Chapter 14

Antagonistic Revelations

2nd of Moonharvest, 12533

The Silver Wilds

Tanya's Retreat

I felt miserable. My body ached, I could feel I needed to eat, and I didn't even need to feel my hair to know that it was a mess. No, wait, that's actually untrue. Somebody combed it in my sleep, apparently. I slowly opened my tired eyes, finding myself in my living room, of all places. Have I finally managed to sleep on something other than a bed?

Why would I fall asleep here though? This is completely unprofessional. Using a couch instead of a bed to sleep is the realm of struggling college students, or parasites. I thought. I slid my left leg off the couch, and pushed myself up with my left arm-

Wait, fuck!-

I met the floor soon after, as I still lack a left arm. I couldn't help but groan at the inconvenience. Hitting my head on the floor doesn't help with the fact that I feel like the last time I was ever able to have a drink and, subsequently, a hangover.

"I think she's awake now…" said a muffled voice from the halls. A few footsteps started to come over. I pushed myself off the ground enough to see who was coming. Entering the room was Istarte and Olysha, the latter of which was holding a bowl of… something. I couldn't make out what exactly it was at the moment.

"And on the floor, too." Istarte said, trying to hold back a bit of laughter behind a smirk. I made a note to include her in the next training session. Evocation magic would've been useful in that mess. I just didn't have enough time to prepare her for the fight.

"Come now, Istarte. You'd fall to the floor the moment you woke up if you also lost an arm." Olysha chided her, apparently still taking the maternal stance she had with everyone else since she got here. She carefully set the bowl of vegetables, as I now saw, on one of the couch's arms and helped me up into a sitting position. I bit back on the humiliated feelings that brought out. I wasn't even in a child's body anymore! The back of a hand pressed against my forehead. "Fever's dying down, at least."

"...what?" I managed to say. Oh, I was miserable because I was sick. Mentally, I cursed my luck. Of all the times to get sick, it had to be now? I still have to organize the clean-up for after the battle! I couldn't get sick because of an infe- Oh, you've gotta be kidding me!

I quickly sent a hand to my left arm wound, trying to see if there was any sign of infection… only to feel skin and a surprisingly clean bandage. Shouldn't it be dirty from being on there for a few hours at this point? And…

"Ah, I suppose that can come off now that the wound's closed." Istarte said, undoing the binding stretching around my neck and holding the fabric in place. Despite the cloudy feeling I was having, it didn't translate to my sight, so I could clearly see that the wound was completely healed, though my arm was still absent. Well, isn't that fantastic? How will I be able to-

"Hmm, it looks like more of the arm has regenerated. Honestly, I envy you, Tanya," Istarte said, "I can only imagine the things I could do with your power. All the experiments I could've done without worrying about 'safety measures.'" …Ah. Great. Now I have to deal with Schugel's alternate universe magical female version. I fear for Urie's own safety now…

Eventually the two of them finished checking on me and my mind cleared up at least a little bit, though I still felt awful. While I started eating, a thought came to me. People waking up in a delirious, ill state like I have often confuse how long it's been, right?

"It's… only been a few hours, right?" I asked, straining to look out the window to guess what time it was. Somewhere close to 1200, if I'm correct. I looked back, and immediately my heart sank as I saw their faces.

"Tanya, you've been asleep since yesterday morning." Olysha answered, while Istarte did a very good job at trying not to laugh, though she certainly failed in the expression department.

"...fuck."

Later…

I absolutely despise this new body's consistent surprises.

Oh, the regenerative factor, reality-bending power, immense magical strength, and being unable to die when killed are a joy, but finding out about them is an awful experience. And now I've learned that losing a limb (and not dying) means I essentially get knocked out for however long it takes to regrow the missing part.

I had to make up for the lost day despite my current state, sorting through the loot, congratulating the survivors and checking on how many casualties there were, among other things. My seeming illness made work annoying at best, but it faded with time. The lethargy remained, along with a gnawing, ceaseless hunger. I already knew that eating could quicken my regeneration, so I was doing as much eating as possible.

Of course, I wasn't going to let myself go and gain weight from that, so over the next few days, I kept myself busy while my arm rebuilt itself. Even with a missing arm, I could still use my abilities to build more structures for people to use and live in. I could still craft with ease, which I needed to do anyways because of equipment losses in the battle against the horde. And of course, I could still focus on my investigation into the books left behind by at least one Ancient, who went by the name Samayl.

Having the chance to peek at the fallen civilization this world reveres was wonderful, even if I personally felt something off about the books. None of the others who could read Enchantment felt it, but there was something that made me feel a slurry of emotions just under the surface. Confusion, anger, fear, utter hatred, familiarity, grief. It…

Some part of me wishes I knew why I felt this way, but knowing tropes and cliches from my first life's fiction concerning ancient civilizations and forgotten, possibly magical knowledge? This felt like that one phrase from then. 'Curiosity killed the cat', I believe. At least the actual content of the books felt normal.

