Chapter 77

  Stars far away

  Clementine adored many things in the world. She adored killing—that above all else. She adored plunging a blade into a body still full of strength, savoring the final vital spasms as they left the husk. She loved to smile, to laugh, to enjoy herself, letting every inhibition be forgotten solely for the ecstasy of pleasure.

  Clementine adored a walk in the moonlight and a stroll under the morning sun. The streets of Silksuntecks, in particular, were always brimming with life—with experiences that a vivid imagination could recreate, if stimulated long enough.

  That boy, for instance. The one running in a great hurry, a small box clutched tightly in his hands. That same boy who hadn't paid enough attention and had tumbled ruinously to the ground right in front of Clementine.

  "Are you all right?" She had helped him up, smiling towards his direction warmly, not really looking. Naturally, in her civilian clothes, Clementine was well aware of the effect she had on certain easily impressionable minds.

  Almost to be expected.

  The young man, however, after getting back on his feet, wasn't so susceptible to her charm. "Oh, thank you," he replied with genuine gratitude, but while keeping his gaze fixed not on her, but on something else. Something far away.

  Wasn't he rude? He was so rude, for a boy his age.

  "Is it an important occasion?" She stopped him, before he could set off again.

  "Yes, you could say that..." He remained vague, already poised to leave, his goal clear. A marriage proposal—this was the right season for it.

  Clementine could have stopped him right there. Found a secluded spot. Flayed him from head to toe, tore the skin from his body, took the ring and slipped it onto his own index finger, and then left that "ready-made" groom right at his beloved's door.

  Until death do you part—that was the formula. So, better to get a head start on the journey.

  Yes, it would have been a true act of charity.

  "Good luck, then." But in Silksuntecks, the Gods were everywhere, and their intermediaries had eyes in all the city too. The hymns sung in the neighborhood reminded everyone of their blessing.

  Accidents happened... but how long would they be willing to turn a blind eye? Faith was a difficult business.

  'They're already waiting for me.'

  Cardinal Raymond would be ecstatic to see her. Was the holy man ready to hear her demands?

  "In the Draconic Kingdom, the mission was accomplished without losses," Clementine proclaimed as she threw open the door to his office. "The beastmen are ancient history now."

  The Cardinal watched her enter, looked up from his documents, and leaned his back against the chair's headrest, letting out a loud, vigorous sigh.

  He was happy to see her, undoubtedly.

  "Windstride, why don't you have a seat?" He pointed to an armchair just next to him.

  She sat down, comfortable and well-disposed.

  "We had an agreement, Cardinal. I lend my aid to the Extra Seat, and you listen to my prayers," she licked her lips, letting her tongue soak up the taste of the blood clinging to them. "We are in a church, aren't we?"

  "But do you have faith, Windstride?"

  What a foolish question. Clementine overflowed with faith. She had faith in the knife, the blade, the flail, and the morning star. Above all, she had faith in her stilettos. She had faith in massacre, she had faith in carnage, and she had faith in murder.

  Who had more faith than she?

  Clementine had faith in death, in Surshana, and in life, in Alah Alaf. She had faith more than anyone else, especially regarding those two gods, so high and so great. In all the Slane Theocracy, there were no acolytes who had brought as many offerings, with such devotion, to the pair up there.

  "Cardinal... Raymond. Can I call you Raymond? Don't answer. You ask me if I have faith. But you should look at things from a different point of view. A religion feeds on offerings, just as churches aren't built on good intentions alone. Every God in this world adores me, because there are no prayers more sincere than those uttered when the end is near..."

  Raymond—stern-faced Raymond, Raymond who looked at her like a comrade, Raymond who still did the stupidest thing of all: hoping for her—stepped forward, setting down the long galero that marked his position as a slave to the Six. "But you have killed nothing but monsters and blasphemers… Which Gods did those last ones invoke?"

  Now that was a good question. Clementine, despite her laziness, was a proactive girl.

  When you grew up on the streets, you learned a trick or two. She had grown up in a manor, surrounded by servants and love, which was practically the same thing, if not worse. "Oh, that's the best part, Raymond. You know... when you take one of those cubs... when you dangle it in front of the parents who beg you in such a pathetic way it almost makes you think there's something in them. Something human. You, then, Raymond... what do you see?"

  The Cardinal, who already understood—he was too intelligent not to—remained silent, while a macabre irony filled Clementine's happy smile. "You see what I see... You see the Gods... No matter what they call them... We are death. Death incarnate. We are the Black. The Scriptures speak of his return. But is death not already here with us? I invoke it every single time I do his deeds."

