Morgana: Everybody Loves Large Chests (Vol.4)

by Iliev, Neven

  It obviously wasn’t going to admit that, so it prepared a few answers to the very obvious question the officer asked.

  “Maybe he feels I won’t betray him?” Keira offered.

  “And what makes you say that?”

  “I do owe him my life, sir. Twice, actually.”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

  It was also not really a question as to how or why she caught the Sandman’s eye. Not only had the two met practically face-to-face back in Azurvale, but she stood out entirely too much. She was the only beastkin in the 3rd Legion, and her fiery-red hair, ears and tail demanded one’s attention. Even the opposing force had no trouble singling her out after her capture. Her ability and potential were also outstanding, as evidenced not only by her results, but by how Faehorn himself gave her special, almost preferential treatment. The last few days had more or less convinced Underwood her motivations to fend off the Empire’s invasion was no less genuine than his own.

  It was her loyalty to the Republic itself that was still in question.

  “What if I were to order you to betray him, though?” he proposed.

  Her face once again became deeply troubled, showing she was unsure as to what to answer. As expected, she was conflicted. Although Silus was curious whether her gratitude towards her savior or her duty towards her country was stronger, this was not the time for such a pointless test.

  “Relax, it was a hypothetical question. No offense, but I don’t expect an earnest person like you to be able to follow an order like that, even if you wanted to.”

  “Uh, thank you?”

  “In any event, get your gear and get ready to depart within the hour.”

  “So, we’re actually going to hand over this much money? Just like that?”

  Her reaction was understandable. Nearly nine thousand Gold Pieces was quite literally a fortune. It was the sort of lump sum that could potentially set one up for life, if it was invested wisely. Either that or it would at the very least allow an adventurer to retire a decade or two early.

  “Heh,” Silus chuckled dryly. “Believe it or not, his rates are actually very generous. Waging war is quite expensive.”

  Indeed, from a purely logistical standpoint, the average Imperial soldier was worth thirty to fifty times more than the ten GP this Sandman charged for each of them.

  “Besides,” the officer continued, “it is my personal and official opinion that we want to establish good relations with this entity, which is why we’ll give him a little gift to go along with the payoff.”

  “Understood, sir. Still, I feel uneasy carrying that much money by myself…”

  “Who said you’re going by yourself?”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing in the invoice said you had to go out there alone, so I’m sending you along with an armed escort, as well as one of our resident VIPs as insurance.”

  Boxxy silently cursed its lack of foresight. This would complicate things, but it was fairly certain it could improvise something later. Right now, it needed to focus on the conversation.

  “They’ll be there to back you up in case this is some sort of scam or trap,” Silus continued. “If that turns out to be the case, you are to abandon the money and retreat. The lives of my subordinates are more important than some coins and gems. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” the beastkin saluted.

  “Very good. Now, do you have any questions?”

  “Just one. What is this boxing tax supposed to be? Is this a real thing?”

  Of course, the creature was aware of the answer. While the ‘reasonable rates’ were something it discussed with Snack, the ‘boxing tax’ had been suggested by Arms. Although she probably meant it as a bad joke, Boxxy liked the sound of it and added it anyway. However, it would be un-Keira-like if it didn’t ask about obvious things like this. Besides, it was genuinely curious how the elves would interpret it.

  “I suppose that’s the shipping and handling charge,” Underwood said with a humorless smile.

  “Shipping and handling, sir?”

  “The invoice was delivered in a wooden box, along with the enemy commander’s severed head.”

  “I see…”

  Though it ordered Claws to deliver said head, this was the first it heard of it being packaged. Where and how did that stalker even find a box in the first place?

  “Anything else?”

  “Not at the moment, sir.”

  “Good. This concludes your briefing. Dismissed, Decanus.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Keira stood up with another salute and exited the office while Underwood went back to his duties. Half an hour later she was fully geared up and went to meet up with her armed escort—a platoon made up of fifty of the garrison’s veteran soldiers. One could easily tell them apart from the conscripted adventurers due to their gear. Although each individual wore something befitting their Job—light chainmail and padded armor for the scouts, thick cloaks and robes for the magic users, and metal-plated armor for the vanguards—they all had a uniform feel to it. Their matching appearance was primarily due to the predominantly silver-like color of their equipment and the eagle-wing-themed decorations and engravings along their shoulders and headgear.

  Among them was the VIP that Underwood mentioned—someone that had Ranked Up from a regular elf into a high elf. She was an older woman, much like the various guild instructors, except that her face was still beautiful, elegant, and smooth with very few wrinkles. She had pure white skin that contrasted her long, raven-black hair and eyes. She was clothed in a luxurious black robe that seemed more like an evening gown than an adventurer’s attire. It looked as if someone had cut out diamond-shaped holes out of the fabric, exposing her navel, collarbone, shoulders, the sides of her thighs and her upper back to the world. It was a high-class magic item without a doubt, but it also made it clear this woman put too much stock into appearances.

  “Greetings, child,” she said with a flourish of her arms. “Know that you are in the presence of Imiryl of the Maleficium. Fret not, for I shall guard your fragile existence without fail. All who seek to stand in our way shall be crushed under my heel!”

