As the time displayed on the top left of the console hit 21:32, the sound of a sigh escaped from the constantly changing black mass, its form bubbling, shifting and dripping onto a puddle of itself, only to be absorbed and begin rising again.
"Man, Momonga is almost never this late... I wonder what's up. You think he's alright?"
The bird-like being responded with a noise of dissatisfaction, letting it momentarily echo through the great and opulent hall that held the massive table and its matching forty-one chairs. With a playful yet somewhat displeased tone, the creature eventually followed up with a question.
"Heh, you think he's with a girl, or something?"
"Huh? A girl? Did I miss something? Is he trying to get out and date people these days?"
"Nah, just joking... Well, mostly? It's just been on my mind lately since TouchMe keeps flaking on us at the last minute to be with his wife. Has me wondering which of us will become like him next, missing more and more sessions."
The jet black ooze produced a movement vaguely resembling a shrug as it spoke with a non-serious tone.
"You really think any of us got a chance with girls?"
The bird-like man selected and used the "Laugh" emote.
"Haha! You never know! If TouchMe wasn't already married, I certainly wouldn't expect him to have game!"
"Hey Pero, that's mean-spirited."
"I don't mean it that way! My point is, you never know."
"Hmm, what kind of woman is Momonga into, anyway? Or is he a homo, or something?"
"Huh? And why the hell would I know? Just ask the man himself."
The bird-like creature clad in gold and fine cloth attempted to feign offence, acting as if he were just accused of a horrible crime. The ooze responded with a matter-of-fact yet vaguely smug tone.
"You'd know because you keep asking people about kinks, idiot."
"Well, maybe I did ask him that… But Momonga just said something generic about personality, and all the guys who do that are either ashamed of their tastes, or just boring. His case is almost certainly the latter."
"Yeah, figures. You're both really predictable sometimes."
"Huh? What did you just say?! That's really rude, you know?"
HeroHero laughed as Peroroncino acted outraged again, though this time there might've been some honesty in his performance. Just then, the massive frame of a certain Overlord popped into existence some metres away. The black ooze called out to it happily.
"Yo, Momonga!"
"Ah, sorry guys! I think I broke my shower head, trying to fix it was a battle..."
"Hey, whether it's a shower head or a girl, we won't judge. Let's just go farm."
"Huh? What?"
HeroHero and Peroroncino shared a brief laugh at the confused Momonga's expense.
... ... ...
It was a morning like any other in Neia Baraja's mansion. The maids cleaned and organised, the paladins patrolled the halls and exterior, the cooks prepared meals for all staff, the head butler organised letters meant for the Prophetess' eyes, the undead guards kept their unwavering watch in stillness and silence, a number of couriers worked on unloading a cart of fresh ingredients... And the little princess calmly played with her toys. Her room was fairly quiet, with birdsong and the daily happenings of the outside world taking the role of faint background noise. Gently tapping two small yet magnificently detailed figurines of knights together, Ayame Baraja spoke to her present caretaker without looking up from the somewhat silly-looking activity.
"Look, Emma! They're fightin... But not for real! They don want to hurt each other... Like when mommy and granny fight or when grandpa and mister Montagnés fight..."
The head maid smiled with pride. Ayame was pronouncing most of her words very well now, and knew a great deal of them.
"I see. Who is winning, Your Highness?"
The princess paused momentarily before looking at the maid with her eyes wide open.
"I dunno! Uhm, I think it's just for fun. No winners!"
"I see. That's nice. Are they friends?"
Ayame returned to tapping the figurines together.
"Yes, I think so."
"That's nice."
"Emma? Have you fighted anyone?"
"No, I haven't. I'm really weak, and I don't think it would be fun for me. Also, it's not fighted, it's fought."
"Whoa. But why are you weak?"
"Most people are weak. Not many people are strong."
"Ohh... Okay! I think daddy said me that before."
"It's told, not said, Your Highness."
"Okay!"
After spending some time simply staring at the figurines of knights in silence, the princess extended one of them towards the head maid with a flap of her modestly-sized wings.
"Emma would you like to play?"
"Oh? What should I do?"
"Would you like to be him?"
"Ah, I think I understand. All right."
The maid gently took the figurine that was being held out to her, at which point Ayame held out the other. Hoping she understood correctly, Emma followed the princess' lead and tapped her miniature knight against Ayame's. As time went on, simple tapping began to incorporate feints and dodges, the tiny warriors locked in a tiny battle of tiny scale and gradually growing complexity. Nonetheless, the duel engaged the little girl's mind flawlessly, her wings flapping along to the rhythm of the gentle blows. Eventually, Ayame paused and looked up to the maid with a smile.
