by J. J. Pavlov
The journey remains uneventful. We pass through a few small villages along the way, all around the same size as the previous, and buy some supplies for the road. But the little food rations everybody gets is far from enough to fill my insides, which feel like they're going to cave in soon.
If I was alone, I could go into the forest and hunt for some wild animals, but I'm traveling with these humans and posing as a weak girl who needs to be protected. They don't ever let me out of their sight, and although I can excuse myself by saying that I want to pick some flowers, it doesn't give me enough time to find something to eat.
But finally, on the second night, an opportunity provides itself, as we're camping out. Gram has the first guard shift for the night, but I drank some alcohol with him, and he fell asleep. I guess the area is safe enough for someone to let their guard down like this even while on night watch.
We set up camp at the edge of a forest, beside a pasture used by those multicolored sheep for grazing. I steal away in the dark and quickly transform into a vularen once out of sight. Following the scent of the sheep, I find the farm they belong to and sneak into the barn. There, I'm greeted by terrified bleating.
Ahhh, so many little sheep, ready for the slaughter.
I'm back before Rolan takes over the second shift. I have about a dozen sheep inside me, slowly dissolving and satisfying my craving for sustenance. With this I should be fine for several days, I think.
Sorry, unknown farmer, but I left you with a few. I'm sure you won't go out of business over this, right? Nothing connects to this group of adventurers and me since the footprints I left behind are those of an animal similar to a wulfar's. Nobody would stop to consider the possibility that little old me was the one who transformed into it.
On the next morning, when we have breakfast, I appear to look weirdly satisfied with only a single piece of bread and some dried ham. I could easily eat more, but I do it to keep up appearances.
But Rolan and Gram stare at me in astonishment, before exchanging a glance that suggests wonder. Hey, I'm not a glutton, alright? Stop judging me by your first impression. Luckily, they dismiss my seemingly strange behavior with a shrug; it's easier on their funds after all.
The bard shows me our position on the map. He says that we made great progress, against all expectations and might reach Hovsgaerden in the late evening hours of today, rather than around noon tomorrow - as it was projected.
That's another point where they are surprised. They had expected me to require breaks all the time, but I easily kept up with them despite the fact that they're walking at a pretty brisk pace. In fact, the bard appears to have less stamina than I do, and the breaks are usually taken for his sake.
Unexpectedly, Luna isn't showing any fatigue at all. Might be because of strengthening magic she cast on herself or something like that.
In my previous life, I ran Olympic-distance marathons in under two and a half hours - which placed me among the best in Japan at my age. That's more than twice the distance we travel each day.
Not like that has anything to do with my currently limitless stamina, as that's because I'm not a human but a Crawling Chaos.
Thus, we reach Hovsgaerden late in the evening, several hours after the sun has gone down. Luckily there is a full moon, and we could see the road, or else we would have had to camp out another night to complete the journey in the morning.
According to the bard, Hovsgaerden is a city of a hundred thousand inhabitants and the third largest city in all of the kingdom. Called 'The Capital of the Plain', it's the largest city on this side of the mountain range that splits the nation in two.
It has thick city walls, although they don't look like they're being patrolled. The gate is even open despite this advanced hour. In historical stories, I've always read that they are closed after the sun goes down, but apparently, that isn't the case here. I guess it goes to show that this nation is at peace. There are gate guards though, most likely to keep wild animals out.
"Good evening!" Gram calls out to them in a friendly manner when we approach the gates, to draw attention to us so that we don't come across as suspicious. The guards look in our direction and remain silent for a moment before they recognize him.
"Welcome back, Gram. Good hunting, I assume." One of them replies in an equally friendly tone. "Got a trophy?"
"Unfortunately, the beast was corrupted." Coming to a stop before the guards, the big man shrugs and shakes his head.
"That's a shame. Would've made a nice addition to the guild hall." Another guard, looking almost a decade younger than the first, comes up to join the conversation and turns to Rolan. "You going there now?"
"Yeah, we'll get it over with tonight and make a fresh start tomorrow." Pumping his fist, the leader states with a grin.
"Better luck with your target next time." Making way, the first guard wishes us all the best and motions to let us through.
"Wait, who's that?" The younger man spots me and his voice tints with a hint of suspicion.
"Oh, we picked her up in Birkas. Her name is Chloe Marcott. She says she was traveling with her parents, but they were ambushed by bandits. She alone was able to escape with her life." Gram explains my story to them. Now that it's being told by someone else, it sounds so implausible that I could laugh out loud at it.
"I'm so sorry to hear that, Lady Marcott." Tipping their helmets, the guards express their condolences.
Huh, they bought it?
Good thing I have my facial expressions under control right now, or else there would have been surprise on my face. I can't believe that this story is holding up across so many people.
"We don't want to keep you any longer; you must be tired from your journey." The older guard waves us in and gives me a sympathetic look.
"Sorry for doubting you." The younger guard nods to me with an apologetic expression.
"Don't worry. You're just doing your job." I look up to him with the warmest smile I can muster. Even in the dim light of the full moon, I can see that he blushes at the sight. Seems like he just felt the proverbial arrow pierce his heart, huh? Sorry, I'm not interested in men, though.
