Chapter 9, Plegia
"You want … to kill Validar," I said slowly to ensure I'd heard her correctly.
Robin nodded feebly.
Okay, this … this wasn't a conversation to hold in a random hallway, where anyone could walk in on us. Taking her by the hand, I led Robin back to our room and locked the door shut behind us. I sat her down on the bed, then paced the floor like an agitated animal.
Once I was reasonably sure I wasn't suffering a bout of temporary madness, I asked again, "So, Validar. You want to kill the Hierophant of the Grimleal."
Robin pressed her lips into a hard line, but her silence was confirmation enough.
"Who, as we currently know, has never left Plegia—whose king hates my guts and likely wants to sacrifice them on some dark altar—because he's too busy rubbing one out dreaming about the apocalypse in whatever heavily fortified temple or castle the Mad King's chosen to give him."
Another nod.
"Not to mention the literal army standing between us and him."
A weaker, more unsure nod.
I exhaled, inhaled, then pulled up a chair so I was sitting in front of Robin.
"At least tell me why," I asked pleadingly. Sure, I could come up with a few accurate guesses, but I wasn't taking that chance with Robin; not again.
She didn't say anything at first. Minutes passed, and our only companion was the sound of burning wood in the chamber's fireplace.
Then she reached for her Stone Mask, and languidly pulled it off. It was my first time seeing Robin's face in years, and I wasn't expecting the solid black lines hanging underneath her gaunt eyes. She looked like she hadn't enjoyed a decent night's sleep in forever.
"I'm afraid," was her raw response. "Every day, I'm worried I'll wake up as the Fell Dragon, worried I'll kill my mother … and you. I've tried to ignore it, to locked it away, but I can't … I just can't …" Her posture slouched into an undeniable slump of enfeeblement.
"Robin," I said carefully. "If simply waiting about could turn you into Grima, Morgan wouldn't have spent years hiding you away from Validar."
"I-I know, I suspect Validar himself has the means to … awaken my true self."
"Robin, you're not—"
"Please don't," Robin shuddered, hugging herself tightly. "Just … don't. I understand what you're trying to say, but the facts are what they are."
I held my tongue, despite how much I desperately didn't want to.
After taking a quaking breath of air, Robin continued. "If Validar is the one who can awakening my true self, then with his death Ylisse will be spared the Fell Dragon's wrath … and I can continue living my lie, no longer in constant fear of losing who I am now."
I glanced down, and noticed my folded hands were gripping each other fiercely. I forced them to relax as I put my thoughts in order.
"This means a lot to you, doesn't it?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
All in all … this was a bad idea; horrible idea. Like, Top 10 Bad Ideas Since Coming to Ylisse, bad. I would know; most of those mistakes were mine. I thought about what Robin was asking, really thought about it. Was it possible? If we committed to this, slaying one of Awakening's Big Bads years ahead of his fated date with Death, it'd throw cannon way out of whack. Then again, my constant bumbling over the years had already ensured their twitching corpse was already cooling in a forgotten corner of the Outrealms. What was one more kick to its carcass?
Cannon? Never heard of her!
The real big question was this: was it doable? I mentally ran through a list of ideas. Could we lure Validar into Ylisse? Lead him into a trap of our own making then shove a sword through his head? If we used Robin as bait, there was a strong chance we'd be able to reel in the big cheese. But what if he smelt the deception? Assuming our enemies didn't have functioning brains was the quickest way to ensuring our own messy ends. The bastard might send his lackeys instead, or sneak an untold number of Grimleal across the Ylisse-Plegia border to flip our ambush on its head.
But what other choice did we have? Sneak into Plegia, where we'd be drowning in a sea of enemies, and somehow slip a dagger between Validar's ribs? Easier said than done! There was no way someone as important as Validar didn't have personal, and powerful, bodyguards shadowing his every step. Not only that, but I was pretty damn sure the Hierophant himself knew how to throw down with dark magic. Getting into an extended fight with him was absolutely out of the question, as alarms would be raised and we'd find ourselves trapped by a Plegian army deep inside hostile territory. If we wanted to killed Validar with our necks intact our strike needed to be swift and surgical; an assassination.
Basically, we needed to be able to sneak in and out of Plegia without being seen. Was that even possible?
… holy shit, it was.
We had the Stone Mask. With Robin wearing the original, and me Projecting a copy for myself, sneaking across the border and into the desert kingdom wasn't entirely out of the question. Sure, the Stone Mask wasn't infallible, and it was all too probable that Validar and other sufficiently skilled personnel could see through its magic like a cheap trick, but the masks still increased our chances from "absolutely impossible" to "doable but incredibly stupid". Not only that, but if all went well we'd also have the element of surprise on our side. After all, I doubted the Grimleal's head honcho believed there was anyone out there insane enough to try and eliminate him in the beating heart of Plegian territory.
We might be able to pull this off; might. The risk of failure was still too damn high for my liking.
But when I looked at Robin, and saw how tired and afraid she was—she constantly was—I knew I had to try. For her sake.
One brand of me-level stupidity, coming right up.
"… I'd feel better if I went to Plegia alone," I said.
"Y-You can't!" Robin immediately protested.
"Robin, Plegia's the kingdom of the Grimleal. Having you come with me would be no different than walking straight into the Fell Dragon's waiting mouth. If I'm caught and captured, the most I risk is death. But if you're captured—"
"—I'll kill myself before Validar lays a hand on me!" Robin swore.
I winced, but went on. "Plus, it'd be easier for me to escape if I'm by myself."
Robin couldn't refute that. She'd seen my top speed, and knew I could run as fast as a knight's horse when fully Reinforced. Her tactical mind, cultivated by Morgan's efforts and teachings, would conclude the best way to raise my chances of success was if I went alone.
But her heart was another matter entirely.
"Please," she begged, unable to meet my eyes, "I can't let you leave me behind, not for this. This is something I have to … have to see for myself."
I withheld a groan. Seeing her determination, I knew she'd chased after me even if I tied her up and left her with the Duke of Themis. It'd be stupid of her, yes, but so was trying to assassinate the Hierophant of the Grimleal all by my lonesome.
Well, if she was going to be dumb, at least let it be somewhere I could see her.
"Alright, we'll both go," I conceded.
