Headed by a Snake

Chapter 962 Calculator’s Physique

?? Twenty minutes later... ?

"You sure can eat, LT," Krysaos said, his tone flat. "Where does it all go? You uh-- you ain't that big of a guy."

Tycondrius glared at the gentleman Captain out of the corner of his eye.

"Whatever you think you're doing, Sea God," Tycon groaned. "I don't appreciate it."

The Captain pursed his lips and nodded, "Huh? That so? Well, there's a public trash can. Go ahead. Throw 'em away."

Tycon looked down. In his hands was a brown, oil-stained bag, likely made of paper. And in that bag were several balls of fried dough, dusted with sweet powder.

He had no complaints about the bag's contents.

Fried balls of dough were born without sin.

His major complaint was that he was being treated like a child-- distracted by sugary goodness to allay a tantrum.

"...I'm not going to *waste* food," He muttered-- "Korr, where are you taking us?"

Korr turned her head, answering over her shoulder, "[MEETING PLACE.]"

"Ugh," Tycon groaned in annoyance before jamming another fried dough ball in his mouth.

Sweet... but not *too* sweet.

"I'm sure you know this, LT," Krysaos started... "but you've got a weird habit of getting reeeally frickin' hungry when you're in a shite mood."

Tycon furrowed his brows together, "And on what basis would you make such a *ludicrous* assumption?"

"We started with ten skewers of meat, two turkey legs, two whole pints of barley soup,-- oh, and the two dozen doughnuts. Out of that, what's left?"

"I offered portions to both you and Korr," Tycon frowned. "Both of you have accepted and were thus granted one fried dough ball, each. I do not appreciate being accused of selfishness, *dear friend.*"

"That ain't the point, LT."

"Then *what* is, Brother-Captain?"

Tycon jammed the last piece of fried bread in his mouth before discarding its container in a proper receptacle.

"...You know what?" Krysaos shook his head. "Nevermind."

Suddenly, Tycon felt his hand being taken.

Through the leather and metal, Korr's hand felt warm-- likely something to do with the fact that her Class had a strong affinity to fire mana.

Warmth. Warmth was nice.

It was... comforting.

In recent suns, Tycon had been living in a constant state of anxiety.

That... had probably affected his surrounding relationships. Thinking on it, Krysaos had been nothing but a loyal and stalwart companion, throughout.

It was remiss of him to make light of such strong bonds of friendship-- both that of Krysaos and of Korr.

Tycon took a deep breath... swallowing his frustrations.

As Korr was not privy to the missive's contents, she had no ulterior motive in offering her hand.

Did she think that he was upset, as Krysaos had suggested?

He wasn't. The notion was ridiculous.

He was negatively affected by emotion-- but to explain it as mere 'anger' or 'frustration' was... imprecise.

Korr sensed... something; her hand was an offer of kindness, a visage of the certainty and safety that often went without.

Tycon considered Korr a close friend. They'd worked closely together during simpler times, when the greatest of his concerns were instilling martial skills into a pre-pubescent boy and shaming a grown man for soiling himself.

Ultimately, he appreciated the notions offered. However...

"Young lady," He said in a soft voice. "Do you think what you're doing is appropriate? --and before you answer, deactivate your helmet's voice enchantment."

Korr used her opposite hand to reach underneath her full helmet.

She did not release her hold on Tycon's hand.

"Should... .... ...stop?"

Tycon chuckled softly. The young lady always seemed to have difficulty communicating with him (and he had difficulty understanding her.)

However, she was a sweet and kind child.

It was embarrassing to admit... but in his frustrated state, he had briefly abandoned his professionalism-- and in front of what he considered to be children.

Granted, Korr was not an actual child. As a veteran mercenary who had previously retired, she was as old as Krysaos looked.

Still, Tycon quietly cursed himself for acting so willfully.

"You should let go, milady," He said. "I'm very handsome, so this might cause some unwanted misunderstandings."

Korr continued to walk, not releasing her grip in the slightest. However, just when Tycon thought he was being ignored, she lowered her head.

"He... he won't mind."

Krysaos raised his hand, "Who won't mind?"

"...Boyfriend."

Tycon felt his eyebrow twitch. From the reports he received, Seldin Korr had a steady relationship with a soldier from Forcen, a City-State to the north and west. Last he read, that fellow had proposed to her.

