Chapter 61: wow i wonder how much miniatures cost here

Middle Fire Month, 20th Day, 600AGG

"Is that everything?" Tsaindorcus surveyed the wobbling towers of books. "There's no need to rush."

He had already teleported most of the eighteen Frost Dragons, with the exceptions of the ones out hunting, but he could always locate those ones later. Currently, it seemed more prudent to conclude his business with the black sheep of Olasird'arc's offspring.

"E-Ehehe," Hejinmal bashfully scratched the back of his head. "It should be, I think. Uh! I mean it should be, that is, L-Lord Vaision!"

"Don't make mistakes in your haste. It's just you left, after all," the poor Frost Dragon turned into a blubbering mess whenever they talked to him. Poor experiences with their father? Olasird'arc was notably more abrasive when talking to Hejinmal compared to their other offspring. "I can understand wanting to preserve that which has provided you comfort."

"Th-Thank you!" The rotund Frost Dragon quickly bowed his head. "Is it okay if I take a few things from the Royal Library?"

Tsaindorcus hesitated for a split second. There was a part of him averse to letting Hejinmal loot the already ransacked city, but it couldn't hurt. From the few days he had gotten to speak with the barely-adult dragon, they harbored no malicious intent beyond what was normal for their race—and even then, the Frost Dragon was rather subdued. 'He enjoys acquiring knowledge for its own sake… If only the world birthed more of his ilk.'

Truthfully, he found it hard to refuse them. If they exploited this opportunity for evil, then it would be a simple matter for him to retrieve the dwarven tomes. "I have no objections, for so long as you treat them with the respect they are due."

"Of course!" Hejinmal overcame their apprehension with a mildly insulted shout. "I wouldn't dare mistreat them!"

"I don't doubt it. Here, let me come with you. When it comes to literature, I'm quite confident in appraising their value, you know?"

"Lord Vaision, p-please leave this to me!" Their bravado vanished as they bowed their head. "You don't have to trouble yourself—!"

"It's no trouble," Tsaindorcus strode in the direction of the western annex where the Royal Library awaited, Hejinmal's legs warily propelling them behind him. "You're an avid reader, I see."

This was the first time he had gotten a chance to speak alone with the Frost Dragon outcast. The few days he had spent in the Royal Palace indicated a degree of separation from Hejinmal and the rest of his kin: one greater than what was typical for White Dragons.

"Erm, yes! Being able to learn all sorts of things without having to experience them yourself… isn't that really amazing?" Hejinmal's eyes lit up. "The history of the dwarves and other races living in the Azerlisias, books on the creation of magic items, how people used to live—there's just so much!

"But uh, I guess it's unseemly for a dragon to focus on meaningless details like that," their enthusiasm died with an awkward laugh. "Pretty pointless because it doesn't help me get stronger, right?"

He waited for them to go on. Listening to the woes of others was a surefire way of strengthening their trust in you.

"Father always brought that up," Hejinmal pinched their pronounced belly. "How I should go out and see the world for myself instead of staying in my room all day. Heh, what kind of dragon is fat because they never go outside?"

'You'd be surprised,' there were numerous dragons Tsaindorcus knew who preferred remaining in their enclosed dwellings; although, none were as round as Hejinmal. "There are countless paths to becoming 'strong.' It is true that yours is not strength in a conventional sense, but thirst for knowledge has an incredible value of its own."

"That's the first time anyone's ever said something good about me," Hejinmal mumbled.

"And it shall not be the last," he gave them an encouraging pat. "Who do you see yourself as in the future?"

"Eh, I always thought I'd live down here… But now that we have to go—n-no offense, Lord Vaision!"

"None taken," from a third-party's perspective, it would be hard to justify his actions. "If you could choose to continue living here, would you?"

"I, I would, but didn't you want us to go somewhere else?"

"Without Olasird'arc's influence, the Quagoa will act more boldly," Tsaindorcus began to explain. "I did not come here to offer the depths of these mountains to them on a plate. With that in mind, would it not be better for an old-standing resident to take on this duty rather than a newcomer who knows nothing about the dynamics that shape this region?"