Robin's relief damn near broke my heart. How long had she been holding all this in for? I only hoped nothing went wrong during this brain-dead excursion.
…
… and, I just jinxed us.
Fuck me.
~
With the Duke of Themis safe from execution, I announced to the noble family that I'd be moving on. To my surprise, Maribelle was reluctant to see me leave. She truly thought of me as a friend (somehow), and my departure meant she'd return to being a social outcast.
"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find another," I assured her, giving her a pat on the shoulder. I knew she became close friends with Lissa, the younger sister of Emmeryn and Chrom, but I wasn't going to tell her that. My loose lips and dumb ideas caused enough butterflies as they were.
"Guardian, I am not entirely blind to my failings," Maribelle confessed, something I never thought I'd hear from an 11 year old. High nobles sure were raised different. "I am a pariah, the butt of so many malicious rumors and japes. Who would dare risk their social standing to mingle with one such as I?"
"Someone who'll be your friend for life," I promised.
That broached Maribelle's frown with a smile. "May I consider you as one?"
It'd be rude to say no, wouldn't it? "Sure." I reached out for a handshake. "Friends?"
Maribelle beamed, shaking my hand with her own dainty fingers. "Friends! Do drop by again! The next time you do, I would be delighted to inform my social inferior in the ways of the aristocratic life!"
I knew she meant well.
I finished exchanging pleasantries and farewells with her father and mother, both of whom insisted I come by again, before departing with Robin. We dropped by the nearby city so I could properly stock my Inventory, and I made a few specific requisitions from the local blacksmith, before we made our way to Border Pass.
~
Or what was left of it.
This was my first time returning here since that fateful night. Perhaps I'd been avoiding it subconsciously? Either way, Robin and I were here now. Observing from a distance, we saw a sprawling encampment of Ylissean soldiers stationed at the area. Knights patrolled the ground, while Pegasus fliers flew across and watched the skies. Beyond the defensive palisade they'd established was the mountain of Border Pass …
… or the mile-wide crater where it used to be.
I swallowed a surge of apprehension. I'd done that. No, the Fierce Deity had done that; blow away an entire mountain with one strike, leaving nothing behind. Its power only became more terrifying when I remembered I hadn't been the one in control. Did it take over because I was grievously wounded at the time, or was I simply too weak to handle the awe-inspiring power of a god?
Well, the Fierce Deity's Mask could always be our Plan Z. If we made it into Plegia and everything went to absolute hell … I might consider putting the mask on again. Until then, I'd no intention of letting it see the light of day again.
"You told me you'd blown up a mountain," Robin murmured, her words stricken with awe, "but I don't think I truly accepted it until now."
"Not me, the Fierce Deity," I quietly corrected.
"Do you think he could help us kill Validar?"
"… let's cross that bridge when we get to it."
Robin agreed, then asked, "How'll you sneak your way past the Ylissean border guard?"
"The same way you will," I replied, bringing my right hand up to my mask. In the span of an instant, I stored the Keaton Mask in my Inventory while simultaneously Tracing a copy of the Stone Mask, manifesting exactly when the Keaton Mask vanished.
[MAGIC: 11 (-4)]
There was also that: I had less magic to work with so long as I maintained the Projection.
"C'mon, let's …" I paused, noticing Robin staring at me intently. I could feel her eyes, even while she wore the original Stone Mask. "… something wrong?"
"N-Nothing," Robin coughed before turning away and murmuring, "… still didn't see his face."
Oh yeah, that was still a thing. I didn't know why I hadn't shown Robin my face yet. At this point it was like a game between us. Maybe if we returned from Plegia alive, I'd show her.
"Let's go," I said, snapping my friend out of her disappointed muttering.
We approached the Ylissean camp as quietly as we were able. I could sense the Stone Mask's magic working, like a precariously thin bubble hiding me from common perception; any action that drew attention to myself would pop it. Also, it turned out when two people wear Stone Masks at the same time they can see one another with perfect clarity. Good to know, as it meant Robin and I wouldn't accidentally bump into one another.
We silently crept past dining tents filled with soldiers enjoying a midday meal, unarmored cavaliers sparring to keep their skills sharp, Pegasus knights grooming their winged steeds, and comrade-in-arms exchanging stories to stave off boredom.
I used [Structural Analysis] to keep a constant look out for anyone with high enough skill to see past our Stone Masks. Luckily for us, there were none. Robin and I reached the palisades, slipped around wooden stakes, and reached the edge of the yawning crater.
I felt it then: a heaviness in the air, pressing down on me while making my breath short. Beside me, I felt Robin grip the edge of my sleeve, shaking like a windswept leaf. Neither of us needed to say anything, we knew what this was: dark energy, lingering like an old scar. Even after four years, the Fierce Deity's presence here bleed onto the land.
While we did our best to ensure we made as little noise as possible, we still crossed the crater in a hurry. I didn't like this crushing feeling, and neither did Robin. The sooner we left it behind us, the better.
Our efforts saw us to the other side quickly enough, and we were met with the barricade barring entrance to Plegia. It was a wall of stacked sandbags a few yards high, patrolled by unarmed Plegians dressed in black robes. No, they weren't unarmed; they were mages. Thankfully, they couldn't detect us, so Robin and I found a gap in their defenses and slipped through.
The Plegian encampment was a lot more haphazardly set up than their Ylissean counterpart, as tents were strewn about without any rhyme or reason, and while Ylisse fielded armored cavaliers and graceful Pegasus knights, Plegia had delegated their border's defense to shirtless axe-wielding fighters, myrmidons scraping dried blood from their blades, dark mages enraptured by the evil poisoning the air, and a few wyvern riders. Wyverns were giant lizards with two rear legs and a set of wings instead of forearms, and were generally large enough for people to ride on. They were basically mini-dragons, and I wondered how fierce that made them in combat.
Robin and I steered clear of them when we realized the wyverns could smell us. However, their sense of smell wasn't great, which was the only reason we weren't immediately caught.
Another big difference was the absence of discipline. Fights were breaking out constantly across the camp, usually evoked by petty arguments that spiraled into all-out combat. Twice we watched a swordsman behead his fellow Plegian, with no one batting an eye. In fact, the commanding officers would demand the victor drag away the body before it stank up the campground with a downright bored tone.
Honestly, some of these men acted more like bandits than soldiers.
Still, the general chaos did an excellent job drowning out the quiet shuffling of our feet, and we made our way through the Plegian blockade without issue.
~
Sneaking into Plegia was a cakewalk.
Getting to Plegia castle? There's the challenge.
Plegia was a desert kingdom. A few miles past the Plegia-Ylisse border, and Robin and I were faced with an endless expanse of sand, interspersed with rolling dunes. Traversing them was a miserable experience, as the shifting sand steadily sapped our stamina with every step while the sun cranked up its intensity and bombarded us with heat waves that generated the most lifelike mirages.
The two of us were sweating constantly. We exchange our current clothes for sleeveless shirts and short pants, although we wore thin hooded cloaks atop of that to keep the treacherous sun from baking us with its laser beams of sunlight. Sweat trickled from our limbs at a relentless rate, while the dry air constantly caused our lips to crack and bleed. It amazed me that anyone could live in a place like this.
I was so grateful we had magic and SYSTEM bullshit on our side, otherwise the two of us might've perished a few days into our journey. Chapped lips were mended with Heal staves, heatstroke was fended off with tempered uses of Wind magic, and dehydration stood no chance against our copious intakes of water.
Did we have enough? I checked my Inventory to be sure.
[Barrel of Fresh Water (x106)]
… I could've brought more.
The nights were equally horrid. As the heat of day dissipated, the temperature dropped faster than a swimming Goron until it was damn near freezing. Robin and I kept warm by keeping close to our campfires and sharing a tent, our backs pressed against one another for warmth.
After wandering west for two weeks like this, moods were souring. Robin was becoming snappy, and I wasn't much better. It was hard to act cheerful when you're suffering from a heat-induced headache and smell like a farmer's abandoned barnyard.
We both needed a moment of respite.
As night encroached, we spotted a outcrop of rock jutting out of the sand. In the sun's absence, the blistering stone swiftly lost heat until it was cool to the touch. Once we reached it, declaring it to be our campsite for the night, I worked on setting up a little something special.
I put together a small campfire; it was tinier, but easier to control. Then, I took out two large bricks of equal size and set them on either side of the fire. Afterwards, I summoned a large steel barrel from my Inventory and balanced it atop of the blocks. It was shaped to resemble an oil drum, and was the item I commissioned from the Themis blacksmith. He'd given me an odd look when I made the request, but a handful of gold shut him up and got him working.
"What're you doing?" Robin asked jadedly, noticing I wasn't preparing dinner.
"Something to help us relax," I said as I filled the steel drum with water from one of my barrels. Wasteful, sure, but tonight it'd be worth it. Then, using a Traced Fire tome, I brought the gathered water to a pleasant temperature, which was now maintained by the small fire underneath it.
"Ta-da! Instant bath!" I said with a presenter's flourish.
Robin stared at the water-filled drum with open reverence. "How … how did you think of this?"
"It's something I learn of back home." Praise the internet.
Robin took off her Stone Mask (I switched out mine for my trusty Keaton Mask) so she could see the steaming drum bath with her own two eyes. Then her cheeks became suffused with an intense blush as she nervously asked, "A-A-Are we … both suppose to fit in there?"
I stared at the drum bath, then at my floundering friend; back to the obviously cramped bath, then back to an embarrassed Robin.
Was it getting hot all of a sudden? Couldn't be. It was night, it should be getting colder.
I cleared my throat with a cough. "A bit small, don't you think?"
"Y-Yeah, much too small," Robin hastily agreed.
Ah, the opportunity was too good to pass up. "Although if you really want to, I'm sure I could find a way to squeeze us both in."
Robin's blush returned with atomic force. "T-T-T-T-That—!"
I laughed, glad to see another emotion besides constant depression. "I kid, I kid. You can go first. When you're done, I'll replace the water and take a dip myself. Here"—I tossed her a bar of scented soap; cost me a bit of gold, but I knew it'd come in handy eventually—"enjoy yourself."
"O-Okay," Robin said, her rosy cheeks dimming. But as she moved to shed her sweaty clothes, she glared at me and added, "Don't you dare peek."
"Gentleman's honor," I promised, though I couldn't resist adding, "but if I wore the Stone Mask, it's not like you'd ever know."
My cheeky response earned me a bar of soap between the eyes, furiously chucked by a red-faced Robin. With an annoyed huff, Robin slapped on her own Stone Mask and vanished. A few seconds later her clothes popped into view as she tossed them, before the water in the drum bath was displaced as an invisible body entered. Doing so broke the mask's magic, but by then Robin was already chin-deep in comfortably warm water, her modesty preserved.
I'd already turned around by then, planning tonight's menu.
Yet before I left to give Robin her privacy, I heard her murmur, "Thank you … for everything."
Tonight was definitely a good night.
~
Our rejuvenated moods reached new heights the following morning as we spotted a settlement. It was a large city, built atop of plateau of red rock. The thick adobe buildings were made from blocks mixed from clay, sand, straw, and water, and designed to reflect heat during the day and keep out the cold at night.
Keeping our Stone Masks on, we infiltrated the Plegian city. Our priority was information, specifically where this city was located in relation to the Plegian capital. We didn't dare speak to anyone, as that involved revealing ourselves, so we stuck to eavesdropping.
That's how we came across our first problem: the city was eerily quiet. While there were townsfolk and guards middling about, everyone generally kept to themselves. The people kept their heads down, almost always focusing on nothing but their feet, while the armed soldiers diligently patrolled the city's perimeter with a disciple those at the border lacked. In fact, it was odd. It didn't feel like the soldiers were preparing to keep trouble out; it looked like they were ensuring nobody left.
Needless to say, I got a bad feeling.
Since snooping got us nowhere, we snuck into the barracks and searched for the commanding officer's station. It was there we found a map identifying the city we were in (Gythida), and that the capital of Plegia (Pruzia) was a week's travel west of our location.
I scanned the map with [Structural Analysis] so I could Project a copy whenever we needed it. Studying it, we also learned Plegia used strict transport routes between its towns and cities, which left empty swaths of desert filled with nothing but sand. These were labeled Death Zones, as those who stumbled into them generally wound up hopelessly lost before slowly perishing.
Robin and I crossed one such Death Zone, which was why we hadn't encountered any settlements until now. Thank goodness for my well-stocked Inventory and my impeccable sense of direction.
