Book 2 - Chapter 47 - A Little Taste (Patreon)

The base commander had decided to hold a base-wide meeting (yet, for some strange reason, only the legionaries and Ranthia were actually invited—not that it stopped the dwarves from showing up). Deflection had already left; Remera had yet to face a single non-self-inflicted challenge since it was established.

The meeting was about as useful as most were—it could have readily been reduced to an order passed through normal channels. The base commander complimented everyone on their hard work in getting the base up and running, extolled the bravery of those that… picked through the old latrines the shimagu had left behind (the lack of anything useful being uncovered was wildly unsurprising), and promised that he would hold these open meetings every eight days (groan).

The conclusion was fun, at least.

“Let us all continue to make Remera the—” The man’s words cut off as an uncertain noise escaped his throat.

In that moment of carelessness, the unofficial name became the base’s pseudo-legitimized name. There was no undoing that; the man had just shaved at least a full year off the timeline required for ‘Remera’ to officially supplant the intended (still boring) designation.

“Erm, so I just need to stand here and play the different alert signals we have until you tell me to stop, ma’am?” The woman asked for the third time as her eyes flicked distractedly across the decidedly non-regulation tent.

“That’s what she said.” Ranthia tried to keep the barb out of her tone.

Avyna was already standing on a short ladder, waiting behind the partially open divider curtain.

“Should I… do it quietly?” The woman tried to clarify.

“No, don’t worry—no one else in the base will be able to hear it. Play just as you would if there was an actual alert while you were at your station.” Ranthia’s patience was running thin—it wasn’t a difficult request!

“Yes, but it—” The woman began to speak.

“That was an order, soldier! First alert, now! Cycle through them until I tell you to stop!” Ranthia gave up and dipped into a vocal range she hadn’t used since the Academy.

The legionary’s posture snapped rigid, and she had the horn to her lips with as much alacrity as her modest level allowed. She inhaled sharply and began to blow the alarm tones with practiced precision.

And within the confines of the tent the sound of the horn felt like it had physical form as it punched Ranthia. Thankfully, her vitality made the impact laughable—the instrument was never going to punch up to her level. It was little more than an unpleasant sound (though, admittedly, more than a little unpleasant too) that followed Ranthia through the curtains to where Avyna was already hard at work. The elf was humming to herself, trying to break down the individual sounds of each blast of the horn, while she passed her elaborate arcanite tool through the enchantments woven into the main support column of their home.

Ranthia had nothing better to do, so she decided to help out as best she knew how.

Avyna blamed Ranthia for making her miss the connection for the revised enchantment (which was fair, Ranthia had certainly aimed to be distracting—she was helping Avyna level her [Crystalline Clarity] Skill, honest). But with that mistake corrected, Avyna was confident that their privacy ward was perfected for their needs—there would be no further noise complaints.

Things continued to remain quiet—the most interesting work-related thing that Ranthia had dealt with by Remera’s second week of existence was breaking up a fight between some of the newer—extremely green—legionaries. One of the kids had either wholly misunderstood just what a prostitute does or decided unilaterally that he could ‘save’ her from a profession of her own choosing—then flew into a rage when he found her with a few of his friends.

The [Healers] patched the kid up after Ranthia finished her lecture and by all accounts he had been a model soldier since. The prostitutes in the base had all blacklisted him anyway, just to be safe.

Supply drop-offs from Sentinel Aurora’s [Starship] had come every week with precision—a welcome change from her prior experiences with Remus’ supply lines. The current plan called for the resupplies to reduce to every sixteen days once Remera’s gardens—whose tents were strictly barred from being painted green, lest they became obvious targets (and Ranthia still had no idea why this had been such a contentious issue for anyone, much less required multiple meetings)—scaled up to meet most of the base’s needs.

The official word was that no one knew when trader convoys would start to visit the base. Ranthia knew—via Avyna—that the first was due in four days, but she kept her mouth shut. The last thing she wanted was for bored legionaries to start harassing Avyna for intel about the next trader.

Ranthia still had somewhat mixed feelings about the civilian caravans. The elves operated with impunity with only moderate protection—and the promise of retribution from powerful classers that were capable of so much more than any mortal could even imagine. Most of the others operated under their own hired might, but there were also a few gnoll tribes—and likely other [Merchants] who were less blatant about it—that still traded with the shimagu just as readily as the various Coalition bases.

