Morgana: Everybody Loves Large Chests (Vol.4)

by Iliev, Neven

  “-for I have left mine in my other trousers,” the vigilante finished.

  “It is good to hear from you, mister Sandman.”

  This was one of several similarly ludicrous pass phrases this masked individual insisted on using. It was a bit rudimentary, but necessary. The other party refused to reveal their face and Silus needed some other way to confirm that he was talking to the real deal, and not some random guy in a cloak. In reality, the image he was looking at was actually a succubus filling in for her preoccupied master. This ruse was fairly simple, since the Comm-crystal showed only the bust of the other party holding it, making it painfully easy to obscure things like height or build. A bit of shapeshifting, a spare disguise, and copious amounts of telepathic communication handled the rest.

  “Likewise,” the not-a-Sandman nodded. “I trust your compatriots and leaders are with you as per usual?”

  “Indeed, they are,” Silus confirmed.

  Comm-crystals projected only the voice and visage of the one holding them, so Xera could neither see nor hear the rest of Fort Yimin’s leadership. They let Underwood handle the talking for the most part, but they had all formally introduced themselves during previous communications by passing the cube from one person to the next. Everyone except for Faehorn. The others hadn’t made the Sandman aware of the high elf’s attendance because he’d be less likely to let down his guard if he knew. Or so Silus theorized.

  “I trust you have already tried out my little bauble and confirmed its ability?” the masked man inquired.

  Underwood looked towards the Legate, as if asking how to answer.

  “Do not tell him about the Decanus. Just say we have confirmed its effects,” was the given order.

  The intelligence officer nodded and turned his attention back to the Sandman.

  “In a manner of speaking. There were some complications, but nothing we can’t handle.”

  “Very good. I trust you will not misuse Nyrie’s children for your own ends.”

  “Should we ask him whether letting the youngling dryads fight our war for us is a good idea?” Vera suggested.

  “A good idea,” Aidun nodded. “Relay her question, Primus.”

  “Yes, about that. We are having a quandary whether that would be best for us in the long run,” Silus told the Sandman.

  “How so?” was the casual response.

  “We have serious concerns that forcing so much death upon the immature dryads will turn them into bloodthirsty killers.”

  “Ahh. Ahahah. Hah hah hah. Haaaah.”

  The cloaked figure let out a low, dry, almost mocking laughter.

  “You should not be so quick to force your point of view onto others, mister Underwood.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Tell me, do you give any mind to the grass and weeds you trample underfoot each day? Do you pay the buzzing flies in your office any more attention than a moment of annoyance? Is the existence of rats in the sewer worth your notice?”

  Silus frowned, as he had a rather unpleasant thought as to where this was going.

  “It is the same thing for the dryads,” the Sandman grinned under his mask. “As living creatures, it is their duty to defend themselves, but they are ultimately apathetic to the struggles of us lesser beings. Before them, we are all but specs of dust—insignificant and fleeting existences that will rapidly fade from their memory, even if noticed.”

  “As per usual, he says some rather depressing things,” Drannor commented.

  “To think we mere mortals can influence them to any meaningful degree is the height of arrogance,” the cloaked figure concluded his speech.

  “That is certainly a very enlightening point,” Silus collected himself, “but children tend to be quite impressionable.”

  “Children? What do you mean?”

  “Judging from what we’ve seen, Fort Yimin’s dryads are extremely juvenile. They appear as ten-year-old children, both physically and mentally.”

  “Ah, that is… unexpected. I hoped they would be more mature, but it is what it is.”

  “Shall I infer from your tone of voice that you still don’t think the war will have a negative impact on them?”

  “It depends on the point of view. Once the Authority wears off in a week, they will all return to their slumber. It will be centuries before they wake up on their own, and anything they experience now will most likely be completely forgotten about, as if it were a hazy dream. Whether that’s a good or bad thing, is something for history to decide.”

