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364 - The Heiress and the Living Relic [Sturmblitz]
🕑 Added 2024-07-10 22:35:58 +0000 UTCThe Founder of the Newman Sect walked through the city, followed closely by a bone-wrought figure somewhere between the size of a person and a tank suit. It floated behind her upon jets of black flame, resting the sacred staff Oculus across its shoulders with its hands draped overtop it, and a terrible centipede whipped back and forth from its back. Zelsys, meanwhile, was as casual as she could be — that is to say, each of her steps and even her relaxed attitude still insinuated the possibility of incredible violence. Disparities of size and demeanor aside, Zelsys was undeniably the more imposing presence of the two.
Their first destination was a building not far from the sect compound: The Krishorn Clan’s combination import store and office. Ezaryl Krishorn sat behind the counter with her feet up on its edge, clad in the same provocative outfit as always. She was moking from a long pipe embellished with the motif of a serpent-like dragon, its open mouth being the bowl. A red jacket, only long enough to cover half of her upper body, with a deep cleavage and a single wide sleeve on the left, decorated with block prints of a cloud pattern in white. A flat shoulder-guard was also attached on her left. Her black, parachute-like trousers were held up by a belt of red rope and had excessively wide windows on the sides, making it all too easy for anyone to incidentally glimpse the heiress’s high-waisted underwear. Black, held together by golden rings. All fog-infused fabric; once a luxury, now the norm. From her belt of red rope, a guardless sabre with a plain wooden handle and a plain wooden scabbard hung, held in place by cords of the same shade as the belt.
Her eyes lit up at the sight of Zelsys, and in one motion, the heiress pulled herself up onto the counter, then sat down atop it. The wood creaked softly under her rather modest weight.
“Oh? Ohoho? Didn’t expect you of all people today. Actually… I didn’t expect anyone, now that I think about it. We’ve yet to receive any major shipments since your last visit, but I’m sure I can find something. Tengri’s Tears, perhaps? We got a few selection crates of unnamed non-production formulations while you were in seclusion.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer, but it’s not why I am here. I require consultation with a senior Iron Brotherhood engineer, as well as tank suit plans. Mainly motile system designs, joints and so on.”
“What for, I wonder? Makhus wouldn’t send you… Want to re-mould another of your joints, perhaps?” Ezaryl questioned, but her gaze wandered and her speech trailed off when Victor finally entered the building. All things considered, the space wasn’t cramped even for Daywolf. The ceiling was easily four meters high, and the door tall enough for the armor to pass with a slight hunch.
After glancing between Zelsys and Daywolf’s skull-faced visage for a few moments, Ezaryl became a touch more serious, giving a slow now. “I see. I understand now. I can send Meiben later today at the earliest. Full confidentiality, of course.”
“I appreciate it. Now, about that sampler crate…”
With that, Ezaryl’s upbeat demeanor immediately returned. Soon, she was on her way with two such crates in tow, purchased for an extortionate price that was mutually understood to be indirect payment for the favor — not in cash, but valuable materials, Eisengeist’s own nerves and tendons. Zelsys knew better than to devalue and waste such things by using them as payment willy-nilly, but this situation was exactly suitable to make an exception.
Kanbu was next — the old dragonslayer whom she had met by chance, and who had gone on to play a pivotal role in the Blue Moon War. Not only had he anonymously awakened Willowdale’s guardian statues, he had also employed an enormous technique over a long range to empower the statues and temporarily reanimate the war-dead of Ubul’s Tomb on the side of Willowdale. The green flame of his technique was etched into Zel’s memory, even if she had lacked the faculties to realize its nature at the time. It wasn’t hard finding out who had performed the feat, as Kanbu all but made it public afterward, redecorating his restaurant to more obviously display some of his many trophies and keepsakes. She had eaten the old man’s cooking many times since the Blue Moon War, and in turn, he had shared many tales of his exploits, including countless tiny glimmers of knowledge from the era of the Three Kings and the dark ages after the fall.
There was no doubt in Zel’s mind that, at his peak, Kanbu had the strength to go toe-to-toe with a Three-eyed Dragon Descendant with his own Dragonslayer Flame and come out on top. If anyone in Willowdale knew how to bend dragon muscle tissue to one’s will, it was him.
A wall of tantalizing scents met Zelsys when she stepped through the door, and so did Kanbu’s piercing gaze. Behind the counter he stood, looking decades younger than when she had first met him. His long, grey hair, bushy eyebrows, and deeply-creased skin had been replaced by a visage far more like the individual shown in many of the pictures that bedecked the walls — the main difference being that rather than regain colour, Kanbu’s hair was now pure white. He now looked to be in his fifties.
Zel took a seat and set her bottle down, while Victor maneuvred Daywolf inside. Kanbu refused to react.
At the counter, a haggard-looking man sat, nursing a steaming drink and a half-eaten plate of pierogi. His nose was swollen, flanked to either side by sleazy sideburns, his face still bore wrinkles carved into it by holding a lecherous grimace for years on-end. It was Henry — and similarly to Kanbu, he had improved since she had first seen him. From a living corpse on two legs to merely haggard. She remembered Kanbu kicking him out for incessantly talking about political theory and "Ikesiochauvinists" when she and Zef first visited the restaurant.
There was also one other customer, a red-haired woman with a sword at her hip, sitting next to Henry. Narrow face. Some scars. A multicolored fly-fishing lure for an earring. Early fourties by Zel’s estimate.
Both of them paled at the monstrous armor, requiring Zelsys to reassure them that there was nothing wrong. It took the woman some time to recognize Victor, but once she did, it sufficed to calm her, and in turn, to calm Henry.
With a deadpan tone and an expressionless face, Kanbu questioned: “You want me to ask why you made him bring that unwieldly thing in here, don’t you?”
“No. Well, yes, that is one reason,” Zel agreed, holding back a grin.
A sigh.
“Very well. Why did you make him bring that unwieldly thing in here?” he asked, just as deadpan as before.
She allowed herself to grin. “I thought it would be funny.”
It was true — that was one of her reasons.
“But… My main reason is that I wanted to ask for your help, and you need to examine it up close, while it’s active. We can’t exactly put it inside a storage tablet.”
Kanbu dropped the deadpan act, and a faint smile took hold.
“I knew you would come eventually. I just didn’t think it would be for someone else.”
He glanced at Henry. “Close down after me and you can have it for free.”
A silent nod from the haggard man was the answer, and with that, Kanbu hopped over the counter as if he weighed nothing. With similar dexterity, he slipped past both Zelsys and Daywolf, prompting them from outside: “Come. I will hear you out, but not here.”