"Th-The Quagoa would kill me!" Hejinmal cowered. "Could I g-go with everybody else instead?"

"Collaborate with the dwarves. Combined, you two will have the strength to maintain a balance of sorts."

'Not enough to drive them out,' yes, this was the best way to uphold the stability of the Azerlisias. The Frost Giants were another issue entirely, but the Dragon Lord felt that the overworld demihumans would be more inclined to friendly relations with the dwarves. Hejinmal, however, would have to learn how to navigate this new political landscape. "I won't lie and say it'll be easy. There is a strong chance that you might even die without achieving anything, but with that risk comes an opportunity to learn more about the world than you could ever imagine."

"Where you sent Father and the others… that place is dangerous too, isn't it?"

"In a more straightforward manner, yes. The danger of Dragonspine's peaks is absolutely greater when you consider it through a lens of 'raw power.' The danger you face here is more complicated since you tread a thin line between being an 'absolute existence' and 'killable foe.' "

"Then it's safer to be here."

"It is," Tsaindorcus agreed. "I simply wished for you to avoid underestimating the risk you'll be exposed to in this place."

"You're just making it sound scarier…" A hint of complaint leaked into Hejinmal's voice.

Another option was for him to take the Frost Dragon to his eastern domains, but if they lived there…

Wouldn't it be denying them the chance to grow on their own terms? Their build wouldn't be as specialized, but they would gain classes ensuring their prosperity in the Azerlisias.

What greater gift was there than that? To have a home where one could properly fulfill their role and improve while doing so?

"If you find the idea to be more than what you can bear, then I can always send you to the Greater Dragonspine," Tsaindorcus offered, claw brushing against the shattered entrance to the palace's library. "For what it's worth, I sincerely believe you can tread the path of success."

And become a deterrent on behalf of the dwarves, he silently added.

"You really think so?" The light shining in their bespectacled eyes was too bright for a deceiver like him. "W-Well, I could give it a shot."

'Thank you.'

He, who could not act according to his desires, pushed the burden of said wants onto someone who could barely be considered an adult. Small wonder Riku and the others had become so enraged with him.

"You needn't fret for the time being. When at a library, one ought to find books to read," Tsaindorcus paused. "Though we can do that at your own pace since you've decided to stay."

"I have to move everything back…?" Hejinmal collapsed in exhaustion. "Ahhh…"

'This child,' he fought the frown that threatened to break his calm demeanor. Now that he was entrusting the bulk of the Dwarf Kingdom's defense to Hejinmal, their unique stature suddenly bothered him immensely. 'Perhaps I should be more worried.'


"How many can you spare?" Draudillon resisted the urge to glance at the fidgeting angel. Currently, they were meeting with Rommel Ergast, the General in charge of the forces stationed at and around Oriculo's surroundings. As far as she knew, which was quite a bit to be honest, the man lived an austere life: alone during the rare times when matters of national defense didn't hound them.

She had never known that he was such an enthusiast of miniature models. Models that Yuriko was currently staring at with wide, sparkling eyes.

'I should ask him where he gets them later.'

"It's difficult to say, Your Majesty," General Ergast scratched his beard. "Since we wouldn't be transporting them in a, ahem, conventional manner, nor do I know the extent of logistical support the beastmen are willing to lend us."

"Treat their supply lines as your own," Draudillon firmly answered. "But I understand your concerns; your men and women would be operating in completely foreign territory."

"There is that," Ergast rolled around the small, unpainted infantryman in his hand while side-eyeing the Gatekeepers standing in the corner of his cluttered meeting room. "And there's also the conflicts that'll surely arise from collaborating so closely with people who used to eat us. I know you must've considered this already, Your Majesty, but why not send Lady Yuriko's angels instead?"

"The Slane Theocracy," she absentmindedly scribbled a note on a stray sheet of parchment. "Used our struggles as a chance to improve their own army. Of course, I'm certain they would have eventually adopted a harder stance against the Beastman Country—their citizens might take offense to neighboring a nation encouraging the consumption and enslavement of humanoids—but until then, the Theocracy was content to use the Draconic Kingdom as a training ground."