  This was information obtained directly from Ambrosia and passed along to Xera, who now relayed it to the elves. It was as accurate as it could be, though the officers had no way of knowing that.

  “We appreciate the input,” Underwood said politely. “Speaking of the Authority-”

  “I will want it back, of course,” the Sandman cut them off. “Though I suppose if you wanted to keep it for yourself, then I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

  “There will be no need for that. Please be assured that we plan to uphold our end of the bargain. Once we have confirmed the dryads’ effectiveness, we will send you the rest of the payment and the spent item through your chosen courier.”

  “Very good, Lord Underwood.”

  “Are we sure we want to do that?” asked Vera. “If that thing can let one control dryads, then the capital will be at his mercy.”

  “Come on, we already discussed this,” Faehorn complained.

  “We did?”

  “Okay, maybe not exactly that,” the Ranger elaborated, “but we concluded that the Authority’s function is like a really loud knock on the door. Yes, it grabs the dryads’ attention, but there’s no compulsion involved. Sure, those five seem to be glued to Morgana and hang off her every word, but that’s because they’re youngsters that don’t know any better. I can’t imagine any one man can convince the old hags of the capital to turn on us after millennia of coexistence.”

  The man imagined Azurvale’s original twelve to be akin to the grumpy old ladies that sat on benches in parks and quietly judged everyone who walked past. To his credit, it was a surprisingly apt comparison, apart from the fact that said ‘old ladies’ looked a lot more… fertile than one might expect from beings that ancient.

  “Ah, just so we’re clear on this—expect to see me at the siege.”

  The Sandman’s words caused everyone’s attention to snap back to the glowing blue cube in Underwood’s hands.

  “Will we get another bill for your services, then?” Silus asked with a wry smile.

  “No. This one’s on the house.”

  “Is it now? How come?”

  “I’m just, shall we say, protecting my investment,” he responded cryptically.

  “I see. Whatever your reasons, do make sure you wear our army’s colors when the time comes. Would hate for our men to mistake you for an enemy combatant.”

  “Who knows? I just might become one, if the price is right.”

  The elf made a bitter face, as he was harshly reminded that the Sandman’s loyalties lied not with the Ishigar Republic or its people, but its coin.

  “Heeeh, heeeh, heeeh,” the masked man chuckled humorlessly. “Very well, mister Underwood. If you so wish it, then my minions and I shall fly your army’s silver flag on the field. Expect to hear from me again, same time tomorrow.”

  “Understood.”

  The communication cut off abruptly, and Silus let out a subdued sigh of relief. These conversations with ‘mister Sandman’ were far more stressful than he let on.

  “What minions is he talking about?” Faehorn asked.

  “Demons, most likely,” Silus responded. “We’ve already determined him to be a Warlock, and that he has at least two of them in his service, possibly three.”

  “I’m more worried about what he meant by that, ‘protecting his investment’ statement,” Drannor interjected.

  “He’s probably hoping we’ll keep him around as an assassin or mercenary after the siege,
possibly even after the war.”

  Underwood’s guess seemed reasonable, but in truth that line was just a cheap excuse for Boxxy to join in the mayhem and collect its share of XP and human flesh.

  “We’ll see how the winter season finds us,” the Legate decreed. “As for the matter of the dryads, I will withhold my final decision until I see what our Decanus has for us tomorrow.”

  The meeting adjourned, and Underwood, Vera, and Faehorn left the room in an orderly and quiet fashion. The Legate and his strategist wanted to discuss things in private, so they stayed behind. The sun was still up, so the high elf Ranger went out to the courtyard to mull things over while the others returned to their duties.

  And there he saw a bizarre scene. Keira was giving one of the juvenile dryads a ride on her shoulders, while the rest of them crowded around her. The adorable scene of them arguing who was next on ‘Mummy’s branches’ did wonders to heal his troubled heart. Unlike before, the beastkin didn’t seem troubled or anxious, but was genuinely laughing and having fun as they walked in full view of the entire fort.