We chose not to stay in Gythida any longer than we had to. It wasn't like we could rent a room, and there was no telling who was or wasn't a Grimleal cultist. The sooner we got to Pruzia, the better.
Yet as we snuck out, Robin and I noticed a crowd gathering at one of the city's market squares. Assembling them was a robed Plegian; a high-ranking officer, perhaps.
"Several more spots have opened in the mines," the sorcerer announced with a drawl of disinterest. "Those who wish for the opportunity to provide for their families, line up and provide your name to my assistant." He gestured to another well-dressed Plegian shadowing his four o'clock, holding a parchment and quill.
Murmurs broke out amongst the townsfolk.
"You heard? This be our chance to finally earn a wage!"
"Sun-addled fool! Have you forgotten? Those who go into those accursed mines are never seen again!"
"What're you saying?"
"I'm saying those damn tunnels are a death trap!"
"But the families of the miners are still provided for! My family is starving! Any longer, and they'll wilt away and join the sands!"
Similar arguments were cropping up everywhere, enough to prod my curiosity. Mines? This city must sit atop a mineral vein, and was reliant on it for its prosperity. But why would miners constantly be disappearing? Unsafe working environment? I doubted Plegia had anything like OSHA.
Robin and I shared a glance, then retreated. In a quiet, abandoned alley, she said, "What do you think?"
I think the mines reeked to high Heaven. It might as well have a sign over the entrance that read "SUPER SUSPICIOUS MINE AHEAD! PLEASE ENTER FOR YOUR FAST-TRACK TO HELL!"
But I had to remember why we were here. "We should move on."
Robin grabbed my arm. "Wh-What? But you're the Guardian! Helping innocents is what you do! Is … is it because they're Plegians?"
"No," I shook my head. "It's because if we cause a ruckus here, an army will be sent to suppress it. Whatever's going on in those mines, I've little doubt it's with the Mad King's blessing. Even if we 'fix' whatever's wrong, Gangrel will just put things back the way they were after we leave. Don't forget: we're here for Validar. If we draw attention to ourselves, we'll lose the element of surprise, as well as any chance of taking that bastard's head."
I could feel Robin's hands tremble. "I … I understand that … but surely there's something we can do?"
Damn it, Robin, I swear you'll be the death of me. Depressed as she may be, she was still too good a person to turn away from such a plight.
"Let's find out what's going on first," I decided, much to Robin's relief.
Heading back to the city square, we saw a number of townsfolk had signed up to labor in the mines and were already being led away to work. The Plegian officers said their families would be notified of their "respectable new positions" and that time was wasting. We trailed them as they headed deeper into the city, passing several checkpoints keeping wanderers out, and to a seemingly abandoned warehouse.
My bad feeling intensified.
"Inside," the officer ordered. The townsfolk were unquestionably worried, but still obeyed.
Robin and I slipped inside before the door was closed.
What was going on? This place was empty, although from the lack of dust it was obviously well kept. Then a trapdoor on the floor opened, and in walked a group of Plegian soldiers, followed by a wrinkled old man wreathed in a lavish black cassock.
Yet it was the symbol adorning the back of his garments that made my breath halt: it was a symmetrical, six-eyed emblem, identical to the one on the back of Robin's shaking right hand; the Mark of Grima.
This old bastard was one of the Grimleal.
"Ah, excellent. You found replacements so soon," the Grimleal cackled, his voice like sandpaper. With a swish of his hand, the Plegian soldiers surrounded the gathered townsfolk, who were properly terrified.
"W-What's going on? Why aren't we at the mines?" one of the plain clothed men demanded.
"The mines? Oh, worry not, young man. That will be your destination after a brief … initiation."
A few of them relaxed; I didn't, unable to miss the old coot's brimming malevolence.
"So how much are we getting paid?" another asked.
"Paid?" the Grimleal repeated as if he'd never heard the word. "Why, you'll be toiling for the glory of Grima! … and Gangrel by extension," the Grimleal added as an afterthought. "The honor to serve should be all you require!"
"Cut the ox-shit!" a gutsy man raged. "We came here because you promised paying jobs! So we can support our families! Not to listen to some freak spew his Fell Dragon crap!"
The Grimleal shook his head in exaggerated dismay. "Ah, the insolence of the heretical. I believe you lot need to be taught proper manners."
It happened too suddenly.
The encircling soldiers hefted their lances and skewered the surrounded townsfolk, each inflicting a killing blow. It was too fast for me to do anything. What's worse were the looks on the soldiers' faces: deadened acquiescence. These were the expressions of men who'd repeated this heartless act so frequently that guilt found no purchase on their jaded souls.
"Much better," the Grimleal said with sick satisfaction. It took herculean effort to stop myself from firing an iron sword between his wrinkled eyes. The priest snapped his fingers, and two more Fell Dragon cultists emerged from the trapdoor, carrying a reeking box between them; and I mean it reeked, exuding noxious fumes that smelled of rotting earth and putrid flesh.
The Plegian soldiers were unaffected.
The Grimleal were practically snorting the rancid bouquet.
Then the priest opened the box, revealing a row of … masks? Dead gray masks resembling a face in torturous pain. Moving as if he were performing a hallowed act, the priest picked up a mask and placed it on one of the fresh corpses.
Robin and I watched in mute horror as parasitic tendrils slithered out from the underside of the mask and burrowed their way into the body's unmoving head. We saw skin and muscle shift, bulge, as the tentacles spread throughout the corpse, likely entwining itself onto every nerve, bone, and muscle it had.
Then the carcass twitched, spasmed, and wildly thrashed as the body was reanimated in a twisted way.
I realized then I'd witnessed the creation of a Risen, the shock troopers of the Fell Dragon.
Risen masks were distributed to the rest of the corpses, transforming them all into twisted parodies of life. Each twitched and shambled like a zombie, while cursed violet energy burned from their shriveling eyes.
"Ah, the unenlightened become so much more obedient after they've accepted the Fell Dragon's gift," the Grimleal priest said with a fanatical smirk; the bastard fully believed the garbage he was spewing. "Captain, escort these fine citizens to the mines. All that iron won't dig itself."