How was such a thing not a betrayal?

The merchant caravan arrived exactly on the day Avyna had predicted. The elf gleefully restocked her wares and Ranthia lost much of the day to the parade of crates and shifted furniture to accommodate the amount of storage that was necessary for the endless sea of crates. The caravan left with its wagons significantly lighter, and its ledgers swollen with profits. The prices were higher than any had been in Coalition City, but Remera had already become starved for fresh supplies that weren’t Legion-issued.

Legionaries might have the expectations of a nation on their shoulders, but they still craved the creature comforts that all civilized people enjoyed.

A few days later, Avyna set up her makeshift stall outside of their home, though she only stocked fresh fruits and some popular spices that weren’t being grown at the base. Which was a bit strange, in Ranthia’s eyes; Avyna had bought quite a bit of alcohol too, enough that it had to be intended as merchandise. Yet the casks stayed stacked along the ‘wall’ just outside their cooking area and weren’t on offer.

Still, she wasn’t going to ask. Avyna was no doubt planning some impressive market strategy that would earn more contribution points than Ranthia did. She was curious, but she could wait and see—it wasn’t like she had a [Merchant]’s frame of reference to understand.

“The shimagu must be nearly done; I bet the war’ll be over soon.”

“Nah, they just heard Primus was stationed here; nobody wants to risk fighting Primus. He’ll kick them in their balls too, same as us.”

The other legionaries gathered under the canopy nodded with the solemnity of shared pain—even the woman.

Ranthia had been hearing similar things—about the war, not about genitalia getting kicked—for days. Remera stood unchallenged for over a month, and they had yet to even see any clear signs of shimagu scouts acting within the range of their own patrols.

It was strange, yes, but in Ranthia’s mind it was a dangerous type of strangeness—it inspired complacency.

But keeping the legionaries on task mercifully wasn’t her job anymore. She was just Remera’s muscle… or something. Okay, yes, her role on the base was still a bit poorly defined, but she had better things to worry about—she was en route to the quartermaster’s tent. She had woken up to a message that two scrolls had arrived for her with Sentinel Aurora’s [Starship] resupply during the night. And yes, she was mildly annoyed that they delivered a scroll telling her they had two scrolls instead of just… delivering the scrolls, but it probably made sense to someone. Somehow.

At least she didn’t believe for a moment that she was the only one it applied to, even before she saw the (somewhat briskly moving) queue outside the quartermaster’s tent. Legionaries (mostly officers) departed with a scroll or three in their grasp until, at last, the quartermaster’s assistant handed her two scrolls.

Ranthia cracked the seal on the first scroll while she walked back home. It was from Sentinel Swarm. The first part of the scroll reported that every last bounty that had been laid on her was finally dealt with—as if she’d been remotely worried about those, even before she left Remus’ borders. The remainder of the (long) scroll was a list of questions that he hoped she could work into conversations with any elf that might trust her enough to let slip some of the secrets of their ‘inscriptions’. There were so many different questions crammed in that Swarm’s hand became increasingly tiny and condensed as he ran out of space.

Ranthia just rolled her eyes as she reentered their home.

“Hey babe, one of the messages was from a coworker, and I think it’s for you.” Ranthia paused to kiss the top of the elf’s head and set the scroll on the table in an out of the way place.

Avyna had the table covered with ledgers—something about 80 contribution credits going missing and her being determined to find them. The elf blew a distracted kiss Ranthia’s way, but she never looked up from the paper trail she was following.

Which was fair enough—a paltry 80 credits was almost nothing, but Avyna took pride in her recordkeeping and how clean her ledgers were. If something had gone missing, something had gone wrong—and Ranthia could definitely understand wanting to figure out what the problem was before a larger loss occurred. That was fine.

What wasn’t fine was that Swarm’s message plainly assumed it would reach her in Coalition City. It had been dated well over a month earlier—it seemed that even for Sentinels, the couriering process for messages to travel between Remus and the conflict region was beyond glacial. Worse, she didn’t even have a way to complain about it! It wasn’t Aurora’s fault—probably (they seemed to be on decent terms finally). And the base’s quartermaster was only guilty of running a wasteful operation (which was less than ideal, but pretty much everyone involved in Remus’ government was guilty of the same ‘crime’).

