abcnovels
Those Who Are Left 1
Those Who Are Left 1
“Is this good enough?” asked Keira while looking over her handiwork.
“Yeah! It’s the best, mommy!” shouted the five dryads.
“I’m glad,” replied the beastkin with a happy smile.
Truthfully speaking, Boxxy wasn’t quite sure why they asked it to engrave something like ‘Mommy loves you’ into Lilly’s heartwood, but it decided to play along. Writing on the wall was free, and it got to put its limited knowledge of the Divine language to use, so it had no real reason to refuse.
“...”
Okay, maybe it should have refused at least a little. Well, what was done was done, and it didn’t want to risk enraging those girls when it was so close to freedom, so it led that one slide. Besides, they were about to go to sleep for a very long time, so it decided that particular message didn’t bother it at all.
“Um… mommy?” spoke up Pinea. “Is- is it okay if you sang to us again?”
“Yeah, mommy’s songs are always funny and strange!” added Birchis.
“Also,” said Castelia, “I really want to hear about the shiny stars again! Please!?”
Numerous shouts of ‘Yeah!’ and ‘Please!’ bombarded Keira.
“Okay! Okay, settle down now!” she exclaimed while waving her hands around in mock embarrassment. “You girls want a lullaby, then?”
“What’s a lullaby?” they asked all at once.
“It’s a song to make sure you sleep well.”
“... So we’re going back to sleep after all?” asked Pinea while casting her eyes downward. While all the dryads clung incessantly to their ‘mommy,’ that one had grown especially attached to her.
“You have to, sweetie. Otherwise you won’t grow up right. You don’t want that, do you?”
“No… but will mommy be there when we wake up?”
Hell no! I’ve had enough of you damned brats! Just go to sleep and leave me alone, already!
Keira had thoughts like this on the inside, while on the outside-
“I can’t promise that. But you can’t let that keep you from growing up to be big and strong. Your future is important to me, so while it pains me to see you go, you have to go back to sleep. It’s for your own good.”
“...”
“So can you do that? Can you be strong for mommy?”
Pinea looked up with eyes filled with determination.
“Okay! I’ll do it!”
“Good girl,” said the catgirl with a smile while giving her a big hug.
“Hey, no fair!” shouted the other four in unison.
“It’s okay, mommy has plenty of hugs for everyone!”
Keira gave each of them a farewell hug, after which the dryads did as instructed, lying down on the soft beds of leaves and grass just like their mommy had done a few times before. The catgirl then began singing a slow, calming version of the one-of-a-kind song tentatively called Shiny Star. She sang it over and over for about 15 more minutes until the effects of Elder Dryad’s Authority wore off like clockwork, exactly 1 week since it was activated, give or take a few minutes.
The five juvenile plant ladies had already fallen asleep by this point, and were sinking slowly into the bark-covered floor of Lilly’s safe room. They would eventually return to their own trees through their combined roots, so falling into hibernation here wasn’t going to be a problem for them. Not that the Mimic actually cared though, it was just glad to finally be rid of them. And if it had its way, then it would keep it that way at any cost.
More good news. It would seem the Agent of Chaos Skill’s bizarre effects were rather short lived this time, huh? It didn’t seem to do much of anything, either, which was even better. Wait, why was a patch of grass on Castelia’s head steadily changing from green to a reddish shade of brown? Actually, it wasn’t just her, as the rest of the quintuplets began to show a similar discoloration. It was pretty much a given that this wasn't a natural occurrence, but a direct result of Boxxy’s interference as the Hero of Chaos.
The Mimic didn’t worry though, for it already knew how to deal with this situation.
Oh well! Not my problem!
As if a monster had any reason to fret over what sort of potentially cataclysmic events it had set in motion. Even if something horrible were to happen as a result of this, then it wouldn’t be until the girls woke up. Which would be long after any sort of vested interest it had in this place - or indeed this country - had already passed. It also thought it heard a certain deity that presided over matters of luck and chance cackling madly, but that was surely its own imagination. That was most definitely the wind and nothing else. After all, Boxxy wasn’t like Fizzy, who claimed to constantly be hearing Rick’s voice in her head. The monster was simply tired and needed to rest, that was all.
Ah, but it couldn’t just yet. It had convinced those dryads to retrieve about 150 of the more well-preserved and quality-looking bodies from the field. That particular mountain of corpses was currently piled up in one of the corners of the safe room, just waiting for its gentle touch. They were surprisingly well preserved considering they already died 2 days ago, and Boxxy was eager to see what it could gain from them.