  Let there be no more questioning, then, of the faith of Clementine Hazeia Quintia. Let it never be said again that she did not love her homeland and her religion. Surshana had no adept as zealous as she.

  "What do you want?"

  "Total freedom from my family. I will be the one to have the final say over my descendants, and no one else. You know my parents, and I assume you know how to convince them to... wait."

  In short: no more being a pain in her ass.

  "Done. Is that all?"

  "Goodbye to Hazeia, and goodbye to Quintia. The fragment is dissolved. I am only Clementine."

  There, Raymond hesitated. "Renouncing the name of the baptism is treason, Windstride. Apostates do that, and their rights are stripped with their miracles."

  She had tried. Traditions were traditions because they were well-rooted and hard to eradicate. "One last thing. I want toys. Toys that aren't simply from other parts of the world, do you understand what I mean?"

  He understood. It was the job of the Cardinal of the Scriptures to know every inclination by heart, especially those of the Scriptures' crown jewel. This did not make it any easier to accept. "No matter what crimes they may have committed, the citizens of the Theocracy are protected by strong internal laws."

  "Laws are made to be bypassed."

  "You ask much of me, Windstride."

  "Do I really?"

  Raymond put a hand to his temple, massaging it to alleviate his exhaustion. The piles of still-unprocessed documents were proof enough of his accumulated stress.

  What had reduced him to this state? It wasn't just old age. It wasn't the family he never saw. It wasn't the increasing missions or the conflicts that continued to break out. It wasn't the urge to give it all up.

  There was something more than just ordinary administration.

  After only a few seconds, he recovered. Standing up, he said, "Today is an event that hasn't happened in a long time, Windstride. Every seat is gathered in our beautiful capital, after all this time."

  "Then let them be seated at the Gods' table… Not that I really care."

  Clementine didn't have time to process that last bit of information before the Cardinal opened the door again, letting her in.

  The Ninth Seat of the Black Scripture recognized the figure—slender and frail, much smaller than herself—in a fraction of a second. With a readiness never unlearned, she moved in even less time, a mechanical dash born of sheer habit.

  Habit that was none other than terror incarnate.

  "There is no need to bow like that. We only saw each other a few weeks ago, didn't we? Stand up... Stand up, Windstride!" The living fossil brought a hand to her cheek.

  The same hand that had broken her teeth, shattered her jaw, and smashed her head until Clementine lost consciousness. Sweet, slender fingers caressed her, without any hostile intent. Just a gesture. A gesture of sickly affection.

  Swallowing hard, Clementine placed her hand over the half-elf's, sensing the icy chill she carried. The same chill as a corpse. Devoid of warmth, devoid of life. Beautiful and terrible alike.

  "We are... comrades. Friends, right?"

  Antilene's expression brightened, while Raymond's remained hard and inflexible.

  "I told you. We are comrades. Indeed. Friends."

  Clementine tried to understand. She struggled to make sense of the whole situation. Why was beyond life and death here? For her? Was she looking for a way to humiliate Clementine? Did she want to mock her dreams?

  It was a sadism that never showed itself for what it was, one that always kept you on edge.

  "After the Draconic Kingdom... you disappeared." No one had noticed. One evening the half-elf was with them to celebrate the victory, and then every trace of her was lost until the following day.

  Or so the informants of the Windflower Scripture had reported.

  By dawn, however, she had already returned and set off on her journey once again. Now, the destination was clear.

  "And now I'm back. But I don't bring good news. I have already informed the Cardinals."

  What could make one who stood beyond human comprehension tremble? The sense of unease in Cardinal Raymond finally found its justification. And even Clementine, who rebelled against the game of cat and mouse, now felt trapped.

  "You... you're sweating…"

  Antilene's diaphanous skin was as perfect as ever, and only by straining one's eyes could small, damp spots be seen on her forehead. A Godkin did not suffer from the heat. A Godkin was meant to be perfect. A Godkin was meant to be like a God.

  "It's been a long time since I felt such a sensation…" The Guardian of Humanity, however, felt no shame for that weakness. On the contrary, she celebrated the extraordinary event. She, too, was human, and remembering it made her ecstatic. "From my father...? Or my mother? It doesn't matter. I'm so excited I can't control myself. Windstride! No, rather—Clementine. I need the Black Scripture. All of them. Are you with me?"

  "What's in it for me?" If not death, suffering, and pain. She could accept them when imposed by her hands. But when she was on the other side of the gift, accepting it was much more difficult.

  "The fulfillment of your faith," Raymond said. As a barbering coin, nothing truly valuable.

  "And massacre. Violence. Destruction," Antilene continued. She knew well what a woman liked. "In truth, I'm not really giving you a choice. Either we conquer Eryuentiu, or the world as we know it ends now."

