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238 - Return to Fort 57 [Sturmblitz]
🕑 Added 2023-05-24 19:44:24 +0000 UTCFinding a competent alchemist wasn't hard. She had some, right here, in Arches; those who had worked with the Order of the Dragon were skilled and some of them learned quickly, but quickly wasn't good enough. At least she didn't have to be worried about obtaining raw resources to make pills from.
She did, after all, have the corpse of Ten Billion Fathoms and the unique ecosystem which had sprung up around it. It wasn't quite the flesh and blood of a living Dragon Descendant, but she fully believed it might possibly be even better. After all, there were 700-year herbs growing in the Dragonsblood Lake and who knows what draconic fish swimming in its somewhat shallow depths. It alone was a vast treasure trove that had been left all but unexploited, and what remained of Ten Billion Fathoms would also provide a significant amount of valuable material... Even if it couldn't compare to something fresh from a living dragon. Ten Billion Fathoms had been, after all, a reconstructed body for the Dragonstone of a long-dead Dragon Descendant, and it had been slowly dying over the course of centuries. Its greatest potential laid in its inherent compatibility with humans, since Ten Billion Fathoms had been made from a genocide's worth in human bodies.
Karmesin poured herself a glass of Winter Peach Brandy, flicking her free wrist to set a subcore into motion. It slotted into a nearby blackstone pedestal, out of which eight styluses floated… Then began filling in paperwork that was strewn all across her desk. She was endlessly thankful to the heavens for the fact that mortal bureaucracy was simple enough to cease being a nuisance at her level.
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Fort 57 had, in the past few months, seen a burgeoning growth. With much of the military infrastructure still in place, it was merely a matter of clearing out rubble and repairing what absolutely had to be repaired. Thus, the fort had grown into a small town; part by virtue of attracting those displaced by the war, part due to being a waystation on a resurgent trade route, and part due to being close to one of Ikesia's few alkasnail farms. The eggs of alkasnails turned out to be exceedingly resilient, and now the once-desolate farm was once more burgeoning both with normal produce and a small herd of juvenile, man-sized snails. A solid jade statue which had come to be known as the "Sufferer of the Emperor's Mercy" was also a factor, but the tourism brought in by a single statue wasn't remotely enough to transform Fort 57 in a few short months.
Despite the fort's growth and the addition of various other establishments in its old buildings, one particular tavern remained the most prominent among them.
It was right at the edge of the fort, in the main concourse which was the only part that most traders saw. Since the weather was warming up and there were more patrons than could fit inside, an outward-facing window had been added to the bar and many tables were arranged just outside the entrance.
The oasis of drink was beset by an ornery blonde-haired woman with a giant, crescent-shaped sword, its size exacerbated by the fact she was no more than a meter and a half in height. In her wake went several others, men and women alike, all carrying blades.
Altogether, the group of seven radiated a significant and rather sharp presence, causing most of the patrons to forego any action for fear of being cut down.
"I'm not gonna sugarcoat it fellas, you're all shit outta luck. A fortified trading post with a giant hunk o' magical jade right in the middle of it? That's just asking for trouble. So, my generous benefactor has seen fit to extend the offer of protection to this little... Settlement you've got goin' on. Protection ain't free, of course, and it's not as if you lot're payin' taxes to the feds anyhow, nobody in these parts does that. So we'll be the ones running the place from now on, capiche? We can start by doin' a little inventory of everything in the fort."
She swept her gaze over the patrons, the silence undercut by the sound of what seemed like a hundred or two hundred other thugs swarming in outside, harassing the locals, but not taking any action besides that. There was also the sound of a large engine.
The total lack of any reaction to her demands clearly frustrated the bandit leader, and, unsheathing her sword, she barked: "The fuck're you waitin' for you bums?! Get out an' get stacking money! Or does anyone wanna play hero?"
“I would strongly suggest that you leave this place and never return,” came a quiet, rumbling proclamation from a hooded figure drinking nearby at an outdoor table. The only concrete thing about the man that could be readily discerned was his superhuman size, making the very normal-sized bench and table seem undersized by comparison.
"And who are you, big man? You should know that just being big will get you nowhere against cultivators," came a smug exclamation from the bandits’ leader.
The man quietly drunk the rest of his ale and rose up from his seat, towering over all those who stood around him. Snow-coloured skin, an off-white beard, and piercing-blue eyes were the only things that could be readily seen beneath his cloak. It was only a few seconds, as he stood there in silence lazily sweeping his gaze over his surroundings, but to those upon whom he looked, it was as though an eternity.
"Ek erilaz, Jorfr haite. Do you know what that means, little lady?"
"A big man reciting dead languages and asking what it means may work on the average bandit, but again, we're cultivators. Unless you want us to wipe out your family to the third generation or whatever, stand aside."
"I see that you are ignorant. Pity. Perhaps this will be easier to understand."
The hood was blown from the man's head as an overpowering aura blasted out from him. A great mane of wispy, backswept hair revealed itself, as did a metallic, eight-pronged sigil embedded in his forehead. Much in the same way, his cloak was parted, revealing a bare, heavily-muscled chest when he raised his left hand. Upon its middle finger shone a golden ring enveloped in dark, glassy ice.