For their rank and file plus the more well-known Scriptures and a few paladin orders too. She still didn't have solid information on the ever-secretive Black Scripture, but it wasn't difficult to infer that they were some collection of trump cards. Player legacies? Possibly, but the Theocracy could only have so many, otherwise they would have acted bolder throughout the years. 'In that case, a crystallization of centuries of cultivating bloodlines and knowledge.'

"So Your Majesty wishes to accomplish something similar? I admit, it's a tad ironic treating the Beastman Country as our own 'Draconic Kingdom.' Deploying angels alongside ground troops in the same way the Sunlight Scripture did too…"

"Mm, well, life has a way of being strange like that," it was nice having generals that didn't ask too many questions about the policy goals behind military actions. "Worry not: Yuriko will still send her summons to support our endeavors in the beastman lands."

"In that case, perhaps three thousand?" Ergast pondered out loud. Three thousand was close enough to the estimate she'd given to Nushrik. "A mass of infantry accompanied by rangers and a small cadre of clerics and arcanists… I'm wary of sending more before building a comprehensive idea of what we're dealing with."

"That's fine. I want you to select a mix of veterans and new recruits," Draudillon paused for a second. "Make sure they're willing to commit to staying there for an extended period of time though. Anyone who isn't happy with the idea shouldn't be coerced to comply."

"Understood. Does Your Majesty want me to prepare a more extensive list for rotations?"

"Yes. See if you can pull from the people in the Viridian Expanse or other development groups. Speaking of which, I might tag a few of those Bafolk warriors to your outbound regiment as well."

"Some of those aren't under my jurisdiction, Your Majesty," Ergast politely demurred. "Unless you've already contacted my colleagues."

"Draft a list first and leave the chain of command to me," the dragon queen rose from her seat and tapped the angel's shoulder before handing over the impromptu note to the general. "Also, when you get to the Beastman Country, remind them to prepare the slaves they promised to return home. Yuriko, let's go."

"Huh?" The angel turned away from the miniatures and snapped to their feet. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I was—"

"It's okay," Draudillon took Yuriko's hand, gently tugging them towards the door. "I can summarize it for you later. Thank you for your time, General."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Ergast stood up, walking to the door and holding it open for his two departing guests. "I'll send a request within the next few days."

Draudillon regally nodded and exited the room with angels in tow. "Essentially, we talked about the composition of the troops being sent, logistics, cycling soldiers between the front and backlines, reclaiming and finding places for returnees, joint exercises for them to partake in while collaborating with the beastmen…"

She rattled off more points that had been brought up during the discussion, Yuriko nodding along every once in a while with the occasional question.

It warmed her heart, being able to freely talk like this with the angel again. She hadn't fully realized how sorely she'd missed it during the absolute bottom of Yuriko's slump. Like… the sun finally cresting the horizon after a long night. Starting to, at least.

'If you have the energy to wax eloquent about her state of being, you can use that on contemplating your current problems instead.'

"You think the beastmen will have time to train them?" The angel's voice brought her out of her reverie. " 'Cause if they don't, the army's gonna be stuck doing field exercises by themselves, right?"

"The beastmen will have time," Draudillon confirmed. "I doubt they would want to go in a fight with—as much as it hurts to say it—subpar allies."

Allies that she one-sidedly imposed on them, but that was besides the point.

"Makes sense," Yuriko nodded while humming a small off-key tune. "Yeah, that makes sense."

'Training,' from what she understood through her correspondence with the few remaining beastman Viziers, the Vahasi Republic consisted primarily of vast stretches of forest with flatlands dotted here and there. In that type of environment, would the soldiers pick up ranger levels instead of whatever they had currently? 'Soldier levels? Or would it just fall under a catch-all like 'Fighter?' Though I suppose it really depends on what they're doing instead of where they're doing it.'

She'd have to designate a control group of some sort to compare with the people sent to the Beastman Country. Assign Administrators to note the differences in their physical parameters, special skills, and anything else that stood out.

Rotating regiments was shaping out to be a better and better idea, the more she dwelled on it. A shame she couldn't apply a similar method to observe the effects of her own 'Lord' classes without significantly more complexity; although, observing the nobles of her Court could provide a useful analogue.

