Chapter 91: drau, please do your best!
Lower Fire Month, 28th Day, 600 AGG
"Good to go!" Feyyaz Tolon raised his hand, signaling to the crane master that the cargo had been properly lashed.
The eighteen year old dockworker stood to the side, taking a quick break as he watched the harbor crane's hook slowly descend upon the tied-up crates. Judging by how low the sun was getting, Feyyaz would say he'd been put to task for a solid four-or-so hours.
'So that'll be another twelve coppers,' he did some quick arithmetic in his head—a necessary skill for anybody wanting to make a living in Oriculo. One he learned in his spare time through paid lessons with an irate noble spare. 'Guild dues today… gotta set a couple aside for that.'
"Oi! What're you standin' 'round there for?! Got another couple boxes left!"
Feyyaz blinked and rushed towards his gang for today. "Coming!"
"Careful with these ones; filled with potions or some shit," Refik grunted as he, Feyyaz, and two others lifted a marked wooden crate onto a pallet. "Shippin' out east."
The older man's caution was perfectly warranted. Even the cheapest potions, those made solely with herbs, could command a price of two to three silver. That was more than a day's wage for Feyyaz; thinking about the value of higher-grade potions made his skin crawl with nervousness. "Yessir."
There were policies in place that insured merchant goods, but those only went so far. Fucking up with merchandise this valuable would probably see him blacklisted by any overseer.
"Should get the damn angels to lift the real breakable shit," one of the blond men who Feyyaz didn't recognize complained. Their voice sounded slightly off, like they were trying to imitate the local accent and almost getting there. Meh, whatever—he wasn't one to judge others for wanting to fit in. "Merchants probably be happier with the Goddess than rough 'n tumble folks like us."
"The hell you mean 'rough 'n tumble?' " The other man spat on the ground. "Dumbass. Won't have a job if the angels did everythin'."
"I ain't sayin' they oughta do everythin'—"
"Shut it!" Refik growled.
The two shut their mouths. In hindsight, they probably figured it was a bad idea talking about the Goddess behind her back. Not that anybody really believed she wasn't listening considering all the angels flying around Oriculo.
"You best remember who's keeping order in this city," Refik continued. "So watch your mouth."
It was thanks to the angels that they didn't have to worry about thugs and other less-than savory folks causing trouble in the dock. After all, who would be insane enough to offend someone who single-handedly ended the beastman invasion?
'Have to agree there; it's weird how we haven't been replaced,' nobles and merchants were always looking for ways to improve 'efficiency,' and what was more efficient than summons? Summons boasting a strength exceeding that of a veteran knight, much less him. 'Bet Her Majesty's got something to do with it.'
He, who had nothing in the way of incredible talent or lineage. He, who like many others, lived and died at the whims of people unimaginably more powerful than them. Noblemen, the Goddess, beastmen… it was only Queen Oriculus who guarded the smallfolk from the depravities of the world.
Feyyaz had heard the rumors of Her Majesty selflessly selling her body to the Goddess in exchange for their protection. It didn't sit well with him, but dishonoring the Queen's sacrifice was even less acceptable.
Because her people were too weak to protect the kingdom, because they were too weak to protect their neighbors, too weak to protect even their own bodies.
Because they were frail of body, of mind; the strengths of their heart and soul were meaningless. Sentiment could not save, or protect; wanting to save and protect wasn't enough—
"—that's that," he was broken out of his reverie, finding a finished knot in his hands. Feyyaz chided himself; he may be able to perform this job in his sleep, but working absentmindedly was dangerous for all involved. "Boat's packed! We'll let the folks on the ship finish fastenin' up the rest!"
The young dockworker backed away after ensuring the crane's hook had been properly attached. After being deposited on the ship, the goods would be secured in the vessel's cargo hold with dunnage and shims. He supposed whatever followed that would be the sailors' problem.
"Ships just pourin' in today, eh?" Feyyaz found himself nodding. Beastmen beaten back and the early days of a national holiday beginning made for heavy traffic on the Ordelia River. No complaints from him; more work equaled more money he could send back home.
"Yeah," he agreed. Ships still came through even during the worst of the beastman invasion, so it wasn't as if he'd been completely out a job; Oriculo Port was busy before, major waterway that it was and all. "It's nice."
"Damn straight," one of the strangers, the fellow with the odd accent, echoed the sentiment. "Earn ourselves a shiny copper or two and visit the temple—gain the Goddess's favor, wouldn'tcha say?"
It took Feyyaz a few seconds to notice that they had been blabbing to him. "Oh, uh… yeah. Yeah. Good stuff there, the Goddess's favor."
He didn't have anything against the popular Cult of Wings, but getting caught up in a devotee's ramblings wasn't his idea of a good time.
"Alright," Ayda Araz, a strongly-built middle aged woman with dirty blonde hair—and the overseer responsible for his gang today—sharply addressed the waiting dockworkers. "Line up, y'all know the drill! Those of you in the guild, head into the office later!"
The line eventually crept up to him. Feyyaz gratefully accepted the fifteen copper coins and immediately started walking in the direction of the office buildings standing nearby. 'Fifteen? Sure didn't feel like five hours.'
"—swear on Surshana's balls, there's beastmen up there," as always, small talk was an ever-present constant. "Heard some adventurer-lookin' fella say it."
"They always be makin' shit up! 'S how mercs like them get jobs."
"How's this helpin' them get jobs—"
"Got a cousin in the army," Feyyaz turned around to the source of the interjection. Mehmet, someone he recalled working with every once in a while. Must be a slow day at his wife's apothecary if the man was mucking it out on the docks. "Said they's some real mean sons of bitches."
"He dump a sack of fleas on them or somethin'?" That got a few chuckles out of everyone. Words too bold to say to a man-eating demihuman's face from people who'd piss themselves if a Zoastia sniffed their way.
The chatter came to a lull, and they quietly waited their turn. One went through, then another before Feyyaz found himself among the few remaining. Lacking seniority was a pain in the ass.
"Everything fine at the shop, Mehms?" He broke the silence, addressing the wiry man. "Y'know—angels."
"Heh! We ain't sellin' as much, but I don't see no angel brewing a potion."
'Makes sense,' storability was a large part of a potion's value. "Nice, nice. Maybe I'll pop in tomorrow, grab a few sacks of bug repellant."
Despite the port's best efforts, summer on the Ordelia got a dockworker used to bugs real fast. Weirdo from earlier should donate to her shrines and pray for better pest control.
"I'll tell the Missus to expect a brat then."
"Oi."
"Damn brat," the office door swung open, and Mehmet stepped through. "Don't get squished outside, y'hear? Buncha people out and about—ain't gonna see a small brat like you."
Feyyaz rolled his eyes. He was a solid three or four centimeters taller than the man…
Soon enough, the door opened again. " 'Member what I said: don't get squished!"
"Be good business for Missus Orbay though, wouldn't it?" They shared a snort and a farewell wave before Feyyaz headed inside.
"Your earnings today?" The eyes of the well-dressed guild representative didn't leave the paper. Smooth, white paper too—spellcasters usually sold those at a premium.
"Fifteen copper," he watched the rep write something down, mutter to themselves, and then write some more. "Same percent, right?"
"Indeed," the rep nodded. "Five percent makes for… seven copper."
'One-hundred and thirty-ish for this month,' more work, more wages. Maybe the weirdo had a point about the donations and praying—nah. "Here you go."
"Thank you. Any questions or concerns you want me to bring up to the guildmaster?"
"Nope," conversation over and dues paid, Feyyaz exited the office as a sharply dressed man passed him on the way out. Probably a captain renewing a voyage charter through the port's offices: a sight becoming more common by the day.
