199 (II)

Capital

The Hydra’s form was massive, but the gates to the Jump Tower were grand, running thirty meters high into the air. Their exterior was layered in intricate decorations of silver, and it depicted a man in a triangular cap with a feather jutting out from the side, riding upon a mess of snakes. In his right arm was a grand lance, the kind a rider might use when jousting. A smirk adorned the man’s face, and faint motes of incandescence leaked from the silver.

“Ah, Longinus,” the Educator commented. A snarl of disgust followed thereafter. “If there was an ever more unworthy Ascendant, I wouldn’t know where to find one. I would spit upon thee if I could, Longinus.” She hummed. “Now, Solzimort. Do you see the large fist looming over those houses to our left?

It took a while for Shiv to find what she was talking about. 200 meters away, he saw a row of three-story-tall buildings, each of them lined with brass on the outside, framed in silver, and ridden with mithril chains along their sides. They looked expensive, and from within came a heavy pressure, doubtless a Portomancy spell at work. Perhaps something to expand the space within.

But that wasn’t what the Educator was talking about. Sticking just above those houses was the tip of a massive fist, shaped like a column of slats of metal put together. It was a fist that Shiv had seen before, had been struck with before. It was a statue made in the image of Cripple’s fist, an imposing sight indeed.

“Okay,” Solzimort said, “go to the big fist.”

They arrived in a blink. They slid around the corner of the Jump Tower and then dashed across the street just as an Observer passed by, finishing its Divination sweep, and Shiv found himself in a different section of the city. Where the bulk of the houses near the supervolcano were static estates that seemed quaint but well maintained, there were clusters of buildings here, packed tight together, with many small-celled rooms lining the walls and countless windows dotting their sides, making them seem as if brass-carved beehives. More mechanical birds lingered from mithril chains connecting each of these cluster residences, and the streets below were packed tight with people.

Most of them weren’t of the Prismatic Guard, yet all of them bore various assortments of arms and armor. They stood there, at the ready, gazing upon the explosions blooming atop Yellowstone supervolcano and the castle hovering just over its peak. Nearby, a congregation of automata knelt before the massive fist occupying the intersection of two clashing thoroughfares.

Shiv guessed the automata were acolytes of Cripple, judging from their missing left arms and the way they casually flagellated themselves using whips that sprouted whiskers of razor wire. The backs of their chassis were marred with deep cuts, and a single priest stood above the others, holding its right fist high in prayer.

“O strongest martyr of the Ascendants, martyr of the Republic, heed us now, speak to us now. If there is a time of need, if you demand it, we will give our lives for home, for Earth, for the Grand Program!”

“Grand Program?” Shiv muttered.

“It’s what certain automata call the System,” Adam explained. “But it’s relatively archaic. None of the models made in the last generation refer to it as such.”

“And such a tragedy that is,” the Educator hummed. “The System grants power, but the System is blind. It was made by something like us, I suspect.”

That made Shiv frown internally. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how human machines are becoming. Yes, the automata were made in our image, of course, but they weren’t exactly like us. They didn’t develop like us. They didn’t have to build and sculpt their descendants specifically like they do now. They didn’t decay along a fixed lifespan. No, that is a human thing; first and foremost, an organic thing. And for the automata to suffer this, that means that they are slowly being molded into something they’re not. Not consciously, not spiritually, not even physically.”

A humorless scoff escaped her. “The Legacy Empire deludes itself into thinking it can deny the System its due, but if there is one thing I can agree with those anti-magi about, it is that we have lost much before the System’s power. So much of us has been sheared away.”

There was a note of genuine sorrow in the Educator’s voice, because of course there would be. She was a sort of historian, judging by the way she spoke about things, by what she had recorded in her tome. She might lie to us and be in league with Udraal, but part of her still yearns for truth, something that isn’t masked by propaganda or the elements of age, Shiv realized. That might be an angle to get more information from her. Gotta keep an eye out for artifacts or pieces from history. Wait, doesn’t Can Hu count as that?

Psycho-Cartography: Yes. Perhaps it’s best that we have it speak to her when we get a chance. But should we have to fight her, we have an angle to weaken her now. After all, she is less than even a relic. She is forgotten. And she can be made into glass by Sticks and Stones because of it.

“Between the houses on our right, do you see it, the alleyway?” the Educator asked the Hydra, unaware of Shiv’s musings.

Solzimort shifted subtly. The shadow constituting his scales returned beneath a cart. He was blended with the cart’s shade, but a tip of his toe still stuck out, and that provoked one of the nearby Pathbearers to turn and narrow his eyes.

“Solzimort, hold,” Adam hissed. The Hydra went still. The Pathbearer stared at Solzimort’s shadow for a few moments longer and then looked up. A flag was flapping high above. It bore the Republic’s emblem: thirteen mithril spires—one partially eroded—planted atop the apex of a fissuring volcano.

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The Pathbearer let out a breath and ran a hand across his face. “Really need to stop knocking back those jugs of absinthe…”

As he turned away, Solzimort moved as Adam gave his confirmation of their safety. Solzimort cut between the two residential clusters that the Educator spoke of, and there, behind in the alley, they found a round staircase leading down. Sounds echoed up the stairs, and Shiv knew there were people far below. Yet, he couldn’t quite see them and was beginning to get an apprehensive feeling about what he was looking at. “What, are we going to hide in someone’s basement now? What is this place?”

“Don’t be absurd, boy. It’s far more than just a basement, and there are secrets in the Republic grander than you can imagine. Routes and benefactors unknown to even the Ascendants.”