  How dramatic. Any acting class would have kicked her out for too much pathos. Out of style, devoid of grace.

  "The flying city... no one can conquer it." It was like throwing oneself into a bottomless pit with the expectation of reaching the end. And they called her crazy.

  "I'm not just anyone, right? Everything you desire will be within your reach once Eryuentiu is conquered."

  "And humanity can finally know true peace with the weapons of the Eight at its disposal," the Cardinal added, still unconvinced by all that. "It will be the most dangerous mission ever faced. If we succeed, future generations will have nothing more to fear. If we fail…"

  But failure was not considered. Clementine saw herself armed with those treasures. Every wish granted—so the legend went. The capital of the Eight was a portal to another world.

  What would Windstride do once her ambitions finally took shape?

  "If we fail, there is death."

  "And do you fear it, Windstride?"

  Antilene taunted her, pretending to ignore the answer. Every member of the Black Scripture had already experienced death in their ceremonial baptism. You could fear what was unknown, not what you had already experienced.

  'Stay still, Clementine. Remember, you're mad.'

  "Have the other members of the Black Scripture already accepted?"

  "You're the only one left... You were always the hardest to convince."

  This meant her brother had already given his consent. Though it didn't surprise her, it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  "The worst part... is that I know you're trying to deceive me."

  The half-elf smiled at those words; a smile of pure friendship that sent a surge of adrenaline through the Ninth Seat.

  "We are more alike than you think, Windstride. That's why I like you so much."

  Standing up, Clementine stepped a few paces closer. She was taller than Antilene, yet every time she was forced to compare herself to her, she invariably felt small.

  The blood of the Gods flowed in both their veins, but only in that freak of nature had it revealed itself for the curse it truly was.

  "I imagine there is a sufficiently urgent reason for us to head out right now—after all these years—on such a reckless mission."

  "Of course there's a reason," Antilene proceeded to say as if it were the most natural thing in the world, with the most natural calm, without losing her composure or letting herself be carried away by emotion. "Winning. What else?"

  The half-elf shrugged her shoulders, as if that candidly asked question had been nothing more than a useless interference, a trivial waste of time.

  "Winning, but against whom?"

  Clementine licked her lips, dry from talking too much. She was used to brief monologues, not long speeches. The Cardinal offered her a refreshing drink, its red color so reminiscent of blood. Like a vampire, she claimed it for herself, until Antilene resumed her explanation.

  "Against the whole world. Not just the flying city, not just the Masakar Desert, not just the great powers of the continent. Not just the True Dragon Lords. The race has already begun... and we are already late."

  And then Clementine saw it. Hidden in a corner. That minor emotion. A disturbance in Antilene's quiet control. That small spark that everyone, deep down, harbored.

  The difference between Clementine and everyone else was just this: what to do with that spark, with that impulse. Perversion was at the root of every instinct, every single action. By defining morality and sin, one could draw an imaginary line whose base was simply pleasure. At the same time, the further one moved away from that dichotomy, the more the true essence revealed itself.

  The bonfire of truth was fueled by violence.

  'If I were fire, I would burn everyone and everything.'

  And Antilene would do the same. The guardian of humanity, disciple of the guardian deity of the Slaine Theocracy, would willingly throw the first log onto that altar, just to extinguish every hypocrisy in the flames.

  And so, one might as well do it together.

  "At the first sign of danger, I'm making a run for it."

  "Too proud to say you're in? You enjoy the suffering of others, Clementine. Until now, you've simply inflicted your punishment on those who were weaker than you. Where is the satisfaction in that? It is when you can take revenge on those who tower over you that you develop true pleasure…" At that point, Antilene grabbed her by the hand and held her tight. So tight that Windstride had the terrible sensation she wanted to rip it off right there. "I know you want to kill me... Try it! If you succeed, you will have earned your right. But until then, you too are mine!"

  Peering into the abyss was like peering into oneself. The most terrifying thing was discovering that, beyond those deep shadows, there was nothing but a void, and that everything one was, was nothing more than an innocent lie.

  The two different-colored gems that were Antilene's eyes were that abyss Clementine was now forced to confront—to confront the part of herself she had abandoned. That small, fragile part she detested. The one that was always inferior to someone else, who stood tall without ever excelling, who was never first.

  But discovering it wasn't traumatic. In a way, it brought almost relief. In the face of disaster lay the opportunity to become even worse.

  "The time will come when you will beg me to kill you."

  "I pray for that... Humanity will then have an even better guardian."

