Chapter 9: XCVII — A Dangerous Curiosity

  ‘To: Nathan Bal

  From: The Red Falcon Party

  You are hereby called upon for a Quest.

  All party members are to assemble outside the city gates on the twentieth hour of the day.

  May the Ancestors guide you well.

  Your leader, your inspiration, your protector,

  - Clarke Oak.’

  Well, that’s my night decided.

  Kayode folded the piece of paper and flicked it out the window.

  It had been a week since he had nearly found himself skewered by a giant spider, and in that time he’d been spared the displeasure of yet another mission with the Red Falcons.

  Not that he’d been eager to avoid it. Despite his distaste for the Party, he would never have passed up the chance to gain even half the Experience he’d earned in the Sunweaver fight—not over a little thing like death at least.

  But the decision hadn’t been his.

  Upon his return to Uloma, Kayode had received instant and complete rejuvenation the moment he stepped through the gates. Most of the Red Falcons, however, did not enjoy the luxury of a Marquess’ healers standing ready. As a result, much of the Party had been left battered, broken, and firmly out of commission.

  During that lull, Okechukwu—more accurately, Okechukwu’s messenger—had sent word.

  Kayode’s intel was correct.

  Scouts had confirmed the Grand Duke’s troops moving exactly as Kayode had predicted. The routes matched. The distribution matched. The timing matched. Down to the day, and almost the hour.

  The Marquess himself was already miles away, deep in the Zorande Duchy, no doubt positioning himself to strike the Grand Duke when he least expected it.

  That left Lami in charge of the Marquisate. And also made her far too busy to spend her time teaching him Ice Magic.

  That changed when she summoned Kayode to her study for a lesson.

  Seeing that the day was still young, Kayode decided he might as well answer the call. His Class—impressive though it was—had not yet granted him nearly enough explicitly offensive Skills for his liking. If the system was going to be slow about it, then learning from the Cryoblade herself was a reasonable substitute.

  And so he went to see Lami for that reason.

  And that reason alone.

  It was not hard to find Lami’s study: in a hallway filled with dull, colourless doors, hers was the one with a penguin painted on its surface.

  He knocked and the Lady opened the door a moment later, brightening into a smile as she looked up at him. “Kayode!” she greeted. “Or should I call you Nathan Bal?” she teased.

  “Please don’t.” He cringed. He wondered where she might have heard that name, then remembered she was the acting Marchioness, and information like that would be trivial for her to get her hands on.

  “Oh come on. It sounds like the name of those roguishly handsome and brooding heroes in Native plays,” she laughed.

  “Yes. That’s why I hate it.” Kayode rolled his eyes.

  “You picked the name,” she snorted.

  And he didn’t exactly have a good retort to that, so he just grunted and entered her study. It was a modest thing, like all things Southern, yet filled with a life that only someone like Lami could inject into a cramped space like this one.

  Tiny trinkets hung from plain ceilings, bright carpet beneath him, and the walls were painted with depictions of various Northern animals.

  “Alright then, I cleared my day for this, so I think it's best we get down to it quickly. You recently gained your Class, yes?” she asked, running over to a shelf and placing a pile of books down on her table. Most looked to be introductory titles to Class-hood. “So you’re going to be new to a lot of concepts. Care to ask me any questions?”

  “Yes, actually,” Kayode said, finding one that had been bothering him quite a bit pop up instantly to the forefront of his mind. “What exactly is a Class Stone?”

  Lami didn’t even miss a heartbeat before answering. “Oh, that one’s easy. Think of it as a honing device for a Class Substance. A Class Substance is a triangle. A Class Stone is a triangle-shaped hole. And Class Stone burning is what happens when we force that trapped triangle into an irregular vessel.”

  Ah, that was what Kayode thought. Now came his true question. “Why can’t people gain Classes naturally then?”

  Lami frowned in thought at that. “Well it wouldn’t be impossible. But it would be highly unlikely.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you see, Vessels are irregular, right? And while some people’s are better shaped for certain Classes—often giving them high Class Synergy, like how the best Warriors tend to be battle-hungry, and the best Healers deeply empathetic—finding a vessel perfectly shaped for a Class would be like finding a patch of dirt that exactly recreates the features of your face.”

  Kayode remembered that his Blighting had once been explained as his vessel being far too irregular and rigid for any Class to fit. So if the Kingdom Maker had settled within him because his vessel was the right shape…what did that mean? That he had the makings of a good monarch?

  The thought would have pleased many—especially coming from the System itself—but Kayode knew better. The System’s definitions were often shaped by public opinion, and most people’s favorite kings were simply those who had plundered and killed the most effectively. Abayomi the Kingdom Maker’s most celebrated feat, after all, was the subjugation of an entire continent of people who had done him no wrong.

  The implications made Kayode swallow.

  “I see.”