"It will be done," the Plegian officer said. "But I must report that the families of the deceased—"
"What a horrible thing to call them, captain! You know I abhor such prejudice labels. Call them by their proper titles: the cured."
The officer's eyes rolled. "The families of the cured are beginning to ask about their loved ones."
"I fail to see the issue. If they wish to see their cherished so dearly, invite them! Invite them all! The Grimleal are always willing to enlighten the ignorant masses."
"As you say."
The Risen were led from the warehouse using an alternate doorway, obediently following the orders given. Robin and I remained rooted where we stood as the space was gradually emptied.
I'd known the Risen were the game's cannon fodder enemies, but this was the first time I'd ever seen once created. It was fucking awful.
Robin found her voice first. "How … how could they …?"
"… it makes a sick amount of sense," I growled, unclenching the fists I hadn't noticed I'd made. "Those … things are undead, corpses moving through some twisted dark magic crap. They don't need to eat or sleep, and I doubt they can get tired. They'll keep on … existing until they're literally falling apart. The prefect workforce."
"How is that a gift?!" Robin nearly yelled.
"We're dealing with cultists; nothing they do makes sense," I snarled. I'd always absently considered the Grimleal to be my enemies, simply because they were the antagonists to the game's protagonists.
But now? I hated them.
"We're leaving."
"What?!" Robin hissed. "How can … how can we just leave after seeing that?! We need to stop them!"
"Do I have to keep telling you this? We're in Plegian territory, the land of the Grimleal. We draw attention to ourselves, we're screwed. Say we boot those bastards from this city, what then? They'll just keep coming back. On top of that, I doubt this is the only place those insane assholes are active. They could be operating all across Plegia, making more R—undead whatever they go. Are you saying we forget about Validar and hunt down his peons first?"
Robin shook, her hands clenched furiously. "If we kill Validar … will this madness end?"
"It might be a start, but in the long run I doubt it. The Grimleal were crazy long before Validar was born, and they'll continue to be longer after he's gone."
"What if we told what's happening to the king? Gangrel?"
"What makes you think he doesn't know?" I countered. "The Mad King's an upcoming warmonger whose been trying to weaken Ylisse for years now, all leading up to an inevitable invasion. Having an undead workforce and army would be nothing but a boon to him."
"Does he care nothing for his people?"
I shook my head. "He's nothing like Emmeryn, who wants only peace. Gangrel wants war, because he revels in the thrill of it."
"But … there has to be something we can do!"
"If you have a suggestion, I'm all ears."
I knew Robin was scowling beneath her Stone Mask, especially when she began furiously pacing back and forth. She eventually slowed, took a deep breath, and admitted, "We can't help all of Plegia, not with just the two of us. But we can give the people of this city a warning, and perhaps a fighting chance."
I cocked an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"
~
Her plan was basic in execution. She pillaged stacks of blank parchment, several quills, and bottles of ink from the officer's barracks, and stared writing what we'd learned on as many pages as she could fill. Meanwhile, I was sabotaging the city's armaments using my sub-skill [Alteration].
[Alteration] allowed me to manipulate a non-living object's shape as if it were putty, as well as give it a property or effect it originally didn't have. In this case, when I located the armory, lined with all manner of weaponry, I used [Alteration] to add a new trait to every weapon I could get my hands on: [Brittle]. While on the outside all the swords, axes, lances, and so forth appeared to be in pristine condition, they'd shatter like glass as soon as someone swung them. I did the same to their stores of armor. As for the spell tomes, [Alteration] let me rearrange all their text, erasing the magical formulae and replacing them with lyrics from Rick Astley's Never Going to Give You Up.
When Robin finished with her warning letters (and I healed her cramped hand), we secretly distributed them to the homes of Gythida's common folk.
Then we ran, and didn't look back.
"Even if they revolt and succeed, Gangrel will simply send an army to suppress them," I pointed out as we raced across the dunes.
"I know," Robin admitted, pumping her arms. "But they deserved to know the truth. Furthermore …" she hesitated, but reluctantly added "… such a rebellion would draw both the Mad King's and the Grimleal's attention away from the capital, our destination."
My eyes widened, not that she could see it. "You're using them as a distraction."
"I'm not …! That was never my initial intention, but … mother would call me foolish to deny such an advantage."
Neither of us said anymore. There was nothing else to say.
~
After a few silent days of travel, we spotted Pruzia, the capital of Plegia in the distance. It was damn hard to miss, especially considering it was nestled within the wide-open maw of a ginormous dragon's skull, a skull with six empty eye sockets.
Grima's skull, when it was slain by the First Exalt 1,000 years ago.
I took a moment to let the view really sink in, because the damn thing was enormous enough to swallow mountains. I wondered if the rest of its skeleton was buried deep beneath the sands, as all that stuck out was the elongated cranium still filled with hill-sized teeth and a few phalanges reaching for the sky like slanted spires of bone. Trying to imagine the Fell Dragon's true size filled me with a crippling dread, as I had no problem seeing it cover the entire continent when measured from tip to tail.
Wings of Despair indeed.
I noticed Robin was similarly rendered speechless by the tremendous sight.
"That's … me? My true form?" she gasped, reeling on her feet.
"No, that's the Fell Dragon. You're too cute to be a six-eyed harbinger of destruction," I said, making Robin stumbled on her words and successful stall whatever self-deprecation she had planned. Then I pointed to the crown of Grima's skull. "Look."
Robin shaded her eyes with her hands as she peered into the distance. She eventually saw what I spotted: an obsidian castle, with intimidating towers and walls that sucked in and drained whatever sunlight touched them.
"So the capital's inside the mouth, while the castle's on top of its head," I murmured. I wondered if there was any funky symbolism going on.
Ah, and I couldn't forget about the towering quarried walls surrounding the skull, forming the initial defensive perimeter. Still, there were caravans going in and out of the assigned gates, so sneaking in with the Stone Masks shouldn't be a problem.
"We're close. Are you ready?" I asked.
I got a jittery nod in return. "I'm … as ready as I think I'll be."
"We should scout around first, gather information. We don't even know if Validar's here at the moment."
"It'll also give us time to map the city's layout and plan an escape route," Robin agreed.