  Clementine broke away—or rather, Antilene allowed her to break away—and turned back to the Cardinal of the Earth, who had observed them without uttering a word, simply disturbed by their aggressiveness.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  It was only natural that a man could not fully understand two women.

  "I'll go prepare my things. Inform me when it's time to leave."

  And with that, she walked out without looking back.

  Everything changed so that nothing would change. When returning to a familiar place, one always sought to find something different: an object out of place, a scent one wasn't used to—anything that could be set right.

  One tried to make things go back to how they were before, how they should have been. The motivation was nothing more than a sleight of hand: if nothing had changed, one could continue to pretend that things had remained the same.

  But that was the joke: everything preserved its own identity, and that strange sensation hitting the chest, gripping the heart upon returning after so long, was only a treacherous lie.

  'The only one who has changed is me.'

  Antilene could find a thousand and one differences in that room she had learned to consider home. She could trace the shadow projected on the walls by the dim light of the chandeliers, calculating its shape and dimensions to the millimeter; she could walk through the sacred armory and catalog every weapon, object, and scroll from memory with diabolical precision, realizing how many times they had been moved, cleaned, or handled.

  She could notice how much the floor had worn down with every step, how many times the [Clean] spell had been cast to make everything shining and clear, almost as if the Gods had never abandoned that place.

  She could move and feel those small drafts of air passing through the few windows, recognizing the season simply by the intensity of the wind.

  "You have already returned. Little time has passed…" Rufus muttered, emerging from the darkness, the hems of his long robe swifting in every direction.

  For an undead like him, "little" was an all-too-broad span. An hour, or a year. Antilene, who had been away for weeks, had spent "little" time in the outside world before her return.

  "I wondered if this time I would feel nostalgia upon stepping foot in here again."

  "And did you?"

  "My memories are quietly changing. Every day used to be the same as the next. And now, every day is different. Yet, when I am here, I don't notice this same contrast. What do you think that means, Rufus?"

  Her master carried a heavy tome with him, its cover as black as pitch. His skeletal fingers tightened around the spine as he approached her. "Memories are an anchor. A proof. You do not want to forget who you are, your history. As long as you have these memories—monotonous or painful as they may be—you will also have the testimony of your existence. Of your feelings."

  "You too? Is that why you are so attached to this place?"

  Rufus let his silence speak for him. An undead did not feel. Rufus was not merely a dead man, however. He was something more. Even if he had no heart, what was he harboring inside his chest?

  Finally, his mouth opened, and a sound emerged that could easily have been mistaken for a weary sigh. "This is my kingdom. This is my tomb. I am not alive. I haven't been for a long time. A ghost is bound to remain attached to the place of his passing. I am… An echo of distant times."

  No ambition, save for the wish to protect what he held dear.

  "You are not a ghost, Rufus," Antilene whispered. "You... You are alive. You do not eat, you do not drink, you do not dream. And yet you are more alive than anyone else I know."

  "In fact, there is something I desire," he spoke unexpectedly with a sweet tone, full of humanity. A rare moment, worthy of being savored. "A small request. Quite a stupid one, really."

  "A desire? What is it?" Unable to restrain her curiosity, the half-elf turned so she could get a better look at her old tutor. There was something strange about him. It was a phrase Antilene often repeated to herself. Eccentricity was a physiological trait of the undead—a mantle of secrets and phrases tossed out without a precise purpose just to strike a certain tone. "Don't be so cryptic."

  Part of her adored him for this; another part judged him with contempt. Just spite it out already, she wanted to shout.

  The sockets of Rufus's eyes, havens of infinite darkness, emitted what looked like a scarlet glow. His skeletal fingers moved nimbly—so much so that Antilene barely noticed the slow movement—stopping just a few centimeters from her face, caressing the air without ever making actual contact. "If I told you, the wish would not come true."

  "That is a silly superstition."

  "All our lives are made of superstition."

  "Are you hiding something, perhaps?"

  Rufus had many secrets. His very existence was a secret. Just as Antilene's had been, in a certain sense. The only difference was that now she could walk in the open air, while he continued to hunker down in his past.

  From that point of view, their dynamic had been altered to its core.

  "An aura of mystery helps build character. That is what someone precious to me used to say."

  Someone precious. It was easy to narrow down that vagueness to a small circle of people.

  Trying to pry anything more out of him would be like trying to pull a spider from its hole. She might as well change the subject.

  "Mmm…" Antilene grumbled something, and then—with a quick sleight of hand—snatched the book Rufus was holding tight. In truth, she was fairly certain her master had indulged her in that whim. "And this? A new addition to the chronicles?"

  "After all, a new story has concluded."