So without further ado, the Mimic set about absorbing each and every one of those morsels. And while most of them were failures as expected, it still had a good number of successes as well. It reaped a total of 11 minor ones, giving a grand total of +144 STR, +98 DEX, +41 AGI, +97 END, +120 INT and +44 WIS. As for the the other ones, they looked something like this.
Well, the Skills were, as expected, a bunch of different Mastery ones. While somewhat tasty, the Mimic seriously doubted whether Axe Mastery and Primal Mastery would ever come into play. The former involved wielding weapons that relied a lot more on brute strength than finesse. There might be some applications to be found with axes, but as a whole Boxxy preferred swords and daggers since those made stabby time much, much easier than something like an axe.
As for the latter, it seemed to be related to Spells that a Druid or Shaman would use. And since the Mimic didn’t know any Primal magic, it would be a mostly useless Skill. Well, at the very least it unlocked the AFF Attribute, though how useful it would be would remain to be seen. No, that was optimistic at best. The Mimic was honestly hoping that the new Attribute would remain useless, and wouldn’t dip into the negative like Faith (FTH).
The Job situation, on the other hand, was… educational at best. As expected, Rogue Skills had a good deal of overlap with Mimic ones. Not only that, but it took up the Mimic’s 8th and apparently final Job Slot. Well, in some ways this was a good thing since it meant the Mimic was not going to be saddled with some stupid, useless Job like Cat. At least, not for the moment. Although not immediately, Boxxy was still planning on eventually visiting a Scribe to undergo Job Removal.
That ‘procedure’ was something Boxxy had already gone through several times by masquerading as a disillusioned adventurer who wanted to start over. It was initially unwilling to revisit that foggy, painful memory of having its Warlock Job stripped away, but eventually learned that the process was supposed to be painless if done properly. Apparently, as long as the person - or in this case, monster - willingly submitted to a Job Removal, then the worst they would feel would be a vague sense of loss and fatigue.
In other words, the reason Boxxy was so traumatized back then was that it underwent a forced Job Removal. Its own body had instinctively resisted having part of it stripped away, which only made the separation harder. However, this resistance was not futile, as Job Removal was unable to forcefully remove a Job that was of equal or higher Level than the user’s own Scribe Level. In other words, it was theoretically impossible take away someone’s Level 100 Job unless they willed it. Well, practically speaking they were most likely in the clear so long as they went above Level 85, as very few Scribes were able to reach that high within their lifetime.
When it came to the subject of life spans, it actually gave Boxxy a bit of distress. Apparently ‘pure-blooded’ Mimics would normally only live for about a year before their unstable bodies began to collapse. Well, it wasn’t strictly speaking a Mimic anymore, but it definitely felt like that was unfair. At the very least it found some solace on the fact that a Doppelganger was an existence that could live longer than enlightened races. According to records from the days of the Silent War, more than a few Doppelgangers were over 100 years old at the time of their capture. That, coupled with those demonic traits, was the most likely cause of Minic’s ridiculous longevity.
Well, having all the time in the world wouldn’t be enough if a devious monster showed up and murdered them. Just like that ‘Holy Necromancer’ and that idiotic Warlock. The former had already been subjected to the Cadaver Absorption, but Boxxy got nothing out of him since it failed. Because of course it failed. That put a damper on the Mimic’s expectations from Shinji’s corpse, which was still tucked away in its Storage. In the end, it decided to put off absorbing it until after it managed to push its Warlock Level past 50.
But before that could happen, Boxxy T. Morningwood would have to face a very tough trial indeed.
Mentally steeling itself for what was to come, the Mimic ever-so-subtly changed Keira’s relentlessly smiling face. The catgirl’s mouth curled into a small, barely-there frown, while her bright eyes full of energy became oddly dull as she cast them at her feet. She hugged herself across the stomach as if she were cold, and made sure that her head, shoulders, tail and ears were drooping visibly.
Is this enough? Or is it too much? I honestly can’t tell. Well, might as well try it out!
The catgirl walked out of the silent safe room for the very last time. She quickly corrected her expression, as her monstrous side’s delight had slightly warped her face, and stepped out onto a branch. While the dryads were awake, they were the ones that ferried her up and down the tree, but Keira needed a good way to get down now that they were asleep.