"... Hehe, this is fun, Emma!"
"I'm glad, Your Highness. I'm very glad."
The princess seemed to have suddenly made some sort of realisation, gasping and adopting a surprised expression.
"I remembered something! Mommy told me something earlier. Mommy said sometimes people have two mommies or two daddies or even three parents or more."
"That's true."
"Whoa. Do you have two daddies or two mommies or more parents than two?"
"I had a mommy and a daddy."
"Are they nice?"
"They died."
"Oh. Is that when people leave and don't come back? Are you sad?"
"No, not anymore."
"Okay. I would be sad if my mommy or my daddy left and didn't come back. I get sad even if they leave and come back because I miss them."
Ayame's wings flapped as her eyes wandered to the carpet, where they remained for a moment. Once they came back, the princess' tone was a bit uncertain, and the wings remained still.
"I miss you too when you leave, Emma."
The head maid smiled.
"I often miss you too, Your Highness."
"You're also like a mommy for me, Emma. Are you also my mommy?"
/
Emma didn't responded. Did I say something wrong? Did she not hear me? I will say it again.
"Emma, are you also my mommy? I think you're also my mommy because mommy said I can have two mommies or more."
Emma still didn't respond. Emma then dropped mister knight number two. Emma then made a weird face and then started crying but she did it silently and didn't move at all it was just tears. I didn't know what to do so I waited.
But Emma was still crying.
"Emma? Are you sad?"
Emma then hugged me really strongly and started crying loudly. It was like a hug from Shizu who also had strong hugs. I got sad too because Emma was sad.
"I love you Emma. Please don't be sad."
... ...
The birds weaved a wonderful symphony with their song, the rays of the sun gleamed bright along the edges of the dancing sea, and the intricate stonework of the client's residence was nothing short of breathtaking with its smooth corners, gargoyles, and decorative carvings. Although Francesca knew little of masonry, stone must surely take great patience and practice to truly understand, to truly shape into something beautiful, much like cloth. With a deep breath, the dressmaker knocked on the large wooden door, whose surface was seemingly revarnished recently.
...
"Ah, you're Madam Branciforte, yes?"
The dressmaker offered a somewhat brief, shallow bow. Both the lord and lady of the house were present, it seems.
"Yes, that is me."
"Oh, good! Welcome! Please, come on in and sit down!"
"Thank you, Madam Cardello."
The butler closed the door behind Francesca as she went deeper in, briefly scanning the richly decorated room, whose large windows invited the shine of the sun, and whose multitude of plants provided much colour. It appeared the patently excited wife would do the talking today. Perhaps all of the talking. Perhaps the husband was only here to ensure his beloved would not get carried away and promise to pay just a tad too much of the family's wealth. Immediately after taking a seat, the dressmaker was hit with an onslaught of questions.
"So, can you do it? How much will a dress like that cost? Can you really make it as beautiful?"
It seemed there would be no time for pleasantries. Francesca sighed. Of course, she never promised anything of the sort. It was merely the client's mind warping the contents of the previously exchanged letters into a more palatable form. Situations of this sort took place all the time. When one's heart yearns with sufficient passion, reason begins to withdraw. But now came the often dangerous task of dragging the client back to the harshness and cruelty of reality, a task that came with a risk of facing a great deal of verbal abuse. When distressed, people always lash out at whatever is nearest.
"Ah, there must have been a misunderstanding! Did I imply I could recreate a dress like that? I apologise for not being clear enough with my words! Whether or not I can is precisely what I actually wished to discuss here..."
"Is that so? Well, let us do so!"
The dressmaker inhaled deeply. She was well aware of her reputation as one of Roble's best in this line of work. And it was this reputation that got her into this exact situation so many times now.
"Just to be clear, Madam Cardello, you wish for something similar to Her Holiness' purple-and-silver dress, yes?"
"Yes, of course! With all those beautiful patterns and all the gleam and everything! I've seen it up close recently when I was at that ball Her Holiness also attended! I can give you more details, I even drew my own sketches!"
And then, the dressmaker exhaled. It was time for the riskiest part. The truth was, Francesca had seen several of those dresses for herself too.
And that was precisely why she was convinced that human hands could never hope to recreate such craftsmanship.
Explaining this to the client would be something of a battle.
... ... ...
With every inhalation, the morbidly sweet smell of metal flowed freely into the man's nasal cavity, filling it to the brim, becoming something he could almost taste. The fresh blood dragged moonlight with it as it pooled around disfigured corpses decorated with the shine of the best gear this degenerate nation could muster for its supposed elite warriors. This pitiful little gathering's most powerful scrote was a mere level 30 or so, a sad waste of the pretentious title of "Battle-Saint", as if proficiency in the ending of lives were something to be celebrated. The chilly midnight wind momentarily freed the newly destroyed stone fortification of its metallic stench, an opportunity Alaart seized, savouring an especially deep breath. Unfortunately, there was also that familiar wetness in the air, once again preventing the catfolk from fully enjoying the fragrances of nature.
