228 (II)

Volunteer [I]

***

“A lobster,” Adam said again, mind crushed by utter disbelief. “He… he had relations with a lobster… With Silverclaw?”

“That’s what he said,” Shiv grunted, licking the insides of his mouth. The aftertaste of bleach and absinthe wasn’t great, but it did do something to lessen his impression of Matlock. He walked along a stretch of broken pavement as a groaning automaton extended a rusted hand, asking for mithril. The Deathless handed a coin—taken from a certain blonde-haired victim—to the beggar and kept heading for Monster Mystery Meats.

“And he claimed to have brought down the Scarred Ahab? And bedded Silverclaw?” The Gate Lord’s incredulity grew and grew. “I sincerely doubt that.”

“Silverclaw and the whale kraken are real?” Shiv asked.

“Yes, but it isn’t quite like Matlock describes. Ahab isn’t dead or a monstrous wrestler, for one. He’s a renowned Shipwright who works along the Atlantic. And Silverclaw is a noted awakened pacifist that actively works to promote his philosophy of Entropism—Starving the System through nonviolence, basically.”

Shiv had a hard time processing that. “Then why did Matlock say all that shit?”

“I suspect it’s because Matlock isn’t entirely right in the head.”

“And they let him be an instructor?”

“His geography and dimensional navigation skills are supposedly unparalleled,” the Gate Lord muttered with reservations. “But you noticed how he was condemned to Storage Tower Celsius, yes? That’s where the less… presentable faculty tend to go. Such say the rumors on campus, anyhow. Sometimes, Pathbearers get a bit eccentric. I mean, you’re a bit eccentric yourself.”

Shiv stopped dead in his tracks. “Adam. Are you comparing me to someone who hallucinates weird sex stories about a lobster?”

“Well, I’m just saying we all have our oddities.”

“Yeah, sure, but have you mated with any animals recently?” A gagging noise came from Adam. Shiv scoffed. “Yeah, we’re not that weird. I guess I got a monster’s mind and stuff, but this is… I don’t know. I got a weird feeling about this. When’s the latest someone can switch classes, you said?”

“Until the middle of week three,” Adam replied. “Well… just give it a chance. I mean, what’s the worst—”

“Shut up! Shut your felling mouth!” Shiv’s vicious hiss interrupted Adam, and they proceeded toward their fate in silence.

The directions to Monster Mystery Meat had taken him to a Jump Station at the far north end of the city. He couldn’t see Phoenix Academy anymore. Even Flamecrown Castle and the volcano were barely visible over the horizon. In the distance ahead, a massive shroud of churning darkness marked a final threshold for the capital’s borders, and Shiv tasted Harlock’s lingering presence even now. But that didn’t bother the locals in the Wastecourt district. They had other concerns on their mind.

Out here, it was mostly magical industries. Huge flames churned up in the air as rotating rigs spun by the wayside. They were actively forging something, working with heavy metals. Shiv could feel the Geomancy working along with the Pyromancy. Aside from looming factory buildings, the only thing here was old, run-down residences. They were made from reinforced concrete—pure, brutalist structures made to last, not to inspire contentment.

On the streets, Shiv encountered humans and human-looking automata that were dressed most questionably. Some of them propositioned him for unnamed services, and he ignored them. Adam was currently a passenger in Shiv’s cape, taking a break from his own tasks to recover from his mental fatigue. Apparently, the Dragon Brokers were sending a representative later this night. After Shiv finished his first Medic-301 session, he would have that to look forward to.

“Where is this compass taking me?” Shiv thought aloud. The Monster Mystery Meat establishment was described as a pillar of nature amidst a realm of urban decay by some of the locals. But thus far, he saw nothing but decay and concrete. There wasn’t even a single blade of grass sticking out from the cracks in the ground. “Feels like I’m walking to a place where someone can get their throat slit or mugged or get mugged and then have their throat slit.”

“It’s rough at Waste court, but not that bad,” Adam said. “Crime here is little more than petty theft and drug-dealing. The guard doesn’t patrol much here, but local workers’ unions like to keep things at least somewhat stable. My father doesn’t think very much of the unions, but personally, they do a good enough job. It’s difficult enough not being born to the nobility. It’s harder when your parentage is questionable, and you don’t have a respectable Path or a proper set of skills.”

“What do you mean proper set of skills?”

“Some here are Pathless. A great many have mana allergies. Something to do with being exposed to a magical anomaly as a child and getting a portion of their soul damaged. It’s rare, but it happens. Sometimes, it happens to certain individuals who remain unharmed themselves but end up passing it down to their children. And after that… Well, it’s not like it’s incurable, but the cost and the effort it takes are extreme. And these people are… not usually deemed worth the effort.”

Stolen novel; please report.

“No shit,” Shiv said. He looked upon the people here with new sympathy. It wasn’t long ago that he would have considered himself one of their number. In a certain way, he still did. “So, how are they the ones working the factories, then?”

“Because the one skill they can reliably develop with the allergy is Magical Resistance. Everything poisons them. Leveling makes them so ill that they nearly die, and so they constantly invest the levels they do gain into basic items. It’s not a spectacular service, but it does make them a substantial part of the Republic’s economy. They’re the reason why we have so many enchanted objects at all.”

