Alchimia Rex

Rick was no stranger to organizational politics. As a teacher, he’d been “invited” to attend the college’s “fundraising” events every now and then, and it ranked as one of the worst parts of the experience. In a way, he’d come to envy Alice; her innate power to make a moral grandstand had instantly resulted in her name being removed from invitations to any future events.

The woman had, effectively, been cut off from having any power within the college.

Of course, the official policy was that fundraising wouldn’t influence administration, but that was an empty claim. How could an administrator remain impassive if certain decisions risked large chunks of funding evaporating? When you had to cut jobs, wouldn’t it be smarter to keep the guy that had become best buds with their largest donor? Only an idiot wouldn’t keep such considerations in mind, otherwise you could quickly be replaced by someone more skilled in navigating the local politics.

As a teacher, Rick’s philosophy in the matter was to only ever keep himself in a slightly favorable position, but never enough to get dragged into the power-plays. It was simple survival. Befriend the people that moved things and made the decisions, but never get so close that he might be mistaken for being “on their side.”

Seated in the tiny hut carved within a titan-tree, looking out at the maidens currently working on figuring out some way to penetrate the palace’s defenses, he missed when the worst that could happen from a wrong move was getting fired.

Opposite to him, Lord Harold Vittchat drank from a jug, the smell of alcohol lingering in the air. The man was currently busy looking at the box Rick had given him as a “gift”, a wooden container roughly large enough for an arm, filled up with the few pieces of purple cloth they had to spare.

Fortunately for them, some of the Orcs and assistants to the raid had requested spare neckerchiefs in case they were lost or torn during the expedition.

“This is of impressive quality,” Harold said, finally breaking the silence. “The dyeing is thorough, uniform. Spinner silk no less. Do you know how much it would cost to buy just one of these in Balet?”

“A year’s wage from a farmer? Or so I’ve been told.”

“Then you misheard; in the right hands, you could sell this for the year’s worth from an entire farm.” He corrected. “And you are giving this to me as a mere gift?”

“I can make as many of those as I want; currently, the bottleneck is how much silk our local Spinner can produce.” Rick made a point to offhandedly shrug. “Miss Ahina can produce twice that much in a day, more or less. She’s incredibly skilled.”

“She must be, for you to remember her name.” Harold carefully put the silk into the box and closed it. “Would you be willing to share the production methods for the dye?” He cocked his head. “Or should I assume I’ll have an easier time finding the secret from one of your former students?”

Rick chuckled. “I can think of only one person among my students that would’ve bothered to learn about something like this.” His lips thinned. “At least one among those that survived.”

Harold nodded, taking a sip from his waterskin. “A tragedy, truly.” He leaned back slightly. “I will be blunt, Mister Rick, are you aware of the Earl’s goals?”

“No.”

“He wishes to avoid war. Both internal and external. One could claim Earl Vittchat is like a Puppeteer, with many dolls in many places.” The noble tapped the box. “And this right here is a big excuse to start one. Your actions here will cause my uncle great distress.”

“That doesn’t make much sense.” Rick frowned. “The best option here would be for Aubria to accept a trade deal. I sell to them, and they can sell to everyone else. The only thing war would bring is the risk of the process being lost for good.”

Harold chuckled. “That would only make sense in a world where such things are put at risk.” He tapped the box. “Why would Aubria attack in such a way that they’d threaten your life or destroy your facilities? Minor sabotage here and there, perhaps, but not outright destruction. Besides, your life would be assured.” He took another swing.

“Not if I kill myself and set everything on fire.” Rick countered with a deadpan.

The man choked, being reduced to a coughing fit, dropping the waterskin. Wine spilled out, drenching the noble’s boots. “I will have to ask you not to make such tasteless jokes.” The noble sputtered, picking up the waterskin and sealing it shut.

“It is not a joke.” Rick crossed his arms; he was serious to a certain degree. Suicide wasn’t on his to-do list, but he couldn’t imagine himself surviving for very long without his partners anyway. “I’ve seen how you people operate. What you want to control, you keep locked up, stripped of any possible way out.” He bared his teeth in a humorless smile. “Me? You’d do everything in your power to take Monica, Urtha, and Evangeline.” He snarled. “As if they were bargaining chips.”

And Kiara, but he didn't want to throw her name on the table. "You would..." Harold chuckled nervously, raising the wineskin but stopping with a grimace. "This is the true reason why Lord Thorley died, isn't it?"

Rick didn't answer, shrugging as he looked away, not confirming anything verbally, but leaving the silence to speak for itself. The noble shifted in his seat, glancing over at Captain Deneva as she stood next to the door. The maiden had not moved an inch, let alone blinked at the conversation. She might as well have been a statue.

"It is true that maidens are bargaining chips in this game of ours that we call the noble court." Giving Rick a side-glance, he sighed. "To ask to play by different rules will earn you many enemies. Enemies that might opt to go against unspoken agreements to get what they want."

Rick wanted to tell him the other people and their desire to get things could go fuck themselves with a cactus. It was understandable but frustrating. Rick was a completely new element being introduced into an existing system. Someone somewhere would think they'd stand to gain or lose from his existence and do something about it.

"I guess I can always just fuck off somewhere more open to play by my rules."

Harold sighed. "Seeing the maidens you command, I find myself feeling such a claim to be less of a long-winded declaration of suicide intent than I would have coming from others." With a shake of his head, his hands reached up to the golden buttons on his vest, flicking at them as if to distract himself. "And what would 'your rules' happen to be?"