  Flipping quickly through the pages, the life of the Strongest Human—of Samson—appeared before the half-elf's eyes. Starting from his youth in the Ashendust Scripture, his marriages, his children, his most impressive feats, and his induction into the Black Scripture. Everything. An entire life, in a few words.

  "I could have saved him... Why do you think he refused resurrection?"

  The funeral had been an intimate ceremony. She had not taken part, but Aeneas had given her a brief account. Both of his wives wept at his bedside, as did his children and grandchildren. It must have been a good death, surrounded by people who loved him.

  "We can make a thousand hypotheses, but I believe he was simply tired. Tired of fighting, of pushing forward. And, in the end, he wanted to leave on his own terms, before old age or illness could take him. Before the body he was so proud of abandoned him."

  Was it selfish? To leave behind the family he had cared for, the nation he had served, only for his own desires. No one would have blamed him, and the ovations they would continue to offer in his honor would remain steeped in respect.

  Samson had enjoyed a luxury that many are not granted. He had been given the chance to choose, after an existence marked by service.

  "Yes, it probably went that way. Or perhaps in a different way…" Rufus offered no alternatives, preferring to change the subject. "But tell me, why are you here?"

  'As if he didn't already know...'

  Awkwardness lingered between them, both aware of the reason. If only things hadn't been that way.

  "I just wanted to see you again."

  Unable to show emotion on his face, the skeleton took a step back, ever austere in his control. "It pleases me to see you again as well."

  Antilene bit her lip, a nervous tic that caused her nothing but slight annoyance. "But there is more…"

  "But there is more…" Rufus repeated, without a trace of emotion.

  They took their time; both needed it. They retreated into one of Rufus's private rooms, where no one would disturb them. Minutes passed while Antilene explained clearly everything she had heard, not leaving out even the smallest detail.

  Finally, with every curiosity satisfied—though it was reasonable to assume he had already been informed of much—Rufus nodded gravely. "I knew this day would come, but I dared to hope it would be in the future."

  "Tomorrow always arrives before you can make plans."

  "The Eight... The True Dragon Lords... This Golden King... Even with the Black Scripture on your side, with the support of the Theocracy, you might not make it. Perhaps it would be better to hole up here and wait... To prepare the defenses."

  "It's not like you to talk this way."

  "In what way?"

  "As if you were afraid."

  "I am. Are you not?"

  Antilene didn't know what to say. The fear of so many unknown enemies, the prospect that everything could collapse in just an instant, the lack of any certainty...

  How could one not feel fear in the face of all that? It was the most rational thing. Fear was a guide that moved one's steps.

  But Rufus's fear was not dictated by prudence; it was something more instinctive. A concern that didn't arise simply from a calculation of variables or paranoia about the conflict.

  It was tenderer, more affectionate than usual. The fear of a father for his daughter. Antilene had only recently understood what it meant when someone in your family feels worry and remorse for your choices. Inevitably, you put at risk not only yourself but also those who care about you.

  A great responsibility.

  "Lately... I've understood what it means to have a family. To have... friends. I hope I can call them that without them being offended. I've given weight to my responsibilities, and now... now I wonder what is missing."

  "What do you mean?"

  Antilene took a deep breath, suddenly feeling drained of strength. "In the flying city, there is much to discover about my past, about my origins. About the origins of the Theocracy and the Six."

  "Is that what interests you? Your past? Do you believe the legends? That whoever conquers the flying city will have all their wishes granted. What is your wish, Antilene?"

  They both knew what it was. It was just a matter of saying it out loud. Why couldn't she do it?

  Antilene had always been alone. She had been surrounded by the love of various people. There had been Nazaire and Rufus. Her comrades in the Black Scripture. Then her siblings. The friends she had made outside. So many different people who, in one way or another, had changed her perception of the world, of life.

  And yet... yet it wasn't enough. She was truly a daughter of greed, because even all of that had not been enough. That missing piece could not be filled, no matter how much she wanted it to be.

  "I wish my mother had loved me," she uttered, finally. Contempt couldn't hide what she truly longed for.

  She had come to terms with the fact that Faine did not love her. It was that simple. Her mother did not love her. It wasn't such a rare condition. How many children were unloved by their parents? More than there should be, undoubtedly.

  This didn't make her special. It was, in her entire story, the most mundane part of all. A stain that should have made her appreciate more the various fortunes with which she had been blessed.

  "Your mother, Faine, loved you in her own way. She… had suffered too."

  "It is not enough… It will never be enough…"

  Rufus remained silent, trying to ease that pain simply with his presence.

  "I'm sorry. I... I didn't mean to…" Antilene didn't know what was coming over her. Perhaps it was the anxiety of having to take part in such a dangerous mission, where thousands of lives would be placed on the balance of her actions.

  Not even when she had killed her father had she been crossed by such arrogance. The dark future she imagined was only partially defined by what she would do.

  "Nothing to apologize for," Rufus comforted her, in the only way he knew how. "How long has it been since I played for you?"

  "A long time, in fact."

  "Let me remedy that."

  The undead went to get his violin and began, very calmly, to play a simple melody. The notes slipped delicately over the bow as that sweet music rose from the quiet of the small room and catapulted the half-elf into her youth.

  A bitter past, but all in all, a happy one.

  Antilene looked up at the sky, as the melody continued to cradle her in its cold embrace. The cathedral spire shimmered with soft lights, like a starry sky in the darkest night.

  Antilene gazed at those stars that were not stars and wondered: 'I am looking at the stars now. Is she, wherever she may be, looking at the stars too?'

  Intermission: for a fistful of cabbages

  The early bird gets the worm—or as Mathias's father used to say, "The morning has gold in its mouth." That morning, however, the only thing Mathias could think about was the infernal heat melting him inside his armor.

  They hadn't even reached the hottest part of the Masakar Desert yet. The caravan moved slowly, more due to the precious cargo it carried than anything else.

  Not that there were great treasures or priceless objects. The wagons were packed with something much less glittering, though no less important.

  "We've almost reached the depot. The city of Ashkar has been transformed into a massive warehouse," explained Cavalar, his comrade. The vines of his tentacles could bear the heat no better than Mathias's scorched skin. "But, what a stench! Do you organics really manage to eat that stuff?"

  As a vine blight, Cavalar found sustenance only in water, which made him particularly uneasy around all those who were, from a certain point of view, his own kind.

  Mathias touched his neck, swallowing with difficulty. The horn on his head felt heavier than usual—a clear sign he was exhausted. "Cabbage is a complete meal. Rich in vitamins, minerals, and fiber. Not to mention being low in calories."

  The pungent odor, especially under these conditions, was the only unpleasant side effect. Of course, magic preserved their freshness for a long time, but most of the minor casters—those specifically employed for supply preservation and clearing obstacles during campaigns—had to cover a disproportionate amount of food, and a few oversights were to be expected.

  "Humans like you go crazy for that stuff, I imagine."

  "I am not human," Mathias corrected him. "I'm a sharp horn! My father was a brave knight of the Oligarchy of Trotailabr who defended the border when the Golden King's troops arrived, and was the first to lay down his arms when he realized there would be no chance of victory."

  "A knight of cabbages. We're lucky the Golden King didn't decide to push his conquest any further."

  Formally, the Oligarchy remained independent; there had only been a commercial agreement and military aid pact with the Golden Horde. This was the standard for most of the territories swept up by the greatest conqueror of all time.

  Neither Mathias nor Cavalar felt any resentment. The same could be said for all the races that populated this variegated army.

  Just ahead of them, a River Troll was helping a small Goblin with some heavy loads. Usually, they would be the perfect image of a predator and prey, but now they collaborated to serve someone greater.

  There was reason to be proud of that cooperation. It was only because their leader was such an extraordinary being that all differences were smoothed over so easily.

  The blights hated organics, as they contemptuously called them, yet Cavalar led a squad composed mostly of them without any trouble.

  "There are hundreds of caravans like ours... For now, we've avoided the main dangers. But some groups of harsaaf raiders have not yet knelt. Not to mention the dune stalkers... Furthermore, the Diarchy has not yet been subdued... Are we truly ready to conquer the flying city?"

  The journey had gone smoothly so far, but Mathias could understand where that anxiety was coming from.

  "The Diarchy is practically a puppet for that human country, their rulership in disarray. A young cyclops prince and a human princess in the hands of her kin. It won't be a problem; humans are weak and lack great natural abilities. But I suppose our King has decided to accelerate the timeline... Besides, our group has nothing to fear."

  Mathias scratched his nose, grabbing a cabbage from one of the nearby convoys.

  "You really love that stuff."

  "I told you. It's a complete meal."

  He ate quickly. Even if not as good as when boiled, raw cabbage was still a delight. The heat became less persistent thanks to that newfound vigor.

  "If you say so...""Cavalar let out a sound of disappointment, perhaps annoyed to see something so similar to himself consumed with such indifference. In a different time, that affront would have been the trigger for a conflict. Now, the golden aura that loomed over them brought an end to all hostilities. "Do you really believe there are no dangers? Ashkar is dangerously close to Musaaid Al-Lodi, one of the two capitals of the Diarchy. We also have numerous stations in all the desert, dangers and monsters loom everywhere. We might find ourselves forced to fight."