"... Blood contains iron, you know?"
"... Huh?"
The emperor sighed when met with such a pathetic response. Was the blood loss getting the best of the last one? Were half-giants especially prone to it?
"What the fuck are you talking about, catman?!"
The catfolk - not catman - would normally stop himself from indulging in pointless and potentially dangerous gloating, especially considering the sole survivor of the initial assault was soon to join his fallen compatriots. There was little point in speaking to the soon-to-be-dead, and yet…
"My species is known as the catfolk, buffoon. But if you didn't even know that, my earlier statement must have been a once-in-a-lifetime revelation, no? Just how did it come to this? The great man who once united my species under a single banner once spoke of your nation as an especially advanced one for the region, with its openness to trade and diplomacy... So how come you're now such a sad gaggle of raiding nomads? How come you've given up reason for violence? How come the civilised became murderers, thieves, and rapists?"
"... Huh?"
Alaart could not resist burying his forehead in his paw.
"You truly couldn't muster any manner of coherent response? Or, at the very least, something vaguely approaching it?"
"You kill so many of my clansmen and then expect me to stand here and talk? Fuck you."
"Fine, then. I must have looked mad anyway, attempting to converse with trash."
"[Heavy Recover]!"
The half-giant cleric used a third tier spell as he began his charge and readied his mace, swiftly accelerating to the speed of a charging bull.
And the emperor of the catfolk cast a spell of his own.
"[Chains of Torment]."
Instantly, a number of metallic hooks attached to chains materialised around the cleric's body from various angles, thrusting themselves into it and successfully piercing deep inside.
And then the chains pulled.
Each in a different direction, all at once.
A foot was ripped clean off, becoming just another chunk on a nearby pile of flesh.
An arm was torn open at the wrist, triggering a messy spray of scarlet.
The contents of his abdomen were dragged out for all the world to see.
A shoulder blade took its surroundings with it as it was yanked out.
The lower jaw made an especially unpleasant sound as it was separated from the rest of the face.
Little remained of the scalp after its peeling.
In the end, the charge lost its momentum, and what remained of the cleric fell to the ground limply, having barely closed half the distance between the starting point and the emperor.
"Hm."
The catfolk turned around and took several steps before calling out into the darkness.
"Cahara. You're not supposed to observe from this close up."
A human male with caramel-coloured skin and ashen fur dispelled his invisibility, revealing himself to be wearing the facial expression his species called a smile while lazily sitting atop a pile of rubble. His long, black coat danced ever so slightly to the rhythm of the wind, and his frisky tone boasted a staggering lack of both respect and urgency.
"Worried I'll get caught in the crossfire, Your Majesty?"
"No. I've said before that human smells are strange. At least remain downwind of me if you can't find a good spot further away… What kind of species sweats so much, anyway?"
"Sorry, Your Majesty."
The tone of his response was more playful than apologetic.
"And how come you can't at least feign a modicum of sincerity?"
The emperor sighed at the man's subsequent half-hearted shrug, pretending not to be endeared by his personality and the change of pace it brought in moments such as this, moments where Alaart threw away his decency to rid the world of those who never had it in the first place. Crossing his arms, the catfolk inquired again.
"For your sake, I hope your demeanour signifies the flawless completion of the assigned task."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
Cahara deftly stood up and high leaped into the air as if gravity were of no concern, eventually landing and kneeling before his monarch with a grace that was nowhere to be found in his personality. Out of a pocket, the human produced an apple-sized copper bell whose surface has long since adopted a green colour due to contact with air, a process called oxidation.
"[All Appraisal Magic Item]."
Indeed, this was one of the countless incredible treasures left behind by the Good Ancestor, and one of the many lost to the catfolk in the centuries since his passing. Alaart quickly took it into his own hands.
"Yes, this is it... Was it truly in the hands of a mere artisan?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Alaart could not help but snicker. Perhaps that was only to be expected of these barbarians. Still, with something so potentially dangerous, one could not afford to neglect preparation. The list of secondary hidden effects was far too exhaustive.
"Good work. Now take a squad and secure all of the gear scattered around here."
… … …
Hello!
Sorry for taking so long, yet again. I mentioned last time that I was going to get a minor surgery done, but that didn't work out so well. Oops. Either way, I hope you guys enjoyed this one and that you'll all hear from me again sooner rather than later! And thank you everyone for the comments and reviews! :3