Chapter 22: Strait Through the Mud

Chapter 22: Strait Through the Mud

The capital came into view as Harold’s horse crested one last hill. He was still exhausted but no longer at risk of passing out from it. The night of rest in the town of Greg had given him just enough energy to make this journey. While Captain Wallace had helped him send scouts back to the mage’s college, he needed to personally report to the king and the royal advisors. This was not going to be a pleasant meeting. Especially considering that he would immediately report directly to the Warden after.

A column of 10 guards accompanied him. The captain had insisted that Harold get to the capital as safely and quickly as possible. The horses given to them expedited the trip, turning it from a four-day trip to only two days. Behind the armored figures rode what remained of his college. It was a much smaller group than the one that had fled the castle. Many resigned from their positions out of sheer fear or trauma at what they had seen. Some returned to their original homes, either to retire or to live a quieter life. Almost everyone seemed to be tying up loose ends and moving their loved ones as far away as possible.

Harold’s group approached the towering outer walls of the capital, entering its shadow well before reaching the gate. They were massive, towering at least 20 stories tall, many times taller than any other town or city Harold had seen. Even more impressive was that these walls were almost as thick as they were tall. The tunnel through the wall to the inner gate took nearly five minutes to ride through.

This city was unique not only in its size but also in that it was one of the few structures that remained intact from before The Intervention. Only a few relics and landmarks had survived that cataclysm. Most of the structures that had were strong beyond what anyone had figured out how to recreate. But the knowledge and craftsmanship that had gone into its construction were lost to time now, meaning it could only be imperfectly maintained by its current inhabitants. It would never shine as it must once have. However, that didn’t mean they couldn’t try.

Harold emerged from the tunnel, squinting, into a cobbled street, bustling with activity. Along the edges of the street, many merchants were hawking their wares. Behind them were more established shops with proper signs. People flowed around, going in and out of the stores. The hawkers were mostly ignored, but they did steady business with the less affluent. Many figures had the uniform of the king’s army, forest green with a white feather emblem on the chest and shoulder. All around were barracks of rough-hewn lumber, and other temporary structures were thrown up for mustering soldiers. It seemed like the troops had been gathered here for the coming war based on the sheer number that Harold counted.

His honor guard cleared the way up the streets, escorting the party towards the main cobbled road leading from the gate to the palace. Once they made it a little deeper into the city, it seemed less crowded than he would expect for a city of 3 million people. Hawkers and merchants lining the streets gave way to shoddy housing, then more wealthy neighborhoods. The closer to the main palace they got, the more evidence of pre-Intervention architecture he saw. Wealthy noble houses, a massive stone amphitheater twice the height of the walls, and even the palace itself, were a stark departure from most modern constructions.

On the way through the city, Harold rehearsed his report to the king and the Warden. He'd have to report that the project was a failure and the king’s army would not receive the aid they hoped for from the college. He also had to report that they had unleashed some unknown powerful demon in a distant rural part of his kingdom. Then he had to tell the Warden that the lieutenant’s containment might be compromised.

This would not be a fun day.

----

Bee was relatively young and had not been introduced to much of the crass, expletive, and generally colorful language that many adults were familiar with. That was not to say that she had no knowledge of such words and phrases - her vocabulary was limited and underdeveloped. Despite this, the present situation found her calling upon that vocabulary to its fullest extent. This chapter is updated by nov(e)(l)biin.com

The subject of her ire was a demon. A frozen one, larger than her family's home. It was proportioned like a man but with huge, oddly curving horns on top of its head. The horns tapered to sharp points in different directions. Muscles stood out all over its body. However, they were slightly wrong. They were not always in the place they should be for a human.

Type:

Lieutenant Demon

Level:

above

???

Aside from confirming that her worst nightmares had come to life and would imminently destroy everything she knew and loved, it wasn't very useful. The only additional information she got was whether it was higher or lower level than her. This was higher, obviously. It was a long way to go before she got detailed information. She tried scanning it again to see if this use had pushed the ability up but did not get any more results. She would return every time her scan grew stronger to get as much information as possible. Maybe she could get an idea of how much time she had to find a solution.

Bee started kicking herself for not having scanned any lesser demons she had encountered. Having only ever used it twice was not doing her skill any favors, especially with Void’s apparent interference with its results. She needed to go scan the dormant water and earth demons as well. She also needed to level up. It's too bad she hadn't got any experience when Void was out hunting. Probably because she wasn't involved in the fight at all. If she could get that final level to get a class. Then depending on the class, she might earn experience without fighting. That would really be a blessing.

---

I watched as Beatrice approached the statue. She was getting the wrong message from this. There wasn’t much cleaning to do in this room. Mostly I just wanted to show her its beauty of it. I don't know why she was so fascinated with the ugly statue.

At first, I thought she was as overwhelmed as I had been. Then came a long tirade of oddly phrased and put-together profanity. I scrubbed it from my memory banks since it made me feel dirty, even hearing it. Things like this were not what I would expect from a small human. At least I had never heard them say such things before. I mean... It was an appropriate response to this level of beauty sometimes. However, when she entered the room, I noticed that she completely ignored the floor. The beautiful obsidian was only given a cursory glance as she almost slipped down its gentle slope.

She asked me what I had to do with this. I wasn’t sure how to respond. I couldn’t take any credit, honestly. All I did was reveal the beauty underneath the mess.

Nearing the statue, Beatrice narrowed her eyes and focused on it for a moment. Then she just came and walked back towards me, looking at me as if we were moving on to the next thing. I sighed inwardly. After her lack of admiration for the rug, I had suspected this. I had even prepared for it. But it was still a disappointment. Beatrice really had no eye for art.

I was sad, but this was not entirely unprecedented. Many people have no appreciation for the finer things in life. I suppose I could forgive her. Maybe with enough good influence, she can realize why these things are so important. Besides, she did appear to appreciate the colorful blocks, if in a strange way. Perhaps she just needed a bit more guidance or exposure to real beauty. I’d have to think about how to best go about this.

This completed my lesson plan for the day. Now there was just one more thing I needed to do; go clean the large room. Well, if Beatrice was done appreciating the majesty of the best room in the castle, I supposed we could clean up the demon brake fluid that had gotten sprayed everywhere. It would be a good opportunity to observe how she dealt with liquid.

Once Beatrice was ready to go, I started to lead the way out of the room. From her continual muttering, I worried that my good example wouldn’t be enough. Maybe you couldn’t teach good taste. I could still try though. I began making mental notes of what other examples of fine craftsmanship might catch her eye.