Chapter 56: Do I really deserve everything I have?

Middle Fire Month, 17th Day, 600AGG

"Street's cleared out!" Rogrek Kroh'or shouted to Rokana after confirming the skeleton wasn't moving anymore. "Let's get a move on it!"

"How much longer is our shift?" Rokana whined, squatting down to pluck the rounded stones laying on the ground by his unfortunate targets.

"Couple more hours," Rogrek grunted as he moved the remains of the undead into a single pile before dangling a magical censer over the heap. Half a second later, the censer flashed and set all the corpses alight in white flames. "Wish we had more of these. Three uses a day is not enough."

"Why don't you go ask for more then?" Rokana jeered. "They'll listen to a big shot like you, eh?"

"It's a reusable magic item imbued with a Third-Tier spell," the Tiger Zoastia didn't rise to the cougarman's taunting and tied the censer to his belt. "Even if we weren't in a time of crisis, it'll still be tough getting our hands on more. The Archives and clans that produce items like this one also put measures in place to prevent people from copying them."

"Na, just sounds like an excuse for losing two of your Rajans in less than…" Rokana counted off his fingers and slapped their forehead in mock shock. "Two months? Isholranth's name, those are wartime numbers!"

"We were in a war, fool."

"The human kingdom?" His partner scoffed. "You can't call that triviality a war. More of a buffet than anything."

"Then what is this?" Rogrek gestured towards the eerie boulevard. "Strongly worded disapproval?"

"This," Rokana snarled. "Is different. This angel shit is a damn massacre."

"So we're the buffet this time," He morbidly quipped. Truth be told, he didn't find much humor in the statement, but it helped take his mind off the last few days.

"Bad joke," his partner pulled out a savory-smelling packet wrapped in paper from a hidden pouch. "I don't remember your clan being famed for moodiness."

Rogrek's mouth tightened into a thin line. "You shouldn't be eating that."

"Why? You want some?" Rokana tore the packet in half and offered a piece to him. "Don't worry about whether it's fresh; meat's been in a stasis pouch the moment it left the butcher shop."

"That's not what I meant," he hissed while surreptitiously checking the vicinity to see if any angels were within sight. "You heard the High Vizier: consumption of human flesh has been banned."

"They're not going to know," the cougarman nonchalantly took a bite. "They aren't around, and neither are any angels. Besides, we stopped butchering our humans when the command came in. Doesn't mean I'll let our current stockpiles go to waste." Rokana paused to drop the rest of the packet down his gullet, pausing a few seconds to chew. "It'll be pretty disrespectful to take something's life with the intention to eat it and then just throw the meat away, eh?"

"I'm not disagreeing, but we can't afford to take these kinds of pointless risks," Rogrek suppressed the niggling hunger in his stomach. Lunch had been a few hours ago, and their task was a mentally and physically tiring one. "If you're going to snack, do it in your damn clanhold."

"Whatever."

The tigerman gritted his teeth. Honestly, of all the people to be paired up with…

"Got another few around the corner," Rokana cut off the complaints running through his mind as they stopped the two of them right before an alleyway. "Take point."

"On it," Rogrek silently activated a reflex boosting Martial Art and instantly killed the skeleton that limped out. "You get the other one."

"You know," Rokana pondered as the muscles of his arm bulged before casually launching another hand-sized stone at a distant zombie. "Forget about the Purging Censers. They need to bring in more people to keep these parts clean. Comms and teleportation are broken though, so that means Clerics and druids aren't going to get shipped in for at least another few weeks."

'We can forget about a quick neutralization then.'

Rogrek grimaced. With the recent upheaval that followed in the wake of the angels' devastation, most Rajans had chosen to keep close to their territories. Only a few made the respectable choice to take part in getting the Republic back on its feet.

'Or ambition,' the tigerman conceded to himself. 'Whoever steps up now can play roles of greater importance from this point forward.'

