TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 46 (RAW)

Chapter 46 - The Easier Path You cannot cup the water hidden in the loam, nor warm your palms upon the secret ember in the oak; You cannot s

Chapter 46 - The Easier Path

You cannot cup the water hidden in the loam, nor warm your palms upon the secret ember in the oak; You cannot seize the tranquil wind that dreams upon the stone. Let them lie in quiet until they fill this world.

Seraphina sat facing the open sea, letting the salt-tinged breeze and boundless blue sky wash over her while warm sand sifted between her toes. Strictly speaking, she was not alone—Miriam hovered nearby, parasol aloft, and her usual guards lingered a comfortable fifty paces back—but servants and sentries were no more company than a sofa in an empty room.

The so-called “Living Saint” Este Lize's character profile had been left intentionally as an enigma by developers: a young girl gifted with staggering magical potential, yet otherwise her origins left intentionally blank by the game’s developers so players could project themselves onto her. Why had Seraphina allowed for such lazy writing? 

Seraphina had failed then, and she had failed this day.

And now she found herself annoyed by the girl’s recent triumphal parade. The additions to the menagerie would be extensive, a Manticore, a chimeric creature that fused lion, bat, and scorpion, was the most impressive specimen. 

The purpose of the menagerie, as well as being of academic interest, was to primarily de-sensitize the shock and awe the students would face should they find themselves against such creatures either in the wilds, or if they were truly unlucky, on the field of battle. Yet, if Seraphina’s memories served her correctly, there had been only one character capable of taming and controlling a mighty manticore, and he was the DLC character at that. 

Without the Unicorn, Seraphina had no way to outdo and show up the sly minx and thus had retreated here to vent her frustrations. It was a reminder that some jobs you simply could not outsource.

Gritting her teeth, she cast Crystal Dagger, conjuring a shard of rose-pink crystal, drew back her arm, and hurled it across the waves. The projectile skimmed the surface like a spear before shattering a school of giant flying fish.

You have slain unknown.

You have slain unknown.

You have slain unknown.

You have slain unknown.

You have learned Power Throw (lvl.2)

You have learned Crystal Dagger (lvl.4)

A wry smile tugged at Seraphina’s lips. Perhaps fishing could be entertaining, though the bright sun was unkind to her flawless skin. Well, at least it had been rewarding.

Her dutiful maid, Miriam, knew better than to offer comment.

Overhead, seabirds shrieked at the sudden feast below. One dove toward the water, only for a sleek, shark-like predator to surge from the waves and swallow it in a single gulp. Using this opening, the bird’s flock members made away with the remaining bounty of fish.

Nature could sometimes be instructional.

Today’s public defeat stung; her standing among friends, and, more crucially, her followers, had slipped. Seraphina had lost a lot of face, especially in front of Rashana. And, she had, if she was truthful with herself, run away.

For an instant, just an instant, she imagined vanishing into a quiet life, free from ravenous crowds and hungry cameras. Then she remembered: there were no cameras in this world, and soon enough, she would control every printing press in the Kingdom. Let Este Lize enjoy momentary acclaim; Seraphina had lost this battle, but she fully intended to win the war.

I lost! she seethed.

Her discreet correspondence with Bishop de Francey of Rochelle, whose talent for unearthing was almost unnatural, had yielded a discovery at so cliche and deliciously exploitable. Este Lize, the “Living Saint” and darling of the church, was, it transpired, a foundling of the meanest sort. A dirty, unwanted orphan. 

In Aranthia, where family and lineage served were of the utmost importance across all classes, serving as one’s passport to civility, such an origin was tantamount to original sin. Polite society at large might feign charitable sympathy, yet the false smiles and pointless displays smouldered a certainty: a child without parents must surely grow, like an errant weed, toward delinquency and crime. Or worse.

With an elegant flick of her wrist, Seraphina summoned another shard of crystal. She cast the shard far into the distance, as though the very motion would cast her worries away. 

How droll, she reflected, that a would-be saint might be tainted by so simple a fact. She was sure that with a bit more effort, she could find the name of the brothel where the girl’s whore mother had plopped her out, if only to complete the tale with the appropriate tawdry flourish.

