by Iliev, Neven
“Two.”
*SLAP*
“GNNNN!”
One could see the shockwave of each hit travel down her thighs, almost as if someone had thrown a stone in the still waters of a pond.
“Three.”
*SLAP*
“UNGH!”
The dryad kept slapping her hard enough to leave a bright red handprint on the nearly snow-white skin of the elf’s buttocks.
“Four.”
*SLAP*
“GRMPH!”
To say it looked painful was an understatement, especially considering the tears streaming from the humiliated Wizard’s eyes.
“Five.”
*SLAP*
“RRRGH!”
And of course, watching this all unfold, were the fifty-odd members of Keira’s armed escort.
“Six.”
*SLAP*
“GRRRHR!”
The vast majority of them thought the arrogant bitch deserved it, as it wasn’t the first time her spoiled attitude had caused problems for them.
“Seven.”
*SLAP*
“HRRRHG!”
Still, there were some that felt bad for her, and that number only grew as the punishment dragged on.
“Eight.”
*SLAP*
“KHGR!”
As for Boxxy, who was still masquerading as Keira, it could only grumble internally at this development.
“Nine.”
*SLAP*
“HNNNG!”
These ‘nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine reasons to respect your elders’ was definitely not what it had in mind when it told Snack to teach that impressionable dryad how to use non-lethal force.
Part Two
It had been nearly forty minutes since the dryad started ‘educating’ Imiryl, and she was just about done by the sound of things.
“Nine hundred and ninety seven.”
*SLAP*
“HMMMMN!”
The Wizard’s face had long ago become a sopping mess, and her audience doubted whether that red palm-print would ever fade from her backside.
“Nine hundred and ninety eight.”
*SLAP*
“GRRRRGH!”
As for Boxxy, its only qualm about the situation was that it had to return the captive high elf safe and sound. It would’ve loved to try and absorb her body if that hadn’t been the case.
“Nine hundred and ninety nine.”
*SLAP*
“HNNNNNG!”
That should have been the dryad’s final lesson in ‘respecting the elderly,’ yet she seemed hesitant in letting her victim go.
“Ah, sod it! Might as well go for the big one thousand!”
*SLAP*
“GRNNN!”
With a final parting slap, she tossed the sobbing Imiryl aside like a filthy rag, released the platoon from their bindings, and calmly walked back inside her tree.
“Now then, all of you except the cat, get the fuck out of my sight!”
“Y-you heard the lady!” Keira stammered. “Everyone else, fall back!”
The soldiers gladly followed orders and moved away from the tree in an orderly fashion. A couple of them picked up the thoroughly humiliated high elf and carried her off. They would try and apply healing magic directly to her bruised bum, but many of them doubted whether she would be able to sit down anytime soon. It was almost a shame this mission was supposed to be a secret—they’d have one damn spectacular story to tell back at the barracks otherwise.
Once everyone except Keira was a good two hundred meters from the tree, they finally caught a glimpse of the so-called Sandman. A tall figure with a long, dark cloak wrapped around it dropped down from the canopy and landed with a dull thud on the grassy soil. He walked up to the clearly startled beastkin, who immediately bowed and squealed out an apology of some kind. The Sandman just stood there and nodded a few times, after which they apparently began a proper dialogue.
Or at least that’s what her escorts assumed. Though the Rangers did their best to listen in on the conversation, the most they could make out was some barely audible voices and no actual words. They couldn’t read lips with their superior sight, either, as one of them was masked and the other stood with her back towards them. This was, of course, entirely intentional, as Boxxy merely pretend to have a conversation with the fiend posing as its older ego.
Underneath that baggy cloak, messy bandages, and sloppy face-wrap was none other than Kora. She’d been instructed to break off her horns and tear off her extra pair of arms so as to fit inside the costume. The demon was currently pantomiming in accordance with her master’s mental commands. She was unnaturally cooperative with this ruse, now that Boxxy thought about it. Its Demonology Skill then reminded it that a demon’s horns were a rather important thing, and Arms losing hers had taken away much of her inherent aggression. This was normally a bad thing since ‘aggression’ was a fiend’s main weapon, but it seemed to work out alright for this little play.