Then why weren't more clans taking a more active role? It was a question with an obvious answer: there was nobody in the Republic who wasn't fearful of the future in these bewildering times.

'Good thing that Falgun took charge,' Rogrek thought it was a shame that Clan Kroh'or's current de-facto leader was unable to properly assume the position of Rajan. There needed to be more people willing to step up when their countrymen needed them.

"Hey, you want to take this one by yourself?" Rokana gestured towards a residential building while keeping an eye on the slowly approaching undead at the opposing end of the street. "I'll deal with these guys real quick and give you a shout if things get dicey."

"We shouldn't be splitting up—" He huffed in irritation as his partner pleaded with widened eyes. "Fine. No signs of stronger undead spawning, but the moment they do…"

"Yeah, yeah," another zombie's head burst into a splatter of decayed flesh. "I don't have a death wish either, you know?"

Rogrek breathed in and exhaled, kicking the door in with enhanced strength before stealthily heading inwards.

It was a large apartment, likely the abode of some merchant or their ilk, dominated by an eerie stillness. Paintings, trinkets, and various other pieces of art were left untouched with the exception of a few that lay scattered over the floor. He slowed his pace even further, activating a『Greater Ability Boost』as he peeked past an ajar door—

'Too late. Again,' Rogrek glared at the unaware zombie. 'Must have caught them by surprise. Fuck.'

Rogrek quietly put away his flail, unsheathed his aruval, and neatly shredded the shambling lionman undead feasting on the two bodies. The tigerman carefully avoided looking at the desecrated corpses as he scanned the rest of the tarnished living compartment. Shit, was this how the humans felt when they watched their countrymen ripped and torn apart?

'We never subjected them to being eaten alive by undead though,' he angrily dragged the remnants outside, body brimming with an impotent rage left to fester in the absence of a target. Killing an angel would bring nothing but even harsher retribution upon the heads of the Republic's denizens. 'What good does it do the humans to turn whole swathes of this city into negative energy fields?'

"Oi! What's taking so long?!" An insult sat on the edge of Rokana's tongue; an insult aborted when the beastman saw what he had in tow. "Ah, crud. There were still people hanging 'round these parts?"

"Let's just get this over with," Rogrek mumbled, fury quickly overtaken by a tired resignation. He, along with all the other Kshatras tasked with keeping public order, had seen the angels looming over the High Vizier and the few remaining members of the Council. They weren't beings he—no, the entire Republic—could ever overcome even in a million lifetimes. "Next street."

"Looks clear to me," Rokana scanned the area with a scrutinizing eye. "Unless there's some kind of ethereal undead floating here."

"Pray that there aren't," incorporeal monsters were a pain to deal with in the best of times, much less now. "Our stamina isn't going to hold out if there's a horde of them."

Luckily for them, there were no ghosts or other wraith-like beings—in fact, there wasn't even a trace of ordinary undead wandering the area that housed Clan Dlyshi's seat of power.

"Rathim Dlyshi's palace," Rokana whistled, impressed at the size of the complex. "Talk about living it big! Although he's dead now, I think."

Rogrek was less enthused: trawling through a maze where an undead could jump you at every corner wasn't his idea of a fun time. Alas, part of their duties entailed searching for survivors—however unlikely they were to find any.

"I'm not going to be too useful indoors," the cougarman warned him. "Want to save this one for last?"

"Couldn't hurt to do a quick sweep," he was worrying too much; the negative energy concentration wasn't high enough here to form stronger undead. "Keep your eyes open. We'll be relying on your senses."

They carefully stepped into the outer courtyard of the palace, taking in the sight of wrecked greenery and decorations. Once the pair confirmed there was nothing save for a few corpses the pair solemnly heaped into a single pile, they continued onwards into the depth of the clanhold.

"Seems like they didn't have much time to make a run for it," Rokana inspected a bloodstained painting. "Since they left their valuables behind and all."

"It's been looted," Rogrek scowled. Either by the calamity and the human who had accompanied them or by some fucking scavengers. Or both. "See the gaps in paraphernalia there? Definitely taken."

