SpicySpaceSquid

  [colpse]

  Chapter 91 - Giant Frogs and Wooden Dogs III

  Cire spent the next two and a half days circling between Crabby Crags and the citadel, the tter only at Zelos’ insistence. All the nonstop fighting netted her roughly ten levels in each css. She would have liked more, but her growth rate fell off drastically the moment her first css hit level 70. Not even the buccaneers, the toughest monsters in the instanced domain, were enough of a threat to provide any significant growth.

  Contrary to the elf’s expectations, his presence was unnecessary. Cire was entirely self-sufficient and actively dissuaded him from intervening, even when he thought that it would be best to step in. Still, he stayed the full two days, often pying cards and other random games with Sylvia while Cire explored the byrinth on her own. His ck of participation appeared to suggest that he was outright useless, but the man had proven his worth by teaching her to use a sword. His instruction had single-handedly bolstered both sword and greatsword mastery to level ten. That, however, was as far as he could take it, lest she wished to pick up on his particur school of swordpy. A bdemaster or administrative css was required to provide any further general instruction, both of which were nothing if not uncommon.

  Active combatants rarely ever took administrative csses for fear of lowering their efficacy, whereas bdemaster csses were simply hard to come by. Becoming one with the sword was said to require the study of a dozen different schools of thought, a task much easier said than done. Adhering to a specific school’s principles was likely to induce mutation in any relevant skills, which in turn rendered it difficult if not impossible to abide by another school’s teachings. Zelos was no exception to the rule, his own sword mastery skill long evolving into a derivative named “willow in the western wind.” It would have been possible for him to impart the style on her had she chosen to follow his path, but Cire had decided against it. The traditional elven style focused almost exclusively on footwork and counter attacks. And more importantly, the learning process would apparently have taken weeks, weeks she didn’t have to spare.

  Though learning from Zelos had improved her swordsmanship, Cire saw no reason to rely on it. The only sword-like weapons she had readily avaible were giant rusted cutsses with nothing but weight in excess. The citadel had a number of smiths capable of forging them into something more decent, but the bloodthief couldn’t be bothered to seek them. She had no idea what kind of weapon she wanted and lugging around a bag full of everything wasn’t exactly practical. She much preferred salvaging random monster parts. Picking up whatever she could provided the opportunity to refresh her equipment after every kill—though it didn’t always go according to pn.

  The third day’s final victim was one such example. The buccaneer was too battered to wield its cutss; her ice magic had fractured its bde after a long series of cshes. Tired, but not quite exhausted, she breathed an annoyed sigh, colpsed the corpse’s face with a kick, and returned to the pair sitting atop a nearby rock.

  “It’s dead.”

  “Good job. That’s the first you’ve killed without any fire,” said the elf.

  “And the st one I’m going to kill. At least in here,” said Cire.

  “Huh? You want to leave already? We haven’t even been here that long,” said Sylvia.

  She nodded. “The experience is slowing down.”

  “You’ve gained… six levels between all your csses. I would actually say that’s quite decent,” said Zelos, as he did the usual with his eye.

  “I gained three or four times as many yesterday.”

  “Aren't you going to fight the boss thingy?” Sylvia hopped on her head as she spoke. “I’ve been expecting you to run straight at it since yesterday.”

  Cire paused for a moment, bringing a hand to her chin. Zelos had already taken a quick peek at the monster and confirmed that it was over level 150. Apparently, it had three additional csses, each perfectly chosen to enhance its combat prowess.

  Though certainly formidable, the creature’s form left much to be desired. To both Cire’s amusement and annoyance, the lord of the maze was not a crab. In fact, it wasn’t even a crustacean. The neon pink danger noodle was an eel, a glowing sea tube with a bright magical aura. Trees grew from everything it touched. Even the rocks that lined its arena were filled with roots and branches aplenty.

  “I’m not fighting it,” said Cire.

  “Aww, why not?”

  “Because I’m not reckless.”

  Sylvia narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have to hold back just to prove a point, you know?”