  To even attempt to conquer the flying city would mean to dispose of so much resources that even the great nations would have rolled their eyes.

  "And does that worry you?"

  "I am merely being prudent."

  Mathias shrugged. "As I told you, humans are inferior beings. In the center of the continent, they are used only as fodder. Some, the most skilled, are at most employed as scullions or in other humble tasks. But only for those who are fetishists for their smooth, hairless skin. The Minotaurs adore them, for example. I tasted their meat once, and it was truly tender."

  "First cabbages, now meat. I truly don't understand you organics. Magic is sufficient to sustain you."

  This was because he needed only water and fertile soil to sustain himself. Cavalar was more resilient than normal blights, but that didn't stop him from complaining about the desert's suboptimal conditions.

  "That food tastes terrible, and it's almost torture to eat it. In a military campaign, morale is above everything…" Mathias finished his meal and was on the verge of biting into a second cabbage from the pile, but decided to desist. Letting oneself be overtaken by greed was a sign of a lack of self-control. "Anyway, since we're talking about possible threats... where are the dragonslayers?"

  "Ahead of everyone. Remember the sandstorm worm from the other day? After two victims, they want to be certain that nothing escapes their control."

  It made sense. The dragonslayers were the crown jewel of the Horde. A group of them could hold their own against an adult dragon—hence their title.

  The two who had been assigned to their group—Osé the Two-Sworded Jaguar, and Melefes, the Paladin of the Unicorn—were among the best even within that elite group.

  "See? With people as exceptional as them, we have nothing to fear…" Mathias had held much respect for his family, but after the conquest of the Oligarchy, he had realized how small the world was compared to what he had been taught. "I wonder if we'll manage to see the Four Heavenly Kings during this campaign."

  "Not improbable... at least from a distance... I've heard it said that each of them can subvert a nation on their own. When they attacked the Commonwealth, at least half of the nations within it suffered irreparable damage."

  "No, you're wrong. That was another matter entirely, something else altogether. In fact, one of the Four Kings comes from the Commonwealth itself."

  The Six Great Nations—of which the Commonwealth was a part—were miles away from where they stood now, and the information that filtered through was scarce. Mathias had joined the Horde only after its exploits in the center of the continent, but he was quite sure of what he was saying.

  "You're very well-informed about these things," Calavar noted with a certain satisfaction.

  "It's all thanks to the cabbages. They help the memory," Mathias replied with pride.

  The blight didn't have a true "gaze." That tangle of briars forming what Mathias associated with a face was too complicated for him to decipher. Yet, in that instant, he was fairly certain he was being judged as a fool.

  Profanes like him couldn't understand the importance of a good meal. Even if he wasn't a great warrior, Mathias would still bring great success to their cause with his vast knowledge of cabbages.

  Their cause... what was their cause, anyway? Strangely, he found it difficult to remember. And yet, he had listened attentively to every one of the Golden King's rousing speeches.

  Before he could get even more confused, the sharp horn felt a gust of wind tickle his face. Should he put his helmet back on, despite the heat?

  "A sandstorm is picking up."

  "I hate this place... the grains get everywhere, and then it's hard to get them out from inside the joints."

  "It's not just that... last time, the sand worm attacked us…"

  As far as they knew, sand snakes were very territorial and covered vast areas. Could having eliminated one just a few days prior have caused the arrival of the competition?

  What a nuisance... the only thing they could do now was secure the cabbages.

  "It's not that, Mathias. There's something strange…" Visibility was starting to fade. They would need to ask for assistance from a scout to assess the situation.

  Before he had time to realize it, Mathias could no longer find Cavalar. Even calling out his name at the top of his lungs, no answer came. Not even other members of the convoy were in sight.

  Mathias clung to the nearby wagon; the horse pulling that part of the caravan was terrified, neighing in a state of panic.

  'Maybe more than one sand worm?'

  Focusing his mind, he took a second look around. There was nothing but a deafening silence. The sandstorm was relentless, and the earth trembled more and more until he finally lost his balance.

  Mathias struggled to his feet, finding a wheel to lean on. The wagon had overturned, spilling its contents across the ground.

  'Damn...'

  The cabbages had ended up everywhere, with sand infiltrating every crevice. He picked one up and tried to clean it with a few quick swipes of his hand. His arm throbbed from the fall, and his breathing was hindered by the rising dust.

  All of this hadn't been caused by a sand snake. They weren't particularly dangerous beasts; they were simply difficult to track and capture, but their offensive potential was nothing to fear, especially for a well-trained squadron. Besides, the dragonslayers Osé and Melefes could have disposed of dozens of those creatures without the slightest problem.

  There was something else.

