by Neven Iliev
“My thoughts exactly, Master.”
“It’s a crying shame it isn’t shiny, but I suppose I’ll collect it all the same. Prepare for transfer.”
“Understood.”
Drea relocated herself to the tent’s quietest corner and waited for a few minutes. After receiving a brief update from Boxxy, she was once again flung through the Transfamiliar Spell’s reality warping rift, leaving her inside a large and mostly empty wine barrel. She didn’t question how or why the shapeshifter snuck in there without breaking it apart, but she wasn’t going to complain about having a secure hiding spot. After another minute, she was transported back to her previous position. The tent looked exactly like she left it aside from the missing suit of armor.
“Looks like I got my tentacles on something valuable after all,” commented Boxxy. “Keep up the good work, Claws.”
Drea happily received the cheap bit of praise before slitting open the tent’s canvas on the opposite side from where she entered. It was child’s play navigating the space between the tents since visibility was extremely limited. The only concern was leaving behind obvious trails, which was why she made sure to close up any holes in her wake with her webbing. Thankfully, the white parts of the tents’ wide stripes matched the color of her sticky thread. The patch job wouldn’t hold up to a serious visual inspection, but it wouldn’t draw undue attention from fleeting glances.
The second tent seemed more like someone’s private office rather than sleeping quarters, although the owner was currently absent. There was a simple table with a chair in front, a locked metal footlocker, a total of seven books strewn about the place, and a lit lantern hung from the canvas overhead. Atop the improvised desk was a rolled up parchment that turned out to be a map of the Rainy Woodlands around New Whitehall. The terrain on it looked a bit different from the one Boxxy showed its minions during their briefing which wasn’t strange considering the hand-drawn nature of such documents. The interesting thing about it was that someone had used fresh ink to draw a few circles and arrows with coded designations. Next to that was a stack of what appeared to be reports regarding the Republic’s activity in the region, although the dates stamped on them revealed that they were at least a month old.
The stalker contacted Boxxy and reported her findings.
“It’s not much, but it’s something,” the shapeshifter replied. “What about the books?”
“Just personal items from what I can tell.”
“Okay, but what are they?”
“Oh. Uh…” Drea stalled while she checked them again. “There’s one titled The Treachery of Twigs, volumes one, two, four, and six of Nottley’s Magical Theories, a collection of hymns worshiping Teresa, and a… well-worn copy of this year’s Summer Chest Catalogue.”
That first one was a somewhat notorious piece of propaganda that spoke about the elves’ common military strategies since the time of the old Dominion. The books on magical theory were clearly reference materials, suggesting whoever used that tent was either the studious type or a moron who needed to constantly refresh themselves on the basics of magic. Not that Boxxy was one to talk considering its knowledge on the subject was rudimentary at best. After all, it only cared about practical applications. In any event, it doubted those books were important to the war effort. The same went double for the holy scriptures, and even more so for that last one.
If it was anything like the Fall Chest Catalogue under Rowana’s bed, then the summer edition was not, as the name would imply, an archive of stylish seasonal containers available for purchase.
“Let’s take them for now, we can sort them out later,” Boxxy decided. “Grab what you can carry and bring it with you, I’ll pick it up later.”
“At once, Master.”
Drea quickly gathered up all the documents and books she could lay her claws on and bound them together with some of her sticky webbing. The resulting pure-white pouch was securely strapped to her abdomen. Wrapping books in such sticky stuff was usually a bad idea because it was impossible to clean them without risk of ripping the pages out. However, the stalker’s white spider-silk was conjured entirely through magic, so it would evaporate without a trace in due time. An hour or so, to be specific. It would be another story if she used the lavender-colored Demon Silk that her rear-mounted spinnerets produced from digested food.
After she double checked that she took everything of note from the makeshift office, Drea moved onto the third and final tent of this little enclave. This one, however, was completely different from what she expected. For one, it was much better furnished and more lavishly decorated than the other two. Animal skin rugs covered much of the ground and various ornaments and small sculptures were placed atop high-quality wooden furniture. It had a desk, a cupboard, a wardrobe full of fancy clothes, and an honest-to-goodness queen-sized bed. It was also noticeably warmer, suggesting that some magic item or another regulated the air temperature. Rather than a hastily erected canvas shelter, it looked and felt like an expensive suite at some high-class hotel.
The ornaments on display were particularly curious. The nearby desk had a gilded pen and a golden ring with a large, square-cut gem. A jewel-encrusted sword was propped up against the wardrobe, although Drea got the distinct impression it had never tasted blood and was probably ceremonial in nature. On the nightstand next to the bed stood a mithril statuette of a half-naked woman clothed in a flowing robe. The Stalker honestly surprised the figure could stand upright considering how… disproportionately top-heavy it was.
The likely owner of all this stuff that had no place on a battlefield was on the bed. Drea had the strangest feeling that his quiet snores felt almost as out of place as the rest of the extravagant surroundings. Though it was the middle of the night, this was probably the only sleeping human in the entire camp. He suddenly shifted under the silken covers before his guest could get a good look at him. Wary that he might have sensed her presence, the stalker demon quickly hid behind the wardrobe. She stood perfectly still, stifling her breaths as she watched for any more suspicious movements.
Several minutes of staring later, it became clear that he had merely turned over in his sleep and wasn’t stirring awake. Drea left her hiding spot and silently skittered over to get a closer look at his face, as she felt somehow drawn to it. She loomed over him and nearly squealed when she realized how ridiculously handsome he actually was. His perfectly sculpted facial features had a strong, universal appeal to them, especially when framed by his silky black hair and well-groomed goatee. His lips were curled into a roguish half-smile all on their own despite the fact he was asleep. Even the soft sounds of his breathing were strangely pleasing to the ear.
The man exuded charm, ruggedness, and elegance all at once just by lying there. His presence alone was so enthralling that he could probably sweep any woman, and perhaps even a man or two, off their feet with a simple ‘Hello.’ Drea, technically a female, was instantly captivated. Without realizing it, she had already climbed onto his bed and was hovering over him while on her hands and knees. She slowly lowered her head, bringing their faces closer together in one long, smooth motion. A few tense moments later, they were so close that she could feel his hot breath on her chitinous skin. She kept shortening the nearly non-existent distance between them even further as she unknowingly, unwittingly, and unerringly placed her lips on his.
Her mandibles then dug into the sides of his face, cutting deep into his immaculate flesh. The human woke up and tried to scream, but failed due to the presence of four organic blades lodged in his lungs. What pathetic noises he managed to get out were stifled as they went down the demon’s throat along with his tongue and entire lower jaw. He struggled in vain for a while longer until Drea took their intimacy to the next level. Which, in stalker terms, meant she skewered him through the heart.
The stalker lifted her head and sat atop the dead man’s midsection as she savored the taste of this irresistible meal she had stumbled upon. After licking her bloodstained l
ips and letting out a few silent breaths of satisfaction, she unhinged her lower jaw and took a huge bite out of his right shoulder. She chewed on her mouthful of man-meat with such delight that her mouth curved into a wide smile flanked on either side by puffed-up cheeks.
“Claws!” Boxxy shouted directly into her head. “What did you just do?!”
“Oh hey, Master!” she replied in a jovial tone. “Just ate some guy. No big deal.”
“Guy?! What guy?!”
“Dunno. He was sleeping and he looked so incredibly cute that I couldn’t help but eat. Him. Up!”
“Wait, you just killed someone who was sleeping?”
“Yup!”
“Inside one of the big tents in the camp?”
“Yup!”
“And he was good looking, with short black hair and beard?”
“Yup!”
“I see… So that’s why I got a bunch of Levels out of nowhere…”
“… Huh?”
“Never mind that, what’s the condition of his body?”
“Reporting that it is extremely delicious!”
“That’s not what I meant, idiot!” it roared angrily. “I need to know if he’s still in one piece or not!”