“Educator,” Adam said, his voice thin with exhaustion, “if we go down there and I find a Raven waiting for us, I’m going to beat you to death with the bastard’s helmet.”

“I do not deal with those I cannot control or do not understand,” the Educator replied with a breath of haughtiness. “New Albion will do all they can to seize you from me. This, I know. But by what means? This, I do not know. There is no arrangement with me, for ignorance leaves me disarmed—and I refuse to be disarmed. Now. Hydra. Into the depths.”

Psycho-Cartography: Risk aversion. We can bluff her. Keep track of that.

Psycho-Cartography 90 > 91

Solzimort was large, but that mattered little when one could phase through matter. He glided through the stones and stairs, and upon reaching the bottom, Shiv saw the walls lined with barrels and taps. Glowing droplets of magically charged alcohol dripped from brass liquor dispensers, and Shiv saw groups of goblins filling large mugs before returning to a stretch of tables.

There, at the far end of the room, was a massive sign that read “No elves, humans, bots, or dogs allowed.”

“Charming place,” Shiv said sardonically. “Is there an Ascendant of racism? Is that what we’re relying on to keep us from being discovered?”

“Not quite. But the Pathbearer we will have to use to smuggle you into the Prismatic Guard is known for having more than a few peculiarities.”

“What?” Adam said. “What in the Broken Moon do you mean by ‘smuggle us into the Prismatic Guard’?”

“I mean that it is the only reliable way in and out of the city now. The Ascendants will keep the capital locked and warded, and the only ones that will be allowed to flow freely will be their soldiers. The only ones with access to the Jump Towers going in and out of the city will be the Guard. The solution, then, is quite simple, isn’t it?”

“I…” the Gate Lord struggled to find the words. “Are we about to meet some underground Biomancer?”

“Oh, no, dear boy. The flesh is not the only thing that needs to change. We need your skill statuses and very souls to be masked as well. That way, you will be able to come and go in the future—and it will be essential for us to secure that measure of freedom at the very least. Now. Hydra. As you will.”

A moment passed. Solzimort did nothing.

“Hydra? Return to your original form.”

“Uhhh,” Solzimort mumbled. “Dunno how.”

“He’s probably going to have to wait it out,” Shiv said. “Effect of the meal’s probably going to run for ten minutes. After that, he’ll go back to being normal. We’re going to have to wait.”

The Educator huffed. “Weaknesses, limitations, and counters. It applies to every—”

“Custiel!” A voice bellowed from up the stairs. Heavy footsteps came hammering down, and the Educator fell silent. “Custiel!” Came another ragged cry. The man’s words were slurred and furious, and when he came into view, Shiv felt his insides pinch as he saw a heavily-armored Pathbearer wearing the regalia of the Prismatic Guard.

“Well, Educator, I think we’re going to need a second place to go, because this one’s compromised.”

“Custiel! You bastard! Come out! It didn’t work. The enchantment didn’t work!” The rainbow-plated Pathbearer stomped into the goblin speakeasy, and most of them groaned and spat at the ground as he approached.

“Hey, asshole,” a blue-eyed goblin sitting on a high chair by the entrance and holding a cigar between her pointed teeth said as she gestured at the sign. “You got a Legendary Illiteracy Skill or something?”

“No. I got a non-functional set of armor, and now the rest of the guard is looking for me. As fucking such, your boss owes me a stack of mithril.”

“Oh, does he, now?” she sneered. “What’re you gonna do? Report him to the guard?” The other goblins in the room roared with laughter. But it quickly died down as the armored Pathbearer reached up. Hands went to daggers and shaped quick spells.

But rather than clutching the halberd and shield hanging from his back, the armored Pathbearer removed his helmet and tossed it aside. Shiv saw a smear of blood on the back of the helmet—along with bits of skull tissue. It looked like the armored Pathbearer had used it to smash someone’s face in at some point. “Not the guard. But I can go to the Dragon Brokers. And I can see your Neath protections revoked. So. You tell him to come out. You tell him to do the job right, or I need my mithril back.”

The Pathbearer’s eyes were wild and bloodshot hazel. He had a mess of stubble covering his face, and it looked like he had grains of sand dotting his head. His cheekbones were high, and his chin was practically a square wedge. If Shiv tried to imagine a generic Vanguard, this would be the face that appeared in the depths of his mind. But while the Deathless took in the man’s features without much reaction, Adam’s breath hitched.

“C-captain Irons?” he choked out, voice high with disbelief.

“Irons?” Shiv said. “Your old Tac-Strat instructor at the Academy?”

“Yes,” Adam breathed. “What in the felling hells is he doing here?”

“A most excellent question,” the Educator said. “Unanticipated as well. Hydra. Shift to the corners. We observe.”

The twenty or so goblins scattered across the room shot each other looks. After all the bloodshed Shiv had gone through, he was battle-hardened enough to tell how dangerous someone was at a glance. These goblins weren’t. They lacked armor, their mana fields were those of Low Adepts at best, and their knives didn’t look like combat-dedicated designs. More than that, they were scared. Shiv could read the fear in their body language and in the twitching movements of their eyes.

Comparatively, Irons was angry, but he didn’t regard the goblins as threats at all. “Bring him out,” he repeated, voice hard. “Don’t keep me waiting. I don’t want to hurt any of you, but the same rules that apply to me apply to you. I won’t kill you. I will take your hands. I will ruin your establishment. And you will live to lose this little patch of sanctuary. Neither of us wants that. Just make this easy for all of us and bring him out. Please. The life of one of my students depends on it.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep