Chapter 471 - The Land of the Listlessly Lethargic III

  One quick debate ter, and the brigade settled on departing after lunch. In the meantime, its members dispersed to make their various preparations. Krail was the most productive of the bunch. He opted to stay in the courtyard and polish his spells under Allegra’s supervision, while everyone else put self-improvement on the backburner. Lana grabbed a cloth and started oiling her shiny new axe, Jules wandered off to the baths, and Chloe followed Arciel to the kitchen. Supposedly, it was to inform the staff of their departure, but in reality, Arciel was likely looking to absorb some knowledge from the goddess’ chefs.

  She had grown rather fond of the hobby ever since she picked it up the previous year, but Lia’s and Ace’s deaths had weighed heavily upon her. It was only after they completed Griselda’s quest and settled down in the castle that she had picked it up again. Her skills were far from seaworthy, especially not with all the added rust, but she had a few heavily practiced dishes that she could pull out of her back pocket. Her beef stew, at least, was good enough that the kitchen staff was willing to pte it and bring it out for their meals with everything else.

  Cire recalled the dish’s exact fvour as she zily floated through the halls. With no particur destination in mind, she randomly wandered about, listening as the fox strolling beside her hummed a familiar tune.

  The servants they passed were rarely humanoid. Most were the goddess’ chairs, desks, and clothes given life, and at least according to the system—Cire had gained the ability to query it for information ever since her st ascension—they were a particur species of homunculi. Though made to resemble golems, they were bound by none of the accompanying restrictions.

  Of course, not all of the furniture was conscious. There were still ordinary chairs that served alongside their walking, talking counterparts, the distinction between which was often unclear even after one settled atop a seat. It was only the walls that were completely incapable of movement, though there were a few awfully suspicious pilrs who looked ready to break into song.

  “Uhmmm… are we going the right way?” Sylvia came to an abrupt halt as they turned the corner. The hall ahead looked more or less like any other. The only thing to point out was that it was a skyway. Towering pilrs stood on either side of the aerial path, holding with their twenty meter bodies the arched stone ceiling overhead. Panes of thick, tinted gss filled the space between the massive columns, revealing the castle’s inner walls and the courtyards that y beneath them. But to Cire, it was boring—another ordinary castle. If anything, she had far greater interest in the servants than she did the backdrop. A puddle of bathwater was carrying a pte of fresh ingredients over to the kitchen, while a mop and bucket followed behind it and cleaned up after its mess.

  “Dunno,” said Cire. “I doubt there even is a right way.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I didn’t really have any destinations in mind.”

  “Wait, really?” The fox blinked. “I thought for sure we were gonna go see your mom.”

  Cire tilted her head. “I was going to do that after lunch,” said Cire.

  “We’re leaving after lunch!”

  “I know.”

  She doubted that they would be departing in any reasonable amount of time. Lana loved food so much that she’d stuff herself to the point of immobility, and Allegra often enjoyed a coffee after the meal’s conclusion. If the goddess served alcohol, which she likely would, given that they were soon parting, then Jules and Krail would probably drink themselves silly and spend half the afternoon unconscious. Most treacherous of all was Arciel, who would let it all happen without the slightest reprimand.

  Realistically, leaving after lunch meant wasting half the afternoon—she had more than enough time to bid her mother farewell.

  “Oh, I know! How about we invite her to lunch?”

  “Maybe after all this is over,” said Cire. “Inviting her now would defeat the purpose of her being up here, especially with Allegra still alive.”

  “Mmmnnn… I mean, we could just kill her,” said Sylvia.

  Cire blinked.

  “What?” asked the fox.

  “That was the st thing I expected you to say,” mreeped the floating snake.

  “It kinda felt like you were trying to say it but didn’t really want to, so I figured I’d just do it for you.”

  “Was it really that obvious?”

  “Mhm! Well, kinda. It’s pretty obvious that you’ve been pissed at her since you beat Aurora’s trial, but I didn’t realize that you wanted to kill her for real until you told me that she tried to kill your mom.”

  Cire smiled. “You’re getting awfully observant for a pet.”

  “I’m not a pet!” huffed the fox. “How many times have we been over this!?”

  “Not enough, clearly.”

  “Gosh, you’re such a meanie.” Sylvia rose to her hind legs, assumed her humanoid form, and pulled the floating danger noodle into her chest. Like Cire, she was a halfbreed. Her father was a naturalized redleaf elf with greenwood blood, and her mother was one of the many fae foxes that served Alfred, the perverted degenerate of a celestial who reigned over the concepts of life and reproduction.

  In her humanoid form, her appearance was precisely the intersection between the two seemingly incompatible species. She had two pairs of ears, two fox ears and two elf ears, and a big puffy tail covered in the fluffiest of fur. Like her waist-length hair, it had three distinct sections, coloured in bck, white, and orange respectively. As far as height was concerned, her elven traits had seized the day. She stood in the 170-centimeter range, nearly a full head taller than Cire even after all of her growth.

  “I’m not mean. You’re just silly.”