  “I’m not,” said Cire, with a perfectly neutral expression.

  “Now, now girls. That’s enough arguing. Why don’t we head back to the citadel?” said Zelos.

  The lyrkress gred at him. “This is barely an argument. You’ve started way more.”

  “Those weren’t arguments. I was giving you advice because your pns weren’t thorough enough.”

  “Yes they were.” Cire pointed at the three dead buccaneers behind her.

  He fshed an awkward smile. “You’ll understand one day.”

  “Yes, Elder.” She smiled earnestly, raised the hems of her cloak, and curtsied.

  “Excellent, I’m g—damn it, I fell for it again.” The elf took a glug from his fsk. It was the seventh drink of the day, with each marking one of the times she had gotten him. “This is really going to take some getting used to.”

  “I know right! I’ve been hanging around her for like a week and a half, and she still catches me off guard sometimes,” said Sylvia.

  “Good.” Ripping off the crabs’ legs and slotting them into her belts, Cire consulted her map and made for the nearest exit. “Now let’s go.”

  ___

  Though Sylvia had cimed that her father was a competent cook, their meals went about as terribly as usual. The dishes he made were incredibly basic, with none of the fir that Cire was used to seeing atop her dinner pte. Despite her open criticism, the elf was not insulted. He seemed to take her distaste as a challenge. Each subsequent dish came with a swing in the overall direction, often influenced by her most recent criticisms.

  That said, it wasn’t as if he was pulling out dish after dish in an attempt to please her. He was simply trying something different each time he prepared a meal, and he always seemed to stick to a sort of routine. Breakfast was always a variety of sads, lunch, a series of sandwiches, and dinner, a finer meal with much more work and preparation.

  The third night's dinner had taken the better part of two hours to prepare. He had hidden behind a soundproofed barrier of branches to ensure that whatever he made would remain a surprise. And a surprise it certainly was.

  When the elf finally stepped back out of his makeshift secret base, Cire found herself staring at the most ridiculous dish she had ever considered eating. In a word, it was a tree, a miniature conifer with all its branches and leaves still intact. The colours, namely the ridiculously vibrant greens and the excessively darkened browns, made it clear that the pnt had gone through some sort of cooking process, as did the thick mulberry-coloured sauce sitting at the bottom of the pte.

  “I’m confident this will impress you,” said Zelos. He set the dish down on the table and cut a piece for each of the three present. His knife melted right through the wood, as if it were made of butter.

  “It smells pretty good! What is it?” asked Sylvia.

  “It’s called a gneskst.” Zelos smiled as he cut a small piece off the wood and raised it for the girls to see. “It’s a traditional dish, wood elf ancestry. Your grandmother made it all the time, and I’m sure it’s one of the most delicious things you’ll ever eat.”

  “It is?” Ignoring her silverware, Sylvia shoved her face into her bowl and bit right through the trunk. “It’s really soft and tasty! I can’t believe this is a tree!”

  Cire was skeptical, but the elf’s stare prompted her to give it a try. Fork and knife in hand, she gracefully cut off a small piece off the end and brought it to her lips. The mouthfeel was as Sylvia described, soft and fluffy, akin to a pastry despite the organic aesthetic.

  “Too bnd,” said the lyrkress. Its fvour profile wasn’t bad per se, but it wasn’t anywhere near complex or refined enough to satisfy her pate.

  “Really? I think it’s super tasty,” said Sylvia. “It’s really mellow and nice.”

  “I think I’ll have to get back to the drawing board…” Zelos scratched the back of his head. “I’ll try some of the Green Belt’s spices next time.”

  “Maybe it just has to be cooked a certain way,” said Sylvia.

  “I don’t know,” said Cire.

  Though the dish failed to spark any enthusiasm, the meal continued as would any other, with members of the group taking turns recounting tales of days long past. Cire told them of her mischievous streak and reyed all the pranks she pyed on her closest acquaintances, while Zelos and Sylvia respectively listed and criticised the elf’s supposed epic adventures. Sylvia didn’t quite seem to believe him, but Cire was at least willing to lend an ear, seeing as how the man was over level five hundred.