'Well, that was fast,' as always. Guild sure didn't waste any time when it came to coinage. 'Food stands will probably pack up soon. Wait—festival's going on, so they might be out longer.'
Luckily for him, the heavy, greasy scent of street food drifted into his nose after he had walked some distance away. Feyyaz hummed; the general feeling of goodwill pervading the streets of Oriculo was contagious. 'Nice. Can't really be assed to ring up the baker.'
Cooking at home wasn't possible for most city-dwellers. Perhaps back in the village where each family had their own tiny slice of land with enough space to live.
'Hope Dad's doing fine with the kids…' But jamming hundreds of thousands of people into a single city made 'enough space' a helluva dream. Go figure. 'Too bad the Goddess can't magic a couple of houses outta nothing.'
"Three for one! Grab 'em while they're burning!"
"I'll take three," Feyyaz approached a vendor and exchanged a copper for a trio of wooden skewers stacked with meat, onions, and colorful vegetables. "Thanks boss."
Food in hand and mouth, he set on the return route home, passing by a number of other streetstands. Established shops with fancy storefronts were built closer to the center of the Draconic Kingdom's capital, though that wasn't to say there weren't any in the outer districts: Mehmet's wife's apothecary for instance.
'No surprise that trade is doing better,' he polished off the skewers and pocketed the wooden sticks. Made for alright firewood in a pinch. 'Foreigners stroll up now when the beastmen are all whipped, heh.'
Derision twinged within his breast. Would've done a lotta good if most of them hadn't up and ditched the kingdom in its hour of direst need, but what did he expect from people who only had loyalty to themselves? Pity was a more suitable expression, for they were the ones who lacked a ruler as glorious as Queen Oriculus.
'Goddess too, I guess. Wish she came sooner too though,' Feyyaz glanced at the new shrine that had popped up by the road he often took. There were many similar structures scattered throughout Oriculo, spreading like mushrooms after rain ever since the Goddess's descent. 'Wish I didn't have to listen to the old man blab on my way… home… woah.'
The priestess's hair was a fiery red he rarely recalled seeing in Oriculo, and while her vestments were simple, Feyyaz found it hard to drag his eyes away while she gave a sermon that went in one ear and out the other. Her crowd felt larger than usual: must be the upcoming Dragonflame Festival making folks feel extra pious.
'Huh, must be a new—alright, stop staring,' his gaze darted around the streetside shrine, finally landing on the tables set in front of the priestess who couldn't have been more than a few years older than him. Arrayed in neat rows were plain baubles—some shaped from metal, but most out of wood—carved in various shapes and symbols that had come to be associated with the Goddess. ' Sign says: 'One copper each. Please donate what you can.' Huh… 'donate' is misspelled…'
Feyyaz scratched his head while the other hand dug around his pocket. Were they that strapped for money? Most people would feel that wouldn't be an issue for the Cult of Wings considering their patron deity was flying about all the time. Actually, come to think of it: he hadn't seen any proper temples set up yet—only small community-ran shrines like the one here.
Was the Goddess trying to teach a lesson? Asking her followers to live a humble life? A deeper truth regarding life? He failed to come up with an alternative.
'One copper's pretty cheap,' the dockworker sighed, pulling out a coin from his pocket. Carrying around a trinket couldn't hurt, blessings or not. And if he thought the priestess was kinda cute, th-then that was nobody's business but his own. 'Looks like the cult's not too worried about thieves.'
Feyyaz walked up to the coinbox and deposited a copper before carefully grabbing one of the wooden winged pendants. He looked up, only to be met with a wink from the priestess presiding over the small crowd.
"Geez…" Feyyaz quickly turned away, not wanting her to see his blush. Were priests supposed to act so brazenly? The clergy of the Four and Six were never this casual. 'Maybe checking out a congregation wouldn't be that bad. Better make it tomorrow in that case; I need to hitch a flight home the day after.'
Plus, he'd get a chance to tell the priestess about that misspelling.