Speaking of training—

'I've been neglecting my own, haven't I?' The woman known as the True-Fake Dragon Lord across the western lands barely bit back a scowl. 'The last time I attempted anything was… gods, almost a month.'

Even then, it was hard to justify wasting her stamina and time on improving her proficiency in Wild Magic while there were countless more pressing and immediate matters to attend to. Perhaps if divine spells were capable of removing the fatigue that followed excessive use of her essence, but they weren't. Yuriko of all people had tried and failed.

"Draudillon?" The angel questioningly tilted their head with arms held out. "Was there somewhere else you wanted to go to?"

"No, we can return to the castle now," she quickly allowed herself to be carried, concealing the pink dusted across her face. Really, it was mystifying how Yuriko could still profess to admire her with all the times she had allowed herself to get lost in thought in front of them.

The short trip was awkwardly quiet, nothing at all like the busy hubbub from the ports by Ordelia River, though that may have been just her. Yuriko didn't give any hint that they'd noticed her lapse in attention until they landed in the inner courtyard of Oriculia Castle. "You were thinking about something."

"It's nothing important," the angel let her down onto the ground. "Remember when I told you about Wild Magic?"

"The soul thingy?" Yuriko suddenly sounded worried. "You promised you were going to be careful—!"

"I am," Draudillon reassured them. "It would be a pitiful showing indeed if the cause of my demise was accidental overuse of essence."

"That's what I'm worried about…"

"In any case, I do believe I haven't given you a demonstration yet," a visual example would hopefully ease their concerns a little. It was also a good chance to run an experiment she should've done ages ago. "Do you have some method of tracking my stamina?"

"『Life Essence』," green light briefly flashed around Yuriko's form. "Don't use too much, okay?"

"It's nothing major," She materialized a small wisp of her soul and flicked it towards the angel, watching as the makeshift projectile harmlessly splashed off their dress. For an ability so rare, it sure had a way of appearing pathetically underwhelming. "Not the flashiest spell, but can you detect any differences?"

"Hm… No changes in your hit points…" Yuriko crossed their arms behind their head before she seemed to come upon an abrupt realization. "Wait, were you practicing before that one time you were still tired after I healed you?!"

"Don't yell," Draudillon looked away from Yuriko's narrowed eyes. "… yes."

"You really—just don't do that again, alright?"

"If you mean overexerting myself, I won't," the dragon queen didn't bother wrenching her arms from her partner's grip. Didn't want to anyway. "Now, hit points represent how much damage a person can sustain, correct?"

"Yeah, and yours didn't drop at all," Yuriko sighed, clearly still bothered by her past recklessness. "Using essence doesn't count as damage. Doesn't mean you can go around spamming it!"

'No actual damage until it runs completely dry. That's probably when I keel over and die,' it made sense in an instinctive way: the soul and body were two distinct entities. "I won't. I already promised."

"Right, that's good," Yuriko nodded to themselves. "Great."

The pair continued down the hallway, angel's mind preoccupied with what they saw, and hers with what she learned. It would've been ideal if Great-grandfather had bothered being more thorough—no, he had already done plenty. Desiring anything more was ungrateful in the highest.

'If I want to make any use of this inheritance, then I'll have to figure it out myself. Construct my own spells from scratch from the little I know, somehow.'

It was moments like these that made her want to empty a decanter or two. Or three.

'Speaking of which, this is beginning to feel more and more like a hobby—oh, I should ask about that actually.'

Draudillon and Yuriko stopped before the former's study.

"Back at General Ergast's house," she turned to face the angel. "I saw you were—"

"I was paying attention!" Yuriko tightly shut her eyes and hurriedly saluted for some unfathomable reason. "Th-The figures—I was only looking for a little bit!"

'You don't have to defend yourself…' Draudillon lightly pinched their cheek with a wry smile. "Were there any that caught your attention?"