Our current course set, we trudged our ways towards the capital's high walls. We needed to be careful here; while our presence was masked, we were still leaving footprints in the damn sand. To avoid detection, we waited near the main road (likely made with painstaking effort) and hopped onto a passing carriage heading to the capital. When the wall's guards halted our ride to check for anything out of the ordinary, we held our breaths. The guard's eyes slid over us several times, unable to focus on our precise location. After a few minutes, the driver was given the all-clear and headed onward.
As we approached, Grima's skull got bigger and bigger. To think the Shepards fought on the back of the revived Fell Dragon in a battle for the fate of the world. Damn, they were a brave bunch.
Soon, we entered the sea of shade cast by the enormous dragon's remains. I felt a tingle at the edge of my senses, a faint hum of dark magic. It was similar to what I sensed at the Border Pass crater, but much weaker. I figured it had to do with the skull rotting here for 1,000 years, plenty of time for lingering Fell energy to disperse. The fact that I still felt any at all was a testament to Grima's indomitable power.
When we reached the edge of the capital, it wasn't a pretty sight. To put it simply, we entered through the slums, an area densely packed with subpar housing made from sticks and discarded clothes and filled with too many miserable people. Maribelle's favorite saying of "unwashed masses" would've easily applied here, as the heavy musk of tightly packed and squalid bodies permeated the slums like a lingering fog. A few watched our wagon with a ravenous leer in their sunken eyes, like they were planning to attack and raid it for everything it was worth. The driver reached for his sheathed sword, ready to retaliate if forced.
The impoverished kept their distance, and there was a distressing number of them.
It was nothing like Ylisstol.
Everything tilted as our ride hit a ramp, taking us upward. The driver whipped his horses to take us up faster. We arrived at an upper tier of the capital, and the world changed before our eyes. The streets were clean, devoid of human waste and unwanted trash. The people here were suitably dressed and groomed. The buildings, made of an obsidian-like material, were polished and well maintained. Under the perpetual darkness cast by Grima's skull, the district was suitably lit by street lamps generating magical light.
It was a literal division of the social class. The poor and destitute were left to squalor at the bottommost sector of the capital, while here—at the mid-level—was the middle class. I imagined the upper class, highborn nobles and their ilk, resided at the third and uppermost tier of the city.
And at the very top: Plegia castle, home of the Mad King.
Our ride stopped outside a merchant's store; the driver must be making a delivery.
With utmost caution, Robin and I slipped out the back to find a quiet place to converse. Usually, this meant an empty alleyway with little-to-no pedestrians.
"What is wrong with this place?" Robin hissed. "Does nobody here care about the thousands of human beings all living in poverty right below us?"
"Different kingdom, different culture," I murmured. "Never saw anything like this in Ylisstol. Still doesn't make it right. Robin—"
"—I know, I know, there's nothing we can do for them. Doesn't mean I have to like it."
"No one said you did."
Robin released a suffering sigh before regathering her wits. "Okay, information. There's a lot more chatter here than Gythida, so eavesdropping at popular establishments should yield information. Shall we split up?"
I didn't like that idea. "We'd cover more ground, but we've no allies here. If something happened to you or me, we'd be on our own."
"A fair point. Very well, let's stick together."
It wasn't hard to find a tavern, as they were generally the rowdiest locations. Robin and I stuck to a dark corner while keeping our ears open. People would come in, order a drink from the owner, and loosen their lips with alcohol, letting us hear quite a few tales.
On the isle west of Plegia, a day's distance at sea, a small army of mercenaries laid claim to an old Plegian fortress; rumors said their leader was planning on establishing his own little kingdom. An apothecary's brother-in-law, who was a Plegian soldier under a General Mustafa, explained how Gangrel was planning on gathering up people from the capital's slums and shipping them out to other Plegian cities so they could contribute to the kingdom; Robin and I grimaced, as we both had an inkling on what the fate of those unfortunate souls would be. Another patron, an antique dealer, was grieving over how he'd been fleeced by a redheaded merchant with a mischievous smile.
All in all, nothing terribly useful. However, it was interesting to hear how many distained the Grimleal. As a matter of fact, it was the general consensus. Yet despite this shared belief, nobody dared to openly go against the cult that had the Plegian king's ear.
As we'd learned nothing pertaining to Validar, we decided to head up a tier: the upper class section of the capital. Finding it was easy, as all we had to do was follow the roads leading upward. Getting inside was a tad trickier, as there were gatekeepers inspecting everyone who wanted to enter the high nobles' territory. Unless you were exorbitantly wealthy, were a member of the six high families, were a noble of good standing, or were invited by a current resident, the guards would turn you away.
Robin and I timed our entrance with another's, shadowing the pompous highborn's footsteps to sneak in.
Dear god, this level was gaudy as hell. The roads were shined and polished until they resembled precious metals, the mansions were so flamboyant and enormous they could house small armies, and the regalia everyone wore made them resemble strutting peacocks. I swear I saw someone wearing a garment made from a thousand differently color feathers. I mean, whut?! I never even knew that many shades of green existed!
The shops here sold the dumbest things as well, and for unreasonable prices. A suit of armor made entirely of gold and studded with diamonds? 50,000 gold please! A silver necklace with rubies the size of my fist, blessed to bring its wearer endless good luck? I checked with [Structural Analysis]; no such magic, and it wasn't even made of real silver, but the price tag still read 100,000 gold! A concoction claiming to give men the sexual stamina of a dragon so they could last hours in bed? 25,000 gold for a bottle of crushed wyvern testicles mixed with mead, elderberries, and a dash of honey! A dried scrap of lizard skin purported to have been a piece of the Fell Dragon's hide? All yours for the low, low price of 1,000,000 gold!
And people were buying this stuff without a second thought! It's like they had more wealth than common sense!
Hopefully there were also clumsy tongues willing to spill information, because I really didn't want to stay here for any longer than necessary.
~
"I just realized," Robin whispered as we sat on the roof of a high noble's mansion, its security handled by their own private army, studying the view. "My mother said her parents were one of the six high families."
I knew what she was getting at. "Your grandparents might be here."
Robin nodded somberly, watching as more ludicrously dressed nobles unknowingly passed by below us. Seriously, what even was Plegian fashion?
"Do you want to see them?" I asked.
She needed a minute, but wound up shaking her head. "Not today, not while the Grimleal have a stranglehold on Plegia." We often spotted a cultist or two standing in the middle of the gilded streets, exposing the greatness of the Fell Dragon and why unbelievers should join up for their free cookies filled with Fell blood and cream. "One day, I'd love to meet them … along with my mother, but not today."