  Her tone and attitude were condescending, to say the least. It was obvious she looked down on everyone around her as if they were dead weight. The soldiers around her merely rolled their eyes within their helmets, suggesting they were already familiar with her prideful behavior. Her arrogance was somewhat justified, however, as Boxxy had already caught wind of her reputation, and her apparent expertise with lightning magic. She could effortlessly trounce the shapeshifter if it revealed itself, so it had to make extra sure its act was flawless.

  “Hi! I’m Keira! I’ll be in your care!”

  The woman called Imiryl was stunned silent by the catgirl’s excessively casual tone.

  “Wow, so you’re a high elf like mister Faehorn, huh? I was expecting someone important-looking, but I didn’t think you’d be this pretty!”

  The woman just stared unblinkingly at the beastkin, almost as if she doubted whether the girl was an illusion of some sort. What sort of behavior was this? Was this whelp before her unable to grasp greatness when she saw it?

  “I mean, between you and me,” the redhead lowered her voice, “he’s getting on in years a little, you know? I think his friend Lichter looks much better. Not that he’s my type or anything, but he’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”

  Imiryl finally blinked, and then continued to do so rapidly as she struggled to wrap her head around the ever-shifting topic of conversation.

  “So I heard you were like, a super famous Wizard, right? Say, you can shoot lightning of your eyes, right? Can you show me?! I always wanted to see someone shoot eye-lightning!”

  The catgirl practically bounced in place with anticipation by this point, in stark contrast to Boxxy’s internalized panic. The chest-minded monster had no idea it would meet her face-to-face like this, so it had no other choice but to lay the
act on thick. It didn’t even try to make friends with her, as there was no way this prideful snob would get along with someone as happy-go-lucky and bubbly as Keira. Staying in character at this point was more important than getting on Imiryl’s good side, especially since both Underwood and his superiors had their eye on the freshly promoted Decanus.

  Besides, even if she was, by all accounts, a colossal bitch, the high elf Wizard was not the type of person that would vaporize someone just because they seemed rude and ignorant.

  “Ahem!” one of the soldiers loudly cleared his throat. “Decanus Morgana, ma’am. I think it’s about time we set off.”

  The beastkin was, technically speaking, in command of this little operation. The Sandman explicitly requested her presence, and she was one of the very few people to have met him. In short, this made Kiera the closest thing the Republic had to an expert on the masked figure. She also technically outranked the more senior Legionnaire who spoke to her, even if slightly. It was hardly a surprise that the man was as respectful to his superior officer as possible, as were his comrades.

  That was only on the outside, of course. Inwardly they were all dreading having someone like Keira in command. It wasn’t because she was an adventurer, but because she seemed rather nutty. They were about to walk into a potentially lethal confrontation with a dubious mercenary, and yet the girl acted as if she was getting ready for a casual picnic.

  “Hm? Oh! Right, sorry. I just got a little over-excited meeting Miss Imiryl in person. I heard so much about her at the guild.”

  “It’s understandable, ma’am, but we really should be on our way.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The catgirl coughed once or twice to reign in her mock enthusiasm, then asked the soldier who addressed her earlier.

  “Then, you have the package?”

  “Right here, ma’am.”

  The soldier gestured towards the man immediately behind him, who carried a sturdy-looking metal chest locked up with a heavy padlock.

  “Very good,” she said. “Mister- I mean, Primus Underwood also mentioned a special gift of some kind. Where’s that?”

  “I believe that is in Lady Imiryl’s possession, ma’am.”

  Those words snapped the needlessly haughty high elf out of her stunned silence.

  “Indeed, it is,” she declared in a grandiose fashion. “However, its identity is not for one of your stature to know.”

  “Alright. Then let’s move out, everybody!”

  Relieved to finally have some coherent orders, the soldiers assumed a loose, square-like formation with Keira, Imiryl, and the locked chest at the center, then moved out through the front gates. The hylt tree mentioned in the invoice was one of the oldest trees in the region and a well-known landmark. It was also a about twenty kilometers south of the fort, so the group would normally have a long march ahead of them if Imiryl wasn’t there.

  Once the patrol was out of the front gates and a good three-hundred-or-so meters away from the fort, the high-Level Wizard started casting a grand Spell.

  “Gate!”

  A circular, magical doorway sprang out of thin-air, one that was almost as big as the fort’s main entrance. The scenery beyond the portal was that of a grassy plain, with an impossibly tall tree visible in the distance. One by one, the soldiers strode through the Gate as if it were an everyday occurrence. There was hardly any resistance, not even a peculiar sensation as Keira passed through it. It was as natural and effortless a transition as going from one room to the other. Imiryl, who was busy maintaining the portal, was the last one to go through before it collapsed in on itself.

  All things said and done, they appeared a distance that was less than ten minutes away on foot from the tree. It was possible to transfer everyone directly under the tree’s canopy, but that might have been considered a hostile action by other party. As for why they had to step away from the fort, there was a powerful ward around the place that interfered with most forms of spatial magic. It was standard procedure to fortify a stronghold against teleportation, otherwise they ran the risk of the enemy transporting their forces directly inside the fort and bypassing the walls entirely.