"There were those ones on horses," Yuriko dropped the sloppy salute, forgetting their earlier distress as a stream of words babbled forth. "Like, I didn't know you could get that much detail on it without a printer, and oh my God the painting on them was so clean—not that I know a lot about painting figures, but it just meshed super well and he even had these tiny symbol things on some of them…!"

They took in a deep breath, more out of habit than anything: unless air remained a requirement of speech for them.

"Did you collect these in the past?" Draudillon took the opportunity to pose another question. For a while, she had been at a loss when it came to presenting gifts to the angel; she couldn't pass up this chance. "I can see the appeal."

"Collecting, huh… it was always a hobby I wanted to get into but never really found the time for, y'know? Just, well, hard to work up the energy to sit down and paint after a whole day at the office," Yuriko's voice took on a subdued aura. "Watched some videos about it, but never really… actually got into it myself."

'Well. That was heavier than what I expected,' she should have anticipated such a response considering the stories they told of their old world. Godsdammit, just thinking about what their previous state of life incensed her to no end. "You have time now, don't you? Time to pursue the hobbies you couldn't in the past."

"I, I guess, but—"

"If you want, I can find the craftsmen he commissioned his models from," Draudillon quieted the angel's objection with a well-placed finger to their lips. "Yuriko, you've been pushing yourself hard enough; nobody will fault you a hobby or two."

"I'm fine, it's—I mean, thank you," she gave the angel a stern gaze, and they finally relented. "Sorry for making you go out of the way for this."

"You aren't making me 'go out of the way,' " Draudillon twisted the doorknob and opened the door to her study. "Besides, shouldn't I be able to do at least this much?"

"I think you do a lot already," Yuriko tried to smile. Tried. "Heh. What am I doing? Talking about painting miniatures when you're working your butt off…"

"It is fine to have hobbies," she cupped their face with her hands. "Even I have hobbies of my own. We talked about this before, haven't we? It's okay to take breaks—in fact, you told me that."

Draudillon closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against theirs. "Take your own advice, would you?"

"I know, I know," Yuriko's body relaxed imperceptibly. "I get it. But like, I feel bad if I'm not helping, y'know?"

"You've said that in the past, yes," the dragon queen encouraged them to continue.

"And, well… I've done a lot of stuff, right?" Yuriko chewed their bottom lip. "I need to, to pay penance or something. Does that make sense?"

'In this whole kingdom—no, the entirety of humanity in this western region—I do not think I could find even ten people who would regret their actions in the way you do.'

"It does, but I disagree."

"Maybe. Still feels that way though," Yuriko pulled their head away. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring down the mood."

"Damn the mood," Draudillon enveloped them in a fierce hug. "You're more important."

"…" Her shoulder grew wet as the barely audible sound of sniffling filled the room. She stroked the angel's back, soothing them with loving, wordless murmurs that conveyed everything of importance nonetheless. "… thanks."

"I'm not expecting," Draudillon struggled a second to put together what she wanted to communicate. "An immediate turnaround in just a few days. Take as much time as you need."

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I'll do that," they let go of each other; Yuriko taking the chance to clumsily wipe at their eyes. "Hey, um, is it okay if I head out for a bit?"

"Of course," Draudillon considered the question for a bit longer and frowned. "You're working?"

"Silas and Cornelia brought along Gaius and some other blonde guy. They want me to properly assign the angels or something. I don't really get it, so I wanna go meet with them and and, and erm—"

"I understand the gist of it," she faintly recalled something of the like making its way to her desk. It appeared a meeting with the Blacksmith's Guild was in the near future. "Must you leave now?"

"Eh… I've been putting it off for long enough," Yuriko's grin looked more like a wince. "I'll see you later tonight?"

'I probably shouldn't be keeping her occupied for so long,' a tinge of guilt colored her conscience. Perhaps what they needed wasn't a break; perhaps they needed tasks to occupy their mind, duties to occupy the mind-numbing hours between dusk and dawn. "I'll be waiting for you then. Ask for help if you can't figure something out by yourself, okay?"

"I will," the angel, Lady of Wings, Goddess of the Holy Dawn, Yuriko Hanami blinked out of existence in the very same way they had appeared in her throne room just a few months ago.