Ranthia slipped through the curtain into the bedroom area of their home—where she was less likely to bother Avyna—before she opened the other scroll. It was emblazoned with the familiar Hyrria family business symbol: an oversized arm cradling various goods, including a basket of mangoes that was probably smaller than the palm.

It didn’t take many lines for it to be obvious that Tertia and her wife were alternating on who wrote what throughout the letter—the hand very notably changing between each—including a small mess near the end where the two seemed to fight over the writing implement. Ranthia just smirked and started to read.

Somehow, it was easy to tell which line was written by which woman. Sure, the rational explanation was that Ranthia was already rather familiar with Tertia’s handwriting after they spent two years on the same Ranger team, but Ranthia felt like she could feel each woman’s personality in their handwriting.

Both were eager to know how things had gone with Avyna and most of the letter related to questions about that. Which included one outright scandalous question from Tertia’s wife, which had enquired about certain… flavors and how they differed between humans and elves. Unsurprisingly that sentence was the cause of the stain—an unfinished and ineffectual attempt to blot the sentence out. Tertia also noted that she had offered to pay for Green to write as well, but the woman had replied with “I have said what I could and should to that damned fool of a flower, now I have to trust that she can keep herself alive. But I will not waste your coin or my own just to learn when the letters stop coming—I have fretted enough!”

Ranthia just smiled. That sounded just like Green. It was still a bit painful that she hadn’t managed to get the woman to understand her perspective, but they had parted on amicable terms. Green just wanted to avoid damaging that.

Or, perhaps, she was wise enough to know that was Ranthia’s concern with continued contact.

“It wasn’t like I meant to.” Ranthia protested yet again while Avyna scowled at her from across the table.

The fact that her lover wasn’t at her side while she ate was the largest sign of Avyna’s displeasure.

The missing 80 contribution credits turned out to be Ranthia’s fault—at some point she had failed to sign the ledger without either of them noticing.

“I know this, my love. I share just as much blame.” Avyna admitted.

She speared irritably at the fruit and mushed grains with a crystal spoon while Ranthia waited—she could tell that the elf was trying to assemble more words.

“I suppose I am just annoyed that I did not think to check the transactions with you against my memories first.” She finally confessed.

Yet she still sat across the table.

“Horn massage after breakfast to make up for my role in it, then maybe if you’re feeling up for it, we can start planning our responses to the messages I received?” Ranthia offered with her best dazzling smile.

Avyna’s laughter wasn’t quite the response that Ranthia wanted, but watching the elf shake with mirth—obscured by the side of her wrist—was always a delight. Besides, sometimes a bit of laughter was the best way to get past some stubborn, yet pointless, anger.

One horn massage (among other things) later, Ranthia wrote a short introduction to Avyna in a scroll addressed to Sentinel Swarm at Ranger Headquarters in Ariminum. Once she completed it, she passed the scroll over to Avyna so she could answer whatever questions she was willing to, with the understanding that there was zero obligation or pressure.

But Ranthia needed to get to her morning exercise and patrol—she was already running quite late!

“Huh, did she not open for business today?” Ranthia wondered aloud to herself.

Her patrol never took much time—a few hours, as Avyna would put it—so it felt unlikely that Avyna would have sold out of her day’s allotment by then. Not that the mystery would last long, Ranthia was heading back into their home anyway.

“Babe, everything alright?” Ranthia called as soon as she was inside.

“I am in here!” Avyna’s voice carried through the parted curtains of their personal area.

Ranthia paused to shift out of her armor—mistweave undergarments stayed on—and carried it through the curtains. Avyna was sitting at a desk, so Ranthia busied herself with racking her armor. One salute to mage-rock later, she was ready to see what her lover was up to.

“…You’ve been busy.” Ranthia noted as she took in the pile of scrolls.

“Of course, my love. Those scrolls should address your colleague’s queries—though I had to consult with some books to assist with the wording. But at the moment I am penning a response to your friends’ letter. Pandia asked a particularly fascinating question that I have been putting some thought into.” Avyna explained while she favored Ranthia with a brief, beautiful smile.

But only a brief one; her focus returned to the neat, efficient script that flowed out of her quill and across the Reman scroll. Ranthia narrowly stopped herself from asking who Avyna was talking about. By context it was obviously Tertia’s wife—seriously, she really should have absorbed that her name was… …that. Instead, she stepped closer so she could read over her lover’s shoulder.