  “Why are you asking anyways, I thought your line of questioning would be more towards that of Skills,” Lami asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Just curious,” Kayode lied.

  “That you are,” she replied, and moved on. “You had said your class was B Tier yes?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he lied. It would likely influence the kind of Skill she taught him. It was common knowledge that people could not learn Class Skills from Classes above their Tier. He couldn’t learn a Cryoblade Class Skill without revealing that he was, at minimum, A-Tier.

  That meant Lami would have had to learn a B Tier derivative of a Cryoblade Skill she already had in order to teach him—similar to how learning Edge-Kindle automatically gave him access to Edge-Spark. Hopefully, it would be strong enough to help him in a fight, but not strong enough to draw Okechukwu’s attention.

  “Good, good,” she hummed, sounding genuinely surprised, and pointed a hand toward the door.

  A cold draft swept through the room. The air thickened around the doorway, first clouding into dull greys, then deepening into icy blue as it condensed into a statue. The form was only roughly human—a common soldier, by the look of it.

  It took a single step forward and snapped to attention.

  “That’s what you want me to learn?” Kayode frowned, more than a bit skeptical of his ability to create a walking construct.

  No,” Lami giggled. “You don’t have the mana to know where to start.” She flicked her hand toward the statue. A crescent of ice hissed through the air, shaving across the construct’s side and peeling away a clean slice of stone as it passed.

  “That’s… more manageable.” And it was mid-ranged too. A useful thing to have when being led by a man who he did not trust to keep the enemy far away from him.

  “Yhup! It’s called Winter’s Teeth” she proudly told him. “And I’m going to teach you.”

  ###

  Lami did teach him, and the time it took made Kayode understand why learning Skills outside the natural progression of one’s Class was not something people stumbled into by accident. After all, how many were willing to devote an entire day to teaching a single movement over and over, without pause, while correcting every flaw the moment it appeared on their student?

  And how many students were eager to repeat the same thing over and over again with no result.

  Kayode it seemed was not one of them. As night began to fall, and the hour of his Quest neared, he soon grew too frustrated to continue, thinking that perhaps it might be better to spend the hour before going to the Party hall resting in his room, and then continuing this another day.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  He tried one more motion. Inhale, exhale, and a flick of the arm. And nothing.

  But this time there was more than nothing.

  The ice shot out of the space between his fingers and his palm, and struck the statue. Unlike Lami’s It shattered against it like glass against a brick wall.

  But still…It had spawned.

  Did I just…

  [—Skill(s) Acquired—]

  [Learned Skill ? Winter’s Teeth — I — Active: You may conjure and fire a shard of condensed ice.]

  I did.

  Kayode grinned, turned to Lami, expecting her to look just as happy, but the woman’s face was fixed with a stunned disbelief. “Th—that was Winter’s Teeth…”

  “Yes?” Kayode frowned, confused. “That’s what you were trying to teach me, yes?”

  Lami shook her head numbly. “No…no… My teachers taught me that it’s better to teach students for failure. I show you a Skill that you can’t learn and when you try to learn it, the System replaces it with something your Class can handle—in your case it would have been Winter’s Cut. A Frostbinder Class. They’re B Tier. I showed you Winter’s Teeth…my Class Skill.”

  The information made his heart burn. “I’m…I’m sure it was a quirk of the System. I’ve heard Classes do sometimes learn Skills that are above their Tier if the Affinity is high enough,” Kayode lied, and lied badly.

  He saw Lami’s eye burn with thought now, and Kayode knew that was a far more dangerous place to have her be than stunned as she was before. Her eyes narrowed. “What Class is that?” she asked instantly.

  “I…I…you know it’s rude to ask those sort of quest—”

  She took a step forward, questions hitting harder. “How did you undo your Blighting?” And Kayode could feel her look at him differently, poking and prodding at every facet of his being in search of the truth.

  Kayode did the only thing he could think of. “I have a Party Quest to go on!” and he fled out the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Instantly he was pacing through the hallway. Mind running amok.

  Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!

  Lami knew something was up. No lie Kayode conjured could have changed that.

  Would she tell Okechukwu? It would be the end of this Loop if that happened. The moment he went from Great Lord who handed him a vote, to Great Lord who could potentially compete with him in a conceivable future, using Kayode became a risk rather than a reward, and the best life he could only hope for would be a surveilled existence not too dissimilar to the one he’d spent under the Duke’s watch.

  No, Lami wouldn’t.

  And Kayode knew this, not because he trusted her; Kayode wasn’t stupid enough to trust nobles—especially Great ones—but because if she had wanted him dead or locked away, the Cryomancer would have already encased him in ice the moment she decided it.

  Kayode calmed.

  That he was walking meant she wanted him free.

  That was the beauty of being weak.