  Keeping those kids’ existence a secret at this point was both impossible and unwise, so Underwood and Aidun had both given Keira permission to show them around the fort and introduce them to the troops. As expected, they drew an incredible amount of attention from adventurers and soldiers alike. A few of the hard-liners scoffed at the ‘undisciplined display,’ while others stared in blank amazement at the appearance of the legendary hylt tree guardians. Most of them were like Faehorn and simply enjoyed watching the uplifting sight without giving it too much thought. Even if they were technically monsters, the appearance of happy, giggling children could melt even the most jaded of hearts.

  “Even if they’re monsters, huh?”

  Faehorn’s thoughts drifted back to a discussion he and Silus had held earlier regarding the Sandman’s identity. Though the officer argued otherwise, the veteran adventurer’s intuition told him there was a literal monster behind that mask. However, though the vigilante certainly had the selfishness and general disregard for sentient life one expected from a non-enlightened creature, his behavior was far too atypical.

  Generally speaking, one could categorize monsters as either feral or intelligent. The former would not bother with conversation and would pursue their wants and needs with brute force and extreme aggression. These creatures were certainly dangerous, but it was the smart ones that were the real issue in Faehorn’s professional opinion. A rampaging cyclops could attack a village and kill dozens of people before it was put down, but a devious and cunning creature could claim hundreds or even thousands of victims over a long period of time.

  The intelligent ones knew just how much of a potential threat they were to society, and how said society would respond to that threat should it become known. The last thing these monsters wanted was to find themselves hunted down by a bunch of experienced adventurers armed to the teeth. Intelligent creatures therefore actively avoided drawing the attention of enlightened communities at large, especially those they recognized as wielding power and authority.

  Yet, this Sandman directly approached and actively made deals with the military. A monster doing that sort of thing that only happened in terrible novels. Faehorn couldn’t confidently state that the vigilante was not an enlightened individual, especially since his objective did legitimately seem to be acquiring wealth. Then there was the fact that, according to Silus, the Sandman had requested that future payments be delivered as equal numbers of knight, duke, and king pieces—coins worth 5, 20, and 50 GP, respectively. The only reason someone would make that sort of demand was if they planned to spend the money inconspicuously.

  Well, either that or the vigilante was just hoarding wealth for wealth’s sake. Except that the only monsters that did that were dragons, and the Sandman most certainly wasn’t one of them. Size and shape aside, dragons did not make deals, they demanded tribute. They were the zenith of the food pyramid, the undisputed kings and queens of the monster world. Their power was so vast that an adventurer would need a Level at least ten times higher than the dragon’s before he could even hope to challenge it. And that was only if it was a juvenile one.

  Adult dragons took entire squads of Ranker adventurers to defeat, but at least they could be stopped. Elder dragons, which could go up to Level 75 of their Monster Job, were unfathomable existences that could literally topple nations by themselves if given enough reason. Thankfully, there existed only four of those beasts in the known world, and none were anywhere near this part of the world.

  One of them lorded over a stretch of land that once belonged to the dwarven-ruled Horkensaft Kingdom to the east—a highly volcanic region known as Hell. Another ruled over vast swathes of the Pearly Dunes desert—the beastkins’ homeland far to the southeast on the literal other end of the continent. The last two weren’t even on Atica. One of them resided at the bottom of the Shimmering Ocean while the last dwelled somewhere in the sprawling jungles of Velos, a landmass far to the south. The fact that the Republic didn’t have to deal with those living calamities had always been something Faehorn was quietly thankful for.

  “Mister Faehorn! Sir!”

  Hearing Keira call his name snapped the old Ranger out of his thoughts. The redhead ran over to where he was idly leaning up against a wall while he wasn’t paying attention. It was almost impressive he failed to notice Keira approach, considering one of the dryads rode her shoulders while the other four followed behind, bickering. The topic of their current argument seemed to focus on which one of them was the tallest, but Faehorn tried not to pay them too much mind.