“Ack!”
The demon snapped out of her gluttonous trance and audibly swallowed her current mouthful.
“Uhm, w-well, the, uh, half the face is gone. So is his right arm. And shoulder. And liver. Also a third – no, half of his left leg.”
She hadn’t realized she’d taken so many bites out of him already.
“… Is the heart still there?”
“S-sort of?”
“What do you mean sort of?!”
“W-well, h-half of it is still in his chest.”
“And the other half?”
“I… may have eaten it.”
In the next moment, Drea could’ve sworn she heard the unmistakable sound of an open palm colliding with a face.
“Well, that’s unfortunate, but it’s not that big of a deal,” the monster spoke in a disappointed tone. “His corpse wasn’t going to be of much use anyway. Yeah, on second thought, absorbing it could backfire.”
Oddly enough, those words seemed to be directed at itself rather than Drea.
“… Claws?”
“Yes, Master?”
“You’re still eating the body, aren’t you?”
“Y-yeah…”
Technically speaking, although ‘stop eating the guy’ was heavily implied in Boxxy’s words, it was not explicitly stated. So, the gluttonous stalker continued sampling the delicacy in front of her while she had the chance.
“Did you eat the other half of the heart, yet?” asked Boxxy expectantly.
“Of course not, Master. I saved it for you because it’s your favorite part.”
She also made sure to slobber all over it in order to try out this ‘indirect kiss’ thing she heard about from Zolmegnara, her demonic sister. Apparently, it was kind of a big deal in the Pearly Dunes where her sibling’s contractor lived, and Dreaheath had to admit the concept definitely sounded exciting.
“Good. Leave that for me. Also some thigh meat and the stomach. Oh, and the head. Or what’s left of it.”
“Aww… But I wanted to carve the skull into a bowl and slurp out the brain.”
“Too bad. This is an order – do not touch, nibble, bite, or even lick the head of the man you just killed. I need it as intact as possible.”
“… I can still eat the neck and spine, though, right?”
“I suppose, just make it snappy. The mission’s more or less over, so we’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Master!”
“So, boss, about that distraction,” Kora butted in. “Can it still happen?”
Inquiring about her role in this operation allowed the fiend to bypass the ‘idle chatter’ ban that Boxxy placed on her earlier.
“No, that won’t be necessary.”
“Not even as a ‘farewell gift’ to the Empire? I’m sure that Bonerwood fellow wouldn’t mind if we thinned out their numbers a bit.”
“Uh, no. There’s no point to declaring our presence without good reason. That would be idiotic.”
Even if the shapeshifter’s meddling was impossible to hide at that stage, it was better that the humans found out about it later rather than sooner. Besides, tough as she was, it doubted Arms could inflict any serious damage to these troops. They were all fit, alert, well-organized, and in high spirits. A bunch of them were drunk, but soldiers usually had a lot of END making them more resistant to poisons, including the inebriating effect of alcohol. A sudden battle would absolutely sober them up. All things considered, if the fiend charged their entrenched positions by herself she would probably kill only about three or four people before she fell.
“Oh. No, I suppose not,” she said dejectedly. “I mean, both Blade-face and the Slutmeister got to enjoy themselves during this field trip, so I just thought… y’know… you’d let me smash some skulls just for shits and giggles…”
“You’ll get plenty of that in a few days, so quit your moaning,” Boxxy sternly rejected her.
“… Yes, boss. Sorry, boss.”
“Reporting that Koralenteprix is being particularly pathetic right now,” Claws chimed in.
“I swear, bug-cheeks. One of these days!”
Meanwhile, the succubus on her way back to New Whitehall was working on solving a variant of an age old philosophical conundrum. Namely, if a succubus mocked someone behind their back but nobody was around to hear her, did that make her a spiteful bitch?
Unsurprisingly, she eventually arrived at a resounding ‘Yes.’