Thankfully, her superiors foresaw this issue, and an elven Wizard was quietly waiting for her on that branch. He instinctively tried to call out and reassure the devastated-looking catgirl, but at the same time held his voice back. He was scared of saying something careless that would make things worse. So, in the end, he just silently levitated himself and the slightly heavier than expected beastkin off that branch and descended towards the ground hundreds of meters below at a slow and steady pace.
The two of them touched down on one of the keep’s rounded corner towers. The carnage from the slaughter 2 days ago had been more or less cleaned up, but the air was heavy with the stink of rotting flesh. The bodies of those slain were either buried after being sanctified or cremated with magic. This was to prevent the dead soldiers and adventurers from rising up as the undead. Such things were common among ghastly battlefields, so the Republic was taking care to handle their remains in a fitting and respectful manner.josei
What a waste. All that delicious human flesh…
“Are- Are you okay?” asked the worried-looking Wizard.
“Hmm?”
“You, uh, spaced out for a second there…”
“O-oh… Yes, I’m okay. Or at least I will be… eventually…” came the weak-willed response.
The truth of the matter was that Boxxy was remembering with glee the absolutely intoxicating smell of 20,000 humans’ worth of freshly spilled blood. A huge feast beyond anything it had ever seen, and it could only take a few scraps for itself without raising too much suspicion. Truly a disappointing outcome.
“Look, I know high command wants to speak with you as soon as possible, but if you-”
“I said I’m fine!” she snapped back, causing the elf to recoil slightly. “... I’m sorry about that. I’ll be going now. And… thanks for the lift.”
She finished the exchange with a weak smile as she opened one of the wooden trap doors in the floor and headed down the sturdy stone staircase, into the keep itself. She walked to the familiar conference room, and entered it after knocking to announce her presence. Inside were four faces she had grown accustomed to seeing over the past week. Primus Underwood, Prefect Vera, Legate Aidun, and the slightly mysterious strategist called Drannor. She made sure to rest her eyesight on Faehorn’s empty seat for a good 3 or 4 seconds before sitting down in front of her superior officers.
“*Ahem* Then, shall we begin the… debriefing?” suggested Underwood.
“Quite so,” nodded the Legate. “Now then, Decanus Morgana. Am I to understand those dryads have returned to sleep?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied with a monotone, almost whispering voice.
“Do you know when they’d wake up?”
“No, sir.”
“Did they show any disturbing or out-of-place signs following the two days after Operation Honeytrap?”
The coloration of their ‘hair’ was a bit weird, but the elves didn’t necessarily need to know about that.
“No, sir.”
“Have you received any contact from the Sandman?”
Crap, I completely forgot they wanted their shiny back! Well, I’ll take care of it later tonight.
“No, sir.”
“Very good, Decanus. Go get some rest and report to Primus Underwood first thing in the morning for your next assignment.”
“Yes, sir.”
Keira stood up, gave a firm salute towards the empty seat and walked out of the room while practically dragging her feet. Once she was out, Underwood frowned, crossed his arms and opened his mouth to utter the same words as his deceased friend.
“... Have I mentioned I hate this-”
“That’s enough of that, Primus,” interrupted the Legate in a commanding tone.
“Apologies, sir.”
“Well, I’m with Underwood on this one,” said Vera. “Seeing that girl… it makes it hard to think of all this death as just numbers. I mean - did we truly do the right thing?”
“Of course we did,” answered Drannor matter-of-factly. “If we had done nothing then we would have lost countless more of our people. I may have been skeptical at first, but that girl’s actions have saved the entire western front. If word spreads that Hylt trees could fight back against invaders, then the Empire wouldn’t dare come near this fort ever again. With some luck, they might assume that all Hylt trees were like that, and would be far more wary of them as a result. With some luck, they might even hesitate to attack the Republic in the first place.”
The Legate nodded grandly in agreement, then turned his head towards Silus.
“Primus, can your Sandman contact lend us that orb again? Maybe obtain it permanently?”
“No, sir. He claimed the Elder Dryad’s Authority took a long time and a lot of effort to recharge, so it wouldn’t be feasible to use it twice in the same season.”
“Are we sure he’s not just saying that?”
“As I explained before, sir, I had some people already examine the dormant crystal while it was in my possession. They found out absolutely nothing about its construction or function, nor were they able to make any sense of that chant. Worse still, even several days after it was used, there remained not a single speck of mana in that thing. Most likely it’s the type of item that requires some ritual or rite before it could be used.”