"Maybe some of them got away? Hm," the cougarman clicked his tongue. "Didn't see any of their clansmen outside. Guess not."

"We'll have to report all of this to the Council if there's no survivors. Don't get excited: they won't be redistributing it to the clans."

"Damn—oop, watch out," Rokana flicked a pebble at the stray skeleton. "There we go. Anyways, that sucks. Are they planning on using it as tribute or something?"

"Nobody knows yet," they crossed the inner courtyard and entered the other half of the palace. "I get the feeling the High Vizier has no idea either."

Unease slowly crept into his heart. Where were all the corpses? There had definitely been people here as proven by the existence of undead and ravaged bodies, but all of a sudden, they couldn't find a single slain beastman—

"Stop. There's something foul on the other side," Rogrek held his arm out, halting Rokana in their tracks. The smell was…

It was a stench that they had gotten used to during their stint in Kruurat, but whatever was around the corridor stunk.

"Want me to hit it from here?" The cougarman tightened their grip on a stone. "『Curved Shot』ought to do it."

"Don't. It feels way too dangerous considering we've only run into zombies and skeletons so far," he mumbled in a low tone. "I'll take a peek, and you make a run for it if I die."

"Shouldn't I go then?" Rokana cocked an eyebrow. "I've got a way better chance of dodging than you do."

"You're faster," he simply stated. "Means you got a higher chance than me of getting out of here alive and informing the others."

"Good reason?" Rogrek didn't bother explaining himself further as he just barely poked his head out and—

'Oh gods,' the tigerman immediately pulled himself back and fell on one knee, heaving. Rejecting Rokana's snack turned out to be a good thing after all. 'What happened here?'

"Shit, a debuff effect?" Without a moment's hesitation, his partner poured the contents of some vitriolic potion over him. "Hey, talk to me. You good?"

"Angel," he rasped, alchemical concoction working its way through his veins and calming his queasiness. "Pile of fucking corpses."

"How long you think it's been there?" Rokana gently slapped his cheeks. "We saw plenty of angels just hovering around; why's this one any different?"

Rogrek jerked his head in the direction of the monster. The cougarman sighed, took a glance, and fell on his butt—scrambling backwards with trembling hands and legs. "Holy shit. Holy shit. We are not going there. No way. Nuh uh."

It was a sentiment he found hard to disagree with, but now that they confirmed it was 'only' an angel, Rogrek's thoughts drifted to why it was here of all places. "If we only sensed it just now, then it probably doesn't have any hostility towards us."

"Might have some kind of concealment skill," Rokana vacillated. "But it hasn't come after us either…"

"I'm going," Rogrek made up his mind. "If it stopped here, there might be survivors in that vault."

"Why'd I have to get paired up with a straight-laced guy like you?" His partner complained, following him in spite of their protests. "You should be scared of me turning into a ghost—I'll turn you all old and wrinkly, bastard."

Rogrek paid him no heed. Everyone had their own ways of coping with stressful situations, and Rokana's happened to be more lighthearted than others. "Watch your step. Slipping on these remains would be a poor way to end the day."

The cougarman grunted in assent and joined him in inspecting the massive dolorous doors. There wasn't an obvious opening mechanism which likely indicated some sort of magical security. "Ever dipped into the path of a rogue?"

"Nope," Rokana knocked on the stone gates. "Pure ranger and sniper over here. Actually, now that you're bringing it up, I guess I worked in a bit of fighter too…"

While Rokana contemplated the sum total of their life's experience, he examined the doors further. Neither of them had skill in picking mundane or magical locks, nor did they have the wisdom of sages and spellcasters who could figure out an answer from the barrier's magical signature.

Just as he was about to give up and call it a day, the horrid sound of stone grinding against stone pierced his ears as the monolithic doors slowly swung inwards. "Rokana!"