  Cire dematerialized her wings and leaned into the foxgirl’s embrace, a mreep escaping her lips along the way. Somehow, Sylvia’s chest was still softer than her own despite being roughly the same size—a difference she quickly attributed to the vixen’s ck of muscle. While Cire was a battlemage, Sylvia was a bard. Their most effective forms were bound to differ.

  “That’s a lie and you know it. Meanie.”

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

  “Mmmnnnn, sure.” Sylvia squeezed a little bit harder. “Of course you don’t.”

  “Now you’re starting to get it.”

  “I was being sarcastic!”

  “I don’t know if that means what you think it does.”

  The fox puffed up her cheeks. “I’m going to bite you.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Fine! You know what? You asked for it!” Sylvia pouted for a second before following up on the threat, but Cire slipped out of her grasp and lightly poked her best friend’s nose with the fuzzy tip of her tail.

  “Nice try.”

  The silly exchange repeated a few times before degenerating into a full blown game of tag. The two halfbreeds ran along the walls, darted through the gardens, and leapt over the ramparts as they took turns chasing each other down. It didn’t take long for their magic to enter the mix. They opened portals, slid objects into each other’s paths, and threw up walls of all shapes and sizes.

  While they certainly pulled a few servants into the fold and turned them into makeshift obstacles, they refrained from causing wanton destruction. At first, it was just a courtesy to the goddess, but they soon discovered that the added restrictions only bolstered their fun.

  They continued to mess around for the better part of an hour, stopping only as one of the servants—a cherrywood grandfather clock with the voice of a little girl—informed them that lunch was ready. Following her through the castle, the pair looped around the building and entered a giant chamber. Like the room in which the mirror was held, it was clearly built to serve an audience. The table that served as its centerpiece was long enough to fit a hundred guests. Like the banner-den chairs, its core was made of a long sb of ice, or at least something that held its form.

  Despite its appearance, the furniture was quite pleasant to the touch. It shared the castle’s comfortable ambient temperature, which allowed its guests to remove most of their yers without falling victim to the biting cold. While the table and the chairs were clearly magically maniputed, the castle itself was heated naturally. There was an enormous furnace in the space beneath it, and its heat was piped up through the vents that ran through its halls.

  The dining room had many such pipes hidden all over. Those not concealed beneath the carpet were obfuscated by the table or sequestered behind the room’s many paintings. But while exactly none of them were visible, it wasn’t like the goddess had put form over function. They were spread evenly throughout the room, with her own seat as the only left unwarmed.

  “Good afternoon,” said Aurora. The goddess of the frozen wilds, or the wicked witch of the north, as she was known by the godless elves, was a peculiar-looking deity with a muscur man’s body and an old woman’s head.

  “Good afternoon,” echoed Cire and Sylvia in tandem.

  “Oh, there you are.” A particurly tall and nky raccoon spoke from one of the seats near the head of the table. Despite being in Aurora’s presence—he was literally sitting less than a meter away from the goddess—he was just as x as usual. His feet were up on the table, his arms were crossed, and his lips bore a zy yawn. “We were just talking about you.”

  Despite wasting plenty of time, Cire and Sylvia were among the first to arrive. Lana was the only other person present, no doubt because she was eager to dig in.

  “I don’t want to know,” said Cire. She gave the raccoon, who was not-so-secretly her uncle, a wary look as she slipped out of Sylvia’s arms and took a seat at the table. She assumed her humanoid form whilst turning her earcuffs into a flowing silver halter neck.

  “Oh, come on. You’re no fun,” he said, with a sigh. “Where’s your curiosity? You’re what, thirteen? Twenty five? This is the kinda thing that should have you by the ears.”

  “Well it doesn’t,” she said. “And you should know my birthday.”

  “I know the date, but not the year, not that it really matters either way.” The raccoon lifted a gss of wine and gave it a zy swish. “Let me tell you a little secret, Cire. Birthdays are worthless. They don’t make jack for profit.”

  “Wait, really?” asked Sylvia, with a blink. “Birthdays are special occasions, right? They should make loads of money. Aren’t they like, celebrated and stuff?”

  “Only by people with short lives,” he said, with a shrug. “But I’ve had what, a couple hundred? Maybe a thousand? I lost track long ago, and I’m not exactly alone in that line of thinking. Not to mention, most of the bigger spenders are the old timers with assets and investments for days.”

  “Really? Al did it all the time.”

  “If you are referring to Alfred Lrsse, I would advise against using him as a point of reference. His choices are anything but normal,” said Aurora.

  “Mmmnnn… I guess, yeah. Al probably only does it ‘cause he always overworks himself and needs to take a break every once in a while,” muttered the furball. “Oh yeah! That reminds me. Cire! When the heck is your birthday? I swear we’ve never celebrated it even though we’ve known each other forever already.”

  The lyrkress paused for a second. “It’s in the fourth month, just before the solstice.”

  “Wait… doesn’t that mean it’s around the same time as mine?”

  “It’s a little bit after.”

  “Forty-first day of the fourth month, I think,” added Panda.