They were more akin to journals rather than actual textbooks, similar to those cartographic journals that a… Swistrian made. Odd how the Alps formed a semi-congruous culture in this world. In any case, these journals were a boon to helping figure out more about a number of things, namely my new reality as a supposed Ancient.

It detailed a number of topics, from magical research to cataloguing the environment and wildlife and even some historian work aswell. Apparently Samayl's main goal seemed to be trying to find a way to harness two natural forces of the world that functioned parallel to Magicka. These two forces were labeled Creation and Destruction, though he clarified that Destruction doesn't actually affect the decay of bodies of most creatures. Odd.

I decided to translate it into Imperial- no, the Empire was likely destroyed considering the war, it'd be Germanian- so then a copy of it could be saved. Occasionally, whenever Lifeblood or Enchantments popped up, I could detect a slight bit of the corresponding magic within it, but they were merely faint echoes that I barely sensed. I suppose that confirms what I was beginning to suspect about that other magic that refused to surface since I last encountered that 'Enderman'.

'…and the one of these two natural forces that fascinates me most is the power of Creation-'

ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ∷ᔑ╎ℸ ̣ 𝙹∷-

"-Tanya!"

I came back to consciousness with my back to the floor, the study dark as the torches never seemed to go out did exactly that. There was a distinct pain coursing through my body that was starting to fade, almost paralyzing me to the point that I could hardly move.

"Are you alright?" One of the people who found and woke me said. I couldn't tell who exactly it was because of how disoriented I managed to become in such a short time. "We heard a loud scream and found you on the floor, so…"

While I ran a mental enhancement to quicken my mental recovery after whatever that was, I wished that atleast some of the Villagers and Illagers had hair. They honestly look rather similar in a crowd, atleast until I can know who they are individually. Looking at the ones around me, I'd say it's Ishta, thanks to her vibrant emerald eyes and surprisingly attractive appearance, aswell as Urie due to his slowly growing beard and slightly dehydrated look from the fun he's been having since the battle, and of course Istarte's grey skin and a little bit of madness that all prodigy scientists like her seem to have that I've grown accustomed to noticing. Usually because if I don't, well…

Wait, what did I say about Ishta?

"Is she getting sick again?" Urie asked the healer of the trio with a bit of concern. "It looks like she's getting a little red.."

"I'm fine! Just…" I called out, forcing myself to move despite the pain. Mentally I bemoaned the amount of debilitating injuries and situations I keep finding myself in lately. Using the nearest firm surface as support, I stood up and ignored Urie's surprised grunt of pain. I instead moved over to my desk and focused on the book and what I had written, or more specifically, what word I had just written.

Creation. An echo of the same magic that resided with gold, and oh-so similar to the power Being X wields. The same power that made me able to use the Type 95, with a variety of side effects that He would claim were more beneficial to me as a person. But how was it different? I couldn't tell.

All I knew was that it made me furious. Just as I was starting to think I was even a little bit free of that parasite, something similar to his antics worms its way into my life again. But, a little bit more thinking made me calm slightly.

Even if this is related to him, are they the same? Creation bears the same color that the Brother has in this world's common faith, who seems similar to the Being X I know, inconsistencies aside. If Creation was in any way related to the Brother, then it was likely that this could be the parasite's power aswell, or perhaps Being X is an imitation of it.

…Could this book be his?

In the Heart of the Kingdom of Arlainz

18th of Moonharvest

High Judge Klaude was proud of his service to the Siblings and his Lord. That didn't mean he was proud of a number of his accomplishments, only that he was glad to be the one carrying out judgement of the Black-Eyed King's subjects.

He watched as another disappointment was dragged before his King by a pair of Illager guards. If Klaude remembered right, this was a lesser Arlainoiz warlord given a second chance barely a century ago by the Black-Eyed King. The long grey beard signified his age, the scars on his face told of battles that most were beginning to forget. His armor was beaten and pieces of chainmail were broken apart, and his weapon was either lost or stripped off long ago.

The air was thick with the tension of a judgement seen countless times before. Klaude stood to his King's side while the failure of a commander was tossed before the throne. A servant walked to his side, handing the Judge and right hand of the dreaded king a paper. He cleared his throat, and the old warlord looked up in terror.

"Before our great King is the pitiful Count Outaritas, once a prideful warlord of the old Arlainoiz chaos, he was once given mercy and made to serve his new king as a general! Yet now he is here before us as a failure, wasting His Majesty's mercy that he gained so long ago." Klaude announced, bringing his voice to an authoritative tone that carried out across the hall. Looking down at the paper, he began to read out his failures.