  This bit of trivia came as a surprise to Boxxy since Transfamiliar worked just fine within the fort’s confines. Then again, the laws of magic governing that particular Spell were different from those employed by a Wizard’s spatial manipulation, so it made sense in its own way. It was a very welcome discovery, because it meant that the shapeshifter held an edge in mobility its ‘allies’ might not anticipate.

  The armed escort resumed their formation and approached the five-hundred-meter-tall tree warily. The Wizard deployed a transparent bubble around them, a barrier of some kind that would protect them from any incoming magical attacks. They raised their guard even further as they entered the shadow of the tree’s vast canopy, but there was still no sign of life. At least, not until they got within a dozen or so meters from the tree’s massive trunk.

  “Who goes there?”

  A woman’s voice rolled in from above, causing the soldiers as well as Imiryl to brace themselves for attack. However, nothing happened for the next thirty seconds, nor did anyone raise their voice. At least not until one of the men gently ribbed a certain catgirl with his elbow, reminding her she was in charge.

  “Uhm! Hello there! I’m Keira! I’m here to see Mister Sandman!”

  “Do you have an appointment, or something?”

  “Yes! We’re here to deliver payment for, uh, services rendered!”

  “Ah, you must be the kitty I was told about. What of those angry looking men and that old hag? They your mates?”

  “Old hag?” Imiryl muttered under her breath.

  “Yeah! They’re my escort! They won’t attack, so, can I please speak to Mister Sandman?”

  “I was told to permit you, and you alone! The others must leave my shadow if you wish for an audience!”

  “Then, it’s okay if the others step back a bit, right? Okay, everyone, let’s-”

  “Nonsense,” Imiryl stepped in. “I shall not let this poor child be taken in by such petty tricks. Show yourself!”

  “I’m already in front of you, you old bat. Are your eyes just for decoration? Or do you perhaps need glasses in your old age?”

  “De-spell!”

  “No, wait!” Keira tried to stop the enraged elf, but it was too late.

  An invisible wave of magic exploded out of the Wizard’s outstretched hand and washed over her surroundings. It was a Spell meant to negate ongoing magical effects by forcibly dispersing the mana holding them together. She expected to hit someone cloaked in Invisibility or hiding behind an illusion of some sort, but ended up with a completely different response.

  “Oy! That hurt, you uppity cunt!”

  A snake-like root sprouted out from the ground beneath her feet and delivered a splendid uppercut-like blow to the high elf’s chin, knocking her into the air. A countless number of other, smaller roots sprouted out from the grassy soil, firmly entangling the entire platoon and forcing them to the ground before they could do anything. Only Imiryl managed to escape by flying up into the air with her magic.

  A number of green vines shot out horizontally from the tree’s thick trunk, firmly wrapping themselves around her hands, feet, mouth and throat. Not only was she unable to chant, but she immediately felt her MP drain away at a rapid pace. Those parasitic plants sucked her magical reserves completely dry within seconds and slammed her into the ground like a comatose fish. This left the pompous Wizard in the same helpless predicament as the others.

  Having been singled out, the Wizard was dragged across the dirt until she was at the very foot of the hylt tree. It was then that the dryad residing within the venerable plant finally showed herself. The green-skinned woman walked out of the bark as if it were a curtain, causing everyone present to stare at her with wide open eyes. She was much younger than Ambrosia, so her proportions were not quite as voluptuous. In fact, her appearance was li
ke someone in her late teens, much closer to Keira’s modest proportions. She had the same hair-like vines growing out of her scalp as Ambrosia, although her lack of antlers was, according to the elder dryad, a sign that she had not matured fully.

  The tempestuous tree spirit silently looked over everyone present before turning her attention to the ‘uppity cunt’ at her feet. She squatted down and glared at her with a look that could kill.

  “Why the fuck did you just disperse the mana inside my trunk, you twat?!” she said in a clearly pissed-off tone. “I need that shit to live. Do you have any idea how painful that was? No, of course, you don’t! You hoity-toity, smart-assed, stick-twirling, twinkle-fingers are all the same! You think you’re all that just because you can conjure a few sparks? Well, guess what. You’re not the top bitch ‘round here. I am!”

  The furious dryad took a few deep breaths as she let her tirade peter off.

  “It’s okay, though. I won’t kill you. I’ll just have to teach you a lesson.”

  A thick root jutted out from the soil behind her, and the dryad seated herself on top of it. She gestured at the vines binding Imiryl, which dragged the powerless Wizard closer to her and forcibly bent her over the dryad’s knees. A few extra vines rolled up the hem of her dress-looking-robe until her pale butt and lacy black underwear were visible to all.

  “I shall now begin instructing you on the nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine reasons why you should respect your elders.”

  The dryad then raised her hand and spread her palm wide.

  “Number one.”

  *SLAP*

  “UMPF!”

  She spanked Imiryl with all her might, making her rump jiggle furiously while its owner let out a muffled yell of pain.