The man's title should not have been 'boyfriend.' It should have been 'fiancee.'

He could not be certain of how Korr felt about her relationship. Romantic rituals between humans were in the top five most complicated out of all the sentients in the Realm.

Thankfully, there was a clause in her contract to Sol Invictus to alleviate his worries. If she were to pursue a marriage contract, a scribe would be hired to create a document detailing her prenuptial assets and those of her partner. Thus, if the contract were to be voided, the separation of assets would be a simple affair.

Also, Tycon had forces in the Kingdom's city of Meryslward-- former rogues and ruffians. Those valiant men (and a surprisingly low amount of women, despite recent recruitment drives) were skilled in tasks generally practiced by Dark Guilds.

Kidnapping. Extended periods of torture. The lucrative sale of organs (and sometimes whole bodies) to passionate researchers.

Tycon made a mental note to send their leader, Reynard, a letter of gratitude for his continued efforts. Granted, if that man were to fail him, nothing short of a god could stop Tycon's wrath.

--and even then, it depended on the deity...

That was how Tycon cared for his people.

No one f*cked with his people.

Finally, the trio arrived at a moderately-sized mansion. Sorina Capulet, the Chief Financial Officer of Sol Invictus and Tycon's other holdings, met them at the entrance.

Her attire, from the knicknacks in her beige hair and her multi-layered dress was... gleaming and expensive.

However, as the previous fiscal year had been kind, Tycon decided not to criticize her appearance.

"What took you so long, Boss?"

Tycon removed a gold coin from his spatial ring and tossed it on the floor.

Without hesitation, a frenzied Sorina dropped down to her hands and knees to retrieve it.

"...Y'know, if it takes 5 seconds to pick up a gold piece, that's like making 10.5 million silver in a moon."

Tycon granted the young lady his practiced, professional smile.

"Good morning, Lady Cauplet," He said. "There are a number of logical flaws in that statement."

"Good morning." Sorina grinned happily, "But it doesn't matter, Boss. I'm the subject matter expert at all things business and business-related."

? Sorina Capulet, Bronze-Rank Human Calculator. ?

Tycon casually scrutinized his employee's physique...

It had been several moons since he last saw her... and it appeared she was just as strong as when they'd initially met.

If Sorina had undergone physical training each day, as was required by her contract, then she should have at least attained an Iron-Rank physique.

"You look... stronger, somehow, Boss?"

The young lady's smile held a hint of desperation.

She knew.

And she knew *he* knew.

She was at fault. And for her impotence, she would suffer.

Tycon turned up his nose, "Your Metal-Rank, child."

"Y-you don't have to check it, Boss!" Sorina smiled. "I'm-- I've been working on it. I-- I swear!"

"Lady Korr," Tycon commanded. "Take Miss Capulet to her room. Have her commit to intensive physical training for the next *four bells.*"

Sorina, again ignoring the delicate nature of her dress, threw herself onto her knees and begged Tycon without shame, "BOSS!! WAIT!!! I'M SORRY!! DON'T DO THIS TO ME!!"

"Too little..." Korr whispered softly.

Four bells of training were laughably brief, compared to the standard disciplinary sessions Tycon assigned.

"It can't be helped," He shrugged. "I plan to find a bed or cushioned couch before I collapse from general annoyance. Krysaos, inform the others that the meeting will be held in the evening."

"Aw," Krysaos frowned. "I was gonna go watch the rich girlie work out."

"Eh?" Sorina recoiled in disgust, "Gross."

Tycon clapped Krysaos' shoulder, "Brother-Captain, I have invited four nation-representatives to attend the meeting this evening. I assume they are here. Do not allow them to leave."

"By my socks," Krysaos scoffed... "This shite's really happening, ain't it? ...Why's there only four nation-reps?"

"I'm the fifth," Tycon answered simply.

"Ah, right, right," Krysaos nodded. "Alright. I'll do it."

"But that's not fAirRr!" Sorina cried, "I'm the secretary! I'm the one that gets to tell important people important things!"

"Krysaos is a literal god," Tycon waved. "Hopefully, those that I've called will understand the gravity of the situation upon meeting him."

"W-wait wait wait," Sorina said, holding out her hands. "*what's* going on?"

"Some bastard prophecy is due its fulfillment," Tycon groaned as he walked off... "something about the Realm being reduced to naught but ash and fire."