Her face felt like it started burning. Of all the questions, Avyna was trying to write an entire scroll about that?!

“You can’t possibly…!” Ranthia gasped.

“Have I misused a word?” Avyna asked—a flash of annoyance colored ‘misused’—though she didn’t even slow down on writing.

As if that was the problem!

Ranthia was determined to burn that scroll.

Ranthia wasn’t quite certain how she ended up agreeing to it, but in the end, each and every scroll that Avyna wrote—along with Ranthia’s own scroll to Tertia—ended up bound for Remus.

But she learned one very important lesson—Avyna was a far better negotiator than she was!

A particularly brutal heat wave had arrived. They were deep into summer, and nature seemed to have decided that they deserved an oppressive example of the true horror that summer could become beyond Remus’ lush lands. The [Healers] were inundated with civilians—and even lower-level legionary classers—that had suffered burns from their own equipment. Each individual case was easily healed for only a few mana, but there were hundreds each day as the temperatures climbed higher and higher beneath the oppression of the sun. Worse, the rocky terrain absorbed the heat, which baked the baseplates they existed on top of.

It was overcoming the heat dissipation from the enigmatic classers that fortified the base with their Skills and auras. A few [Mages] were helping as they could, but it was proving to be a miserable time for most people in Remera.

The dwarves were eager to laugh at those who sheltered in place from the heat. Not only had many of them worked in forges at some point in their lives, but the depths below Pallos could get unexpectedly hot in places—which wholly discounted that dwarves almost certainly had significantly higher natural vitality than humans did. Still, Ranthia and the handful of legionaries that could take the heat were happy to compete with them as they tried to shoulder the burdens of everyone that was forced to largely shelter in their tents.

It was bad enough that Sentinel Grace’s assistance had been formally requested by the base commander to help with patrols. They took up the bulk of her day—the night patrols were easier on the mid-grade classers—but she still saw little. The terrain around Remera was even deader than usual. The few insects and creatures that made their home among the mesas sought to avoid the hateful sun.

Ranthia only saw the remains of those that failed to return in time. Naturally, there was still no sign of the shimagu.

Which worried her—she suspected that ogres could endure the heatwave better than humans could. It felt like a great time to attack… so where were they?

Two and a half weeks into the heat wave, clouds covered the sky to the immense relief of everyone. The base came alive as people eagerly escaped their confines as the temperatures rapidly declined to acceptable levels of warmth. Avyna had a line of customers throughout the day and spirits were bright.

At least until the clouds released their heavy burdens that night.

The rains were torrential and continued seemingly without limit. Worse, the winds became dangerously powerful as they swept between the mesas—strong enough that several tents came undone and collapsed from the gales. Two civilians and a young legionary on his first post were the first casualties for Remera. Killed by tents that had some defect so minor that they passed muster until nature reminded them of their hubris.

Three nights into the deluge, Sentinel Aurora’s [Starship] descended somewhat unsteadily from the thick cloud cover as low as it dared before Sentinel Bulwark leapt down from it. In a rush, the man surveyed what the local [Mages] and [Analysts] had done for drainage and windbreaks and dubbed it good enough—at least for now. With that he barely spared time to trade salutes with Ranthia before he returned to the [Starship] and moved on to the next base.

He looked so weary—the storm must have been far larger than Ranthia had expected.

“There is nothing to do.” Avyna complained.

The rains had continued for over a week by that point, practically without ever stopping. Sure, there had been a few brief interruptions, but their world was mostly a dark, damp gray.

“Bored of me?” Ranthia tried to joke.

“My love, I enjoy what we do together. But I need other pursuits as well.” Avyna groused.

They had a dearth of games or other activities to do—beyond the obvious physical ones. It was something that they had both overlooked when they were shopping for their home back in Coalition City. But Ranthia knew the real reason for her lover’s mood…

“You’re just irritable because I’m your only customer.” Ranthia pointed out the obvious.

The elf grumbled, but she nodded her agreement a moment later. It was cute how surly she could get when Ranthia understood her a little too well—Avyna liked to pretend that she was mysterious and difficult to read. But they had been together for quite some time and Ranthia learned more about the woman she had fallen for each and every wonderful day.

“Well, this might not be too much of a distraction, but I thiiink I am finally ready to show you something I’ve been working on.” Ranthia offered.

The elf perked up from her armchair, her eyes touched with curiosity.