  “What is it, Morgana?” he asked in his usual cut-and-dry tone.

  “I have some good news. Lilly told me something really good.”

  Her eyes pointed up at the dryad who happily played with the redhead’s feline ears while murmuring something along the lines of ‘So fuzzy!’

  “Did she, now?” her mentor raised an eyebrow.

  “Mhm. Hey, Lilly. Remember what you said earlier?”

  “Hmm? About what, mummy?”

  “You know, about people like mister Faehorn here?”

  The dryad’s emerald eyes met with the Ranger’s. This was the first time he saw any of them acknowledge anyone’s existence besides Keira’s and their own. The experience was quite jarring, though mostly because he felt as if the kid was staring straight into his soul. It lasted only for a moment, as she immediately turned her attention back towards the catgirl’s ears.

  “What about them?”

  “You don’t want to hurt them, right?”

  “Of course not. If I’m mean towards them, then grandma Nyrie would be sad,” Lilly casually stated.

  “Making grandma sad would be bad,” the other four echoed in unison.

  “There you have it, mister Faehorn,” Keira smiled. “That’s good news, isn’t it?”

  “Ah, yes, it is. ‘Good news’ might actually be an understatement.”

  It would appear these dryads felt the influence of the Goddess of Fertility, and were forbidden from harming the enlightened. The myths about them stated something along those lines, but hearing it from the girl herself was immensely reassuring.

  “Hey, Torenia!” Keira raised her voice. “Enough arguing about the evening sunlight, okay?”

  “But she gets almost all of it!” one of them complained while pointing at the other.

  “You get most of the morning sunlight in return though, don’t you?” the redhead pointed out.

  “… Yes?”

  “Then you should be more tolerant of your sister!”

  “Yes, mummy…”

  “And Castelia! Don’t let this go to your head!”

  “Huh?!”

  The dryad that Torenia had been bickering with put on a shocked expression.

  “Mister Sun shines down on all of us. His light and warmth are things you should share and not selfishly hog to yourselves.”

  “Yes, mummy…”

&
nbsp; The two answered in unison with sullen faces. Keira’s ‘serious business’ face softened into the usual smile and she patted their heads lightly, which they enjoyed quite a bit.

  “Ah, mister Faehorn, will his excellency the Legate be needing me again today?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. Why do you ask?”

  The catgirl gently stroked the heads of one of the dryads to her left, the one that scratched her shoulder the entire time.

  “Birchis here seems to have a termite nest in her upper branches, and I want to take my men to clear it out while we have the chance.”

  She was officially a Decanus, which meant she already had her own ten-man squad assigned to her.

  “Ah, then that should be alright. Though I gotta say, I’m surprised you can tell them apart.”

  Personalities and behavioral quirks aside, the quintuplets looked completely identical. Only the bushels of ‘hair’ on their heads showed any deviation as they swayed gently in the wind, but that was not nearly enough to differentiate between them.

  “It’s really not that difficult once you figure out they always stand on the same side,” the redhead cheerfully revealed.

  “What do you mean?”

  The catgirl pointed towards one of the massive trees on her right, one of the cornerstones of Fort Yimin’s fortifications.

  “See, that’s Torenia-”

  She then pointed to the tree that was immediately to the west of it.

  “-and that’s Castelia. The one directly behind me is Lilly, that one over there is Birchis, and that last one over there is Pinea!”

  “Oh, I see!” Faehorn exclaimed in realization.

  The way the hylt trees were positioned around the fort and the formation the children made around their ‘mother’ lined up perfectly. Indeed, their relative positions drew the same irregular pentagon as the fort’s walls, if one were to look at them with a bird’s eye view. They probably lined up like that subconsciously, like a natural compass, or a homing instinct of some sort. Whatever it was, it compelled them to be even a few steps closer to their respective trunks, hence their arrangement.

  “To think, it was something like that… And here I thought your maternal instincts were kicking in.”