"First, he failed in a battle with the Birgendians. This was a loss that the Kingdom could tolerate, as he was outnumbered in an ambush. Then, he failed to hold off a number of raids along the Rin by Gervanians. This was not so easily forgiven. He was given one last chance at redemption, to take Novarrain. This, too, he failed in!" The court looked at the old count of faux disgust, while the King simply glared down at the failed general. Klaude's speech began to go through a number of other crimes and sins the Count had committed, discovered by the oh-so helpful servants of the Count's own court. Such dutiful souls they are, even the lesser Villagers.

He looked to his King, who held a neutral, blank look on his face, though a slight curve that sat on the corner of his mouth told the Judge exactly what the King would say. Taking one last breath, he spoke one more time.

"Due to the crimes committed by Count Outaritas, judgement falls to Wallaom de Naarmondi, First of His Name, King of Arlainz and Naarmondia, Overlord of the Kingdoms of Zrettany, Birgendia, and Wallflower, and to the Duchies of Saur-Loxe, Haalund, and Mirvain, and the Gracious Patron of the Republics of the Western Wamato and Southern Choyeo! As per his law, His Grace shall now determine punishment."

Klaude felt he could've kept going with the titles, but he knew it would irritate his liege. The king looked down upon the man who failed him with eyes that lacked any color barring black and white, and with a voice that utterly commanded respect, he gave his command.

"Your lands will be seized, your life cut short at a time of my choosing, and you shall no longer have contact with the rest of the world," As he spoke, guards were already removing the small circlet on his head and badge with his land's crest on his chest. Then they stuffed a gag in the former lord's mouth, wrapping a blindfold around his eyes, and covering his ears with wooden prisons of the most irritating wool available to the crown, though they held off on the last piece of sensory deprivation until the King finished speaking. "This is the price of such repeated, severe failures. They shall not happen again. For now this is our last meeting, unless I decide to deliver my justice in person. Goodbye."

The former count did not scream like so many other fools, though a few pained whimpers came from the guards' manhandling of him. By now, he knew better than to lash out or attempt an escape. His fate was sealed the moment he was walked in here, after all.

The day continued on as various Illagers ministers and functionaries came in to turn in reports, make requests, and patronize their lord, while petitioners (including the occasional Villager, who was obviously rejected) came in requesting the King's justice, or should the King decide to not handle it himself, Klaude's judgement. A service he provided all-too eagerly.

By the time the King ended court, a large number of issues had been resolved, and yet there were still many more petitions and reports to go through that would, inevitably, pile up in the queue all the way to tomorrow's session. King Wallaom was slumped in his throne, while Klaude spoke with a handful of advisors about other tasks and reports delegated to him. In the middle of conversation, the King interrupted them.

"Klaude. Walk with me."

He moved off the throne in a swift, unnatural movement and walked through the Throneroom, with Klaude obediently following. The pair walked silently through the castle, passing by courtiers and officials and servants of grand numbers.

"Some of my scholars estimate there are nearly five hundred people in the walls of this castle. This is the largest castle on this side of Anciart, the beating heart of a kingdom I started building three hundred years ago, surrounded by a city founded two hundred years ago. Impressive, isn't it?" The King said to Klaude as they walked, looking out some of the windows of his hallways.

"It is, Sire. I imagine it may even rival the grandeur of the old Villager Empires from the last era. Perhaps after I am gone it will be greater than even the Ancients. A monument to your divine rule, made so by Brother and Sister both." Klaude replied with as much honesty as he could give. He had seen his liege's work expand for not even a third of its existence, and he would likely not see the zenith of Wallaom's rule, if there is one to be found. A fact he had grown content with as time went on.

"That is my ambition, yes, but one I normally would not live to see. If I had trusted my firstborn son with even Naarmondia, Arlainz would never be as grand as it is today. No, it is a good thing I learned how to continue ruling as I have." The King continued, before chuckling. "I wonder what my mother would think of me looking as young as I do at this age. Tell me, Klaude. How old do I look?"

"Barely into your first forties, sire." The judge responded with a small smile on his face. He wasn't wrong; the king looked like he still had plenty of life in him, if a little gaunt.

"Hm. I should be looking like I'm thirty. I suppose you've followed me long enough for me to trust you with this secret." The King said to Klaude in a progressively quieter voice, taking a sudden turn down a less-walked hallway. Klaude was perplexed at first, but decided to trust his King.

They descended into the depths of the castle, passing less and less people as they went, until there were only a few patrolling guards scattered throughout the bowels of this fortress. A few dungeons were passed by, rooms with things that Klaude swore he'd never see this far into Arlainz. How did the King manage to keep undead here for so long? Some of them even looked like freshly infected villagers!