  The group split up after dinner, with the elf heading off to a bar to join a few of his friends and the halfbreeds returning to the camp they set up along the beach. Zelos had tried inviting the pair to come with him, as he did both the previous nights, but both girls refused. Sylvia wasn’t a fan of alcoholic beverages and Cire wanted to stay incognito—not that she managed to escape all her interpersonal obligations. Returning to camp meant interacting with a group of manatees.

  The first one she met happened to swim by their camp the night they escaped Crabby Crags. And after learning how nice it felt to sit by the fire, the not-cow decided to call all its friends and effectively take over the encampment. Every evening since, sea cows would gather around their location, ze around, and py to their hearts’ content. The final activity in the list was one that the lyrkress enabled. The balls of ice she made as practice were used in their games, thrown from one creature to another as they flopped around the beach.

  “Not going to join them today?” asked Cire, as she dragged a fresh palm tree into the fire pit.

  The fox was sitting on a dried out log with all her limbs tucked comfortably underneath her. It was a bit of an unexpected sight, given that she had spent the previous two nights pying with her newfound submarine friends.

  “I’m a bit too tired,” said Sylvia.

  “Aren't days in the meadow longer?”

  “Yeah, but I normally nap all the time, and I haven’t really had a chance tely.”

  “Lazy.”

  “No I’m not! That’s just how we foxes are!” Sylvia’s tail shot up.

  That just means you’re all zy. Cire refrained from voicing the thought and returned to practising her magic. The balls that the sea cows pyed with were quick to crack and shatter, in part because they were melted by the warm seawater, and in part because the creatures were spping them around with their tails. She had to create a constant fresh supply to keep them entertained and they were more than willing to vocalise when they weren’t.

  Though they seemed simple enough, the orb-shaped toys were a pain and a half to craft. The sea cows would annoy her if they were too heavy or not the right size; she had to hollow out their centers to make it possible for the creatures to py with them. Even more difficult was making them perfectly spherical. Even the slightest disruption in her focus would introduce a number of jagged edges and pose a risk to the cows’ safety. The most familiar manatee had somehow wound up with a permanent, cross-shaped scar on his forehead as a result of one such interaction. Even though cursed wounds were the only ones that weren’t supposed to fade.

  Log Entry 2317Achievement Unlocked - Cult Cssic

  You have been denoted an object of worship. A minor religion has been started in your name.

  A notification echoed through her mind as she formed the tenth ball of the day. Having assumed that it was her fifteenth Ice Manipution level, she ignored it until the goddess was about halfway through the description, at which point she was struck by a sudden searing pain. It sted for only the briefest of moments, but seemed to reach every st corner of her body before concentrating itself in the shard stuck in her chest. And then, it vanished. Just as suddenly as it had appeared.

  What… was that? She dropped the ice ball and moved her hand to her chest.

  Log Entry 2318You have acquired the divinity stat. The base value of divinity is 50, but your body cks the necessary features to support it. Any divinity in excess of 5 will be temporarily withheld and unlocked upon further physical adaptation.

  Log Entry 2319The faith stat is now more difficult to acquire. Faith will no longer be accessible unless it is in excess of your total divinity.

  Log Entry 2320The Ice Manipution skill has evolved into True Ice Manipution. You have acquired a new spell and gained the ability to enhance your ice magic.

  Log Entry 2321The Lyrkrian Shapeshifting skill has mutated into Frostblight Lyrkrian Shapeshifting. Your body has become more malleable.

  Divinity? How?

  Thoroughly confused, Cire popped open her status and tried to determine the source of the sudden change, only to be greeted by a mountain of unspent ability points.

  “I’m just going to go to bed.”

  Mumbling to herself, she closed her eyes and turned off her brain. There were a tonne of issues to address, but as far as present Cire was concerned, that was future Cire’s problem, and not-so-future Cire had nothing to do with any of it.