Chapter 537 - Before the Storm III

  Hemlik awoke from his slumber with a tired groan. Clutching the sides of his head, he rolled back and forth, nearly falling out of his cot as he fought the urge to scream. His skull was throbbing. A constant, violent ringing echoed through his head, each chime a direct blow to his health and sanity in turn.

  For what felt like hours, he suffered. The assault on his flesh grew ever more violent. It felt like there was a hot knife running through his brain, one that kept twisting and turning without ever allowing him to breathe. At some point, he hurled, but it was not the contents of his stomach that left him. Having eaten nothing for days, he'd long been cleansed of any such impurities. Nay, all he vomited was the blood that had spilled from his insides each time he was subject to the mind-breaking attack.

  And then, once his stomach was drained, he collapsed, sinking back into unconsciousness.

  It was a cycle that repeated over and over.

  He wasn't sure how long it lasted. His few moments of lucidity were spent wondering if the supposed blessing was but a curse in disguise. The system had claimed that he'd benefited. And by all means, her attitude had impressed that she'd done him a favour. But all he saw was suffering.

  He was lucky it happened during the summer festival. Though he was camping out in the woods, nearly a hundred kilometers out from Valencia, he surely would have been discovered during any other time of year. That, in turn, would have led to his treatment at a government facility, his identification, and eventual execution. Perhaps that too, he thought, was a part of the celestial's calculations. She was truly all-knowing.

  When he finally emerged from his tent, it was as a changed man. No longer was he an ordinary dristle with ordinary proportions. He’d doubled in height and tripled in muscle mass; his body had gotten so bulky that he’d long ripped all his clothes to shreds. Hell, he barely fit inside of his shelter. The act of exiting it had nearly torn it down.

  It wasn’t just an aesthetic change, but a practical one. He was pulsing with power; he could feel it welling up and threatening to burst from his flesh. It was like there was a river coursing through his body, a torrent of mana a thousand times more powerful than anything else he’d ever wielded. And it was precisely that torrent that had caused him so much pain and grief in the first place. The blessing had completely rewired his mana veins; it warped and expanded them, transforming them for maximum efficiency.

  He felt like he could take on the world. Like there was nothing more to fear, like he could challenge even Virillius Augustus himself.

  But while he was certainly feeling almighty, Hemlik knew better than to make any such assumption. Though far more potent than the sensation that had followed his ascensions, it was very much in the same vein. Taking a breath to calm himself, he crossed his legs, placed his hands in his lap, and looked over his status. Blessings typically didn’t show under the giant stat panel, but the boon he’d received from the Goddess of Fate allowed him to perform a more thorough inspection. He could not only see entries that were usually hidden, but also examine any of his skills or numbers in far more detail than was typically provided.

  Sure enough, it was right there at the bottom, a fresh entry bestowed upon him by the celestial who had forcefully purged him from her domain.

  Blessing of Forsaken Fetters

  Blessed by the Master of Forsaken Fetters, you have been unchained. Your ability scores have been modified to reflect the values that they would have reached had you accepted and overcome all of the major challenges from which you have chosen to retreat.

  Your neural pathways and magic circuits have been optimised as per Alfred Llarsse’s Llystletein standard and you now qualify for Llystletein class variants. As a result, all of your classes have mutated, and you have become unnaturally attracted to catgirls. Interacting with a catgirl will cause you to enter an insuppressible state of rut for 5013 hours, 17 minutes, and 3 seconds.

  Damage you inflict ignores 25% of your target’s systematic defense. Any bonus damage dealt as a result of this effect will be returned as health and mana.

  Gravity has become more of a suggestion than a rule. It will now only apply at 50% of its intended effectiveness.

  This blessing is ephemeral. It will be immediately revoked should you find your will shackled once more.

  Gawking, he read over the blessing’s effects three times before his mind finally kicked back into motion. Immediately falling to his knees, he whispered a prayer to the Celestial of Forsaken Fetters and offered his heartfelt thanks. The revocation condition was vague, but he wasn’t too concerned. Their conversation had clued him in on its nature; he needed only to believe in himself and refrain from any future cowardice. For such a powerful, jaw-dropping blessing, it was almost too easy of an ask.

  Reading it over yet again, he took a moment to stare at the second passage, the note about Llysteltein and its magic. He knew of the legendary dungeon, of course, but he didn’t quite understand how it was related to the demigod who had enchanted him.

  He couldn’t help but suspect that she was one of its moderators, or perhaps even a key figure in its creation. The timeline didn’t quite work out in that case, but that was only assuming that she was truly the age that the Cadrians claimed. For all Hemlik knew, she could’ve been another thousand year old entity, just like her father. With how much power she’d accrued, that was far more likely than not.

  So on and so forth, countless wild theories raced through his mind. He entertained dozens before shaking his head and returning his attention to more important matters.

  Time was ticking. He needed to find himself food and clothing before the festival drew to an end. And then, he needed to escape the enemy state and report back to the alliance.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Their confidence was key. The bigwigs in central needed to think that they could fight Cadria and win. He needed them to go to war and stake all that they had against the monster that was Virillius Augustus.

  It was only by directing their attention outwards that he could strike and secure a better future for his people.

  ___

  On the day of the penultimate match, the crowd’s excitement was at an all-time high. There were somehow even more people crammed into the ever-growing arena; watchers from all corners of Cadria had gathered to witness the duel between two of the nation’s top dogs.

  Claire, however, shared none of their excitement. With a fox-shaped Sylvia cradled under her arm like a barrel, she strolled into the stands as the fighters were being introduced and found a row of empty seats near the top of the stadium.