Yet for all Este Lize lacked in pedigree, she possessed one formidable strength: the patronage of a powerful order, the Church, whose coffers and influence could not be dismissed. Still, money and politics were brittle bonds; blood, by contrast, ran deep and inescapable. Families might quarrel like sparrows over crumbs, but present them with a common foe and they would flock together beneath a single banner, talons drawn. Seraphina would be more than happy to provide them with such a target, namely, the overreach in certain areas of the Church.

It was upon this truth that Seraphina now fixed her gaze. The Sariens, on her father’s side, already rallied to her ambitions. But she had hitherto neglected the matrilineal line—the proud and indomitable House of Carcaronne, presided over by her formidable grandmother, the Dowager Duchess Adelaide. A visit to that distant northern seat, perched upon the very fringes of the Frozen Waste, was a prospect she had postponed, pushing it to the back of her mind. The dowager duchess, she knew, commanded legions of men tempered by ceaseless skirmishes against Kar-Kaphon raiders, the barbarians of the North. Their loyalty, once won, would be an engine of war against which a lone orphan could scarce contend—with or without the backing of the mighty Church.

Seraphina allowed herself the slightest, razor-thin smile—an expression more felt than actually seen—before practicality, that most unwelcome of guests when planning vengeance, intruded. 

The roads to Carcaronne were long, the welcome uncertain, and the dowager duchess’s memory of Seraphina’s mother less than friendly. They had been estranged ever since her marriage to Anatoli, her father. That, and the fact that Adelaide referred to her own daughter as “The Witch,” would probably not help matters. Still, Seraphina was determined to polish both arguments and apologies before presenting them at that august threshold.

“Milly! We are going to the Palipula Woods, have the carriage readied,” she ordered with a determined huff.

Miriam bowed low to her mistress. “At once, milady, but you did say earlier that you wanted to enjoy a picnic by the sea… The day is still generous with its hours.”

For a heartbeat, Seraphina nearly snapped, habit or perhaps the faint sting of being corrected, but she mastered the impulse, inhaling the salt-sweet breeze. “You are quite right, Miriam. A stroll upon the sand and a glass of chilled cordial—or perhaps some tea—will fortify one’s spirits admirably.”

Sensing her mistress’s ire, Cornelia opened an eye, tasted the air, then promptly returned to her torpid sleep. Reflecting her mistress’s thoughts, in the sleeping serpent’s mind, it was just Miriam being Miriam.

The maid frowned as this was not the response she had been expecting. Was it her imagination, or did her mistress look a tad defeated? However, such thoughts were for the birds, the Palisa Slug concluded. “At once, milady.” With a crisp clap, she summoned the waiting attendants.

From behind the dunes emerged a small army of footmen and housemaids moving with the precision of a ballet. Stakes were driven into the yielding sand, over which rose a pavilion of white linen panels that billowed like the sails of some stately frigate. A lacquered table, its legs tipped with bronze lion’s paws, was set beneath, followed swiftly by damask-draped chairs. Hampers appeared next, disgorging tiered stands of sandwiches, raspberry tarts crowned with spun sugar, and a silver urn breathing the gentle fragrance of quality tea.

Within scarcely ten minutes, an unremarkable patch of sandy shore had been transformed into a scene fit for a royal engraving: Lady Seraphina de Sarien, solitary sovereign of her makeshift court, poised to take tea as gulls circled overhead and the waves whispered. She settled into her chair, lifting a porcelain cup whose rim glimmered with gold. In the cup’s dark mirror, she glimpsed her reflection—a young woman of impeccable breeding, yes, but also of iron will.

Everyone could see that she had the makings of a true queen.

In the winter holidays, she would ride north to court an old matriarch and enlist hardened soldiers, all in pursuit of her vision of the future. For the moment, however, strategy and ambition could wait. Seraphina inhaled the mingled floral scents of rose, permitted herself a leisurely sip, and let the sun gild her reverie. Even the best, after all, must occasionally take the time to bask in the warmth of their own greatness.

***

Seraphina reminded herself that wealth existed to be spent, not to languish like a dragon’s hoard. The time to use it was now, and she would use it well. I will need all the advantages my privilege and position can afford me.