Ranthia smiled at her lover, swallowed her nerves, and sent out the image that she had spent the bulk of her personal time working on.

A young woman appeared a few paces away from the chair. The base used Ranthia’s sixteen-year-old self, but Ranthia had worked her creativity from there. Her hair was a few shades lighter than Ranthia’s own. Her eyes were Avyna’s natural pale blue color, flecked with the dark brown that Ranthia missed from her own eyes. The horns were similar to Avyna’s, but they were short enough that they didn’t quite curl in front of her ears. The physique was a blend of theirs—Ranthia’s height, Avyna’s litheness, with musculature that was similar to Ranthia’s own, though ‘she’ had slightly more emphasis on the upper body. She had Ranthia’s nose alongside Avyna’s cheekbones and chin. Without a better idea for what a half-human/half-elf’s ears would look like, Ranthia just split the difference and reduced the length a touch and made them a bit rounder.

The young woman was dressed in a light dress based on one that Ranthia had seen in an elven clothing shop in Coalition City.

Avyna gasped with delight and hurriedly found her feet. She circled the image and drank in every detail. After a few rotations, she slowly reached toward the cheek and hesitated until Ranthia gave her a nod, then she cupped it gently.

“Oh, my love, she is beautiful! May I see her move?” Avyna asked, her voice awed.

Ranthia tapped [Submind] and fed it some instructions. Her conceptualization of what their daughter might look like beamed a bright smile up to Avyna and gently hugged her. Avyna squealed in delight and clung to the image.

“Careful love! I’m not in that image, if you squeeze too hard it’ll break.” Ranthia warned.

Avyna knew that her images were just that—but there was probably some psychological discomfort involved in destroying something meant to represent your nonexistent child. She had always felt a need to be extremely gentle with it, at least, while she worked on the fictional girl.

[Submind] helped—a lot—but it was remarkably difficult to make the false child move in a way that subtly drew from both of them, but was also unique. Every movement—and every detail—required deliberate thought and effort. It was easily the most bizarre puppeteering act she had ever attempted, even with the experience and familiarity she had developed over the years.

“So, this is why you had taken a more… medical interest in elven anatomy recently!” Avyna was practically purring. Her eyes stayed fixed on the image, but her smile made every moment of struggle worth it.

Ranthia still winced a little at the reminder. She had previously had difficulty imagining how horns would connect to the head and, ultimately, asked Avyna about it. That night she had learned entirely too much about elven horns, including the ridiculous fact that Avyna was somewhat self-conscious of her own because their mounting point was ‘unusually placed on her skull’.

They were gorgeous and perfect and Ranthia refused to entertain any notion that some elf or another—with zero sense of taste—had ever found them off-putting! Ranthia adored those horns.

Soon after, Ranthia and Avyna were snuggled up on their plush bench thing while they watched their fictional daughter dance around the tent, her movements based on Ranthia’s recollection of her own rough early efforts.

“Thank you for this, my love.” Avyna whispered.

Ranthia smiled at the woman she loved and gently kissed the nearest horn—the mineral oil from the last horn massage was probably absorbed by that point.

“…You know, I expect there will be many children conceived during these days, especially if the rains continue much longer.” Avyna abruptly declared.

Ranthia blinked at the elf, momentarily confused by the sudden topic change.

“There is little to do for enjoyment and leisure in this base. Most of the games are simplistically repetitive and made interesting only by gambling for currency or favors. Storytelling is an art, and few here seem to have mastered it—let alone possess a large wellspring of material. Our tent cannot be the only one where the occupants have turned to sex every time conversation has run stale.” The elf explained.

Ranthia nodded hesitantly.

“At least for the humans and dwarves that found themselves in tents with mixed company. It’s dangerous out there, so I doubt too many people are trying to slip out to visit prostitutes.” Ranthia pointed out.

“There have been lulls, my love. Boredom can cause a type of… desperation as well.” Avyna smugly retorted with a grin.

Ugh, that was fair. If Ranthia was alone—Xaoc forbid—she definitely would have sought company after so many days. But she wasn’t alone, and she had found something special.

Ranthia just fell silent and sought Avyna’s hands. Her arms were already wrapped around the elf, but she wanted the added intimacy of their fingers intertwined. As one—as if they had planned it—they returned their focus to watching their pretend daughter while they cuddled.