Calca inhaled the gentle scent of warm milk that wafted from the porcelain cup between her hands. Outside, she could just barely hear the distant tolling of bells signaling the departure of another ship from Oriculo Port.
Or it could've been announcing an arrival. She hadn't thought of trying to figure out which was which until now. 'It's lively. I'm glad—that people can still live their lives after the horrors of the beastmen.'
Everyone with some degree of education knew about the depravities visited upon the Draconic Kingdom. It pained her heart, not being able to help, but the troubles of Roble had to come first. They simply… couldn't spare the manpower.
Not without risking another Long Rain.
And then there was the internal conflict between the north and the south… funnily enough, she envied Queen Oriculus a little for being able to forge such powerful bonds between their people.
"Calca," the Holy Queen looked up at Kelart. Her friend was a bit frazzled and a lot exhausted. Spells like『Lesser Restoration』didn't do much for mental fatigue. "What do you want to do?"
"Hm?"
"Our foreign policy going forward," Kelart massaged her glabella with a sigh. "You have put some thought into it, right?"
"…" Yuriko was right; warm milk did wonders for helping a person relax.
"Calca."
"Kelart," she leveled a neutral stare at the High Priestess of Roble.
"What is it going to be? Slane's going to take this chance to hike up their waterway tolls. It's not exactly realistic to sail north and loop into the Empire even with the Sea Dragon's blessing—"
"Your milk is getting cold, Kelart."
Her friend stared back and without taking their eyes off hers, drank the entire cup in a single draught. Kelart put the empty vessel down, standing up before dipping into a low curtsy.
"Excuse me, Your Majesty. There's matters of import I must discuss with the rest of your delegation. May the gods watch over you."
This time, Calca was the one sighing as she watched Kelart coldly leave the suite. Seeing Yuriko had unnerved the priestess, and listening to the angel blab about their apparent capability to cast at least Ninth-Tier magic hadn't helped.
The Holy Queen understood her friend's wariness, but it didn't feel warranted given Yuriko's disposition. Her new friend wasn't the kind of person who would perform underhanded tricks for the sake of personal gain. In fact, Calca had the feeling that she could simply ask, and they'll happily provide whatever she petitioned them for as long as the request was within reason.
'Friends don't take advantage of each other's goodwill.'
Not that Calca would—she just wished Kelart could show some faith in the angel.
If things went belly-up, and Yuriko turned out to be an evil existence, then there wasn't much to be done anyway. She wasn't so delusional to believe that she had the prowess to take down even the 'weaker' angels. Remedios, Roble's Paladin Grandmaster, would be forced to admit defeat against the smallest fraction of a fraction of the winged summons stationed in just Oriculia Castle.
Therefore, worrying was meaningless. Needless wrinkles wouldn't improve the situation, and to be honest, wasn't the situation quite good? There was little worse than power in the hands of one bearing ill intentions.
'At least she struck a rapport with Queen Oriculus,' the Dragon Queen and High Priestess took to each other like mermen to water; each pleased to indulge the other in discussions of policy and predictions. As an educated royal herself, Calca could follow along—admittedly with moderate difficulty—but her tenure on Roble's throne taught her that she was better off listening to a condensed version from Kelart after the fact. 'Remedios would have a tough time here, wouldn't she? Though I guess she'd go off with the Warrior-Captain and that blue-haired Imperial Knight.'
Warriors with warriors, nobles with nobles, and clergy with clergy—people were usually attracted to those bearing shared similarities. Not always, and certainly not as a rule, but it was a tendency she'd observed.
"On the other hand, she also might've gotten along with the people here…" Queen Oriculus's court was more down-to-earth than the nobility of the other surrounding nations, save for perhaps the remnants of Baharuth that escaped Jircniv's purges. "Maybe next time."
Given the Draconic Kingdom's sudden increase in military power, future visits were absolutely unavoidable. She didn't balk at the prospect; engaging with the Dragon Queen's subjects was surprisingly relaxing.
