Teresa: Everybody Loves Large Chests (Vol.5) Page 4

  Imiryl seemed to find her nerve after those words of ‘encouragement’ and finally picked up the pace. A short time later, the stonekin dwarf, the ascended human, and the high elf found themselves standing next to a significantly more cheerful Keira.

  That performance should get those busybodies off my case, Boxxy hoped.

  “So, uh,” Hilda looked around, “where’s the leafy lass at?”

  “Right behind you!” Cyrilla gleefully declared.

  “HIEEEEEK!”

  Imiryl let out a pathetic scream as she immediately bolted away from the dryad that appeared out of thin air. A small root popped out of the ground, making her trip and fall flat on her face.

  “Hahahaha!” the mischievous dryad laughed merrily at the Wizard’s expense. “That’s a great reaction you made there! Just makes me want to tease you more!”

  She held her hands up and wriggled her fingers in a rather creepy fashion that seemed to say, ‘I’m gonna get ya!’

  “Noooooo! Get awaaay! Oh, right! ... Flight!”

  Finally remembering the existence of magic, the Level 100 Wizard bolted off into the distance. The rest of the armed escort heard a booming noise as she disappeared beyond the horizon.

  “Oh, fer the love of- What the feck has her so on edge?!” Hilda yelled in frustration.

  “Mmmm, well, she’s afraid I’d repeat the nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine reasons why she should respect her elders.”

  “Who in the what?” the dwarf was confused.

  “Technically it was a thousand,” Keira innocently pointed out.

  “Huh? A thousand?”

  The Berserker racked what brains she had left after decades of headbutting things on a daily basis and recalled the rumor about the Wizard’s thorough spanking.

  “Oh! Oooohhhh… Oh.”

  “Anyway, this is the man I was talking about, miss Cyrilla.”

  Keira pointed towards the towering prisoner. He held a stern expression and his eyes were locked onto the dryad’s vine-covered head.

  “Hmmm? This loser’s the one, huh?” Cyrilla said mockingly. She then eyed the myriad of yellow tattoos on his chest and arms and gave him a few sniffs for good measure.

  “Ah, fuck. Why’d you have to bring this prick here?” she complained. “I wouldn’t have come out if I knew he was a bloody Shaman! Let me guess, he’s here to complete that Rite of whatchamacallit, right?”

  “Now hold on there,” Hilda butted in. “What’s this Rite business? Don’t think I wanna be allowin’ somethin’ shady like that.”

  “You ain’t in no position to tell me what to do, gramps!” Cyrilla snapped back.

  “... Gramps?”

  Hilda’s irritation turned to anger, which usually translated into choppy-choppy-axey time. However, she dared not provoke the dryad into a physical confrontation. That was a bad idea on several different levels, even without considering the carnage she had witnessed at Fort Yimin.

  “Well, I don’t plan on agreeing on anything like that anyway,” the dryad added. “I ain’t about to let some - *Pthoo* - human tell me what to do.”

  The way she spat in Ruk’lunda’s face made it abundantly clear her grudge was personal. Her feelings of animosity were fresh and stemmed from the Empire’s invading forces. They had tried to harvest her tree for timber to build their camps and siege equipment. Dryads usually allowed elves to take a massive branch or two, as pruning was seen as a necessary thing. However, those humans’ intentions were to chop her down wholesale. Such a thing was borderline blasphemous.

  “Hm? What’s up with you, fuckboy?” the dryad scowled at the Shaman. “Why you crying for no reason? Do you miss your mommy or something?”

  And indeed, looking at the prisoner’s face, one could see tears freely flowing from his eyes even as his expression remained stone. Then, in the flash of an eye, he went down on his knees and prostrated himself before the dryad.

  “I am sorry!” he shouted with all his might. “I am sorry for any offense my countrymen have done to you and your kin! Please, grill me, whip me, skewer me any way you like! I will atone for their sins with my own body, so please!”

  Cyrilla took a few steps back, her face twisted in disgust. This man’s attitude was concerningly similar to that of the blue demon with the large… wings, but somehow worse. At least the horned pervert was upfront about her kinks.

  “This shit right here? This is why I hate you fucking Shamans! And your Druids! You guys are way too fucking intense! Why can’t you all be as cool as Monster Tamers?”

  “I beg of you!” he shouted some more. “Please, let me make amends! Not only for you, but for your sisters to the north as well!”

  “The north? Do I have sisters there?”

  Hylt trees did not walk, so dryads typically had no idea what lay beyond the reach of their roots.

  “Umm, yes, miss Cyrilla,” Keira spoke up. “A group of five of them, actually.”

  “Did the humans try to do something to them, too?!”

  “One of them got burned a bit by a dragon, but we paid him back for it!”