"『Shattering Shot—Woah!" The cougarman's arm abruptly halted in mid-motion. "What's a Kshatra like you doing in there?"

"…" The Lion Zoastia didn't immediately respond, his face stuck in a mixture of utter exhaustion, painful resignation, and cautious hope.

"We apologize, Kshatra…?"

"Bahad. Of Clan Dlyshi."

"Kshatra Bahad," Rogrek inclined his head. "You can call me Rogrek and my companion here Rokana. We're part of the ongoing restoration efforts—"

He was interrupted by a bout of tired chuckling. "Forgive me. I was led to believe that the entire city was razed to the ground. It's been… a difficult time."

"That it has," the tigerman wholeheartedly agreed. "Then, is there anyone else with you?"

If the atmosphere was grim before, it was downright suffocating now. Bahad's shoulders slumped more than they already had as he struggled to speak. "The children of my clan are hiding within. Everyone else is—dead. They're dead to the last man and woman."

"My condolences," the platitude weakly fell from his mouth. "We can bring them out and have them taken to safety—the remains of your clansmen too if you'd like."

"Very well," the lionman trudged back into the depths of the chilly vault, where the dreadful flapping of angelic wings awaited.

Staring at his defeated and devastated form, Rogrek wondered what other cruel fortunes the future still had in store for the Republic.


'Even with angels, it's annoyingly troublesome how there's so fewMessagecapable spellcasters in the Draconic Kingdom,' Martin sipped from a cup of tea that had long gone cold as the Archangel Flame obediently left the room to deliver the material requests.'And none in the Crown's direct employ.'

Maybe he should fund an academy for the arcane arts mirroring the path Amrel took to advance her own studies. Later though, when he wasn't so bogged down by work. 'Might be a while until then… Didn't Her Majesty propose a few plans in mind concerning that earlier? I'll have to remind her to avoid producing a surplus of evocation specialists—'

"Lord Asturias," the muffled words of an attendant ripped him from his reverie. "Her Majesty wishes to see you."

"Probably wants to talk about this," Martin said under his breath while he collected various record books and documents. "Material logistics for the festival, determining candidates to train for military leadership, more beastmen related issues… Ah, I might as well take all of it."

He unceremoniously dumped an entire stack of tomes and parchment into a Bag of Holding before deeming himself ready to meet with the queen. "Attendant Cerde. Please lead the way."

The attendant wordlessly bowed her head, raising it only to lead him and the Cherubim Gatekeeper that shadowed him to wherever Queen Oriculus was waiting. They didn't get too far when a certain bothersome Royal Guard accosted them.

"Looking for someone?" Mira Calventa walked up to his side, hands clasped behind her back. "Na, you don't have to answer: it's pretty obvious."

'Why did you bother asking then?' The Prime Minister's frown deepened. "You should be keeping an eye on Lady Rockbruise."

"Leinas is going back to the Empire. Needs to return her stuff, you know?" Mira shrugged with a poorly affected aloofness. "Oh yeah! I've been taken off double shift too, jerk."

"And this is how you go about spending your downtime?" He dryly remarked. "If Her Majesty hadn't already given Lady Rockbruise permission to return, I fear you might even have been put on triple shift."

Mira's hand made an obscene gesture as she nudged the baffled attendant. "Hey, I can take him from here. You can go do whatever."

"But…" Cerde made to object only for Martin to shake his head. "Understood, Lady Calventa. I'll leave Lord Asturias in your hands."

"I wish," Mira grumbled while glaring at him. "What does she want to see you for this time?"

"Ongoing preparations for the upcoming festival," he curtly replied. "Did you want to assist?"

"Ew, no way!" The guardmage crossed her arms in an 'X' while sticking out her tongue.

'Is she truly bored? There appears to be more going on in that head of hers—hm.'

"Now, I understand you find it hard to take reasonable advice, but I suggest you avoid making any mention of that topic to Her Majesty."

"What topic?" She feigned innocence. "I just feel like saying hi, is that so wrong?"