With this, we finally enter the city, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief.
"Alright, let's go to the guild and get our reward." Rolan, apparently not thinking much of the exchange just now, proceeds to guide us down the main street.
"I was wondering, how can you prove that you killed the wulfar without a body?" That thought flashed through my head when I saw it crumble to dust back then, but the villagers believed them even when they came back empty-handed, so I didn't think about it anymore at the time.
"If you are speaking of evidence, then they lie in my crossbow bolts." The bard replies in the leader's stead and points at his backpack. "The part that was buried in the beast is now blackened by its curse. This serves as evidence that we fought a corrupted beast."
"Same for my sword." Rolan pats the scabbard since he doesn't want to draw his weapon in town to show me what he means. I didn't notice it at the time since it was bloody, but I guess it stayed black after he cleaned the blade. "Anything that comes into contact with a corrupted beast's blood will have to be incinerated by magic or purified at the church."
Church.
When I hear that word, I have to suppress a grimace from appearing on my face. Everything I've learned about churches in fantasy settings is that they are, without exception, actually evil and bigoted organizations. With humanity's enemy being demons that spread corruption with their very existence, I can only imagine that they're really influential and powerful in this nation.
"We'll go there tomorrow. I'm sure we're all tired tonight." The leader says as we walk onto the city square.
There's a small fountain in the center, on which a larger-than-life bronze statue of a man wielding a hammer and a flaming sword towers. He's wearing a horned helm and sports a bushy beard that looks like his face is lined with fire. Aside from that last tidbit, he reminds me of a
stereotypical depiction of a Viking.
"That's Gulbrand, Lord of the Forge." Gram comments when he notices my gaze. We begin to round the fountain to the left, and I get a good look at the statue's face. He's wearing an eye-patch over his right eye. "He was the lord of Hovsgaerden during the Age of Frost."
"What was the Age of Frost?" I find myself intrigued and ask without thinking.
"That is best told over a warm meal, near a cozy fire." The bard steps in and interrupts the big man before he can respond. Alright, I have to admit that the name sounds like it'll cause me to start feeling cold, even though I shouldn't, with this convenient body.
"Indeed, you guys should go ahead while Runa and I go claim the bounty. We'll come after to join you in the Dancing Dragon." Rolan suggests and points across the square to a house with stone foundations and wooden walls. There's a signboard above the door, showing a stylized winged dragon standing upright on its hind legs.
"Alright, we'll get you the usual." The big man waves to the two and turns to lean in on me. "As for you, tonight you'll get to taste the best ale in the kingdom."
I catch myself looking forward to it. Guess I developed a taste for alcohol despite my first experience with it going the way it did.
"Over here." Gram, being a head taller than everyone around him even while sitting down, is the first to notice when Rolan and Luna enter the tavern.
I had expected that at this advanced hour people would have returned home and gone to sleep already, but this tavern seems to be crowded with both men and women, who are all eating and drinking while making merry.
"So, have you started telling the story?" Rolan asks while he and Luna sit down on the bench left to the two of them specifically.
"We were waiting for you." The bard replies and shrugs.
"Hey, it's not like I don't know the story of Gulbrand or the Age of Frost." Laughing, the leader remarks and takes a big gulp from the jug of ale in front of him.
"And for the food." Gram adds as he sees the waitress coming towards us carrying a tray stacked with something that resembles mashed potatoes and a huge pile of roast meat. I can feel my mouth water at its sight, but make sure to hide my interest behind a facade of aloofness.
"You have not heard me tell it, now have you?" Winking, the bard sets aside his lute to partake in the meal first. "But that will have to wait for when the bellies are filled, and the alcohol has flowed."
Apparently, the meat comes from an animal that visually resembles a wild boar - according to Gram's description - and the mashed potato-like stuff tastes exactly what it looks like. In either case, it's the best meal I've had since coming to this kingdom. While it's much more rustic and less refined than what I ate in the demon palace, it has a certain charm to it that can't be denied.
When we finish up, and I empty my jug of ale, the bard strums his lute and sets the mood. The tavern has grown quiet as many have left, and the ones still around become aware that someone is about to tell a story.
"One final glow, a generation lost - ten summers of snow, the Age of Frost." His voice is unexpectedly charming as he begins with a rhyme. He proceeds to recount the occurrences of more than a millennium ago when the kingdom had not yet come into existence.
The story of Gulbrand, Lord of the Forge, took place during a decade of unceasing winter, called the Age of Frost. Apparently, it had been caused by the frost giants that were living in the eternally snow-capped mountains that split the continent.
In the third frozen summer, a host of said frost giants found their way down onto the Slaettermark, where several small human nations existed alongside each other in peace. The giants began to raid and destroy all settlements along their path, and few were able to escape their slaughter.
The survivors fled to Hovsgaerden, which was fortified and well armed but was suffering from a lack of food as a result of the unceasing winter. Back then, it was the capital of Allvoell, an ancient nation before the Kingdom of Lares was formed. It was governed by Lord Gulbrand.