~
It took two days, but we finally hit pay dirt.
Validar was living at castle Plegia, a permanent guest of the Mad King, but would be touring the upper and middle districts in a few days. The Hierophant was probably thinking a speech from himself would draw in more potential followers. He'd done so multiple times in the past, always following the same route, meaning we knew his itinerary.
We had a plan. I'd be perched at a vantage point in the middle-district, armed with a silver bow and arrow. Once Validar's procession reached our designated kill zone, I'd shoot Plegia's worst father between the eyes, right before Robin bombarded as many of his accompanying Grimleal with a barrage of Elfire to sow mass chaos.
Immediately afterwards, we'd make a show of running for the lowest district, but that'd be a red herring. Instead, we'd wait a few seconds for the Stone Masks' magic to conceal us before stealthily making our way towards the uppermost tier of the capital. Our enemies would be expecting a pair of fleeing assassins, so Robin's idea was to turn their expectations on their heads and hide where they'd never expect us.
Its always darkest at the base of the lighthouse and all that.
With that, we were set. All we could do now was wait.
I wished I could take some time to brush up on my archery, as I hadn't handled a bow in a while. But it was difficult to find a place to practice in the enemy's capital, so I'd have to trust my latent proficiency. I only hoped it was enough.
The first day passed with Robin constantly plotting, constantly refining our plan to the last detail; what routes to take, which roads to avoid the most patrols, etc. She was driving herself spare. I wasn't much better, as my nervousness was building with no outlet to vent them.
We slept in a tavern in the middle district, occupying the unused rooms.
On the second day neither of us could sit still, and we agreed we needed something to do to keep our minds off the upcoming assassination. We stealthed our way to the upmost tier, searching for something to keep our attention. Usually we gawked at the insane purchases of the mega-wealthy.
Not today. A tide of hoity-toity Plegians was streaming towards a specific location: an open-air amphitheater. Was there an event going on? A bit of eavesdropping later, and we learned a high-roller's auction was taking place. Wanting to see what kinds of inane objects the wealthy were willing to spend millions on, Robin and I followed the crowd.
We were careful not to accidentally bump into anyone.
Inside the spacious venue, I spotting the auctioneer bustling about the semicircle stage, yelling and screaming at his servants to get everything prepared to his exact liking; nothing was allowed to be a millimeter off. Meanwhile, more and more of the wealthy were filling in the rows of tiered seating. Robin and I stood off to the side, well out of everyone's way.
Once everything was set, the auctioneer greeted his audience with a showman's smile. "Welcome, oh fine ladies and gentlemen of mighty Plegia, to Namar's Fantastical Auction, conducted by yours truly, Namar Gien Gerves, of the high Gerves Family! I'm thrilled to announce that we've a mesmerizing selection of unique acquisitions for your astute purview today, so I hope you have your gold chests ready!"
A ripple of excitement stirred the ostentatious audience.
"And so, my fine noblemen and noblewomen, we move onto our first item for tonight!" A servant wheeled in a cart of pure silver presenting a head-size gemstone carved and shaped into a perfect sphere. There were murmurs of awe as it flashed between all the colors of the rainbow. "Here we have a marvelous treasure dug up from the depths of Plegia's most treacherous Dead Zone! My sorcerer associates have studied it and agree it can be nothing else but the Heart of Plegia itself! So why don't we start off this bid at 5,000,000 gold."
I rolled my eyes. A brief scan informed me the "Heart of Plegia" was nothing more than a well-carved piece of magical alexandrite, about as useful as a paper weight.
"5.5 million!" a high noble roared.
"6,000,000!" another counter.
"8,000,000!"
The price went higher and higher until it settled on 12.5 million gold.
"I can't believe they'd spend so much … on a colorful rock," Robin whispered low enough for only me to hear.
"It's insane," I agreed.
The next item brought on stage was a human femur, belonging to a merchant who died in the desert 52 years ago. However, the almighty Namar espoused it as the remains of the first Plegian king, who tamed the darkness enshrouding Grima's skull and built castle Plegia with his own two hands.
It sold for 20 million gold.
What followed was a hodgepodge of random objects and doodads that were nothing like they were advertised. Namar was fantastical alright; a fantastic con-artist. Did nobody question the validity of his claims? Or did they know he was spewing nonsense out of his south and saw it all as a fun way to piss gold?
It also made me wonder how they transferred so much gold. Did they write checks? Because I couldn't see how they'd exchange millions upon million of gold coins.
"And for our final item!" Namar exclaimed, his flabby face flush with exertion. Coming up with so much cow shit must be hard work. "Why, we've got something you've never seen before! I pray you haven't reach the bottom of your coin purses just yet, because we've saved the best for last! After all, who here wouldn't want to own their very! Own! Dragon!"
I thought they'd drag an mutant wyvern onto the stage.
It wasn't.
Instead, what I saw nearly made my eyes pop.
It was a child, with pointed ears sticking out from her flowing sage-green hair that fell down to her waist, and lilac eyes filled with unshed tears. Her wrists and ankles were locked in steel manacles as thick as my thumb, while her mouth was shackled shut with an iron muzzle. She wore scraps for clothes, letting everyone see the discolored lashes all across her abused skin. I could've found this young girl's picture under the dictionary's definition of miserable, because that's how badly she'd been treated.
Worse, I recognized her.
NAME: Nowi, the Lost Dragon
AGE: 1,000+
CLASS: Manakete
LEVEL: 3
EXP: 1 / 100
HIT POINTS: 10 / 18
STRENGTH: 4
MAGIC: 0
SKILL: 2
SPEED: 3
LUCK: 8
DEFENSE: 2
RESISTANCE: 2
STATUS: Hurt, Despairing, Homesick
Nowi, the Manakete, and a future Shepard.
"Dragon? That's a child!" Robin bristled, nearly breaking her Stone Mask's perception filter.
"No, she's a Manakete," I whispered, thoughts racing.
"You mean … a person who can transform into a dragon?"
"The very same."
"But then how was she captured?"
