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Chapter 224: Breaking Bad
🕑 Added 2024-12-15 01:36:11 +0000 UTCChapter 224: Breaking Bad
“Come on!”
Saint growled, her claws carving furrows into the dirt as she strained her magic to the utmost as she bathed the small patch of dirt in a flood of green light. A handful of short brown roots stared back at her, determined not to budge or grow a single inch despite Saint having expended enough magic to bring a squad of men back from the brink of death to the very picture of health. Now thoroughly annoyed, Saint’s ear flicked, as she sent a short burst of magic to the next row over, and was immediately rewarded with a healthy crop of small cucumbers; not big enough to take pride of place on any supermarket shelves, but more than sufficient to fill a few pickle jars. Allotments had become popular in Oxford, as a cheap and easy means of supplementing the food brought back by scavengers and the aid from the Empire. Much like during the Second World War, every garden boasted at least a few rectangular strips of dirt, growing common staples of fruit and veg that were well-suited for the local climate.
“There’s nothing wrong with my magic,” Saint concluded, her tail thumping against the ground and leaving tiny potholes in her wake. “So why is this patch in particular so much more difficult?”
[You were the one who ordered the highest grade seeds for SoulSilver Vines, straight from the Empire’s logistics division. It’s never been grown successfully outside of China, and even there, it remains the exclusive provenance of sects that specialise in medicinal herbs, nourishing them in qi-rich soil, aided by fertilisers extracted from the cores of lesser sacred beasts and prepared by master potioneers. Even then, the crop yield is meagre, and the resulting product reserved for the likes of the Huan and the Fengli. Magical power alone isn’t enough to brute force the growth, not in the quantities you are capable of providing.]
“Why didn’t you warn me it would be this hard?” Saint groaned, rolling onto her back and raising a forlorn paw to the heavens.
To add insult to injury, a drop of rain landed square on her nose, setting off a fit of sneezing.
“I thought it was a fancy name for organic catnip, not some mythical reagent,” Saint complained, when her nose had stopped twitching and she was in a fit state to speak again.
[You ordered it behind Noah’s back without consulting anybody until it arrived at your doorstep.]
“Ah. So these are the consequences of my actions,” Saint mewled, placing her paw to her heart in distress.
[Stop being dramatic, I didn’t say it was impossible, just that you’re not the best candidate for the job. Go get the Hydra.]
“Eh?”
Saint wasn’t sure how that would help, but she did as she was told; scrubbing the dirt from her paws before venturing back inside the house, where she found the Hydra snoozing by the hearth, making the most of the ambient heat radiating from the resident Fire Slime. Saint sent a surge of magic into the sleeping plant, which did nothing for the mythical being’s growth, but was nonetheless an enjoyable experience for it; she’d found that out early on in their relationship, so naturally, she used it whenever she was about to ask something of it. The head nearest to Saint rose to meet her, blinking the sleep out of its eyes before tilting in an unspoken question.
“Can you come to the garden? I could use some help growing a few seeds.”
The Hydra rose to its feet, trailing after Saint with two out of three heads still fast asleep, a delegation of duty that she couldn’t help but envy; because who wouldn’t want the ability to get things done while still snoozing away?
“Here we are,” Saint proclaimed grandly, pointing a claw at the sad looking patch that had defied her best efforts over the course of the morning. “Come on and work your magic.”
The Hydra bent down and licked the nearest root, and upon finding the taste to his liking, pulled it out of the ground and began to chew.
“Hey, that’s not what I wanted!” Saint protested, reaching out to pull the Hydra back, before a faint rustling caught her ears and stopped her cold.
Before her disbelieving eyes, fresh saplings erupted from the ground, rising as fast as her eye could follow and sprouting fresh greenery with every passing second. It looked nothing like the catnip she knew; the vines bearing stripes of blue and silver, while the leaves gleamed with an inner light that defied the dreary English morning. Then the smell hit, taking her breath away: quite literally, as Saint fell to the floor, legs twitching as a flood of sensation overwhelmed her senses. Everywhere she looked were bright spots of gold and silver, while the ground bounced her up and down, the surface as soft as a raincloud. A beautiful voice sang in a language she couldn’t recognise but which brought tears to her eyes, while the purest mint flooded her nose and mouth, so sharp that it burned: of incense, magma and starlight, not necessarily in that order.
“I’m floating?” Saint blinked, rolling to her side. “No, I’m falling. Falling? Why am I so high up? Heh. High. I could fall forever from here, you know?
We're soarin', flyin'
There's not a star in heaven
That we can't reach…”
[That’s quite enough of that. רָקָב]
Saint’s spiritual journey was abruptly interrupted by the foulest stench she’d ever encountered; suddenly, she was back on the ground, convulsing and vomiting. That lasted for barely any time at all, and far longer than Saint was comfortable with, even though the act itself was hardly new to her species. Still, it was enough to clear the rest of her senses in the process, and eventually she sat back up, cognizant once more to examine the damage done. Only a single sprig of Silver Vine remained, inhabiting a patch of dirt no bigger than a fingertip; surrounded by a pool of sand, utterly devoid of life.The Hydra was next to her, all three heads awake now and looking at the scene with trepidation.
“What just happened?”
[You just got your first taste of a reagent potent enough to raise a Sacred Beast to Core Formation. At your current strength, one sprig is acceptable. Any more than that, and your soul will begin to collapse under the strain. You’re welcome.]