A kind lord who had an exceptional love for blacksmithing, he understood the mortal threat his people were under. Working the bellows unceasingly for day and night, he personally forged enchanted weapons to fight the frost giants with, while he opened his private granaries to feed the citizens.
One day, when a blizzard laid its blanket of death over the lands, the frost giants came to raid Hovsgaerden. The city walls hardly posed an obstacle to their advance, as they were tall enough to climb over the battlements.
But they had not expected to be met by Lord Gulbrand and the people of the city, each wielding a flaming weapon, who stood in defense of their one and only home. It was a valiant fight, and soon, the giants were beaten back and scattered into the white darkness.
Yet, they did not give up. Every fortnight, they would return and try again. And every time, Lord Gulbrand stood at the very front of the defenders, to beat them back into the wilderness.
Even when his citizens had grown weary, their swords had dulled, and the walls had started to crumble, their lord would not rest. After every attack, he returned to his workshop, and reforged broken spears and chipped swords, not emerging until there was enough to equip every able person in town once more.
Finally, on their thirteenth attack, the frost giants broke down the gates and invaded the city. Their breaths of winter shattered man, woman, and child alike, as they rampaged through houses and streets. All hope seemed lost as the defenders fell one after another, and hearths flickered out in formerly warm homes.
That was when Lord Gulbrand, who had retreated to the keep with the survivors, ran into his workshop. Many despaired, thinking that he was trying to save his own life by locking himself in the last warm place in the city. It seemed as if the situation caused them to forget everything he had done for them in the past.
But he came out moments later, wearing a breastplate glowing red hot from the forge's heat. Wielding his enchanted blacksmith hammer and a new burning sword, he gave a fearsome battle roar, and jumped down from the castle gate, into the onslaught of frost giants.
Every swing of his sword set ice on fire, every strike of his hammer shattered frozen bodies to pieces. He became an incarnation of flames, as his unstoppable rampage cleaved through the ranks of his enemies.
His burning eyes brought fear into the cold hearts of the frost giants for the first time, and they ran for their lives. Lord Gulbrand would not let up his chase until every last one of them had left the city. Afterward, he stood on the gatehouse until his armor and sword had long cooled down in the winter storm, watching over the frozen wasteland vigilantly, to make sure the enemy did not return.
"The frost giants would never dare attack Hovsgaerden again, and avoided Allvoell for the rest of the Age of Frost." Playing a few notes on the lute to signal that story time has come to an end, the bard returns everyone from the magical journey his voice and music took us on. "Some say that because of Gulbrand's affinity with the forge, the glowing hot breastplate did not burn his flesh. That is why he is called the Lord of the Forge. The flaming weapons he forged were scattered across the lands after his death, and are sought after by many. His magical hammer remains missing, and was designated as one of the legendary items of the kingdom."
A shiver runs down my spine due to feeling a cold breeze blow past my neck, even though it should be warm in here. That's how compelling the bard's narration was, to be able to convey the freezing temperatures of this decade of ice.
Then I find that I've been leaning forward slightly and was hanging onto his every word - as has everyone else who remained in the tavern. It appears that the bard is a proper bard after all, with a magical attraction once he gets serious. His demeanor was that of a professional, and I can't help but feel impressed.
Everyone begins to applause quietly, as if trying not to disperse the lingering atmosphere of myth and legend he conjured with his skills. A rotund man with orange hair and a big braided beard of the same color waves over the waitress
who has been listening from the sidelines, and orders a round of drinks for our group, on him.
"Thank you, good sir." Expressing his gratitude, the bard tips his feathered hat with a surprisingly dignified nod and smiles. I think I'll have to reevaluate my opinion of him after this. "Hmmm, it appears that you have finally fallen for my charm, Miss Marcott?"
I take it back. He's still the obnoxious person he was all throughout our journey.
"Hahaha, that expression says it all." Gram laughs and pats the bard's shoulder. I wonder what kind of expression I'm making, but it should be anything but a cheerful one.
Everybody soon leaves the tavern or goes upstairs to retire for the night. We finish the jugs of ale we so graciously received as payment for the bard's talents, and go to do the same. Apparently, I have a room to myself, since Rolan and Luna will share one, while Gram and the bard take another.
This will give me some alone time to think about everything that has happened so far, as well as do some practice with my body again.
There won't be a recap episode, though.
Chapter 8 - Breaking Minds...
A new day, a new adventure.
Or so I'd like to say, but everyone headed out to do some errands, so I chose to go with the person least likely to annoy me. Actually, to put it more nicely, the person I'd enjoy most to be alone with for half a day.
That would obviously be Gram. When I think about it, he's the most interesting person of their little adventurer party. Rolan seems just like the average Gary Stu protagonist of a fantasy story. Luna is the typical mage in love with the hero. And the bard is... well, himself.
Gram kind of does look like the typical tank character, but his personality is quite refreshing. He has an outgoing attitude that makes him endearing even to me, and he has the mentality of a gentlemanly protector. The fact that he wields only a colossal shield, with the express purpose of protecting his friends, serves to strengthen that image.