The rains were… well, they weren’t gentle, but they were far less oppressive than they had been for almost two weeks straight. The storm was likely winding down, which meant that the base commander was eager to resume patrols. Several of the legionaries that were tapped weren’t conventional scouts, but they needed people that could handle the flooded terrain more than they needed traditional scout skillsets.

It wasn’t like Skills for tracking footprints meant a thing while there was water running across every surface.

Ranthia was—ironically enough—carrying lidded barrels of water between the nearest well and their home. Their tent’s water reservoir had gotten fairly low, and it was normally sheltered from the elements—which kept mud, sand, and dust out of their water supply. At least the drainage had more-or-less held out, so she wasn’t sloshing through much water while she carried the barrel back and forth.

Everyone else that was out and about had to deal with sodden armor or tunics that stuck to them and got in the way, but Ranthia’s mistweave tunic wasn’t affected by the rain. She was soaked, but her mistweave fluttered about her just the same as it would on a dry, sunny day.

Gods and goddesses, she missed dry and sunny days.

She was two, maybe three, trips away from done when a horn blew—rapidly picked up by the others as the sound travelled across Remera. Ranthia cursed and hurriedly put the barrel down before she sent an image up on the wall and—she wasn’t wearing her armor, shit—replaced it with another image and shifted to it.

“What’s going on?” She asked the soaked legionaries, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

“Sir! One of the patrol groups is under attack, can’t see much from here, but there’s plenty of water being slung around and I saw Skills!” One of the [Warriors] reported.

Ranthia spent a heartbeat weighing her options. Her armor was on its rack—newly oiled to reduce the damage from water if it was needed—back in her tent. She could get it, but it would take time even with her shifting and stats. But the legionaries were struggling for their lives, and any delay might cost them another life.

“Have [Healers] on standby for wounded! Get a rescue team assembled and recommend to the base commander to increase readiness in case this is about to get big!” Ranthia ordered while she sent an image beyond the wall and started to shift.

She never heard the legionaries’ response; her perspective changed to the flooded terrain outside the base almost the same instant as she finished speaking. Ranthia willed adamantium to start forming her knives—the rain wasn’t a substantial hindrance to that process, thankfully—even as she began her own dance across the water toward the conflict.

“Fuck! Fall back!” Someone shouted moments after a large splash of water transformed into a frozen sculpture that almost resembled a simple flower.

The white frosty ‘petals’ were tinged with red.

Four legionaries were trying to escape, two were wounded—but the hale ones were trying to support the man with the mangled, half-frozen leg. The other cradled her bloodied arm, but she was running under her own power.

All four seemed to pause as they tried to endure the moment of cognitive dissonance at the sight of a woman with a seemingly dry tunic dancing their way across the water that rushed over the terrain, with knives in her hands.

“Keep moving!” Ranthia ordered as she passed the group.

Her focus was on the ogres that were already in pursuit. There only seemed to be five hostiles present, levels ranged from 403 to 521. The archer—wielding a crude bow—turned his aim to her and loosed the arrow.

Ranthia twirled to the side, but the arrow curved to follow her—there were Skills involved, but she couldn’t be sure yet if it was the host or the parasite. The host was a [Warrior – Wind] after all.

Ranthia activated [Void Edge]—along with the rest of her combat Skills—as the arrow reached her. Her first blade severed the tip from the arrow, which she followed up with another slash through the middle of the shaft. The arrow came apart and spun through the air, bouncing harmlessly off her body as she passed through it.

A few heartbeats later she reached the lead ogre. He swung his wooden club at her, but Ranthia just ducked under it and swept past the brute, delaying only to pass a knife through the back of his neck.

[*ding!* You have slain an ogre [Desperate Farmer] (Earth, level 421), [Weedsbane] (Wood, level 130)//a shimagu [Slacking Soldier] (Ooze, level 437), [Clubber] (Forest, level 419)!]

Two more ogres were near her position, the archer was behind them, and behind him was a [Mage – Storm] that was seemingly trying to escape. But why…?

[Warrior – Lightning] level 498, [Warrior – Water] level 470. The fleeing ogre had one of the legionaries—wounded, but alive—in his arms!

There were three other human bodies strewn haphazardly about the area, each plainly dead since [Divine-Touched Identify] wasn’t reacting to them. But Ranthia had no time to worry about the deceased—she had to save the man that could still be helped!