  “What the heck!? Why didn’t you tell me we were only like a week apart!? We could’ve celebrated ours together!”

  “We were busy, remember? That was when we were flooded with requests,” said Cire.

  “Yeah, but still! We could’ve taken time off if we wanted. It’s not like we were doing anything important.”

  “We beat the spirit of hospitality into a pair of thieving innkeepers.”

  “That’s literally not important!”

  “We helped that kid get his inheritance back from his creepy uncle.”

  “That’s even less important!”

  “Then what about the orphanage we saved? You know, the one that had the corrupt director?”

  “That guy was on Matthias’ list already! He was gonna die no matter what!”

  Cire rolled her eyes. “We still freed them a week or two early.”

  “Mmmnnn, I guess, but it’s not like it actually made a difference. Their budget didn’t go back to normal until they repced him. And plus! Even if we took time off, it’d just have been like one or two days anyway. You just didn’t wanna celebrate.”

  “I guess not,” said Cire, with a soft smile. “We can celebrate this year.”

  “That better be a promise,” said the fox.

  “It is,” said Cire.

  “Oh boy, sounds like it’ll be a bst,” said Panda. “You do realise that the proxy war’ll have begun by then, right? Since like, you know, the forty-first is when the summer festival kicks off?”

  “I doubt the first day will be more than just an opening ceremony and an exhibition match.”

  “Depends how much cash your daddy’s ministers smell from drawing it out,” said Panda. “I guess with only seven fights, they’d probably have to scoot a few back, ‘specially if they want Virillius to do his on the st day of the festival.”

  Cire nodded.

  “I am looking forward to the festival,” said Aurora. “It will be the first time in a long time that I will be attending one in person.”

  “Wait, wait, wait, hold on,” said Panda. “You’re going to be attending in person?”

  “Naturally,” said the goddess. “Did you really think I was about to miss one of the most interesting events this realm has seen in the past few hundred years?”

  “Well, when you put it that way… I guess you’d be taking a pretty hefty loss if you gave up your front row seats for no reason.” The raccoon sighed and pressed a paw against his face. “We’re going to be so fucked if Virillius catches on.”

  “I would not be quite so worried. I am not the only deity pnning to attend.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I suspect there will be ten or twenty at least. I believe even Flitzegarde intends on making an appearance.”

  “You have to be kidding me,” groaned the raccoon. “You really have to start telling me stuff like that earlier. How’s a guy supposed to spin a profit if his intel’s out of date?”

  “Another merchant would likely fail, but you, Constantius, should find it as easy as ever.” The goddess grinned in an almost tomboyish way, her otherwise ancient, decrepit face briefly regaining its youth for the expression’s duration.

  “Doesn’t mean I don’t want leeway.”

  “The festival will be fun. Lots of food everywhere,” said Lana. “If it’s like Vel’khan’s.”

  “We could wander around together and find out for ourselves,” said Aurora.

  “Good idea,” said Lana. “I hope they have pies.”

  “Pie has always been a Cadrian standard, and I do believe there are a number of recipes adapted to serve as street food. In fact, the pies barely scratch the surface by their lonesome. Many of their artificers’ greatest breakthroughs have ultimately found their pces in the kitchen.”

  “That sounds good… I can’t wait.” The wolf girl’s eyes were practically shining.

  “Oh boy, everyone’s making pns now,” said Panda, with a sigh. “Guess I better tweak mine before things go too haywire.”

  The rest of the party started filing into the room as Panda grumbled. Offering silent greetings, they took their seats while the wolf and the goddess passionately discussed the various military technologies that Cadrians had adapted to greatly improve their gastronomy.

  Perhaps not so coincidentally, many of the dishes served were precisely those that the goddess listed. They were carted in by a self-driving trolley, who set the table with the help of the floating napkins that rested atop its handle. There was a steak folded inside an apple’s core and baked at super high pressure, prawns that were evenly heated in a fsh to the perfect temperature, and salt licks whose particles were atomically disassembled and reconstituted as loaves of hay bread with tiny flecks of the original matter intermingled throughout.

  So and so forth, the bizarre creations dotted the table, the most curious of which was a sad. At a gnce, it looked like an average bowl of leafy greens. There were a few strips of chicken mixed in, and it had been dressed with a lemony mustard and egg sauce, but threw off all who dared to try it. The fkes of cheese, the pieces of chicken, the roasted garlic croutons, the sprinkles of bacon, and the chopped leafy greens had their textures and fvours scrambled. It was impossible to tell at a gnce how a given bite would taste or feel based on the makeup thereof.

  Known as death sad, it was rumoured to have been first crafted to distract an otherwise vigint magistrate while his son-in-w carried out his assassination. Requiring a very specific device that worked only when the ingredients were in perfect proportion, it was a Cadrian recipe through and through.

  Everyone dug in and filled their stomachs, stopping only to chat and wet their lips with the fine wine provided. And for a while, Cire was among their number. She stayed for most of the courses, but she slipped away just before dessert arrived at the table.

  It would only be an hour or two before they ultimately departed, and she still needed to bid her mother farewell.