'Oh, that reminds me,' Calca's mind returned to her own conversation with the angel. "I'll have to remember to pack some beauty products for a return trip, hm?"
It was strange to consider, but she held a great degree of confidence in her skills as a beautician. Skin treatments, haircare—the Holy Kingdom's citizens would be shocked to learn their 'treasure' actually had a number of anonymous patents to her name.
That said, the hobby was one she kept secret from the public—only to be known by her brother and two wings—but something about Yuriko made it easy to share what would be humiliating to speak of with anybody else. In the Goddess's—her friend's eyes, there was no trace of mockery or judgment. No condemnation for spending time on a meaningless activity while Roble still suffered.
She found support. Support and excitement that made her feel silly for being ashamed in the first place.
Warmth blossomed in her chest, racing outwards to the extremities of her body. Making new friends was a wonderful thing, especially when they didn't hold ulterior motives. Kelart and Remedios were more than she deserved, Calca understood that, but it felt lonely at times to have but the two of them in the vastness of Hoburns. 'Would she want to be penpals? I'll speak with Queen Oriculus about it first; misunderstandings should be avoided.'
At the reminder of the Dragon Queen, Calca's lips broke out in an amused grin. All present at the reception were aware of the gossip concerning her fellow ruler and Yuriko; although, she supposed they could hardly be considered rumors given Queen Oriculus had formally confirmed her relationship with the person the masses recognized as a deity.
'Wanting to give gifts to her partner,' a pang of envy came and went. The good fortune of friends' ought to be celebrated. 'I'm glad Yuriko found a trustworthy partner in Queen Oriculus.'
Of course, she had her reservations regarding the Dragon Queen's sincerity even with Yuriko's glowing praises, but—
'Should I ask for wedding invitations now…?'
Mm. The way Queen Oriculus looked at the angel could not possibly be misconstrued. Calca's host was well and truly smitten.
They were, both of them, upright people. Neither placed a heavy burden on the common folk for the sake of indulging in excess; instead, the pair made sacrifices of themselves at every possible turn. Calca hadn't voiced the sentiment to anybody save Kelart, but she was relieved such sky-shattering power had been entrusted to so conscientious an individual—and guided by Queen Oriculus's wisdom.
From here on out, the Draconic Kingdom would stand at the center-stage of world affairs. A new epoch in history much like the Demon Gods, albeit kinder, gentler than that centuries-old legendary calamity.
Calca Bessarez prayed to the Four, prayed for them to guide her friend and their beloved through the turbulent era that was certain to come. Keenness of mind, wholeness of form, strength—but of inner strength, for Yuriko possessed an abundance of outer—and kindness of heart.
She offered prayers in hopes that the world would not scar them more than it surely, certainly, already had.
The Holy Queen raised her bowed head and looked out the window, allowing the orange horizon to caress her in its warm gaze. Demihuman and human alike, the sun denied none its blessings.
She absentmindedly sipped from the cup of milk. It had gone cold.
"『Lifestyle Magic』."
'…'
Just what kind of spellcaster made a Zeroth-Tier spell expend the same amount of mana as a First-Tier spell?
'I'm… going to develop a lower cost variant of this someday.'
Two more days.
Two more days until the festival's official commencement.
Even during the chaos that ensued after the beastmen claimed major cities, Martin had difficulty recalling being this exhausted. Complaining would be unseemly of course; there were countless people who died in service to Her Majesty, so dissatisfaction was merely an ugly display of ingratitude.
At least that was the standard Queen Oriculus held herself to.
'A sentiment along the lines of: 'For the people to be at peace, work until even your grinded bones go up in flames.' '
Therefore, how could the Royal Court, her loyalest servants, do anything less? In any case, there did not exist a future where he voiced such an opinion—again. Her Majesty wasn't the type to grow a big head, but she would surely hold it against him for the remainder of his days if he expressed it for a second time. 'It's a tad cruel to consider that my last 'outburst' was only in response to her own.'