Shiv frowned. It made sense, but it still felt like they were being leeched from; that things could be better. “Maybe I could try fixing some of their souls at some point. When things aren’t such a godsdamned mess. If that time ever comes.”

“Hope costs nothing,” Adam replied, but his words felt weak and empty.

Shiv turned a corner, and the marker pointed straight ahead. Suddenly, the pavement wasn’t so cracked anymore, and there were columns of trees leading straight ahead. The masses of beggars and sex workers disappeared. Instead, he found a long line leading out from what looked like the open jaws of a dragon’s skull—

That is a dragon’s skull, Shiv realized. And a damned big one. Patches of leaves swayed from the sides of the massive skull, but it stood a bleached white presence with two simmering braziers in its eye sockets, surrounded by smaller residential clusters molded of cracked concrete. The home of Monster Mystery Meats was popular. A flapping banner was wrapped around the dragon’s head, declaring: “SUCCUBUS TESTICLE AND DEEP FRIED CAVE-BITER RECTUM SOUP TODAY!”

Shiv blinked. “I can’t say I saw that at the Swan-Eating Toad before.”

Slowly, he made his way forward and walked past the crowd. They were a varied assortment of individuals. Some were guards, others were dressed in fine silks and gleaming armor, and a few were even wearing robes of faith. They weren’t limited to just a few races, either. Here, Shiv saw all the Republic’s races and a few he didn’t recognize in the line. There were what looked to be winged lizard men who were dressed in straps and bronze harnesses. Not far away, there was a large treasure chest sprouting two bare legs and with teeth between its lid, looking at a menu. Finally, there was a big slime that bounced along, carrying a group of goblins on its head as they brainstormed new slurs for elves.

Feels like a big city, alright, Shiv thought. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

As he made it to the front of the line, he found himself greeted by a tiny rat person standing atop a tall desk, who was actively telling a very agitated goblin to wait.

“I’ve been out here for three hours!” the goblin seethed, wiping at his sweaty brow. “Three! They’ve been full since the morning. The fuck’s going on?”

The rat, comparatively, was dressed in a small, green dress and had a bow wrapped around her head. “Oh, it’s been a real struggle today, friend. I’m really sorry. It’s been bad for me too, you know? I’ve been out here all this while with you, right?”

“Right.” The goblin nodded.

“I should have been shifted off-duty hours ago, but the kitchen is having one of those—” She noticed Shiv approaching. “I’m sorry, but—”

“Temp Commis,” Shiv declared. He pointed at himself. “Volunteer for E-333. I’m supposed to help out today.”

The bow-tied rat person sniffled at him and used an Analyze Skill. As soon as she did, she gave him a once-over again and sighed. “Are… are you sure—ah, never mind. You’re one of Matlock’s. We’ll take any help now. Just… be ready.”

And there it was again: the warnings. “Uh, why? What’s going on?”

“Yeah,” the goblin said, leaning on the table. “What is going on?”

“Just a kitchen caught in the desperate struggle for control and culinary miracles,” the ratkin said, clasping her tiny, clawed fingers together. She leaned toward Shiv and whispered, “If you have a weapon, leave it at the door. Sneak into the kitchen, if you can. The head chef will tell you what to do.”

Shiv wanted to ask her what was going on, but when she went straight back to placating the waiting guests, the Deathless shrugged and decided to keep going.

“I don’t know how I feel about this,” Adam muttered.

“Yeah? Me neither. But I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

As he ventured into the dragon’s open jaw, he found himself standing before a massive set of crystal doors that was decorated by what appeared to be a group of cavemen cooking a large dragon. To his surprise, he also noted the strong wards lining the doors—so strong that he couldn’t sense any life signatures past it. That’s some pretty powerful magical protection for a restaurant.

Shiv pushed on the door, but it swung open without resistance. The moment he did, a set of clawed hands seized his wrist, and Shiv felt himself get pulled in.

His mind screamed. He prepared to retaliate—when he was pressed against a wall and told to shush by what looked like another lizard-man. Except this one was a bit different from the others. It wore a full chef’s getup, and it had a headband wrapped around its forehead.

“Quiet,” the lizard-chef whispered, placing scaled digits over Shiv’s mouth. “We can’t let the bread hear us. They’ll kill the hostages, otherwise.”

“What?” Shiv breathed, struggling to process the lizard-chef’s words.

“They are awake. They weren’t fermented properly. They staged an uprising. They hold the kitchen and parts of the second floor now. They’re trying to take the first, but we are holding. They took some hostages, though. Esteemed guests—long-term clientele. We cannot afford to lose them, and we cannot afford to let the bread cook them. But they are watching. Listening. We must move quietly and retake this place. You are the volunteer? For credit?”

“I, uh, uh, yeah, I’m Shi—fucking, Marcus Unblood!” He caught himself at the last moment, so staggered by the chain of weird events that he nearly gave his actual name.

“Shifuking Marcus Unblood?” the lizard-chef asked for clarification.

“Just… Marcus.”

“I see. I am Hero-Chef Velly C. Raptoior. This is my restaurant, my kitchen, and today, you are one of mine. Today, we take this place back from the Faebread that weren’t taught how to die properly.”

Shiv blinked.

Psycho-Cartography: He’s not strong enough to hold you here. Smash through the doors and leave this instant.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep