AuthorSME
patreon
Rosen Flame B1 — 6. The Terror of Touch
🕑 Added 2023-10-01 20:54:22 +0000 UTCPoV:
1. Malik (Our MC and Humanity's Hero!)
--------------------
Malik played with the small leather pouch in one hand while pulling Rose along with the other as he exited the bank. The doors were propped up with several guards now hired on from what seemed to be the local Adventurer’s Guild, but the gnomes were still nearby, overseeing their damage.
Jax was the highest level present, closely followed by the small crew of Level 11 to 12s from the Mercenary Guild outside. Both parties eyed them as they passed, confusion crossing a few faces as they likely tried to appraise Rose.
The dragon wasn’t connected to The System, and when Malik looked at her with the Feat, it was a scratchy mess. If it were blocked, then the message Denied would pop up, or, depending on the tier of the person’s Appraise, if they were more than a few levels higher, the text would show dark red with question marks.
It was no wonder why all those with the Feat were observing them. He blocked them, and Rose was something new. Jax and his Rogue buddy were the most cautious and keen on following their exit. He expected Ralph to shadow them from the street; they were too unique not to be watched, which was a good habit to keep the town safe and peaceful. In a world where there were evil deities and cults, it didn’t hurt to be cautious.
The gnome’s profession said a lot about them, as well. Dungeoneering was one of the most dangerous jobs, hardening men and women who went that path, but it did have huge rewards by extracting monster parts, potential magic items, and, most importantly, snatching whatever random artifact was being refined in the Dungeon Core.
On Main Street, he slowed as he spotted a tailor. Maybe it would be better to get some normal clothes, but where would he stick his priceless gear? The Bags of Holding he had were designed for perishables and safekeeping funds since the nobility usually provided him with everything else he needed wherever he went, and he didn’t need much more.
Who wouldn’t want a super-high-level reincarnate at their home, business, or caravan defending it? His presence alone was enough to usually stop any kind of threat since death was no joke in this world.
It was due to how easy it was to die, the resurrection penalties, and the price generally involved that kept most of the surface combat population’s Levels from 5 to around 20 for the more experienced Dungeoneers. Level 5 was where someone developed their class, and 10 was their subclass, where most stopped. People only needed that low level to carve out an okay life for themselves.
Walking along the cobblestone street, he figured that news about newcomers would spread rapidly in a town of five thousand or so residential people. The travelers would be less interested, so it would be best to stick to the traveler’s hot spots; he did run the risk of being recognized, but that was almost as unlikely as anyone else here since it was his full name that was famous; Malik wasn’t a common name but not all that rare.
Taking Rose to the bakery, he did notice the Rogue slip out of the bank. He had the happy dragon point out what she wanted, her tail wagging. The mumbles about her being a dragonborn—it was very rare to see one leaving their collection of islands in the southeastern ocean—coming from the surrounding groups didn’t go amiss to him, so they certainly wouldn’t have to Rose.
Rose paid them no mind, further proving her earlier point about not caring what mortals think. She watched his actions most of all as he showed the baker a steel coin to let him know they could pay. The dragon sampled several foods; the expensive things drew her tongue the most.
“What is this, Malik? The System calls it a pastry,” she commented, biting into the sweet inner custard and flaky brown crust. “Ena wanted one of these that the gnomes went to get?”
“Heh, yeah. We’ll have some milk, too; it helps to wash it down.”
“Coming up,” the baker smiled, happy to sell them all they wanted of the costly produce; sugar and sweets were some of the hardest materials to come by but available as a trade port town. “Freshly brought in yesterday,” he added, reaching into an ice box kept chilled by an Artificer’s fridge-like contraption.
“Mmm!” Rose downed her third glass and fifth pastry as they sat at one of the few tables in the shop. It was mainly a buy-and-go kind of place, but a few places were set aside for those who weren’t in a rush; a sign above the counter said the cups needed to be returned.
Malik ate his second, careful with how he handled it. “Like it?”
“I never knew refined Aether could taste so much richer compared to its base; perhaps it is due to the chemical reaction from the nose and tongue, though?” she questioned, spotting a well-off-looking merchant minding his own business and cleaning it off his fingers. “The warm, sticky texture on your hands, do you feel it like I do? Hehe. Oh, are you supposed to lick it off?”
“You can,” he said with a smile, amused by the pink-haired woman’s messy face like she was a kid getting her first dessert. “If you know what it is, why ask me? Oh, and can we get a wet rag, sir?”
“Here you are,” the baker said, multitasking between people.
Malik was surprised he didn’t have an assistant, wife, or child handling things in the typical family-run businesses of this world; maybe they were running late for the morning rush. Rose watched him clean off one of his hands and cheeks with interest before mirroring him; she seemed to be in a cheery mood.
“I ask not because I know ‘what it is’ but because I want to know ‘what the experience means’ or how other races and species view them in their culture. As I said earlier, the System is quite limited. It’s only meant as an intermediary, anyway… I like licking it more—give me your hand!”
Malik’s muscles went on high alert as the beautiful woman reached out to grab his arm before he could finish wiping away the small bit of custard on his fingers. His blood heated, air locking in his lungs as she guided it to her mouth; the dragon’s hot tongue slid across his skin to sample his flavor.
“Ack—Rose, y-you can’t do that,” he hissed, trying to calm his lower half at the sudden sticky sensation that embraced his finger; they were drawing stares with a few women’s faces lighting up with the devil of gossip in their sparking eyes and reddening cheeks.
Part of the trouble was how stupidly strong the pink-haired young woman was. He was used to severely holding back when handling normal people, but Rose was a physical demigod, quite literally, and it didn’t help that even her tongue held ungodly amounts of power, putting pressure on places that twisted Malink’s mind into a spiral.
“Rose, stop!”
“Mmm-hmm?” She released his hand, confusion swimming in her gaze as Malik had to discreetly shift his pants and angle his cloak a bit. “Why? It felt and tasted better than the pastry when it was on your…”
“Ahem!” He carefully got up; most of the walk-in patrons were averting their gaze, pink-faced, but a few middle-class women at another table would not turn away, seemingly petrified by what they’d just witnessed. His voice was hoarse. “Let’s go…”
Rose wore a frown, her tail noticeably lacking its previous fervor as she got up, slipping it out of the chair’s open back. And now he was wondering if it was stiff or wagging when sliding her tongue around his fingers.
Dammit! How did this happen out of nowhere?! Calm down… Dammit! Why was it so sticky and thick—of course, milk and custard… That electric pulse when she touches me from the pact is a problem…
“Agrh… Thank you for the meal,” he mumbled, cheeks a flaming scarlet as he dropped probably more coins than was needed on the counter as he stormed out, trying to clear his mind in the sea breeze that hit his face.
“What did I do wrong?” Rose asked as she followed him onto the cobblestone walkway; for the first time, there was bewildered worry in the dragon’s sky-blue eyes. “You seemed to be enjoying…”
“I need to find a shrine to Titania!”
Storming off and leaving her standing beside the shop, Malik didn’t bother to make sure she was following him. Maybe it would be better if she didn’t right now. Breathing heavily and rubbing his still-sticky index finger, now covered in her saliva, Malik cursed.
He couldn’t get the erotic roughness of her tongue out of his thoughts, it sliding over his fingers in search of sweet nectar. If that wasn’t enough, each pastry flake left an explotion of flavor through Rose’s body that transferred to his own mouth, thickening his saliva. He’d felt exactly what she was experiencing, if only in part.
She probably felt a bit of what he did, which was all the more embarrassing. And trying to block out the gripping stimulation from the sensual contact with her teeth before his fingernail was pulled to the roof of her mouth was dizzying.
Malik stumbled to the side, forcing him to use a building for support; fear now coursed through his hot veins. He didn’t know what he expected from Rose when making this pact, but not this; his body wasn’t supposed to act like this.
The pact had made this electrifying bond between them, and now he was seeing why Rose had been so quiet as she analyzed it. All of this stimulation was new to her, as well, but she was just experimenting. To her, this was a game. All of this had real implications for him, though.
Pressing his palm to his forehead, his face was burning. Never had he felt like this. Not fighting against powerful demons, devils, the monsters of the Darkvein, nor with his Earth life. The closest thing that he could compare it to was the day he regained his memories at the age of ten, hellfire raining around him, and seeing everyone he’d grown up with slaughtered by fiends. He felt helpless. He needed help.
The one person he could rely on for guidance put strength back in his trembling legs, and he pushed further into the alley; he had to find a shrine to his goddess.
Malik’s clouded mind and thumping heart started to settle as he walked the alleys. Rose wasn’t with him, yet he somehow knew exactly what direction she was in, no doubt another product of their unique pact outside The System.
He asked directions from a few low-class kids playing on the backstreets, getting directions to, as they put it, the only Titania shrine in town. As he neared the edge of the southwestern slums, he started to notice a lot more Beastkin, and all men, showing far more human characteristics than the nearly full animalistic variants he’d seen in their homelands when passing through.
They were probably hybrids or half-blooded; The System kept things generally labeled people as half-blooded or not having any blood at all. Most of these men had very simple animal characteristics: ears, tails, shells, patches of fur, claws, feathery hair, or scales.
He did spot a few females, yet they were a tad more animal-like than the men, showing less human-like figures but enough to show they were half-blooded. His Language Pack Feat was advanced enough to speak in their individual native tongues, yet all of their conversations were in Common.
The majority of Beastkin only lived sixty to eighty years and culturally matured around twelve, which was young even for humans, who saw a man or woman as an adult at fifteen in this harsh world. Some tribes lived far longer, but that was the exception rather than the rule.
These people seemed to have a little back alley community, sharing houses and building wooden shelters to keep out the common rainfall of the portside town when there wasn’t enough room inside. Malik guessed there were around a hundred or more, which probably weren’t counted in the residential population.
True to their large ears, a male from the Rabbit Tribe met him with a small smile. “Hello, friend, I heard you are looking for a shrine to Titania?”
“I am,” he whispered, gauging this place as almost squalid but just barely able to squeak out a poor lifestyle.
Malik made note of a group nearby talking lowly to one another about what seemed to be possible jobs that needed to be filled and getting a permit to enter a E-tier Dungeon nearby, which was interesting. The same place where the Dungeon was discovered when he’d been through here, and the Cores were supposed to be destroyed within six months so they wouldn’t get out of hand and harm the land.
He took out a steel piece, catching sharp eyes as he handed it to the surprised rabbit man; it was the typical daily wage of someone in a modest job where these people likely saw ten iron coins as a good day’s work.
“Will this be enough to guide me there?”
“More than enough!” he laughed, motioning for one of the younger boys, who ran over to take the coin and bring it to whoever ran this back alley tribe of mish-mashed Beastkin. “Thank you, sir. Please, follow me, and I’ll take you to the shrine.”
Malik complied, unconcerned about potential ambushes; if it happened, he’d knock a few heads and let off some steam before turning them into the jailhouse that would be one of the few government establishments by the Tenebrin Monarchy, independent of the local nobles. As a Lawful-Good Kingdom, the judicial system was taken quite seriously; policing could be sketchy, though, depending on the location due to nobility jurisdiction.
“Do you have a name?” Malik asked, keeping his hands hidden beneath his S-tier cloak and seeing much the same living conditions from alley to alley. A group followed them, more likely to be sure he didn’t cause trouble than cause trouble themselves.
“Nerish, sir,” he said, motioning him into an old wooden house to reach another alley; inside were a few kids and more, more beastly-than-not female Beastkin. “We’re almost there.”
“A Salven Theocracy name?”
“Uh, yes, sir,” he muttered, ears pulling back a little as he turned to smile at him. “I was born in Salven. You must be well-traveled. Ah, we’re here!”
He took him to another door across from the closely built wooden housing district and knocked on the door; obviously, he didn’t want to talk about where he’d come from, which possibly meant he was a runaway slave from Salven.
It wasn’t like he cared much for the slave trade, legal or not, but it was a complicated issue since some races loved to be slaves in the practice and were taken care of. For the most part, Tenebrin had very strict slave laws that benefited them, and he could see these Beastkin trying to become slaves here rather than Salven, who weren’t the kindest when dealing with Beastkin in general.
Nerish knocked on the door, bowed his head, and scampered off. Emotions settling after leaving Rose, he started to wonder if it was right for him to leave her. She’d promised not to kill anyone and keep near his level. Where would she go, though? What was she thinking after he’d stormed off? Was she mad this inferior human had blown her off? Was she alone and scared?
The door opened, bringing his troubled gaze up to see a full-blooded Panthera woman, having the full-body characteristics of the cat-like humanoid race. A soft smile brightened her feline face as she turned to the side to allow him into the humble, single-room abode.
“I had a dream that someone from out of town would come to meet me,” she whispered with a purring hum. “You are my second visitor today. I am an anointed Cleric of Titania, Tabia. Welcome.”
He nodded gratefully as Tabia waved off his escort, walking inside. The floor had been broken away to allow for well-tended grass, flowers, and glow bulbs hung from the ceiling. Free-roaming moss and ivy covered the walls, while a few very terrible statues of the fae-like high goddess were placed around the corners.
In the center grew a single, small tree, radiating a soft green, amber, and golden glow that showed Titania’s blessing; the place was the most humble shrine to his goddess that he’d seen. Of course, very few would be in Tenebrin since they worshiped the Celestial Emperor.
Tabia closed the entrance as he walked inside, letting the tranquility of the shrine fill him as all the chatter from outside melted away into tranquility. “I recognize that you are far closer to Titania than I, Malik Tasnia; it is an honor to meet you.”
“I may be a reincarnate and have met her, but you are the sanctified oracle of this shrine,” he whispered, knowing the woman could likely feel instinctive knowledge from Titania. “I thank you for taking care of this holy place.”
She smiled as he gave her the rest of his bag of coins. “Titania does not require much.”
Malik chuckled as he pulled back his cloak to sit on the grass and stare at the tree, feeling the warmth he recalled when first meeting the high goddess.
“Because Titania only takes those that willingly come to her… You already embody what she requires, which is why you help all these Beastkin and keep them fed with the donations other believers give you… I needed this.”
Tabia didn’t respond—she didn’t need to—she simply moved to kneel beside him to close her eyes and try to feel Titania’s guiding hand within her. Malik sat in the serene stillness of the room, closed off from the rest of reality; he didn’t really believe in a higher power until he met this heavenly woman. Rules and laws were not her thing; if people wanted to do good, she was there to support them.
So, I’m here, he began, reaching out in his heart to start a dialogue with the goddess that had sent him to those rosy plains of fire and kicked off this whole mess.
All the other nations just rallied to Titania’s oracle and him, having heard similar concerns from their own deity oracles of the Monarch of the Rosen Flame awakening. Mix that with the sun elves freaking out, and it got everyone to jump into gear. He’d been offered their best leftover fire-resistant artifacts, Feat Books, and protections to handle the problem. Somehow, this was all a part of his fae goddess’ plot to do good, but how? Titania’s measurement of time was far beyond Rose herself.
He could practically see the high goddess’ small, knowing smile lift as her voice touched his mind. “So you are. How is Rose? Cute, isn’t she?”
They couldn’t talk long, or his spirit might explode, so he went straight to the point. You knew she wasn’t on some world-destroying mission—just a passing natural disaster. So, why point me toward her, and in this direction… A baby?!
Titania’s tired sigh felt like a cool fingernail on the back of his prickly neck, her sudden shift in tone strangling his soul.
“Ten long years you’ve toiled, flying everywhere I asked! You’ve helped save quite literally millions of people who would have died had not you stepped up. And what, might I ask, have you desired of me in return?”
A break… Malik slowly answered, seeing the humming tree’s radiance flutter.
“Oh, my little nectar bud, there is more than just a respite in those prayers… A life—someone to settle down with… And I’ve provided you with chance after chance. What do you do with all these wonderful women I’ve guided you to?”
I mean… it wouldn’t be fair to get involved with them; I have a dangerous life, Malik countered, throat suddenly dry and glancing away, but Tatania’s iron grip wouldn’t let him leave that easily.
“No, no, no! Heheh. I’ve provided you plenty of ways out, but you keep turning down those retirement packages. Only you can solve these problems. So what happens to these swooning girls? Make sure they’re okay, have some funds, and bye! Off to the next one the moment they show some interest in going deeper. No, if I were to grant your wish, I had to get a little more… creative. Now, you can’t run away from this one, and I’ll be watching the whole show! Better get back to Rosy before disaster strikes! Bye-bye. Heheh.”
Malik’s mouth dropped open at the blunt slap to the face as the goddess’ typically very aloof and majestic personality turned into a girl’s entertained giggle.
Tabia’s serene countenance came back into focus as his personal chat with their goddess came to a close. “I have… never felt her so close. Hah. My heart is racing… What did she tell you, Hero—Hero?”
Malik got to his feet, legs almost too numb to keep him stable as Tabia helped him. “She… told me to get settled in… this will be a long quest.”
-----------------