Sometimes, it felt like they would fly and fly until they were forever out of reach. A wandering flame floating away 'til its flickering light was indistinguishable from the everdistant stars framed upon the veil separating 'here' from 'there.'

How… melancholic.

Draudillon peered out the window where shades of orange encroached on an expanse of purest blue.

It seemed that dawn was still a whiles away.


"Whoops," Dhartha ducked under a branch. "That was close."

"If you wanted a steed, then we should've purchased an Auroch instead," Jirs unhappily grumbled. "Or a Nuk. Not a slave."

"This task is nothing, Master," Yassin, the very agreeable Ga'mal slave, gave a very acceptable answer to the disgruntled nacatl. "Please do not worry about your servant's capabilities."

"You heard him!" The gnoll boisterously laughed. "Onwards, to Srlschr!"

"Yes, Master."

"Hey! Stay behind me!" Jirs shouted. "You heard what the Kshatras said: east is a whole mess right now!"

"We're only a meter or two in front of you, buddy," Dhartha huffed in exasperation. "Fine, fiiine. We'll fall back."

"A meter in front means one less meter for me to react to frontal attacks," the cougarman shoved back the Yassin and the gnoll atop them. "Don't make my damn job harder than it already is."

"But we're going this way because you wanted to," he unhelpfully reminded them. "You don't have a ton of room to complain about the trip getting tougher."

"I didn't want to break my contract," Jirs snapped their head towards the gnoll merchant with a fierce glare. "If you don't want to come along, then go back to Ur'draga and continue westwards. Forget my pay; I can head home by myself."

"Oi, oi, oi," he rapidly patted the cougarman's shoulder. "That's dangerous, you know? You're really going by yourself?"

"It's not like you tagging along makes it any safer," Jirs rolled his eyes, the pendulum swing of his tail betraying the beastman's agitation. "On that note, get off the damn Ga'mal; it isn't making my job any easier."

"I don't want to walk! If you have someone to carry you, shouldn't you take advantage of that?!"

"You're a gnoll. You should be better than him at moving through this kind of terrain."

"I'm more a plains kinda guy," he took out a bulbous purple fruit and stuffed it into his mouth. " 'oug wan' 'en?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Jirs answered by reflex. "Ugh. Pass it."

Dhartha tossed a Langa into the air, not bothering to watch his bodyguard catch it, and tapped Yassin on the snout. "You've ever eaten one of these before?"

"This one has not, Master," the slave apologetically answered. "Forgive your servant for his ignorance."

"The best time to do something was yesterday," he imperiously declared and shoved a Langa down the Ga'mal's gullet. "Failing that, today!"

"Grk," the slave struggled to breathe for a worrying moment before managing to swallow the meaty fruit. "S-Salty, Master."

"Great! Should sustain you for a little," the handy fruits grew amazingly well in forests like this. "You know, don't they remind you a bit of the Mac'tal?"

"Why would they?" Jirs's fangs tore into the pink flesh. "It's not because they're purple, right?"

"… Anyhow, it's a dang shame we couldn't catch Rek'cils in the end. All the humanoid blacksmiths and craftsmen got evacuated too," Dhartha conveniently ignored Jirs's question, choosing instead to bemoan his terrible fate. "Your sisters better buy these parts."

"No. They don't need them."

"How about their neighbors?"

"They don't need them either."

"Could be great for reaping crops and chopping down brushwood. Why are you so averse to progress?"

"They'd snap," the cougarman had a point: Mac'tal parts degenerated quickly once separated from their source. Ah, he'd forgotten to collect the blood from the Swordreavers a few days ago. Some weirdos paid out the nose for that stuff. "You'll be lucky to have a leg last for more than a few hours. Enchanting them is a pain in the ass too."

"We'll be getting a ton of them soon," the gnoll airily commented. "Be a waste to let our kind friends rot in the forests."

"Whatever," Jirs tiredly gave up. "Hey. You've been getting a weird feeling?"

"Eh? Did I give you a bad Langa?"

"No, it's just—could've sworn there were shrubs there," the nacatl shook their head. "Wait, why the hell did you give me a Langa? I didn't ask for one."