Golden evening light washed over the clearing of the woods. A lively tune from a hired ensemble mingled with the grunts of Silver-rank adventurers who wrestled a massive bear forward, long poles looped around its neck. The beast twisted and bared its fangs, yet the seasoned men and women held it firm for their patron’s inspection.

“Hold it steady,” Seraphina called, snapping her crimson fan shut before tucking it into her pocket. At her side, Miriam pressed a heavy throwing spear into her hand.

With a single smooth motion, Seraphina invoked Power Throw and sent the weapon hurtling across the space. It flew like a ballista bolt, punched through the bear’s thick chest, and dropped the creature in one thunderous heartbeat.

You have slain a Palipula Bear. 64 experience gained.

“Next!” she ordered, her words as hard as iron, her manner as hard as steel.

Seraphina had most certainly learned from her last experience of hunting down dangerous creatures. The trick was to remove all the danger from them.

As she had expected, the system had displayed the name of the creature she killed if she knew of it. Nonetheless, she still hungered to acquire an Identify scroll.

“This way, milady,” the adventurer said, bowing deeply with an armored clank.

Despite being of the Silver, he wore rather mismatched-looking armor. This was actually quite a common occurrence, as many more successful adventurers often wore magical treasure created from a bygone era, as they were sometimes more useful than more modern, yet mundane, arms and armor. 

The magics of old often outshone newer steel, giving some adventurers a very anachronistic look.

He guided her to a blinded cockatrice, its eyes removed and pickled hours ago, staked to the forest floor with shards of spelled obsidian and coils of ensorcelled bronze. The beast greeted them with a furious shriek, its head sweeping blindly toward her, scales rippling and crippled wings beating feebly. Once upon a time, well, at least until a few hours ago, it had been the acknowledged lord of this stretch of forest.

“No one has harmed the creature in the last two hours?” Seraphina asked. The young girl wanted all the experience points from the kills for herself.

“Exactly as you specified,” he replied, his eyes focused on somewhere in the middle distance.

She studied him closely. “If those words are untrue, I shall be most displeased. Most displeased. Your name, adventurer?”

“Ferdinand Marcos, Your Grace. We followed your instructions to the letter.”

The pay more than justified putting up with the young noble Magister’s quirks—and her fearsome reputation. He was well compensated to ask no questions. As for the girl’s reputation, many in the Guild had already begun whispering the title “The Golden Ogre,” inspired by tall tales of a deadly tavern brawl—rumors Marcos found difficult to believe.

Seraphina extended her hand; Miriam produced a greatsword. The noblewoman discarded its jewel-studded scabbard with a casualness that only the truly affluent could afford. Raising the blade one-handed almost at the pommel, the young girl brought it down in a single, devastating stroke.

The enchanted bindings that had contained the raw power of the Cockatrice snapped like so much twine, and the blade bit deep into earth and flesh, nearly cleaving the cockatrice cleanly in two.

You have slain a Cockatrice. 512 experience gained.

“Seems I still need to polish my swordsmanship,” Seraphina muttered, irritation edging her voice.

“It was an impressive strike all the same, milady,” Miriam said, hoping to console her.

Her mistress gave her only the ghost of a smile in acknowledgment.

“And Marcos…” Seraphina’s tone turned velvety smooth.

Ferdinand swallowed hard. Across the clearing, Sir Gravens narrowed his eyes, ready to act at a gesture.

“Yes, Your Grace?” he managed.

“Well done. If you had ignored, or made light of, my instructions, your head would be adorning a pole,” she replied, flashing a brilliant smile. “Now, where is the next creature?”

He mustered a professional smile and stepped ahead. Why would someone so powerful hire adventurers like him to drag monsters to her only to slaughter them, just like any other vain noble? 

As for Seraphina, she fixed on him with flinty emerald eyes as she followed at a measured, regal pace.

While the others danced and sang in celebration of Este Lize’s achievement, the weekend’s harvest of experience had only begun. Just the thought of missing out on such an event made her even angrier.

She might not yet be able to tame a Manticore, but with enough levels under her belt, she was quite certain she could crush its skull in.