A few more minutes of this farce passed before the catgirl-shaped-monster turned to face the platoon in the distance and sent her second-in-command orders through Whisper Wind.
“One of you bring over the payment over, Mister Sandman wants to see it. Oh, and don’t forget miss Imiryl’s present too.”
The man looked towards the Wizard to find her curled up on the ground and hugging her knees in the fetal position. Even if her physical wounds were treated, the emotional scars would take a while before they healed. Still, she at least understood the whole thing was her own fault, so she complied with Keira’s request without a single word of complaint. She opened her Item Box, an Enchanter Skill that was nearly identical in function to Boxxy’s Storage, and took out a Masterwork-quality mithril rapier. It was a magic item she had personally enchanted and was no doubt the ‘gesture of goodwill’ that Silus Underwood had mentioned during the briefing.
The Legionnaire in charge of the money took it from her and brought it over to the duo under the tree along with the all-important metal chest full of gold. Keira met him partway, around thirty meters from the hylt tree. Her eyes grew so wide at the sight of the fancy weapon that they looked like they’d fall out of their sockets. That was an understandable reaction. The soldier who brought the weapon over on his belt was just as impressed.
To start with, the glistening white blade, intricately detailed spiral-shaped guard, and jewel-encrusted handle made it immensely beautiful, but it was no mere decoration. It was a light, graceful weapon that could be used for both thrusting and slashing attacks thanks to its magically-boosted sharpness. The other enchantments Imiryl had put on it were self-repair and increased durability, ensuring its edge remained as deadly as possible regardless of how much abuse its wielder put it through.
The beastkin took the valuables off the man’s hands with a nervous word of thanks. She made her way back to the Sandman while the elven soldier returned to his colleagues with a bitter smile. That sword was probably worth at least one and a half thousand gold pieces, meaning he just finished handing over a total of over ten thousand GP to a complete stranger. Then again, it was never his money to begin with, so he didn’t dwell on it. Besides, getting to see that lethal art piece up close was a treat in and of itself.
The elven Rangers kept watch from a distance as their redheaded commander unsteadily carried the heavy valuables over to the Sandman. She set the chest down in front of him, unlocked it with the key and opened its lid. The Sandman peered into the steel lockbox for several tense seconds. Seemingly satisfied with the amount, the stranger gave a grand nod and shut the container with his armored boot.
However, when presented with the rapier, he clearly didn’t want to accept it for some reason. Keira fidgeted around a bit and flailed her arms around in a panic, seemingly trying to convince him to take it. She seemed to succeed at first as the cloaked figure’s massive hand reached out and picked up the comparatively tiny sword, but he then immediately handed it back to her. There was som
e more arm flailing and head shaking on the beastkin’s part that did very little to help the situation. Eventually she was forced to take it back with her to the others while the Sandman picked up the chest. Some vines descended from the top of the tree and carried the tall figure off into the canopy, hiding him from sight. Again, that was mostly for show, as the gold in the chest had already been discreetly stashed away inside Boxxy’s Storage.
Keira silently re-joined the platoon with a deeply troubled look on her face. The soldiers had been mostly quiet as well, as they didn’t know what to make of the situation. They didn’t particularly want to know, either. They weren’t paid to do troublesome things like ask questions. If anything, since their current assignment was supposed to be kept a secret, keeping their mouths shut actually meant they were following orders. The only reason the Rangers kept an eye on things in the first place wasn’t out of curiosity, but so that they could react in case things turned violent again. It was a good thing it didn’t come to that, though. The distance between them and their target meant that the things they could have done to protect Keira in that situation could be accurately described as ‘jack shit.’