'It's your head on the line,' no point in wasting energy on persuading someone who was too stubborn to change their mind. "I'm sure Her Majesty would appreciate your attendance."

"Mhm," they arrived in front of Queen Oriculus's study. "In you go, Lord Asturias."

Martin rolled his eyes out of the guardmage's sight and knocked on the door. "Permission to enter, Your Majesty?"

"Come in," a subdued, but clear voice rang out in response—prompting the pair to enter into the queen's presence.

"Your Majesty," He and Mira both bowed; although, it was unfortunate the Abjurant Adept couldn't keep her mouth shut. "You seem a bit moody."

"I didn't ask for you, Mira," Queen Oriculus said with a tired irateness.

"Well, I'm here now!" The guardmage made an abortive effort to cheer up the queen. "Shouldn't Her Majesty be more relieved knowing that her trusted guard is here?"

"How are the logistics for the festival shaping out?" Queen Oriculus ignored the guardmage in favor of work, work, and more work. "I've talked with the Cooks' Guild for catering since our kitchen isn't going to cut it, but they want an estimate on how much they're going to be working with."

"Oi, is this seriously what you talk about all day?" Mira grouched. "Go spend more time with Lady Yuriko or something. She mopes so bad when she's not around you—"

"Mira, get the fuck out."

Martin nodded in agreement. Despite the casualness the longtime guardmage enjoyed with Queen Oriculus, there were some subjects that shouldn't be broached while she was in such a state. Even he didn't dare push past the queen's limits on the disrespect she would tolerate.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Mira bowed again before spinning on her heels and stalking out with a barely audible mutter he and Queen Oriculus pretended not to hear. "Seriously, get your problems sorted out…"

"Anyways, the logistics—godsdammit, why did that girl have to go on like that?" The queen pinched the bridge of her nose. " 'Get your problems sorted out…' Pfft haha!"

Joyless laughter spilled from their lips, filling the room with a horrid heaviness before dwindling into what sounded suspiciously like a strangled sob. He quickly turned his eyes away and waited for the queen to regain her composure.

"Yuriko would be better off with someone like Mira," she settled her quill on the desk. "Cheerful, fun, energetic… They'd be a more suitable fit for her."

"Does Your Majesty really believe that?" Martin admirably refrained from letting too much concern enter his voice. What was with this sudden surge of self-doubt? The guardmage in question already had a target of infatuation. "Lady Yuriko may be a tad withdrawn at the moment, but she's always seemed to enjoy spending time with you.

"She'd be free," Queen Oriculus muttered, face and arms buried in the clutter of her desk. "Free from having to put up with me and my demands."

Martin struggled to find a proper reply, but came to a decision that silence was the way to go. There wasn't much else he could do at the moment aside from listening, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

"Forget everything I said," she lifted her head and made a token effort to straighten out her disheveled hair. "Just a… lapse in attention. I'm sorry you have to be the one to deal with me right now."

"There is no need to apologize, Your Majesty," how distracted was she, to apologize so easily to him of all people? "If you wish, I can return tomorrow to continue our discussion."

"Yeah," Queen Oriculus closed her eyes, head propped up against the one hand covering half her face. "I think I'd like that."

"By your leave then," Martin bowed himself out the study, only letting out an exasperated exhale once the door was closed behind him. "I suppose there are worse times to be having a lovers' squabble."

Ultimately, there was only so much he could do if neither Queen Oriculus or Lady Yuriko saw fit to confide in him. He wasn't going to worry himself to death over a problem he had no place in—not when there were an innumerable number of other responsibilities to dispense.

"Goodness," he absentmindedly tried to smooth out the non-existent wrinkles of his tunic. "When did my duties include relationship counseling?"

Truly, he was fortunate he didn't have any such problems with his wife, usually. Then again, he rarely ever saw her thanks to work—another reminder that he'd have to get something nice the next time he got a chance to go home.