Interlude
A Moment of Calm
Silus stared blankly out of a window, his attention focused on the fragrant cup of tea in his hands. He was in his office on the fourth and final floor of New Whitehall’s city hall. Few structures were tall enough to obstruct one’s line of sight at that height, allowing the elf a clear view of the Rainy Woodlands beyond the settlement’s borders. The greenery of nature contrasted against the dull red ocean of roof tiles in a rather picturesque way. Or at least that was how it usually was. This chilly morning brought with it a heavy downpour and a thick fog. Visibility was so terrible that Silus could scarcely see the ground, let alone the beautiful horizon. A flash of lightning in the distance briefly illuminated the half-dismantled Forest Gate’s outline in the middle of the plaza outside his window. The elf took a long sip of his drink as he wondered just how much it would cost to rebuild it after the war.
“Heh. He-heh,” he chuckled dryly.
The fact that he was able to casually consider that scenario was rather amusing. Somewhere in the last few weeks, he started sincerely believing in the Republic’s ability to fight off the Empire’s invasion. This feeling wasn’t born of some baseless speculation, blind optimism, or desperate hope, but was the result of the gambit he and his superiors took in the west. With the extra supplies and manpower coming in from Fort Yimin, the eastern front actually stood a fighting chance against the Empire forces in the region. And much like the 2nd Legion’s chief strategist and intelligence officer liked to say, chances existed to be taken.
Another significant contribution to Underwood’s morale was the unexpected show of support from the Horkensaft Kingdom. From what he was told, their royal court was rather split on what, if anything, should be done about the ongoing conflict. One faction insisted on distancing themselves from the Republic to improve relations with the Lodrak Empire. Another group demanded a strictly neutral stance, while a third campaigned for supporting the northern nation.
Though divided in opinion, each of the Kingdom’s noble houses shared the same motivation – fear. Considering their track record, having the Empire as an enemy was quite a daunting thought. In less than a hundred years, they had either conquered or annexed five sovereign human nations that previously bordered them. The Empire was threatening enough to cause the south’s consta
ntly-feuding city-states to unify under the banner of the Sovereign States Alliance. Being on the opposite end of the continent and separated by the treacherous Oculus Sea, the Horkensaft Kingdom had never had to worry about the Imperial war machine.
However, this latest conflict could change that. If the Empire pushed far enough into the Republic, they could gain enough strength to fully subjugate the elven nation within the decade. That would put them right on the Kingdom’s doorstep, and the humans’ bloody history implied that it was only a matter of time before they went after the stout-folk. The question of how to deal with that eventuality was what had split the Kingdom’s ruling class. The political landscape further complicated the matter. The stout-folk of Horkensaft enjoyed favorable and profitable relations with both the Empire and the Republic, so openly backing either side would result in significant diplomatic and economic backlash. Moral considerations further muddied the waters as it was still uncertain whether the Empire was justified in waging war over the Calamity of Monotal.
Ultimately, it was the huge upset at Fort Yimin that broke the indecisive stalemate within the Kingdom. It showed that the outnumbered and underpowered Republic was capable of punching far above its weight. The pro-Republic faction’s leader – a dwarf bearing the noble name of Sugrus Steelhead – used the siege’s outcome as leverage to swing the vote in his favor. Following his advice, King Magnus Strongarm the Fourth ruled that aiding the elves and restoring the balance of power was the best way to ensure his subjects’ safety.
That said, the King was unwilling to openly take sides in a conflict only tangentially related to his domain. Though he was wary of what the future would bring, presently his people were not under threat of war. The stout-folk of Horkensaft had always kept to themselves, so it was not in their nature to brazenly intervene in foreign matters. As such, the Kingdom could not answer the Republic’s pleas for aid. Instead, they ‘suggested’ that the elves ‘hire’ a twelve-hundred-strong regiment of ‘independent mercenaries.’ Although it seemed relatively minor and far from free, the elves gratefully accepted the token of unofficial support. After all, the Kingdom’s heavy troopers were notoriously tough, capable of turning even an open field into a fortress by simply assuming a defensive phalanx with their massive shields.