The archer was trying to nock another arrow, but Ranthia had two other brutes to get past—one was wielding a stolen legionary sword (which was hilariously small in an ogre’s hands) but the other wielded a simple wooden spear. The spear was the bigger problem at the moment; it made the ogre more perilous to bypass, even before Skills came into effect.

She had gotten a bit spoiled to ignoring Skills outside of twins, but it wasn’t like she had somehow forgotten her years of experience as an Adventurer and a Ranger—she still knew how to counter classers. …She just wasn’t used to them being able to surprise her anymore. She couldn’t see the class archetypes or the elements of the shimagu within their living hosts, which meant that she needed to bait out their capabilities before she could even try to chase down the runner.

Ranthia danced closer to the two ogres, but they seemed wary. Either their parasites—and possibly they, if either was a twin—were aware enough to know that biding time was the important thing, or they were being cautious after she so easily dispatched the first shimagu soldier.

The sword-wielder spoke a few guttural words of the shimagu language. Most were unfamiliar, but Ranthia recognized a word that meant something like priority or important. The spear-wielder gave a slight nod and shouted one of the unfamiliar words.

It wasn’t a good plan, but Ranthia couldn’t wait for them to act. She leaned on her speed and swept in, trying to close in on the sword-wielder before they could react.

[Combat Awareness] flared in her awareness—directed from the opposite side. The water was already deforming there, so Ranthia didn’t even hesitate, she just threw herself backwards to get clear. A heartbeat later, stone spears erupted from the water and passed through where she had been before they tore into the ogre.

The sword-wielder shouted in pain as he stumbled away from the attack. His free arm was all but shredded, but he was still in the fight. A new ogre poked her head out of the ground, coughing up water. [Sustained Chaos] imbued her right-hand knife with power just before she hurled it at the new threat.

The blade buried itself in her throat.

[*ding!* You have slain an ogre [Rockbreaker] (Earth, level 493), [Summer Laborer] (Fire, level 419)//a shimagu [Strategic Sadist] (Ooze, level 537), [Earthmover] (Mountain, level 499), [Maker of Holes] (Earth, level 371)!]

Ugh, she had even been warned about the shimagu doing exactly that and she was still caught by surprise! [Adamant Commander] pulled the knife back to her hand readily, at least. But the spear-wielder had stepped close enough—faster than she had expected an ogre of his level to move—that he was able to jab his weapon at her.

Ranthia used her thinned bracer to deflect the weapon while she pirouetted clear. She stepped closer before she lashed out with both knives and tried to slice through the spear midway down its shaft. Even with [Echoes of Devastation] she didn’t quite cut through, but the weapon cracked ominously when the ogre swung it clear of her.

In the moment that he hesitated, she threw her Skill-infused knife into his chest. She knew ogre anatomy well enough—a ruined heart was just as fatal for them as it was for humans. Killing the host before the parasite was never ideal, but she was in a hurry. With every moment that the fight dragged on, the running ogre got further away with a comrade.

Ranthia leapt to try to get to the parasite, but the mortally wounded ogre was fast enough to get his weapon up and try to skewer her. Absent a better plan, Ranthia acted on instinct—she delivered a kick to the spear to try to redirect it.

Instead—and luckily—the spear splintered apart where she had damaged it. The pointy end of the weapon was harmlessly flung to the side. Ranthia kicked off the remainder to refocus the momentum that the kick had imparted on her, and she swept her knife through the back of the ogre’s throat before she kicked off his back and flung herself at the injured sword-wielding ogre.

[*ding!* You have slain an ogre [Free Spirit] (Wind, level 403), [Runner] (Wind, level 395)//a shimagu [Sinister Scout] (Ooze, level 408), [The Force] (Gravity, level 309)!]

The ogre managed to get his blade up in time, but he failed to notice the image that appeared behind him. The opponent that he was so focused on shattered on impact with his blade, moments before Ranthia drove a blade through the host and confused parasite.

[*ding!* You have slain an ogre [Brewmaster] (Acid, level 481), [Song Keeper] (Earth, level 440)//a shimagu [Whispering Warrior] (Ooze, level 493), [Aspirant of the Blade] (Mantle, level 492)!]

The archer loosed, but this arrow flew far faster than the last. It punched into—then through—Ranthia’s shoulder before she could react. Pain might have been distant for a time, but it was no less familiar. Ranthia acknowledged it and set it aside while she focused on what she needed to do. Her knife hadn’t left her hand, but the arm still didn’t want to move—which was fine, she had enough speed to do what she needed to.