'One of those General Multipurpose Tools? The Magician's Guild has some prototype replicas finished if I recall correctly,' most of the originals had been sold off to various nobles in the Draconic Kingdom for the sake of raising more funds. 'I'll have to refresh my memory on their performance reviews.'

Martin frowned. No good, he couldn't take his mind off the queen's moping—not when it was tied so closely to the kingdom's connection to Lady Yuriko.

'That being said,' the Prime Minister strode back to his room with a self-assurance he only half-felt. 'This really isn't the sort of thing I should meddle in.'


"This should play on their sensibilities well enough," Isoleiryx teleported the hulking, slobbering Minotaur from the caverns carved into the lower regions of the Saramati Mountains—or known as Greater Dragonspine to some—and onto the side of a snowy mountain in the vicinity of some unsuspecting Frost Giants. 'Letting the spawn of filth keep its 'sacred' relic should be fine now that I've recovered the Republic's computational nexus.'

The ostentatious battle ax was far from the strongest Player relic he'd seen—that dubious honor belonged to the armaments of the Greed Kings—but those were all under Vaision's watchful eye. If he had to choose between offending some pitiful nation elevated by the works of outsider filth or the Platinum Dragon Lord, then it was obvious which decision he would make.

'One of the Asterion Federation's stronger weapons,' Isoleiryx scrutinized the crystal-edged artifact. 'Material alien to this world… revolting, but I'll make use of it for now. This combination should be a sturdy enough probe.'

The warped 'demigod' wasn't a suitable vessel to channel essence through, nor did he believe it could pose a credible threat to the Player, but he was fairly confident it in conjunction with its weapon would at least force the Player to fight somewhat seriously.

There wasn't any point in grabbing more relics either; the spawn of filth wasn't expected to beat the Player. He only needed it to gather more information on their stronger skills and spells.

It was a tactic Isoleiryx had already tried once with disappointing results. He had sent a modified Wickedweed Hydra to intercept the Player at a Toadmen settlement in the Great Forest of Tob, but the admittedly rushed creation died too quickly. Of course, the monster had first been put through a gamut of field-testing via a circle of beastmen druids near the Republic's capital, but killing a few pathetic demihuman spellcasters was clearly a meaningless test in retrospect.

'It's troublesome finding subjects who can force the filth to put some effort into a fight. She seemed to have slain that outsider aberration in Tob as well—a shame I was preoccupied with the Minotaur,' the Six Great 'Gods,' the Eight Despoilers, a number of others… yes, he would be hard pressed indeed to produce anything that could even begin to pose a threat to them. 'If this doesn't generate satisfactory intel, I'll just find a descendant of the Eight. Probably not the one by the Theocracy. Too close to Vaision.'

Isoleiryx shook his head. He was getting ahead of himself; there was also the possibility of using modified Player descendants as backup during a decisive confrontation. In the past, the Dragon Lord had been much more cautious around what the masses deemed 'demigods,' but he didn't have the luxury of worrying about repercussions now—not when a lone, vulnerable Player showed so many openings.

He couldn't waste this chance. They would only grow wiser with time as they gained more familiarity with their own abilities in the context of the World's rules. It was a mistake he and his kind made when dealing with the Six and Eight.

"Coordinates are… acceptablely accurate. Absurd how those demihumans were wasting such a useful tool," Isoleiryx scornfully muttered while configuring the computational nexus. "Why bother having a gate at the destination? The stability increase is negligible."

'Good,' he finished his work and settled in to observe the upcoming confrontation. 'Shouldn't be traceable now—even a divination specialist will find that there are no threads to be followed.'

The Asterion Federation had plenty of Player spawn anyways: stronger ones, in fact. They wouldn't dig too deeply into the missing Minotaur, not when they were aware of how vast the world was.

Confident that all loose ends were tied up, Isoleiryx ran one last check on the nexus's parameters before hooking his vision with the warped 'demigod's' line of sight.

'Show me your limits, Player.'