So, with their duty fulfilled, they propped up the still-upset high elf Wizard so that she could open a Gate back to Fort Yimin’s outskirts. Once they were back at base, Keira marched herself straight into Underwood’s office. The elf was more than a little surprised to see her return with the mithril rapier on her belt, and asked for her report.
Keira explained everything since meeting up with her escort, up to the point where they were addressed by the mysterious voice and asked to leave. Underwood let out an exasperated sigh when he heard Imiryl lost her cool and unleashed a wide-range De-spell.
“I knew I should’ve waited for Faehorn to return from his mission,” he muttered with his face in his palms.
Not only had Imiryl jeopardized the mission, but she had also ruined one of his plans. The intelligence officer had secretly ordered his people to put a tracking Spell on a bunch of those coins, but her rash actions had no doubt dispersed the temporary enchantment. It would have all been for naught, regardless. Boxxy had picked up on the oddity in the gold with its magical perception before the money had even left the fort. Claws was more than capable of ‘eating’ the tracking magic, if Imiryl hadn’t done it first.
“What happened next?” Silus asked.
“Well… the disembodied voice said something along the likes of, ‘That hurt!’ and then… we were caught.”
“Caught, you say?”
“Yes, sir. Roots came out of the ground, bound us and sucked up our MP. “
“All of you? Including Imiryl?”
“Yes, sir. It all happened so fast that none of us could offer any real resistance.”
“Was this the Sandman’s doing?”
“No, sir. It was that green woman that showed up.”
“Green woman?”
“Yeah, she walked out of the tree like it was nothing. She looked around my age, and had leaves covering her, uh, immodest areas. Oh, and her hair looked like a bush.”
“Strange. I’m sure there were no reports of such a person in the vicinity. Anything else you can tell me about her?”
“Uhm, Mister Sandman knew her. Seemed to be her boss, or maybe companion. Oh, he also said her name was Cyrilla, and that she was a dryad.”
“A dryad? Like the legends?”
“Legends, sir?”
The most Underwood, or anyone else for that matter, knew about dryads was that they were divine spirits that dwelled within hylt trees. There would sometimes be reported sightings of them here and there, but they were so extremely reclusive that very few people believed they were real. Even if they shared a world with ghosts, dragons, gods, demons, and all manner of other mythical beings, it was only natural to be skeptical of unfounded claims and old stories.
“Look them up for yourself later, Decanus.”
However, Silus didn’t particularly feel like explaining all that to the catgirl.
“Yes, sir.”
“So then, what did this dryad do?”
“She, uh, spanked Miss Imiryl.”
“Spanked?” the man repeated in disbelief.
“Yes, sir. Pulled up her robe, bent her over her knee and everything. She wasn’t holding back, either. Her butt shook with each hit, you know.”
“And the others can confirm this?”
“Yes, sir. We were pretty much forced to watch the whole thing.”
“I see… But why spanking, of all things?”
“I don’t know, sir. She called it ‘the nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine reasons why you should respect your elders,’ or something like that.”
Silus took a deep breath.
“She didn’t… really hit her that many times, right?”
“She actually went for the full thousand. Sir.”
“Sweet Nyrie…”
He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Humiliation like that would have turned that prideful woman into either a sobbing mess or a furious typhoon of destruction. And it was obviously the former, judging from how Keira was still around to tell the tale. A strong-willed woman like that would bounce back in no time, but Silus couldn’t help but feel partly responsible. The fact that Imiryl didn’t know she might encounter a freaking dryad on this mission was technically Underwood’s fault, even if he had no way of knowing that in advance.
“Alright, moving on. What happened afterwards? You said you spoke with the Sandman?”
“Yes, sir. The dryad released us from the roots and told everyone but me to leave. Mister Sandman showed up once the others pulled back. I apologized on miss Imiryl’s behalf and thanked him for saving me.”