"Gold works. I'd rather be told I owe someone a pile of coins than a person."

Harold didn't respond to that, not for a few seconds at least. The young man had the look of someone who was trying to figure out the best way to say a potentially distasteful thought. And all the while, Rick couldn't help but feel like the guy was young enough to be one of his students, yet behaved like someone a decade older.

Finally, he spoke. "You request to be treated like a merchant while wielding the power of a noble."

"I take it that when you mean 'power' you mean what maidens are bonded to me," Rick answered.

"Not just the quality of them, but also their quantity. A merchant does not require as much oversight as a noble; they cannot coerce dozens of maidens into spontaneous violence through coercion of the bond." Harold gave Rick a serious look. "You, on the other hand, could potentially bond every maiden in a small city. What measures would anyone be able to take to protect the citizenry from a riot the day you fall seriously ill or are grievously wounded?"

"I... what?"

"I assume you are not familiar with how absolute the bond's compulsion can be on a maiden's psyche." Harold gestured at Deneva. "I am currently bonded to the captain. She loathes my guts - and for good reasons, I may add - but overall, if I were to find myself on my deathbed, she would become no less rabid than Miss Monica was upon your arrival."

As if to punctuate his claim, she nodded ever so slightly, not moving an inch otherwise.

"How this manifests can... vary wildly. In the worst instances, it can become extremely violent. This is the reason why it is rare to find someone clearly nearing their end bonded to maidens; their mortality rubs at the poor things every day. Very few maidens have the acumen to withstand that." He gestured at Rick. "Now, for the average maiden, this can be handled through breaking the bond. A simple process involving but a gesture of their hand. For you, however..."

Rick nodded but didn't comment.

He could understand where Harold was coming from. If there were someone in Sinco whose literal physical health could mark the start of a riot, he'd probably be pulling at his hair every other day.

That wasn't to mean he'd roll back; he'd drawn the line in the sand, spilt blood to hold it.

There was no way in hell he'd let anyone step over it.

Something drew his attention elsewhere, gaze meandering from the noble and back to the outside. For a moment, he couldn't be entirely sure what was going on, at least not until he began to feel an overwhelming sense of... frustration, loss, fear.

"RUN." A voice screamed in his head.

"Sir Rick?"

The words slid right off, Rick took half a step towards the entrance, barely stopping as he felt something wet on his face.

He was crying.

"I..."

The pain came a moment later. A dozen iron rods were driven through his arms and legs. Suddenly, he could not move, collapsing under his own weight. Deneva caught him before he touched the ground, crossing the room in the blink of an eye. But Rick couldn't find the capacity to move his limbs.

It was as if his body had been made of stone, and someone had attacked him with a sledgehammer. Everything within him had cracked, forming invisible crevices, cliffs, and chasms that made their way into his very soul.

And then, it was gone.

Gasping for air, Rick flailed his arms, fighting to get back on his feet, eyes wild as he looked around in every direction. The pain lingered like a ghost of a sensation, not truly there, but a vivid memory all the same.

With it came certainty.

Kiara was in danger, something had gone terribly wrong.

He had been ready to say as much out loud, but hesitated, realizing he was in the presence of two people who wanted the "Charmer" dealt with definitively.

"Are you alright, Sir Rick?" Lord Harold questioned.

"I... something is coming." He marched straight towards the door, stepping outside. "Danger is coming!" He shouted for everyone to hear, raising his voice as loud as he could. "Prepare for a fight!"

Confusion was the first reaction. The knights exchanged looks and sought guidance from the chain of command. Meanwhile, the tribe responded instantly. Weapons were drawn, shields put into place, and the weaker maidens rushed towards the abodes so they wouldn't get in the way.

Monica was at his side instantly, as were Dia and Urtha.

From one side of the improvised encampment that had been raised around the titanic tree that was the "palace," Rick spotted Eva and Embla rising to their feet and looking just about ready to jump into action. The duo was surrounded by a few knights and Orcs, so they kept to their little corner, waiting for something more concrete than a general state of alarm.

"What is it?"

"I don't know for sure," Rick answered. "Our... the scout we sent to the grove got into trouble."

"Of course she did," Dia hissed under her breath.

"Rick."

Monica's paw grasped his arm, eyes focused on a spot somewhere off in the distance, high above the canopy.

The others followed her gaze.

They saw a singular glowing black arrow streak across the air, traveling in an arch towards the palace, moving slowly enough that it almost appeared like a graceful flight.

"Is that... A flower?" Dia asked, spotting something on the tip of the arrow.

Whatever it was, they didn't get to see it in detail. The moment the arrow reached the wall of the palace, it sank into the wood until it was gone, vanishing into the wooden structure without leaving a trace in its wake.

A scream followed. At the edge of the camp, Embla had fallen to her knees, clutching her head. "Get away!" She screamed.

And from within the palace, dozens of muffled voices screamed out, desperate pleas for help mingled with roars of fury. A cumulative roar that reached up to the sky. The palace opened, doors and windows forming out of what was once smooth bark, revealing maidens fighting maidens, rabid as they lunged for one another in blind rage.

"Knights, push! Rescue the humans!" Deneva commanded.

It was then that the spear-sized arrows began to rain down on them.

All hell broke loose.