A Gamer's Guide 393 (Patreon)

As the castle reared into view, paradoxically enough, the lump in her chest grew heavier, while numerous weights seemed to lift from her shoulders. She was, after all, only a minor part in what was to come. There would be negotiations and there would be discussions, but she was only a human. In her mind, the situation was very clear, and the result felt obvious. 

The commander would demand a number of things the Archjudge was not willing or capable to provide, which would result in the Archjudge being replaced by a suitable administrator from the Hope League. The city would then serve as a supply line for the army’s continued march. The army raised to counter the siege would be spun around and instead go along with the former besiegers. It was that simple. The typical outcome.

Yet, as they drew nearer to the castle, she could not smother the growing sense of unease bubbling up within her. The main culprit, of course, being the one in the wooden litter behind her. 

Since she knew that doing so would prompt him to smile and wave like a kid on his first coaster, she chose not to do so. Instead, she focused her attention on the caste. It was coming closer and closer, but even though their approach was more than sufficiently loud to be heard, there was no one at the gates save for the obligatory guards. No trumpeters, no lesser members of the verdite, nothing at all to greet the arrival of a negotiating party. This was worrying for more reasons than one. 

“What gall,” she heard an officer at the head of the army mutter. “They have neglected even to open the gates for us!”

Going by the confused, vaguely mortified look on the guards manning the gates, Rafiloe had a hunch that their arrival had not been expected. Anxiety blossomed across her back, forcing her to buckle over in pain. Without thinking, she rasped at Prop, “Hurry, rush ahead to tell the guards to open the gates. If they remain closed when we get there, this will all have been for nothing.”

By the grace of God, Prop decided to at this moment be amicable, and merely do as she asked without making a big fuss about it. At her request, they were able to run ahead and convince the guards to open the gates. However, their reluctance informed Rafiloe of a very important facet: the Archjudge wasn’t prepared for their arrival. He must have assumed that she was full of hot air, meaning that there was a good chance he had taken to flight already, or, even worse, drank himself into a state of complete inhospitality. 

“Prop,” she said, turning to him again. “I hope you understand that I’m ordering you around because I’m stressed out of my damned mind and honestly I wish I were on Mars. What I need you to do is to grab any servant you can find, seek out the Archjudge, and prepare the best room you’ve got for audience-holding. They never write about this stuff in the memoirs so I don’t know how this should go, but this needs to go good or else we might actually die. Those are the stakes. Please tell me you’re aware of this.”

“I am,” Prop said. “While I do this, will you ensure that the army we brought here does not force their way inside to deal with the rudeness of my unfortunate master?”“I will.”

“Excellent. You have your task; I have mine.” With that said, Prop hopped off his drake, handed her the reins, and ran inside, barking orders at anyone who made the mistake of meeting his gaze. Though she didn’t like it, she had to admit that she’d had the wrong idea about him. There was no time to linger on this, however, as the marching band was now at the gates, headed by their unhappy guides. 

She stood before them, resolute. The guides, who had been brought to the gates by her, knew her well enough to stop. This forced the marching band to stop, announced by a trumpet’s deafening signal, which told the officers at the head of the parade to stop, alongside those carrying Kitty, as well as everyone else who made up the several kilometer long concarong. The abrupt silence of the tramping and the music was even more deafening than before. 

Before she had time to explain the situation to the guides, one of the officers at the front ordered his drake to approach her. Though she knew little about drakes, she could tell that this was not one of the common breeds. More importantly, the goblin himself exuded an aura of authority, far greater than the Archjudge himself, though this one was of course not the aura of a mere noble, but rather that of an accomplished field marshal. By an instinct she didn’t know she had, she bowed to him as he came closer.

“For what reason have we been barred entry?”

“Not barred, your Honor; merely delayed.” She spoke with a smoothness that surprised even herself. When she raised her head, she realized why that was. Somewhere inside her, be it her heart of her spleen, she did not consider the goblin before her to be a real, proper person. He was not a man of high military rank to be respected and bowed to—he was a fellow actor in a play. And so, instead of expressing herself with as much nervousness as she felt (about enough to cripple a horse), she spoke in the way she could tell he expected her to. It came easily. 

“I am no one’s honor,” he told her. He was young, too, she realized. Not as young as the Archjudge, but certainly younger than she would have expected from a commander of his stature. “As you share the form of my God, it would be an insult to demand that you refer to me by anything but my given name—Leion.”

The commander had now abandoned the script and Rafiloe no longer knew how to proceed. “Um. Okay… Lajon…” She tasted the name. It did not feel right in her mouth. Clearing her throat did nothing to remove the unwanted vowels, but it did bring her mind back to how the script should go. “His Honor the Archjudge of Bunue requires a bit more time to prepare for the arrival of the,” she glanced at Kitty, who waved happily at her, “god of hope, and his followers. I trust you will be patient when it is a matter of showing respect to… him?”

