Chapter 103: Weary Pride

As soon as they got outside the holes, the duo stuck close to the wall. The stone was still warm in places, and it smelled of soot and old blood.

The weeds and undergrowth surrounding the walls made treading the area significantly harder, especially as the clouds, perhaps in solidarity against the tragedy that just happened, filled the sky and blotted out the moon. Thorny vines snagged at their cloaks, and every step sank their boots ankle deep into wet, tangled grass.

The duo both took out their weapons and began cutting themselves a path out. Thankfully, this part of the city just over the walls was completely abandoned and silent, so the swishing and Kadre’s cursing out loud went completely unnoticed. Mikael used Ragnarok’s blade sparingly, as though the scythe disliked being used to cut mere grass. Kadre had no such qualms with her dagger, and every hidden thorn earned a fresh string of colorful words.

After a few minutes of soft labour, they were clear of the wall and out in the plains, with corpses of beasts and some persons littered here and there. The night air was thick with the stench of burnt flesh. A crow, drawn from who knows where, hopped along the ribcage of a fallen Ravager, then flew off at their approach.

They waded through, but occasionally Kadre bent over an animal’s corpse and ripped out its core. Or over a particularly dressed group of individuals, and she’d search them for daggers, which she’d put into the bag that hung on her back. Her hands moved with practiced speed, quick and almost gentle, as though she were picking fruits tangled in clothes.

Since they didn’t deviate from the path and only continued straight, Mikael did not speak a single word as she carried on with her activity. ‘Allow a lady her hobbies,’ she had told him earlier. He found that he did not particularly mind. It was somewhat refreshing and interesting to watch someone stubbornly cling to the business of living.

Soon they were clear of the plains and came onto the main road. The road was empty, as roads tended to be at that hour, although today, the usual travelers had earned the right to stay away for a good part of it. Their footsteps were the only sound in the night, and the cold was the particular cold of a November morning that was simply being what it was: cold. Very far off, to the east, the horizon had begun to pale.

Kadre pulled her cloak tighter against herself and watched the road ahead. Her breath misted in front of her face, and for a while, she watched it vanish.

“Your pathways,” Mikael said after a while. “You really went over and beyond.” He had just decided to ascertain her well-being, core-wise. What he found was slightly discomforting. Her mana pathways were pulsing, and not in a good way. She had strained herself.

She flexed her hands inside her gloves, wondering how he was able to notice it, then remembering that he seemed to have very great mana perception, having the ability to recognize ranks without even seeing.

The ‘activities’ of surviving and fighting and running had taken their toll. The mana depletion from just an hour or two ago had done what depletion always did: left the pathways tender like overused muscles. Functional, but aware of themselves in a way they weren’t when they had mana.

She also noticed her legs were trembling, had been trembling ever since danger had passed, and it had nothing to do with the coldness of the early morning. She pressed her thumbnail into her palm and willed them to stop. They didn’t.

She shrugged as she walked on. “I mean, who can blame me? The most important thing is that I survived.”

Overhead, the clouds, seemingly done with their mourning, slowly cleared from the sky, and the moonlight fell in full shine, lighting up the road for the two travelers.

“And how are they now? Your pathways,” Mikael asked.

“Recovering. They still sting, but it will only take a while.”

“What’s your estimate? In terms of how long it might take?”

“Give or take two days for a full recovery. One day for at least working capacity,” she tapped the bag where she’d stored the cores. “I can even speed up the process with a Ravager core. But….. Adept rank is what it is.” She hissed as she admitted this flaw again.

He said nothing, which over the days she’d come to learn to read as acknowledgement rather than outright dismissal. Silence, from him, was a language of its own.

She thought back to the first time they’d ever met, back in the alley. He had told her outright that her rank was greatly insufficient for the scale of the work ahead, and he had said it without sugarcoating his words. They were blunt, direct, and they hit home hard. She’d agreed with him because it was the truth. And now, she was quite grateful to her past self for accepting the contract. Although it would have been difficult to not accept it.

Fortunately for her lucky ass, the client who complained about her rank was the creator of the recently famous Rank Breaker!

The Rank Breaker was coming. Not that she knew exactly when, but based on the personality of her client and the logic of what he’d told her, the timeline was clear: it would come before work began in earnest, and she would need to be something other than what she currently was.

The thought sent a small, strange thrill down her spine, half hunger, half fear.

She noted that under things that were coming, and filed it away in Mikael’s file in her head.

The ground beneath them reverberated and trembled under their boots. Up the road, a cloud of dust hung in the air and seemed to draw closer by the second. Kadre strained her eyes till she saw the banners and flags in the distance. She threw the hood of her cloak over her head. She had no wish to explain a bag full of cores, daggers and stolen gems to anyone wearing a crest.

“It is the knights,” she said in a hushed voice.

“So, what are your plans? Hiding?”

“Seeing as I don’t know who might be leading the charge, hiding could complicate the situation,” she muttered in a low voice. Mikael’s fingers drifted toward Ragnarok’s shaft. “Let’s not. Yet,” she hissed. “Try talking first.”

The sound of hooves striking the earth slowly got clearer and more distinct as the army drew close. Mana lamps bobbed in the dark like a river of stars, and the ground shook with every stride.

Captain Kamcee charged ahead of the battalion. As they were coming, General Rodain had flown by and told them the battle was over. Their task now was to go on ahead, secure the city, restore order and report to General Erica for further instructions. And so they charged on.

The main road that led to Dry Swamp City was completely deserted, so much so that she had decided, subconsciously, that nobody was on the road or was even supposed to be on it. Until, up ahead, two figures walked towards them, not even stopping or scurrying. She became suspicious. Most sensible people would have run, or at least hidden, at the sight of an army. These two simply kept walking.

“You, you and you. With me, the rest of you continue ahead,” the Captain ordered as they came close to the travelers.

Mikael and Kadre kept to the side of the road as armor-clad knights raced past them. Dust and the smell of horse sweat billowed over them.

Four knights, however, stopped them. Mikael groaned. The ache in his ribs, legs and back constantly reminded him just how much he had been through this morning, and yet more troubles kept coming. Beside him, Kadre lowered her head and went perfectly still, a mouse beneath a hawk’s shadow.

“Good day, folks. Pretty rough night, wasn’t it?”

The Captain’s voice was friendly enough, but her eyes were not. They moved from Mikael’s black scythe, then to Kadre’s bulging bag, and lingered there. The gold trim on her armor was dented and sooty, the mark of a long ride and a longer night.

Mikael mustered a smile as fake as it was forced. “True.” He did not elaborate. Elaboration would only invite more questions.

He tried walking, but a knight rode up and blocked his path.

“The Captain wasn’t done speaking to you, peasant.”

The horse snorted, stamping a hoof inches from his boot. The knight above it sneered down, clearly enjoying himself.

A vein bulged in Mikael’s temple and his eyes turned from golden to crimson red.

The air grew still. The nearest horse whinnied nervously and backed away of its own accord, and its rider tugged at the reins in confusion. Kadre sighed in exasperation. The boy most certainly had a death wish. Still, she positioned her hand to reach her weapons if the need for them arose.

Mikael all but growled, “Be sure to make it quick then, Captain.”

He turned and smiled again at the Captain. A smile that threatened much more than words at that particular moment.

Behind them, the thunder of hooves faded, and the road seemed to hold its breath.

The Captain blinked, and for some reason, her hand slowly drifted to her sword.