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Black Heart Chapter Twelve
🕑 Added 2022-08-06 23:24:36 +0000 UTCThe first thing that Malicia recognized about Central was that it was notably warmer, all of the time. The North was the coldest region of the Empire, of course, followed after by the peaks of the West and the chill over-seas winds of the East for second and third coldest. While it held not a single candle to the oftentimes sweltering South, which Malicia would struggle to imagine, it was still a change to not feel the air nipping with invisible teeth at whatever skin was exposed. Something that a Northerner simply got used to over time, but which meant the warmer air of Central was surprising, though not unwelcome.
It did mean that small adjustments in attire were required, of course, lest the Ravensworth's sweat be exposed. Either less cloth... or more, containing and restraining an absorbent inner layer that wouldn't let the sweat escape to trouble others with the rather intensified and beastly odor that resulted from such confinement.
With how the trip included everyone, Malicia had found herself with the first-hand experience of both as the gentlemen took the breaks to stop and eat and sleep at certain places along the way to air themselves out and attempt to wash up.
It was... quite potent and she got the feeling that at least Edward was strongly second-guessing his choice of traveling clothes. But that was how it was.
The second thing that Malicia recognized was that everyone seemed... wealthier, in general, in Central. Oh, it was difficult to immediately tell that the nobles clustering themselves around the Golden Throne were also concentrating their own fortunes into the area... but it made sense when Malicia thought about it.
Most trade, after all, flowed through Central. It was certainly possible for trade ventures to avoid it, going from North to West or East, or vice versa, or any of the other diagonal transits around the Central region... but if you were moving goods between West and East, or North and South? There was hardly any avoiding it. Not least because the oldest, most stable, and best maintained roads came out from Central like the spokes of a wheel, allowing simpler transit to and from the Empire's Golden Palace. The other roads between bordering regions would more often fall into disrepair, and were all too often perilous to travel even when they were in good condition... And as they were often built to follow the natural slopes and contours of the land, seeking out locations to ford rivers in the way, or detouring to find bridges over chasms and currents, they would all too often wind sinuously and add many more miles overland than were traveled as a crow flew. Not so for those spoke-like Central roads, which did not divert from a straight line between the Golden Palace and the end destination, with natural features forced aside or into compliance along the way.
When attempting to transport goods over land while avoiding Central often meant that you would not only face a more difficult journey but also add more distance for little reason, a reasonable caravaner with nothing personal to hold against the region would shrug and acknowledge that it was faster and thus more profitable to just pay the trade tolls of moving through Central. Even placing the cargo in the hands of experienced Porters and similar Classes would seldom be able to make up the difference, and teleportation of goods was generally too much of an expense for anything but the highest value or most illicit of substances.
This didn't mean that everyone was rich, of course. What it meant was that the nobles had more gold and gemstones to show off in their jewelry on average, that the merchants that were based conveniently in Central tended to be fatter and better dressed, and that the impoverished homeless and beggars typically ate better than the desperate at further fringes of the Empire.
And, of course, it meant that the grander cathedrals and great churches in Central received more prominent donations, which resulted in more ostentatious remodeling, marble and gilt statuary, and grander acts of charity for all to see in order to demonstrate that such donations were being well used, and not all of them were simply lining pockets among the holy men.
The Bishop that the elder Ravensworths spoke to was, by and large... Essentially, he was exactly the same in character as the lesser deacon that had put the idea of this pilgrimage in the lady's head to begin with. In some ways it was amazing that he could speak some big, grand words, make probably empty promises, and coax chests of silver and gold and casks of rare and valuable wine in charitable donation in return. To the church, of course, and not for his own profit.
If Malicia was not quite aware of how Lord Ravensworth was taking careful note of the man's name, face, and position among the Church's hierarchy to potentially be followed up on later... Well, no, she was still almost impressed with the chicanery. Some of the shine... Well, quite a bit of it had been taken off of her opinion of the Church as an institution by this point, her vague and childish imaginings of it being an association made up entirely of good-hearted people that didn't care about money when they could feed others with it crumbling away under the cold splashes of reality she was confronting, but she could see how they had become a somewhat powerful fixture in the Empire.
Donation pilgrimages such as this were a gamble that they couldn't really lose. If the hopeful parents got a child with the sort of class they wanted then it would be considered money well spent. If they didn't, then it was easily argued that the reason it hadn't worked was because at least one of the parents had doubted, failing to have faith in the rituals and the authority of the church to provide for them. This would divide them against each other, potentially leaving them accusing one another of being the reason that their child had been born with the 'wrong' Class instead of the church making promises that they couldn't actually follow through on. And if that wasn't enough, as a last ditch effort, individual members could always be cut loose from the church as corrupt in order to reinforce the institution as a whole.
The idea of having that sort of social power was, well... Malicia could see why it could be a draw. But if she was honest, she much preferred the feeling of bones cracking under her fists, flesh and skin pulping and tearing from the force, even if that was something of a forbidden fruit for her as her position stood.
So. She could be impressed with how the Bishop had talked the lady Ravensworth around his fingers, and the pageantry of the rituals that they had all been walked through. But Malicia was not... 'inspired' by it. She remained unmoved, even as she picked up on hints at pushing for more money that were steadily and discreetly rebuffed by the lord Ravensworth, slowly losing patience with the man until he decided to quit while he was ahead and before any accusations of a grasping, gold-thirsty nature could be levied.
Money was power. Social status was power. But power, that was also power in it own right, and Malicia, given that she expected to lose any significant access to the Ravensworth money and status after the Academy ended, was thinking more about the promise of the third. It didn't hurt that expressions of power were so very enjoyable... Assuming, that was, that she was the stronger party. Even if she wasn't, combat in general was a thrilling experience when she could actually partake in it, and not be held at the edges of it as support alone.
Important heirs that had no natural combat benefits from their Classes, like Edward, would be relying on those who did to carry them through the dungeons. And just like that, power created by a fist or the swing of a blade looped right back around into social power once more through favors owed and friendships forged.
Malicia wasn't sure that she wanted to do it that way, though. Honestly? She was just looking forward to the potential to enjoy a great deal of Academy-sanctioned bloodshed when the time came, at times nearly trembling in anticipation. Repeating the dungeon from the beginning, that was more or less what she had parsed from Sophie's journal. It was important somehow. And it was not how it was properly done at all, as far as Malicia could tell.
A dungeon, after all, was a dangerous and legitimate threat to any invader, no matter how tightly restrained and placid it might be. It was always entered for a reason, with a goal to achieve, and when that goal was met the invaders would quickly remove themselves from it and to safety. The regulations of the Academy seemed to reflect that, to some degree.
To indulge in slaughter in absence of of a goal, or to make the wanton waltz of bloodshed and mayhem itself the goal? Entering the dungeon not to collect items worth a certain estimated value, or to charge quickly and effectively to the deepest point as a demonstration of ability for the test grade, but entirely to toy with and bully the weaker monsters until their existence grew tiresome and boring?
... Malicia imagined that such would be considered... unseemly. In particular it would be considered beyond the pale for a healer, one of the classes that should be avoiding engagement whenever and wherever possible. All the same, being in Central itself and in close physical proximity to the Academy, Malicia struggled more and more to not think about it... Even knowing that as she was not yet a student, she would not be allowed into the campus grounds much less given the opportunity to invade a training dungeon... the temptation to slip away from the pious rituals was still very real indeed.
The only member of the Ravensworth family who might say the same or something similar, of course, was Adrian... who to Malicia's best assessment wasn't thinking of it at all, merely left grumbling in boredom in between getting sprinkled with herb-infused holy waters that stung when they got in the eyes and made to chant ancient and tedious prayers for good fortune. It was probably for the best. If the two of them did wind up goading each other into action, after all, they would likely get into a great deal of trouble. Malicia more-so, of course, given that she was the adopted one.
As such, she did her best to distract herself from the temptation whenever it arose in the back of her mind.
One excellent distraction was the way that every so often... not always, but on occasion... Malicia would notice that Jack was limping. At the same time, however, it seemed as though she might be imagining it. When she slowly and discreetly turned her head a little to get a better look, Jack was always walking or standing normally. And when she turned her head quickly, with a snap of refocusing gaze... he was also walking or standing normally, and would return the look with either a confused-seeming quirk of his brow or a cocky little smirk.
It was intensely frustrating in ways that she couldn't quite put words to, even as it made her gut clench and her knuckles whiten as fists formed at her sides until she deliberately and consciously relaxed her fingers.
All the same.
One more thing that eventually came to Malicia's attention was that, as the generally wealthiest portion of the Empire, despite that it was directly beneath the nose of the Empire's court, Central was naturally the region that was thickest with brigands and highwaymen of varied description attempting to ply their trade.