Eventually, the two entered a room lit by a single torch, guarded by two of Wallaom's most trusted guardians. Inside was a desk with a variety of books and objects on it, bookshelves, and the former Count chained to the wall. Oh, and some villager slave. Must be the Scholar from Mirvain.

"What… is this?"

"I will explain later. For now, stand as far back to the door as you can, and watch." Wallaom commanded, with Klaude dutifully following along with. "Pray if you'd like. I'd suggest to the Sister, but I doubt either would answer anyways."

The scholar-slave opened a large book as the King grabbed a black object, impossible to identify what exactly it was in the low light of the room, that looked as though it was seconds from collapsing, with sooty chips falling off the object as the King moved towards the condemned count. A sickly feeling began to grow within Klaude as the scholar began to speak in the language of the Ancients, as if the life inside of him was revolting at what was being said.

He caught a glimpse of the object's shape as it began to glow when the King repeated what the slave said. The King held the skull by the cranium and pointed it to the count. Klaude's unease grew and grew as the-

He blinked as the door closed behind him, making him pause behind the King and the slave. He was breathing heavily, which he wasn't doing not even a second ago, and his body felt like it was drenched in sweat. He tried to recall what happened, yet his body seemed to revolt against the very idea of that. It urged him to leave, to not look back.

For whatever reason, he obliged.

The Kingdom of Novarrain

THUD!

Another fool collapsed onto one of the tables from the fist of that stranger, shaking the drunken resolve of the attackers. Still, the man watched as more of the idiots threw themselves at the giant, shaking his head all the same.

Tavern brawls between the two races of the Overworld are commonplace in kingdoms like these, where Villagers and Illagers share a similar level of equality. Of course, usually it's only a handful of idiots of either race, and usually weapons aren't always drawn.

Yet the massive stranger had barely even gotten halfway to the bar before both of the races started fighting. The tavernkeep seemed to be the only one who knew who this stranger was, and so didn't try to kick out the thing the denizens of the bar were calling a 'monster.'

Another Illager was thrown off the thing, and the tavernkeep shook his head, both at the fool now collapsed over a broken chair and at his own mind. Why was he calling him a thing? Sure, he isn't like the others, but that doesn't mean he can call him a beast like so many of his patrons do.

Eventually the fighting settled, most of the patrons passed out and possibly bleeding a little. Some limped their way out of the tavern, while the most conscious of the men and women helped get their bleeders out. As for the stranger?

He sat down on a stool that was much smaller than what he should sit on, and pulled off the hood that hid the man beneath.

"Drink." He said, with a heavy accent that spoke of both his strange race and his distant heritage. The tavernkeep doubted the stories at first, but with how often they came up, and with him before the owner of the small tavern, he doubted them no more.

He poured the man his drink and examined him as he drank all of it. A race of legend, outshined only by the Ancients in mythical status.

A Piglin.

Covered in furs for the coming winter under pieces of gold armor that resembled none of what the tavernkeep's admittedly short life had seen before, the man (if you weren't like his customers and were open to calling him that) had exactly what the legends described. A pig's snout, wide mouth, two giant tusks, and generally looked like if a pig was given a form like the Villagers or Illagers. Though this one at least did not seem to be fattened like some books claimed.

He wondered if most Piglins were as large as this one, or if this man was just an exception, but regardless he wouldn't know. Instead, the tavernkeep decided to try and get to know the stranger from a strange land.

Apparently, he was named Tek, and had come from the Nether (so it was real!) in search of treasure. His family had fallen out of favor with his chief, and as such he was here to reclaim some of his family's glory. No, not all of his kind were as big as he was. No, he did not eat the flesh of men or women or children. Yes, the Nether is a lot warmer than the Overworld, even before it was getting to be this cold. Yes, he was on a time limit, though why he would not say.

His journey from the portal in the Swistrian Alps to here was filled with battles and adventure, and the tavernkeep had a small glimmer in his eye as the piglin spoke. Where others saw a traveling adventurer, he saw an opportunity.

"Now, I would normally ask you for compensation for all the furniture you broke, but I think we can come to a different agreement instead. Winter is coming, sooner than expected even, and traveling in winter is not an easy job. So, I'll offer you a room to stay at. But, I would like you to stay and work for me. Obviously not cleaning, no, but your stories, your strength. People would love to see someone like you around. It's the chance of a lifetime, after all!"

The proposition went on into details after that, but the tavernkeep could tell he's gotten the man's attention. With a handshake and another drink, the deal was made.

Somehow, the man felt like he was doing exactly what he needed to. Whatever the Siblings have planned for this brute from the Nether, he is more than happy to serve.

Now if only the snow hadn't come in heaps the very next day!