even your slave saw fit to warn me of your wrath… just—ah, nevermind. I apologize for questioning you so soon after your return."

The Minotaur's quick thinking had prevented Yuriko from exposing herself. Draudillon released an imperceptible sigh of relief.

"Hmph," Varush huffed. "Go in peace."

Lasaath Kroh'or did exactly that, walking away as fast as he could without trampling on his own dignity even further. Yuriko didn't budge from where they stood in front of her, burning eyes surely directed at the scurrying beastman.

If looks could kill, Draudillon was certain Lasaath would be nothing more than a pile of smoldering ashes. For all she knew, the angel may very well know a spell that did exactly that.

"I'll fucking rip him to pieces," Yuriko seethed, her glare not leaving the departing Tiger Zoastia's back. "No one messes with you like that. No one."

'I don't think I've ever seen her so angry before,' Draudillon stepped out from behind the angel. Their protectiveness made her heart race, but… 'Was rushing here the wrong decision after all? She wouldn't be this stressed had we just deployed summons from a distance. I should've tried harder to dissuade her, found some other method of compromise.'

It was too late for regrets—Yuriko would never agree to return home, not when they've already come this far. No, the only thing they could do was put one foot in front of the other, one step after another.

"Yuriko," she gently undid one of the angel's clenched fists. "It's okay. I'm okay."

"Yeah, I know," her beloved exhaled and turned towards her with a forced smile. "Just got a little worked up there, sorry."

"Mm," Draudillon paused. "Do you want any time to prepare yourself, or—"

"I'm fine," Yuriko interrupted her with a shaky thumbs up that did little to assuage the dragon queen's concern. "I can do this."

'She needs encouragement right now, so give it to her already, you fool!'

Draudillon Oriculus—ruler of millions that lived and died under her watch, the last of the Dragon Lords to inherit the World's blessing, and the lover to what many would consider a god—did not know what to say.

'I believe in you,' 'I trust you with this,' none of those platitudes managed to push themselves out of her throat and to the person who wanted, needed, to hear them.

"Let's go," Varush beckoned for them to follow him to the waygate. "We've got a lot of work ahead of us."

" 'Kay," Yuriko tugged at her hand. "Draudillon?"

Looking at Yuriko's face, she couldn't wipe away the feeling that she was making some horrible, horrible mistake.

"Sorry, I… I'm ready," she allowed the angel to pull her along. "Yuriko."

"Huh? What's up?"

"No matter what you do, I'll always love you, okay?"

"H-Hwah?" Yuriko turned beet red, her free hand unsteadily pushing stray locks of wavy hair behind her ear. "I mean um, th-thanks. And me too! I'll always love you too!"

'It's not a mistake. It's not,' getting revenge—no, justice—for the fallen wasn't wrong. She believed that. She had to. 'She'll be okay. She said so herself. Trust her in the same way she trusts you.'

But even if it wasn't wrong, was it really the most important thing?

Draudillon didn't know.