  She wore the same disguise with which she’d strolled into town the other day, only she was much better camouflaged on account of all the snacks she’d brought to the show. There were containers of sweets, fried foods, and liquors floating in the air around her.

  Sitting down, she took a sip from a barrel of vekratt—which she very explicitly kept out of the fox’s reach—right as the arena finished morphing. According to her cousin, who was still ranting and raving, the battle was to take place in a location that no longer existed, a field of battle where the two had once stood shoulder to shoulder. Claire briefly noted the bloody hills, but soon returned her attention to the sandwich floating in front of her face.

  The fried pork within was so absurdly crispy that she was practically deafened. Hot, delectable juices surged from within the dead pig’s tender flesh every time she raked her fangs across its breaded exterior. So loud was its crunch that she missed the moment that the battle began. In fact, she probably wouldn’t have realised that it’d even started had the arena not suddenly grown hot enough to practically melt her ice cream. Countering the heat with a freezing aura, Claire ran her fingers through her fox’s ridiculously soft fur and scratched the critter’s chin, eliciting a purr before feeding her a fish out of a nearby bucket.

  Gently wiping the oil from the silly furball’s lips, Claire returned her eyes to her own snack—a ball of fried dough packed to the brim with frozen milk and sugar—and gave it a careful inspection. It was a little too big to simply pop in her mouth, and taking a bite out of it would have proven inelegant in front of so many people. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten to pick up utensils. She could always have summoned Boris and ordered him to transform into a fork and knife, but knowing that he would surely eat everything up before it made it to her mouth, she begrudgingly tore the cream puff in three with her vectors. It was an awful, inelegant solution, but it wasn’t like she had a choice.

  Sighing, she briefly glanced at the battlefield, where Durham was showing off his ascended speed, before popping a piece of the creampuff into her mouth. The second third was passed to the fox, while the last went to the sea cow that had suddenly appeared in the space beside them. Boris was present as well, sitting on Marcelle’s back. He seemed a little disappointed that he missed out on the sweet, but his mood immediately brightened when Claire tossed him the wrapper.

  The next snack on her list was a bottle of a strange, blue-green liquid. It was technically non-alcoholic, but its flavour was cocktail-adjacent, reminding her strongly of coconuts and evergreen berries. Sylvia seemed to enjoy it much more than she did. When offered the drink, the fox stood up on her hind legs, raised the bottle to her lips, and even gave its opening a lick before guzzling it down in a single breath.

  It was an endearing sight. Not even the ominous, crimson light that flooded the arena could make her appear like anything but a silly fluffball. Smiling softly, Claire decided to massage her paws. She played with the soft pads hidden beneath her fur and flexed them against her fingers for maximum comfort. The snake-moose slowly shifted her service up the half-fairy’s body, getting her wrists, her arms, and her shoulders in turn before slowly moving down her back.

  She couldn’t help but giggle at how the silly little thing would occasionally lurch when the stadium shook, even though she could clearly see the exact moment that each impending shockwave was born. Sometimes, it almost felt like she was non-sentient.

  “Uhmm, Claire?”

  “What?”

  “Is it just me, or did you think something really rude just now?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Retracting her shard, Claire pulled the fox into her chest and gave her a bit of a snuggle.

  “Also, why does it feel like you’re not paying any attention to the fight? Like, at all?”

  “What fight?” Ignoring the magic circle that appeared overhead, Claire grabbed a large piece of roast ham and fed it to Marcelle. Boris was given a similar treatment and was granted a skewer, metal stick and all. She briefly looked up at the VIP booth after she confirmed that both pets had swallowed without choking. Seeing straight through the illusory magic that surrounded the box, she confirmed that her stand-in was doing a perfect job of sitting still and pretending to observe the duel. In reality, it was just an illusion that Sylvia had sung into existence. King Ragnar, her father, and some of the Vel’khanese seemed to have caught on, but no one else had realised that the armoured fighter was just a blob of magic.

  “You can’t just keep pretending there isn’t a fight when you’re literally sitting in the stands!” said the fox.

  Claire rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who wanted to be here. I would’ve rather had this picnic anywhere else.”

  “Well, yeah! We’re supposed to watch so we know what happens!”

  “The announcements are so loud we can hear them from the other side of town.”

  “I mean, I guess that’s true,” muttered the fox. “But don’t you want to know how it all unfolded?”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh. Uhm. My bad.”

  “Don’t worry.” Claire squeezed her fox just a little bit tighter. “You still wanted to see it, right?”

  “Mhm.”

  “Then it’s fine.” Claire yawned. “Wake me up when we run out of snacks. You can keep watching while I restock.”

  “Huh? Run out? Restock?” asked the fox with a blink. “We have enough for a whole day!”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if these idiots fought for two,” said Claire, with another yawn. “They’ve always been pretty evenly matched.”

  “Two days!? What the heck!?” cried Sylvia. “Maybe we should come back later then…”

  The fox climbed Claire’s shoulder and looked beyond the colosseum, but a squeeze stopped her shy of escaping.

  “Too late.” Smiling devilishly, Claire rubbed her face into the fox’s fur and slowly closed her eyes. “You’re already here. You might as well stay to the end.”

  “You’re the last person I want to hear that from! You’re not even watching!”

  “‘Zzz, snored Claire.’”

  “Claiiiiire!”

  Sylvia shouted as she pushed against the snake-moose, who did in fact immediately close her eyes and fall asleep, but her struggles were fruitless. Even shrinking down to her tiniest size, she never quite managed to break free.