This conclusion was technically correct, but Underwood’s scholars had no idea that Elder Dryad’s Authority simply ‘lent’ someone her mana. Said magical energy would return inside the sphere after a week had passed, allowing it to be reused immediately. In fact, it was already glowing happily inside Boxxy’s Storage. In other words the ‘ritual’ required was to simply wait for it.
“We could have held onto it and researched it more thoroughly, but none of my people were confident they could do such a thing. Ultimately I decided securing that man’s cooperation was far more valuable than clinging onto that vague potential.”
“I see,” said the Legate. “Considering the results, it’s hard to argue with that decision.”
The fact that this Sandman had taken out a VIP by himself was already worthy of praise.
“Still, I think it would be good to borrow it as soon as we can,” he added.
“Sir. For the record, I think that would be unwise,” chimed in Vera. “Even if we could trigger it, I doubt any of us could actually use it.”
“What do you mean, Prefect?”
“Well, Faehorn said it himself, sir. That ‘Authority’ merely gives the user a warm welcome from those dryads and establishes communication. But trying to convince them to take our side and slaughter our enemy with very little to show in return? I don’t think that’s going to be easy.”
“... It would be rather difficult, wouldn’t it?” said the Legate after a brief silence. His memory of trying (and failing) to interact with the green children over the past week was more than enough to support Vera’s claims.
“Indeed. In some ways we - for the lack of a better term - lucked out that this fort was surrounded by naive youngsters. And that a caring person was able to take charge of them and bring them over to our cause. Even if it was a blunder. Trying that on an adult dryad… I can see it backfiring in a major way.”
“Yes, I see your point, Prefect. I shall take it into recommendation. Primus, what of the Decanus?”
“What about her, sir?”
“Will she be able to fulfill her duties?”
“Then this assignment you mentioned - are you planning to send her on a mission, sir?”
“Not exactly,” said the Legate while leaning forward, his elbows against the table. “While things have more or less settled down on this side, the central front is struggling. They have been requesting reinforcements, and I plan to send 3,000 of our troops their way. This includes the Decanus and her men as well.”
“If I may ask, sir, why her specifically?”
“This Sandman business aside, she is still an excellent scout and Ranger. Although I am loathe to let her go, the 2nd Legion desperately needs people like her to help defend the Rainy Woodlands.”
“I see…”
It wasn’t objectively speaking a bad idea. A soldier existed to fight during wartime and be vigilant when the country was at peace. But that girl was hardly what one would call a soldier. She may possess some ability, but her mental state was in question. Having someone around who could become a liability would end up doing more harm than good when it came to Republic operations in that region.
“I believe it would be unwise to dispatch her immediately, sir,” answered Underwood. “Although Faehorn’s… passing was doubtlessly quite hard on her, it isn’t the main cause of her current state of mind. Regardless of her words at that time, it would seem she is having trouble dealing with the consequences of her actions. She probably feels directly responsible for the death of all those Imperial soldiers. Frankly speaking, only a monster would feel nothing after killing so many people, even if they did so indirectly or were acting on orders.”
Those words alone meant that Boxxy had succeeded at one of its toughest challenges yet, although the monster in question wasn’t around to hear them.
The Mimic had no trouble expressing sadness, happiness or anger, as these were things it experienced firsthand. Xera’s demonstrations combined with its affection for shiny chests allowed it to flirt and act like it cared for someone, albeit at a very basic and rudimentary level. Still, Keira’s obvious inexperience with matters of love only made her seem more genuine and endearing in Rowana’s eyes, so it actually worked out in its favor.
However, that shameless Mimic being burdened by a sense of guilt and remorse over something it had done? Such a thing was impossible. Indeed, even though Clarissa the Goddess of Dice Rolls would say there was a ‘non-zero chance’ of that happening, it was still far less likely than the the whole planet turning into an incomprehensibly large cheese wheel overnight. Incidentally, in the unlikely event such a thing happened, the resulting wheel would most likely be cheddar or gouda. Maybe camembert. Blue cheese was right out.