  One never really had to worry if their allies were planning on fucking them in the ass, as a weakling. Because they already would have if they wanted to, instantly and without the slightest effort.

  But why had she let him go? Out of kindness? Out of friendship? No, there was something more going on here. And Kayode would know later.

  For now, he just had to act like nothing had happened at all.

  And that meant heading for his Quest. He just hoped that would be less eventful than his day so far.

  ###

  “Come on, lads! Show these fire-breathing raptors what we’re made of!” Harlan roared.

  Men answered with screams as flames licked across their skin.

  The Fyrrax were exactly what Harlan had described—scaly hides the color of burning embers, mouths yawning open into pits of fire.

  One broke for Kayode. It wouldn’t be the first, nor would it be the last. The creature loosed a leaping roar of flame and charged.

  Kayode leapt from a fire that had already caught him far too many times today, and felt it catch his shoulder yet again. He landed with a roll, patting the ruined leather dead.

  The monster ran again at him, maw split wide open yet again.

  Winter’s Teeth!

  Kayode snapped his palm forward. Ice punched into the creature’s mouth, snuffing the fire mid-breath. Its eyes went wide as the shard tore through its cheek and burst out the other side, the force of it sending the beast stumbling backward in shocked, choking steps.

  Edge-Spark!

  Kayode stabbed the beast with his blade’s glowing tip and saw sparks scatter as steel struck scale instead of flesh.

  It swiped at him. He slipped the blow.

  Then he drove the weapon through the monster’s throat—where scales ended and flesh remained—opening a deep gash and sending it crashing to the dirt.

  [You have slain a Fyraxx of the 1st Awakening.]

  The Red Falcons were doing better than they had last time—which was to say they were having an almost not-shit day.

  Harlan’s orders carried over the wind, and only some of the men were currently on fire, with none dead as of the moment.

  Clarke was off to the side, fighting the bigger one—and though it was a near thing, he was winning. A heavy kick caught the raptor square in the chest, sending it crashing onto its back. Clarke strode forward to finish it.

  He never saw the smaller one.

  It leapt onto his back, jaws snapping shut around his neck. Teeth tore in, and then a wave of fire erupted from its mouth.

  The man roared and then he locked his fingers around the Fyraxx and brought it slamming into the ground, then stomped it dead.

  He was stumbling now, blind, Kayode realized. And the big one, though injured and bleeding, was rising up to its feet with a vengeance in its eyes.

  It opened its maw to douse the man in fire, and Kayode went sprinting in between the pair.

  He would not shed a tear if the man died today, but he wasn’t stupid enough to let the strongest member of his Party perish because of his personal feelings.

  He splayed his hand, and a shard of Winter’s Teeth struck true once more—burying itself in the monster’s maw.

  It was a strong thing, this raptor. The ice did not snuff out the flame entirely, only twisting it as it burst free at a wild angle, scorching nothing but air as it missed Clarke completely.

  Kayode struck it again and this time the ice met scales rather than skin and did little damage, breaking a few off and lightly gashing the skin beneath.

  Then it was time to bring the battle up close and personal.

  The large Fyraxx swung its tail for Kayode’s legs—whiplike and fast.

  He leapt, got clipped at the tip of his boot, landed in a roll, and sprung up with a slash before it could capitalise on the opening.

  Metal ran along hard scale, and Kayode found his blade turned away,

  The Fyrrax opened its mouth for another breath of fire.

  So he punched the damn thing close.

  Its skull was hard and felt like punching a wall, but the beast went a few steps back the same. A quick look at the cuts, slashes and bruises along the Fyraxx’s form told him that it was injured.

  It was—Kayode imagined, why he hadn’t been turned to ash yet.

  It swung a claw in a brutal arc, and Kayode felt the flesh of his shoulder open.

  He hissed, ducked another slash, and stabbed his blade where scale gave way to flesh—and into one of the wounds already opened up by Clarke.

  The beast let out a cry of agony, and Kayode only pushed the weapon deeper.

  A tail came for him, and this time it took his legs out from under him.

  Kayode hit the sand, and rolled before its tail could bash him against the dirt.

  Edge-Spark!

  He sprung to his feet, met an attempt at fire with ice, leapt over a swung tail, leaned back from a claw, and stabbed his glowing sword deeper still into the wound in its side.

  It screeched.

  He pulled the sword out. And stabbed it right back in. Over, and over, and over.

  Edge-Spark!

  It tried to burn him. Kayode killed the buildup with a punch to the throat.

  Edge-Spark!

  It clawed at him, and he kept his body bunched up and small, so when its claws raked against his flesh, they caught nothing vital. It hurt—it hurt like hot iron pressed against skin. But Kayode weathered it.

  Edge-Spark!

  It tried to thrash and throw him off, and perhaps it would have managed it too, were it not already wounded.

  But it was. And Kayode wasn’t going to let that advantage go to waste.