  An unpleasant sensation. The wind was heavy with an air of malice. The killing intent was more than a mere omen; it was a true ability that stronger beings emitted almost like a second breath.

  The Golden King impressed his will simply by appearing in a room. Mathias had been under such pressure only once, and though he had felt its effects only from a distance, he kept telling himself that the unpleasant shadow of death now clutching his throat was much, much thinner.

  He had to convince himself of that.

  "Cavalar! Comrades! Is anyone there!?"

  Shouts scattered like seeds in the sand. Nothing would bloom from those efforts.

  What was there to do?

  Mathias continued forward for a few steps, holding nothing but a simple cabbage. He had eaten just now, yet he took another bite to find some sort of vigor.

  It was well known that some races could feed on the weak to increase their power. After years of a cabbage-based diet, Mathias was ready to swear that his awakening would come soon. Very soon.

  "Ah... what do we have here?"

  Something glinted faintly, buried beneath the sand. It had a familiar look.

  "Where have I seen this armor before? And why am I talking out loud?" With impending madness as his only friend, Mathias began to pull at what looked more and more like a pauldron. "A... Unicorn ensign?"

  The cabbage rose in his throat, morphing in filthy puke.

  So long for the awakening.

  The body of one of the Dragonslayers lay forgotten. The last remains of the paladin had been buried in that faraway place.

  Like many of them, no one could call this place home. Mathias remembered his kingdom, his cities. The sieges of the Golden King's troops, the screams of terror when the soldiers broke through the defenses, the deafening charges, and the rivers of rotting blood that flowed after the conflict. Mathias remembered all of it, associating that pain with a legendary epic.

  It gave his father's surrender a sense of meaning... It gave the reason they had decided to change masters a final and honorable purpose.

  Now, they were all dead, and the only thing he could clutch was a half-eaten cabbage.

  He did it. He pressed that dirty vegetable against his chest as the sand began to rise and the storm blew with even greater violence.

  The maws of three sand snakes stopped just a short distance from him. Looking up, Mathias could see the internal abyss of those disgusting creatures, the organs twisting inside those endless chasms.

  "A survivor? This kind of looks like a human, at least… But that horn…"

  A youthful voice brought him back to his senses. Sitting atop one of the sand worms, indifferent to everything happening around him, was a young man. A mop of blonde hair concealed two crimson eyes that watched him with boredom.

  Mathias was terrified of that presence. He was terrified of all the other presences he sensed around him. A black aura that choked his breath and robbed him of even speech.

  "Lord Osé…" He whispered the name when all seemed lost.

  The last Dragonslayer was a hero even among those exceptional individuals. The jaguar demi-human approached with a stealthy gait, the two sabers he brandished trailing along the sandy ground.

  Mathias had not lost all his memory. Mathias knew that even three, ten, or twenty sand worms were nothing but trash to the elite of the Golden Horde. And the time had come to clean up.

  Osé's jaws swung open; his roar sent two of the sand worms plunging back into the abysses from which they had come. Only the one the young human sat upon remained slithering in its place.

  "Demi-human… A lord? This is a headache…" The disdain was cast into the air, but there was nothing else in the aggressor's attitude.

  Had fear snatched away his wits? Had the sight of a champion approaching driven away his arrogance?

  Osé had single-handedly held off ten thousand enemy troops in complete solitude without breaking a sweat. He still wore at his belt the scales of an adult volcanic dragon he had helped slaughter.

  Dragonslayer. The title held so much more than void meaning.

  "Boy... Are you the only one left?"

  Wiping away his tears, Mathias screamed at the top of his lungs. "Please, save me!" The bitter taste of shame still poisoned his palate.

  "I am here."

  Osé smiled at him. The smile of someone accustomed to countering fear, to calming hearts.

  Mathias, finally, felt safe.

  Mathias, who had seen the world he knew change in the span of a moment, found hope again.

  Mathias, who had abandoned his family for worthless dreams, who still had his father's warnings echoing in his head, let out a sigh of relief.

  Mathias, who saw that elf girl appear out of nowhere, didn't even find the chance for one last cry.

  The girl killed Osé.

  Then she approached Mathias, her two-toned hair swaying as she ran. Mismatched eyes puzzled by all that had happened. Her hand, still stained with the dragonslayer's blood, picked up Mathias's cabbage from the ground. After taking a single bite, she spat it out in disgust.

  "I hate cabbage."

  The elf girl did nothing more. The world just turned on itself as Mathias collapsed.

  Beta readers: HackSlashBash, Whostolemytea?, PervySageChuck

  A/N Life has been much of a bitch lately. Next chapters will probably take as long as this one. I apologize.