"Hmph, well consider it a perk of working for me," Dhartha tapped Yassin on the snout. "You've ever eaten one of these before?"

"This one has not, Master," the slave apologetically answered. "Forgive me for my ignorance."

"The best time to do something was yesterday," he imperiously declared and—huh? He only had one, two, three… nineteen? Should be twenty-two including the one Jirs was eating right in front of them. "Weird."

This sort of mistake belonged in the early years when he was just starting out. He never lost track of inventory in recent memory. And he couldn't remember giving one to Jirs. Did they sneak it from his pouch without him noticing somehow? "I miscounted? No way. There's no way."

"What are you mumbling to yourself about now?" Jirs polished off the fruit. "We're not returning to Ur'draga if you left something behind."

"Hey, Jirs…" Dhartha nervously chuffed. "You know Weblords?"

"Who doesn't—oh, fuck," Jirs's eyes shot wide open before his face twitched and settled into a frown. "We need to—When did you stuff a fucking Langa into my mouth?"

"I didn't stuff anything!" The gnoll indignantly denied. "It's your own fault for not eating enough back at the inn."

"I'm not hungryshit!" The changes happened too swiftly for him to process. One moment, they were walking through a relatively clear forest path, and the next Jirs was clutching a bleeding arm.

And they were surrounded by a swarm of Swordstalkers. "Go, go, go!"

'When did they…?!' Jirs should've detected them. Maybe not when they were still stalking them, but definitely before they got a chance to land a clean hit. 'No, it's got to be some cloaking skill.'

"Wrong way, idiot!" Jirs snarled and ripped a Mac'tal off his shoulders, blade-like appendages leaving gaping wounds in the cougarman's body. "Head west!"

"You heard him!" He slapped Yassin's side, prompting them into a dash towards Ur'draga. "Erm, I don't see the road!"

"What the fuck you mean you don't see the road—?!" A bolt of electricity silenced the nacatl, causing them to grit their teeth as eldritch lightning coursed throughout their body. "Gah!"

After seemingly activating a few Martial Arts, because there was no way Jirs could lift both him and Yassin while sprinting, Jirs grabbed the pair and hauled ass out of the deathtrap. "Dyurga curse these flea-bitten broodfuckers—" Another lightning missile interrupted their cursing. "We've wandered way off the damn path."

"B-But we were on it the whole time."

"Apparently not," Jirs ducked behind a tree, allowing it to block the blast of chilled air that blew past them. "Tch, Weblords. Just our luck."

"Wait, wait, but how did this—"

"Shut that trap of yours for a few minutes," his bodyguard coldly growled at him while narrowly preventing his passengers from being skewered. "Any firebombs?"

"Got a few," Dhartha rummaged around in one of his Bag of Holding before stopping. "Uh, why are we off the road—gods, that's weird."

"Definitely a Weblord," Jirs's footpads were getting awfully sweaty as they ran and ran and ran: increasing the distance between them and the Mac'tal with each stride. "Should be—out of range now."

"Oi, don't slow down!" Dhartha nervously yanked on the nacatl's fur. "They're closing in on us!"

"Sh-Shit," Jirs groaned, body straining to squeeze out every last bit of energy. "Stop… yelling."

The Mac'tal had to have the entire town encircled if they were able to catch them so quickly 'cause there was no way in the six realms that they could match Jirs's max speed. "Argh! Chug this!"

Swordstalkers upon Swordstalkers filled his vision as he poured a stamina potion down the stupid, stupid nacatl's throat, and dammit they were right there

Like a sign from the gods above, a storm of arrows and stones rained upon the spiders, cracking carapace and crushing flesh; the unceasing volley driving them away with each missile that met its mark.

'Maybe I should be a priest,' he deliriously thought even while Jirs struggled to his feet and shuffled towards the direction of the bombardment. 'Refill the goodwill I blew today.'

"Lucky you," Ghrik'sa Ur scowled at the trio. "Or maybe not. Mac'tal have Ur'draga surrounded, so you're stuck here with the rest of us."

'Nevermind. Fuck you God, gods, Devas, whatever. I'm never joining a sect.'