The ogre was close; he couldn’t nock another arrow before she reached him. Her sole usable blade sliced through his bow before he could stop her. The ogre had the sense to throw the remnants of his weapon at her, but she simply sidestepped them as she danced into the ogre’s personal space.

Her second cut tore deep into the ogre’s forearm as he clumsily tried to punch her. Her third was a stab—into his kidney. The fourth swept across the back of his legs, which dropped him.

The fifth erased his neck.

Honestly, being down an arm barely even dragged out the fight much.

[*ding!* You have slain an ogre [Beast Hunter] (Wind, level 521), [Roaster] (Fire, level 266), [Trapper] (Wood, level 192)//a shimagu [Tricky Tracker] (Ooze, level 519), [Proficient Archer] (Gale, level 505), [Stunning Fist] (Lightning, level 200)!]

“Damn this rain.” Ranthia hissed. Finally [Scattered Reflections] found purchase, though it wasn’t as close to the fleeing ogre as she could have managed if not for the rain.

Once she shifted—and regained use of her other arm—Ranthia resumed her dance as she rapidly closed in on what she hoped was her sole remaining adversary. She had been so focused on the heatwave being a prime opportunity for the shimagu to close in undetected that she never even considered that they might have done it during the rainstorm. There was always the chance that this was just a small—possibly even lost—long-range patrol, but…

Somehow, she suspected that life was about to get far more interesting in Remera.

The fleeing ogre had a solid head start, but she was far faster. But she was still worried about the fact that the host was [Mage]-tagged. It was the rarest tag to see among the shimagu; most [Mages] could destroy themselves to prevent themselves from becoming puppets under shimagu control. An individual’s own vitality defense didn’t apply to their own Skills so, [Resistance] Skills aside, it usually took only a moment and a little mana to self-inflict fatal harm. Of course, Ranthia herself was an exception—her [Mage] class wasn’t capable of inflicting lethal damage so readily.

She was still going to treat the ogre as if he was a twin with up to five classes to use against her.

The distance between them narrowed until the ogre skidded to a stop and spun her way. He kicked water at her, which immediately transformed into spikes of ice that accelerated further. There was enough distance between them that it was trivial to avoid the barrage, but it proved that the shimagu had—at least—the Ice and Ooze elements (since all shimagu were Ooze-aspected). The host had Storm and Wind, but she hadn’t seen enough to guess if the host was working with the parasite or not.

She needed to make her opponent hesitate for a moment. Ranthia tossed her left hand’s knife to the side and thrust her palm out at the ogre.

“<Fire!>” Ranthia roared in her best approximation of the shimagu tongue.

Her opponent recoiled and conjured a barrier of ice, broad and thick.

Ranthia hit the barrier, grabbed it, and vaulted over it. She trusted her vitality to handle how damned cold it was, even as she called her knife back to her hand.

The ogre had his face covered with the unconscious legionary he had abducted. He never even saw his end. Ranthia slammed one knife into the side of the ogre’s head and the other into his neck, even as she passed by.

[*ding!* You have slain an ogre [Weather Watcher] (Storm, level 466), [Wind Whisperer] (Wind, level 397) //a shimagu [Future Leader] (Ooze, level 508), [Ice Caller] (Ice, level 500)!]

The legionary that she saved was thankfully uninfected and would live. But Remera was swarming like a kicked insect den as they prepared the best they could. The base commander seemed to be of the same mind that Ranthia was—the contact with the shimagu meant that something far larger was coming.

They had to be ready, no matter how foul the weather remained.

At least the first taste of the war that was coming their way had one benefit:

[*ding!* Congratulations! [Diffuse Reflectance] has reached level 614! +5 Free Stats, +3 Dexterity, +3 Vitality, +120 Mana, +120 Mana Regeneration, +120 Magic Power, +120 Magic Control from your class, +1 free stat for being human, +1 Mana Regeneration and +1 Magic Power from your element.]

[*ding!* [Mirror Spirit], [Scattered Reflections], [Pure Reflections], [Persistent Imagery] and [Ideal Reflectance] have reached level 614!]

[*ding!* [Reflections of Reality] has reached level 392!]

[*ding!* [Fast Learner] has reached level 465!]