Martin's footsteps faltered for a split instant as he pinched his nose. The sight of Queen Oriculus breaking down in such a raw, visceral fashion… well, it was good that they were past that now. Dealing with those kinds of displays still lay within his area of expertise, though he'd much rather avoid having to.
That job, he happily left to another suitable person.
'Like clockwork.'
"Lady Yuriko. What a coincidence," the Prime Minister was perfectly aware that the angel visited the busier than ever Dragon Queen every night despite the royal's workload. "I hope the purpose of your visit avoids conflicting with Her Majesty's."
"M-M-Martin!" The angel flinched, causing the covered tableware on the tray to clatter. "Um, uh—hi!"
'Does she truly find me that frightening? And she has that pocket dimension of hers to store things in, no?' He stared at Lady Yuriko, unimpressed. In the past, he had always thought Her Majesty's consort would be someone with nerves of adamantite, capable of facing the beastmen without fear. "A good evening to you as well, Lady Yuriko."
"Eep."
But in the end, it seemed Queen Oriculus preferred the softer type. Although, the angel faced and subjugated the beastmen anyway.
"I suppose it's acceptable if you're only here to ensure Her Majesty doesn't neglect her personal sustenance," most would boggle at the flippant way he was speaking to the angel; most had never actually spoken to her. "That is what you are here for, yes?"
"Y-Yeah," she gulped. "Not gonna bother her, puh-promise."
'It's my own fault for not coming earlier,' Martin moved out of the way. He'd just wait for the two fools to finish their self-indulgence before meeting with Her Majesty. "I apologize for making, hm, unfounded assumptions then. "
The angel relaxed her shoulders and hurriedly continued approaching Queen Oriculus's office. "It's no problem—"
As always, he had no intention of letting her off scot-free. He had an image to preserve after all, and if the Queen had reservations on pushing her partner too hard, then Martin needed to ensure the angel at least cleaned up after their own mess.
"Your 'little' cult," Lady Yuriko jolted at the casual, unbothered interruption. In line with expectations, she didn't have a clue regarding the ruckus her budding cult was causing. "My advice may not be the most credible—"
"N-No! You're credible! Suuuper duper credible!"
"—but it might be wise for you to take a more active hand in its development."
Martin took a step closer. The angel nervously shifted their weight. Upon serious inspection, one of the dishes appeared to be leaking from under the metal cover. Had the jolting earlier disturbed the plated food?
"Leaving most official tasks to those four priests of yours will result in further problems for Her Majesty."
"I, I'm so sorry!" She suddenly bowed, barely avoiding dropping the contents of her platter over the hallway floor. The Prime Minister grimaced; this response was excessive… wasn't etiquette training supposed to cure these gaffes? Also, that dish was undoubtedly leaking. "After this, I'll definitely, absolutely check on it!"
"… After the festivities would be preferable."
Martin couched the allowance in the driest tone he could muster. It wouldn't do for the angel to create a catastrophe because all the competent administrators and nobles were too busy to supervise her. She was passable at the reception gala, but authority and figure alone wasn't sufficient for this task.
And if saving the responsibility for later gave her and Queen Oriculus some leisure to spend together during the festival, then that was simply a fortuitous coincidence.
"Right! Th-That makes sense!" Lady Yuriko cheered up. The angel's expressions swung back and forth like a pendulum, honestly. "So um, can I…?"
"Of course."
He watched as she passed him before stopping right in front of the door. "Hey Martin?"
The Prime Minister merely raised an eyebrow in response.
"Thanks!"
Behind her, the door clicked shut. Martin rubbed his forehead, carefully balancing the stack of parchment in one arm.
It appeared the angel was more perceptive than he gave her credit—
A loud, startled shout escaped from the royal office.
For Lady Yuriko's sake, he sincerely hoped the spill hadn't touched any documents.