The auctioneer spoke. "Ah, I see many confused faces. Allow me to explain! What we have here is a child who can transform into a dragon. Trust me, have I lead you astray yet?" Another item was wheeled onto the stage: a jade stone that glimmered with magic. Nowi went frantic at the sight, struggling futilely in her restraints in a bid to reach it.
"What is that?" Robin asked me, ignoring Namar's made-up baloney.
"A Dragonstone," I replied. "Manaketes need them in order to transform."
I also scanned it with [Structural Analysis].
[Dragonstone, Rank: -]
A magical stone used by the Manakete race to access their dragon forms. Each contains the heart of a dragon's power, enabling them to maintain their humanoid form while granting them access to their true form.
Might: 8
Hit Rate: 80%
Critical: 0%
Durability: 47/50
Magic Cost: 2
[{Dragonstone, Rank: -} has been added to the SYSTEM's Catalogue!]
The auctioneer was finishing up his longwinded fantasy about how he and a team of Plegian sorcerers utilized complex magic to seal the dragon's form away in the presented gem, thus trapping her in a human body. "—fear not! The beast can still transform should she hold the sealing gem in her hands! See for yourselves!" He gestured at Nowi, who was still struggling in vain to reach her Dragonstone. "Look how it fights to retrieve that which it has lost! Proof of my claims! Naturally, as a wild beast, it requires the heavy hand of discipline"—Namar rammed his heel into Nowi's stomach, sending her doubling over as she gagged in pain behind her muzzle—"but picture the possibilities! Imagine, owning your very own trained dragon, transforming, entertaining, and killing at your very whims! And it can be yours for the low starting bid of 100 million gold!"
The audience went into an uproar, but not out of outrage; they were screaming their offers, each trying to outbid the others.
I felt sick. I knew Nowi would eventually escape with the aid of a kind mercenary with a heavy accent, Gregor … but who knows how many years she'd suffer in captivity until then?
Could I look the other way? Ignore her plight because I "knew" Nowi would ultimately be all right?
"Guardian." Robin's feelings were boiling, undoubtedly as disgusted as I was by this cesspit of avarice. "We … could we free her? Liberate her from her buyer and provide her with another Stone Mask?"
I gnawed on the idea. Could that work? After Validar's assassination, we'd need to wait in the capital for a while for the heat to die down. Once it did, we could secretly rescue Nowi and make our escape. It … it sounded feasible, and would let the Manakete taste freedom a few years ahead of schedule.
Unfortunately, the choice was taken from our hands.
"Why don't you give the little thing over to me for free, darling?" a sultry voice asked.
Silence fell upon the auction like an omen.
Someone walked in, sauntering down the aisle in pitch-black garments that clung to her frame and accentuated her every curve. Her long silky hair was almost the same shade of white as Robin's, but with a tinge of lavender, and her outfit displayed a liberate amount of ivory and unblemished skin, drawing the lustful gazes from men and envious glares from women; she knew she was gorgeous, and weaponized it.
To my gripping dread, I knew who this was too.
Aversa, protégé of Validar.
NAME: Aversa, the Shadowgift
AGE: 22
CLASS: Dark Flier
LEVEL: 14
EXP: 9 / 100
HIT POINTS: 46 / 46
STRENGTH: 20
MAGIC: 26
SKILL: 24
SPEED: 26
LUCK: 20
DEFENSE: 14
RESISTANCE: 23
STATUS: Intrigued, Excited
Shit, shit, shit! What was Validar's pet doing here?! And who were the two bastards following her?
At a glance, it was obvious they weren't truly human. While they were both humanoid males, their complexion was as pale as a corpse's, while the veins beneath their pasty skin were a stark black. It was obvious from the dark magic illuminating their eyes that these were Risen, yet they acted nothing like the shambling zombies Robin and I saw Gythida. They wore no Risen masks, bore armor fit for the finest soldiers, and carried themselves with the confidence of commanders. Were it not for their obviously inhuman features, I would've mistaken them for being alive.
"L-L-Lady Aversa!" Namar stammered, his eyes constantly jumping between her amethyst eyes and her open cleavage window. "W-What brings you to my magnificent establishment? You've never expressed interest before."
"Because your baubles bored me to tears, sweet heart," Aversa chided as she and her two Risen guards continued to approach. "I'm only here because my adorable Draco saw something very, very naughty. Isn't that right, dear?"
"YeS," the thinner Risen said, fingering his recurve bow. Everyone flinched at the word from across the grave, worse than fingernails scrapping against chalkboard. Several in the audience fainted outright.
"But I must say, I never expected to find such a delicious prize," Aversa purred as she stepped onto the stage and loomed over the trembling Nowi. Kneeling down, she propped up the Manakete's head with an elegant finger to get a better look at her. "Ah, a live Manakete. I thought your kind was all but extinct, my dear. I do believe you'll make a wonderful sacrifice to Lord Grima."
Nowi was nearly overcome with fear.
This was very bad! If nothing was done, there was no way Nowi was escaping from Plegia in a few years! She'd be die in a few days!
"Now, Draco," Aversa said as she stood. "Be a dear and show me where those two rats you saw are."
The archer Risen turned on his heels … and glared directly at Robin and me.
… oh shit …
[Structural Analysis]!
NAME: Draco, of the 12 Deadlords
AGE: ERROR
CLASS: Sniper
LEVEL: 15
EXP: - / 100
HIT POINTS: 49 / 49
STRENGTH: 25
MAGIC: 1
SKILL: 34
SPEED: 34 (+5)
LUCK: 16
DEFENSE: 26
RESISTANCE: 18
STATUS: ERROR
… oh SHIT!
That was my last thought as the Deadlord fired an arrow directly at Robin.
~Current Stats~
NAME: ???
AGE: 21
CLASS: ???
LEVEL: 13
EXP: 64 / 100
HIT POINTS: 43 / 43
STRENGTH:22
MAGIC: 11 (-4, Projection)
SKILL: 20
SPEED: 17
LUCK: 0
DEFENSE: 15
RESISTANCE: 20
~Current Skills~
PERSONAL SKILL 1: Projection, Trace Version
PERSONAL SKILL 2: Inventory of the Wild Hero
PERSONAL SKILL 3: N/A
SKILL 1: Too Angry To Die!
SKILL 2: Reinforcement
SKILL 3: Poison Immunity
SKILL 4: N/A
SKILL 5: N/A