Sworded Affair

Chapter 116 : Stray Cat Strut

With great reluctance, Saint pulled herself up and off of the ancestor's lap. It was hard, leaving behind the warmth of her sleeping body, but night had fallen, and a growling stomach told her it was time to hunt. Saint spared a final glance behind as she stood upon the threshold of the cottage. Even now, the ancestor lay still; by all appearances dead to the world.

[I am dead, little kitten. It's important that I play the part, lest some annoying heavenly principles take notice and interfere. Still too early for me to be up and about, I'm afraid; the System will suffice for now.]

This meant little to Saint, who vaguely understood the System as a bunch of floating boxes that showed up every now and again, none of which made sense to her: Saint, being a cat, did not know how to read. Fortunately, the voice in her head told her which buttons to press, and how to activate her abilities, so it all worked out just fine in the end. Slipping out into the night, Saint blinked rapidly, forcing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Lingering hues of yellow and blue were shed, rendering the world in greyscale.

[Think of what you want, affix it clearly to the forefront of your mind.]

That was easy enough to do, Saint conjuring up a vivid image of three plump rats, ripe for the taking.

[Beneath your meal, a plate bearing an Eagle's head, in a room of white marble. Desire begets thought, willed into reality. Grab the power at the base of your tail, and press every button that appears for you.]

Saint closed her eyes, clearing away distractions to better form a complex image in her mind. Her back arched, feeling the spark that accompanied the strange power she'd learned to trust.

[Insufficient clarity to Teleport safely. Continue? Y

Insufficient detail for temporal accuracy. Enter the timestream blind? Y

WARNING! High likelihood of entering hostile Dungeon. Proceed? Y]

Three mental nods later, and Saint was gone.

---

The Centurion that guarded the Academia Mortalis was not truly alive in any sense of the word. Whilst capable of some degree of thought, in the absence of greater authority taking direct control, his actions were largely predetermined according to the commands laid down by the Dungeon Master. Any who approached the gates would be judged; the unworthy were to be turned away to further prove themselves, whilst those deemed worthy would be permitted to enter the first trial. These commands were simple and absolute, and factors such as race were not considered in the slightest.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Your strength is self-evident, aspirant. Proceed, and find glory in battle."

Most guards would find it strange, kneeling down to speak properly to Saint in the shadow of the rising sun, but the Centurion was not most guards.

---

[Weave connection established.

Long-distance communications protocol enabled.

User: Edith Knight

Proxy: Emma Knight

Previous log on: 1 Day ago.

You have 3 unread messages!]

Emma awoke to the lovely sound of notifications arriving in rapid succession. The System helpfully informed her that it was eight in the morning, and that all three messages were marked as high priority. Also notable was her designation as Proxy; the Weave, it seemed, had finally caught up with her rather unusual situation where her ancestor was concerned.

"At least those all appeared after I woke up, rather than startling me overnight," Emma muttered, glancing at the timestamps of the incoming messages.

[Do Not Disturb is enabled by default for all users. I'm not making that mistake again.]

A quick read was enough to tell that the messages were actually useful, rather than the typical spam that got sent as 'important.' The first message was from the Crystal Emporium; they'd somehow gotten ahold of Edith's old banking details, and were offering to settle the outstanding two thousand Thrones Emma owed by wire transfer.

"Digital banking is a thing in the Empire? Why did we have to visit the bank again?"

[It wouldn't have worked before; automated checks would have flagged any transactions made, given how long it had been since my last one. After the paperwork you filled in, those functions should be good to go again.]

"Huh. Well, that saves us some time at least."

Emma sent a short reply, agreeing to the transfer as stipulated in Crystal's initial message. Apparently, the Weave was deemed safe enough for e-commerce, such that her reply would be enough to get money moving in the background.

[Debt: 2000 Thrones to Crystal's Crystal Emporium cleared!]

That was the simplest of the three messages, as it turned out. The second message was a very politely worded plea from Marius Kimaris, asking if she would please lift the curse that was turning anything his hands touched into lead.

"This could have been one sentence," Emma retorted, staring in disgust at the three page declaration, largely written in English so old Shakespeare would have struggled to read it.

[Kimaris taught that whole family grammar, logic and rhetoric. A shame he didn't bother adding brevity to the list. Don't bother replying, if he's serious about his request he'd have offered us more than just words.]

Emma was happy enough to file that message away and never look at it again, moving hurriedly on to the third and final message. This one came from Felix, and in contrast to Marius was very brief and to the point. He even included a handful of pictures for emphasis.

"Huh, so that's where Saint ended up," Emma laughed, zooming in on the picture that showed Saint facing off against the twin lions, Dies and Nox.

The poor trial guardians were having a tough time of things; entangled in thick roots while Saint sat in the distance. A thick earthen wall hid her from view as well as the burning area of effect the twins emitted, while large stones ripped themselves free from the ground to pelt them. Not much damage had been done yet, in Emma's eyes, but with such a difference in versatility that battle really only had a single outcome.

"Is that where the divine artefact is coming from?"

[Perhaps.]