Planetary dairy aside, feelings such as grief, remorse or guilt were so removed from Boxxy T. Morningwood’s understanding that it hesitated to ask whether such things were actually tasty or not. This made acting them out as Keira quite troublesome. Thankfully, it knew the theory behind what it had to be doing since it read a book about that something-or-other. What was it called again? Post-Tastetastic Shiny Disorder? Whatever it was, it taught the Mimic about the face it needed to make and the way it should act, but no matter how much it practiced over the last few days, it always felt its performance was unnaturally stiff and obviously artificial. It had avoided contact with the elves as much as possible, but it was understandably worried about this debriefing.
“I see,” said the Legate. “Well, anyone could tell at a glance she was deeply troubled.”
And yet, Boxxy had succeeded in its ruse, despite it lacking confidence it could pull it off. The monster had severely underestimated the power of Keira’s face that was the perfect combination of beautiful and cute. Any man whose heart wasn’t moved after seeing her bright and innocent smile disappear had no right to call himself a man. After all, as a certain Warlock once said - ‘Cute is justice!’ Then again, he said quite a few nonsensical things such as ‘A flat chest is a status symbol!’ or ‘Yes lolita! No touch!’ but even a stopped clock was right twice a day.
“However, we want to send her there regardless of whether she’s ready to fight,” insisted Drannor the strategist. “While she may be capable in her own right, this Sandman character is also quite valuable. And for better or worse, he will only meet face-to-face with this Decanus. They’re a package deal whether we like it or not.”
“You want to send him as well?” asked Underwood.
“Of course! I will admit I was sceptical about the dryads at first, not to mention I still don’t fully trust the guy, but by all accounts his personal might is quite substantial. We would be fools not to take advantage of someone who could kill a VIP in one-on-one combat if all he’s asking for in return is money. We just need to make sure we maintain a cordial long-distance relationship and keep him from getting too involved with the government and its citizens.”
“I understand. Then, would it be possible to at least give her some time to recover from her mental distress?”
“Hmm…”
The strategist fell into thought as he considered all the variables. Ever the diligent one, Drannor made sure to keep himself updated on the other fronts’ status, especially the central one. The Republic had used the terrain and wilderness to slow the Empire’s advance through the area to a crawl. By his estimate, the reinforcements that would be coming in from Fort Yimin would allow for a stalemate of sorts, though that would take some time to happen. Once it did, however, introducing an unknown element like that Sandman just might tip the balance in their favor. As for matters of time, they still had about a month before winter truly began, then perhaps a dozen or so days before it froze the Empire in their tracks.
“We can afford a week,” he concluded.
“Very good,” declared the Legate. “Primus, give the Decanus a week’s time to recuperate back at the capital, then evaluate if she is fit for duty.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then, let us move onto the next topic. Prefect, have we located Faehorn’s weapon, yet?”
While the deceased Ranger’s body was found and recovered, his trademark bow was still missing. It was a superb item, even amongst its Artifact-grade peers. Considering who wielded it and what he had accomplished with it made it valuable enough to be considered a national treasure.
“No,” answered Vera, “and it’s likely we won’t find it. We’ve already scoured the area around that tree several times, but we’ve been unable to find any sign of it. Most likely someone has already looted it during or after the siege.”
“Hmm, I see. Then I suppose I should request that the government put out a bounty for it.”
A Legate held a good deal of political power, so Aidun could get something like that handled post-haste.
“With all due respect, that would be a bad idea, sir,” said Underwood. “The item’s common appearance means we’ll have a huge influx of frauds, scammers, or just people who confused it with a regular weapon. Processing all those would put quite a bit of strain on the government’s clerks and Scribes.”
“Well that’s to be expected with any item bounty,” commented Drannor. “I’m more concerned with the scenario where whoever took it is a ‘collector’ or had already sold it to someone like that in secret. Such people are liable to go underground and cover their tracks when they find out the government is looking for it. I think a covert investigation is a more prudent approach.”
“All of our spies are busy with the war, though,” argued Underwood.
“But if we don’t act now, the trail will just grow cold! Wait too long and we might lose it completely!”
“So, shall we appoint some of our drafted adventurers to track it down instead? Surely we won’t miss 30 or 40 people.”
“No! Doing such a thing has certain political ramifications that-”
The argument regarding the late Milo Faehorn’s weapon lasted for a long time. However, that particular discussion, along with the decades of searching that followed, were all for naught. The Republic would eventually have to give up on recovering the Artifact, and the ridiculous bounty for it would never be claimed.
For the bow known as Enduring Gale, which was carved out of an ancient Hylt tree’s heartwood, had already begun fusing with the branch it landed on by the time its last owner hit the ground.