Leion nodded with gravity that made her sway. “You are an excellent judge of character. Indeed, if it is for the sake of His comfort and dignity, neither time nor patience are above sacrifice.”

“You have my deepest gratitude, Lajon.” Behind him, she could spot Kitty trying (and failing) to convince the soldiers carrying him to put down the litter since it would only be an unnecessary strain on them, and the entrance was right there so he really didn’t need to be carried any further. They wouldn’t even look at him. Or, rather, they didn’t dare to meet his gaze. It was a comical situation, exaggerated further by the pathetic pout he put on once he realized they weren’t going to let him down anytime soon. Unfortunately, she wasn’t quite as inconspicuous in her watching as she would have hoped, since Kitty soon turned his puppy-dog eyes on her. She chuckled at the sight. 

“Is there something the matter?” Leion asked, reminding her that her predicament was in multitudes.

“No, it’s nothing, I just…” Her scripts were getting mixed. Respectful with Leion, casual with Kitty. “Forgive me, I simply couldn’t help but notice that…” How could she describe it? This man obviously revered Kitty like a genuine god. What words could respectfully describe the one-man comedy act Kitty was putting on? “The—he…”

Leion followed her gaze. Kitty did not have enough time to undo the puppy-dog eyes act, causing Leion to be blasted by it at full power. “Ah, I see,” he said, a smile in his voice. “A predicament indeed. Shall we assist my God?”

Rafiloe hesitated, but with the memory of Kitty’s potent puppy-dog eyes fresh in her mind, she soon acquiesced. “Um, okay.”

Dismounting their drakes, they approached the unmoving litter. The carriers became noticeably alert at their arrival. Not bothering to announce himself, he bored his eyes into the closest soldier, barking, “Are you deaf, man? Your divine lord and God gives you a command and you turn away? Had Hope Embodied not called for a bloodless taking of this city, you eight would be tallied among the hopeless!”

“Sorry, sir,” the pitiable soldier said. “It will not happen again, sir.”

“What are you apologizing to me for? Direct your pleas to your God!”

Had the soldier been able to, Rafiloe felt fairly certain he would have erupted into a cloud of imperceptible smoke at this moment. Trembling from tip to toe, eyes darting back and forth and his dusty forehead gleaming with sweat, he turned his head upwards, to Kitty. 

At this moment, Kitty—intrigued by the situation—had leaned over the side of the throne, towards them. He had, in fact, done this with such force that he was now separated from the soldier by less than a foot. The soldier had not noticed this.

He turned towards Kitty, saw that they were close enough to kiss, and proceeded to pass out. 

The balance of the litter toppled with such abruptness that Kitty, who was leaning well past the point of safely, simply tumbled down like a dropped Christmas ornament, crashing onto the ground in a big heap of limbs. The poor unconscious soldier was beneath him, but not for long, as the most curious thing happened: Kitty began to glow. His hair, body, clothes and everything turned a stark, ghost-like white, and then he sank down, into the soldier, though it was more accurate to say that the soldier sank into him. In a matter of moments, Kitty had become as white and transparent as a ghost, with the non-physicality of one as well.

The whole series of events was so absurd and ridiculous that Rafiloe forgot to laugh. She could only stare mutely as Kitty raised himself to his feet, took a few steps away from the felled soldier, and returned to color. “Okay, okay,” he muttered to himself. Turning around, he hunched down next to the soldier, tapping him on the shoulder. “Hey, you okay there? Pettere?” Frowning, he picked the soldier off the ground and sniffed him a few times. He caught Leion’s gaze. “He’ll be okay. Not dead. Sorry, I think I spooked him. I really didn’t mean to.”

Whatever script Laion was expecting Kitty to operate on was incorrect to the point where Laion could not muster any response to his apology.

Taking the silence as a chastisement, Kitty’s shoulders drooped. “Again, very sorry.” Lifting the soldier above his without any effort whatsoever (which should have been impossible since Kitty was more bone than man), he placed him in the litter he had occupied mere moments ago. “There. Some proper rest and relaxation and he’ll be a-okay. Should wake up in an hour or so.” Here, Kitty spotted the soldier who had been walking right behind the fallen soldier. “Will you tell him that he’s okay and that I’m very sorry for spooking him?”

Since the soldier had recently witnessed what happened if you failed to comply with Kitty’s orders, he nodded fiercely. 

“Good. Okay. Yeah. Everything is fine, everything is just fine…”

Kitty turned towards them. They looked at him. Rafiloe had a few things she would have liked to say, mainly in the form of pointing and laughing, though she felt fairly certain that Laion had more claim to the conversation than she did. Kitty was his god, after all. 

The absurdity of the thought made her snicker, entirely unconnected to the baffling display Kitty had put on just now.

And before anyone could question her on it, the fanfare of a trumpet drew everyone’s attention back to the open gate. Prop, frazzled but content, stood ready. He nodded at her.

It was time.