  A pull back of his sword. A plunge into the wound, making the gash deeper, the bleeding faster.

  Edge. Spark!

  The Fyraxx struggled less, roared less, and then fell over and into the dirt. It made a deep guttural sound like a groan. Then silence.

  [You have slain a Fyraxx of the 2nd Awakening.]

  His first Second Awakening kill.

  [—Level 7—]

  [—Skill(s) Acquired—]

  [Class Skill ? Iron Fist — II — Passive: A true King is no stranger to combat. You strike with dazing authority. Blows that land true have a higher likelihood to stun the target, leaving them momentarily unable to respond and vulnerable to a follow-up (Stun chance increased by 2x).]

  “Shit, nice one, lad!” came the voice of Harlan. He patted Kayode on the back, flaring up a wound and forcing a hiss. “Where was that trick with the ice last week?”

  When Kayode turned, he saw the Red Falcons behind, almost all their eyes on him, and those that weren’t, were on the dead Fyraxx behind. And then they were clapping and cheering him on.

  An instant later, he realized that from their perspective he had single-handedly brought down the Fyraxx that had taken Clarke out of the fight—not barely finished off a creature the man had already wounded.

  Might as well dissuade them of that illusion before they used this as an excuse to send him into even more potentially life ending encounters.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but Clarke did first. “What are you cheering on about!” he snapped.

  Kayode turned to see him with half his face burned and an eyelid welded shut. Still, he somehow looked more enraged than he did hurt—humiliated, Kayode realised.

  Support neared him and immediately scrambled away as he brandished his sword at them. “Don’t touch me!” he screeched. Stormed off, climbed on his sandstrider, and rode furiously for Ezeria.

  ###

  “Care for a grape, sir?” the little boy asked.

  And Kayode paid him for one.

  He picked it up, bit into the thing. It was a juicy one—more juicy than those of the west. And it tasted good too. Kayode imagined the water content was due to how efficient the flora had evolved to be at retaining liquid, compensating for the general lack of it in all southern territories.

  The stories had said that Ayédá was land not too dissimilar to the south in some ways. If that was talking about the climate, then it made Kayode wonder why the Kingdom-Maker Class had an affinity towards Ice Magic in the first place.

  It was something to think about as he walked the streets at night, on his way back to Marcholt Uloma, even if thinking would yield nothing but speculation.

  Kayode turned a corner. And someone punched him in the face.

  He went down hard, jaw cracking at an angle, and legs stumbling back.

  Instinctively Kayode drew his blade, swung, wide at the shape approaching, missed, and felt them grab his wrist, twist his arm, disarming him, and knee him in the gut.

  His knees cracked into the cobbled stone, and a foot crashed into his side.

  He was sent through the air, hit the earth, bounced, rolled, and rebounded off a wall.

  His wounds flared up in agony, his mouth was filled with the taste of blood. He looked up, and when his vision cleared he saw Clarke standing at the other side of the street, face healed, and hatred burning in those blue eyes.

  “You latch onto my Party, you steal my kills, you embarrass me in front of my men!” he hissed, listing one imagined infraction after another.

  Kayode tried to get up, but his legs weren’t listening to him.

  Then there was something dangerous in Clarke’s eyes. “My brother said I should tolerate your presence. But it wouldn’t be my fault if you were the victim of a random mugging.”

  “He’ll find out,” Kayode told him, groaning, because he would. There were a million ways a smart man could piece together that Clarke was his killer.

  But Clarke was not a smart man, and it didn’t matter if he suffered for his stupidity later when it was going to kill Kayode now.

  “No he won’t,” the moron sneered, and he began walking towards Kayode, blade in hand.

  “Your blade, the fact that you were mad at me—”

  “Lies!” he snapped, blade coming closer and closer.

  He raised his weapon to end his loop.

  And a voice rang out from elsewhere. “Everything alright here?” It was a man in lamellar—a guard judging by his colours. His face was obscured by the shadow of a building cast onto his features.

  If Clarke looked concerned, he didn’t show it. “Yes. It is. Now leave, and act like you never saw a thing.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” the man responded, calm.

  “Do you know who I am?! I’m C—”

  “Clarke Oak,” the man completed.

  And that finally got a reaction out of the Party Leader.

  “The acting Marchioness told me to get accustomed with your face,” the man added.

  And with that Clarke’s cheeks paled. He took a step back, glared at the man, glared at Kayode, then stormed off into the night.

  Kayode struggled into a seated position and rested his back on the wall. He turned to the guard. “Th—thank you.”

  “The Great Lady wants you to know that she will keep your secret…”

  “If?” Kayode asked, bracing himself, for he knew nothing came free in Velúndé.

  “If you keep letting her train you,” he said.

  That…that threw Kayode for a loop.

  “Understood,” he replied.

  And the man walked back into the shadows.