“What was he like? His appearance, voice, mannerisms, anything you can tell me?”
“W-well, he’s super tall, well over two meters. Couldn’t see anything of him under that cloak and mask, other than those weird yellow eyes. No idea what the deal with those is, though.”
“There’s at least a dozen ways to produce that sort of effect, ranging from alchemy to enchanted eyewear. It’s of no importance,” Silus dismissed her concerns.
“Y-you sure, sir? It was super creepy,” Keira insisted.
“That’s the point, Decanus. It’s psychological warfare. The same goes for his apparent height. It’s most likely magically augmented, or he uses some other kind of trick to make himself appear more intimidating.”
It was possible that was the man’s natural size, of course. The giants of Percepeia typically stood three meters tall, so an offspring between them and an elf or human would theoretically have Sandman-like proportions. However, giants were quite rare and half-breeds with them were even rarer. It wasn’t unprecedented or impossible for the masked vigilante to be one, just highly unlikely.
“What of his voice?” Silus questioned.
“In a word—manly,” Keira firmly stated. “The sort of deep, smooth, unshakable tone you’d expect from Mister Faehorn if he were younger.”
Underwood asked a few more questions regarding manner of speech, word choice, body language, and anything else that might tell him more of the Sandman’s personality. Unfortunately for him, Keira claimed to have been far too stressed to watch for tiny details like those. She could only offer vague and unhelpful descriptors like ‘scary,’ ‘serious,’ and ‘creepy.’ Her commanding officer was forced to give up on this line of questioning and moved onto the next part of the debriefing.
“What of the payment?”
“Well, sir, he took the gold, but didn’t want your gift.”
The catgirl apologetically took the Masterwork rapier off her belt and set it on the table.
“I can see that. I’m asking why he rejected it.”
“He said it was ill-suited to him, sir. And I think I agree. His hand was way too big to grip it. The handguard was in the way and everything.”
“Hmm, so a practical man, huh? I expected him to accept it purely for its mo
netary value, but it seems he’s not just some greedy fool.”
“Er… you were testing him, sir?”
“Indeed, I was. Actions speak louder than words, Decanus, and the fact he didn’t blindly pocket it is very promising indeed.”
“O-oh…”
Boxxy had not considered this in the slightest. In fact, it had every intention of keeping the shiny weapon, albeit in a slightly different fashion.
“Decanus Morgana? What did you do?”
The way the catgirl shifted uncomfortably in her seat while her eyes desperately avoided Underwood’s was more or less the same as holding up a giant, flashing ‘GUILTY’ sign above her head.
“I, uhm, I panicked,” she admitted. “I said I was under orders to deliver it to him, and that I wouldn’t leave until he took it. I immediately realized how stupid that was, but it convinced him to accept it.”
“Then why is it here on my desk, Decanus?”
The beastkin did her best to avoid Silus’ piercing gaze as she whispered her reply.
“He… gifted it… back… to… me…”
This was Boxxy’s true intention. It wanted Keira to use this wonderful weapon. It was so incredibly shiny that it wanted to have it nearby at all times. That, and having the beastkin ‘learn swordplay’ was a perfect excuse to seek out a melee-oriented Job. There was a high probability the elves would just take the weapon back and lock it up somewhere, but it had some sound arguments prepared should that happen. After all, Sandman and Keira would most likely meet again, and the former would be very upset if he found out his gift was forcibly taken from its rightful owner. Something like that would surely put a damper on the good relations the gift was meant to secure.
However, Silus’ reaction was outside the scope of Boxxy’s expectations. He didn’t scowl, sigh or get angry. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Hah.”
He laughed.
“Hahahahahahaha! Ahahahahahahaha!”
It was a full-blown, hearty laugh, probably the first one he’d had in a long time. A few tears even welled up in the corner of his eyes as he pounded on his desk with his fist. The troubled Keira had no idea how to react, so she just stood there with an uneasy look on her face.