  “Oh-ho! A dragon, huh?” the dryad calmed a bit. “I see, I see, so it was a dragon. Uh-huh, that’s rather unexpected. Dragons don’t usually show up around here, after all. I hope it wasn’t a yellow one.”

  “Err, no. It was green.”

  “Ah, of course. A green one. Right, it has to be a green one, right? Mhm. Yep. Especially when you consider the sun and the… uh… climate and stuff.”

  Cyrilla nodded her head several times while cupping her chin, then turned around to face Keira with an intense look.

  “What’s a dragon?”

  “...”

  Before the catgirl could find the right words, a certain someone started crying loudly again.

  “Please! I beg of you!”

  “Ugh, can someone shut that guy up!”

  Hilda shrugged then kicked the prone man in the ribs with all her strength. The noise his body made implied she had broken anywhere between one and all of them. Ruk’lunda coughed and sputtered blood from the sudden trauma, suggesting internal damage to his lungs. He was very much conscious, but no longer in a condition to speak.

  “Thanks, shorty.”

  “Aye, think nothin’ of it! He was pissin’ me off, too!” Hilda smiled fiercely through her helmet.

  “Anyway, I don’t need some creepy crybaby’s help,” the dryad crossed her arms defiantly. “My new mates already took care of those pesky humans for me.”

  “New mates?” the dwarf inquired.

  “Yeah. That guy with the heavy cloak. Well, he’s not around much, but his pets keep me company. They’re teaching me all kinds of fun stuff!”

  Boxxy was relieved it had taken great care to only show its Sandman face in front of the dryad. It knew from personal experience that dryads knew almost nothing of subtlety and subterfuge. Cyrilla would have surely spilled the beans right then and there and if she had any idea that Keira and the Sandman were one and the same. Its vigilance had paid off, but it didn’t want to take any chances and tried to steer the conversation in a different direction.

  “So, these ma- friends of yours avenged your sister?”

  “That’s right! Don’t need no fucking Shaman’s help! These bastards always try to curry favor with me, you know! Sometimes they hang around for months chanting some stupid words at me, but I just ignore them and stay in my tree. They either get bored and leave or they die of starvation ‘cus they’re idiots.”

  “There, you see mister Rocky?” said Keira with a smile. “No need to get so upset, okay?”

  The squirming man gave her merely a nod in return. He only took part in the war after he was shown ‘evidence’ that the elves were exploiting the sacred hylt trees. However, after witnessing the reckless actions of that Monster Tamer’s pet dragon, as well as the miraculous rate at which the tree recovered, he started to doubt if he was on the right side of the conflict. Those concerns grew into suspicion when the large-scale impa
lement started. His connection to the soil allowed him to grasp the sheer magnitude of the root movements beneath his feet, which were clearly beyond the abilities of mere mortals. The only explanation Ruk’lunda could think of was that the legendary dryads compelled their trees to aid the elves, which they surely would not have done if they felt mistreated.

  This meeting had confirmed his suspicions, just as the Shaman hoped it would. He didn’t know why he alone was spared from that massacre, nor did he care anymore. One of the living testaments to nature’s perseverance and grace was before his very eyes, and she made it clear that she was an ally of sorts to the Republic. With this knowledge, he no longer had any qualms about revealing everything he knew about the Empire’s plans for the war, as per his deal with the 3rd Legion. He was even willing to face his countrymen in battle, though he doubted the Republic would trust someone who had caused so much damage.

  “We done here, Rocky?” Hilda loomed over the man.

  He nodded his head in affirmation.

  “Alright then, up ye go!”

  The dwarf lent him her shoulder, although considering the height difference it wasn’t much help. Still, the two reached an awkward balance and started heading back towards the rest of the platoon. Their ‘ride’ was gone, so they’d have to go back to base the hard way after healing up the prisoner’s ribs.

  “We’ll be leaving now, miss Cyrilla,” Keira declared with a smile. “Thank you for meeting with us!”

  “Eh? He’s going away? Just like that?”

  “Yup. Seems he just wanted to see you with his own eyes or something,” the redhead shrugged.

  “Oh. I see. At least he knows his place.”

  “Haha, yes, quite so. Well then, goodbye miss Cyrilla.”

  “... Whatever.”

  The catgirl waved to the dryad and jogged towards Rocky and Hilda. The dryad returned the friendly gesture. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt strangely close to that girl. No, that couldn’t be it. Surely that sensation was just relief that the Shaman wasn’t there to perform the stupid Rite. She didn’t quite remember what it was called, but she almost got roped into it once before, when she was young and naive. She didn’t know everything it involved, but she knew enough. The purpose of the Rite was to have the Shaman or Druid obtain some kind of Perk by drinking her precious nectar. It was unacceptable. A dryad’s nectar had a special and intimate meaning to them. It wasn’t the sort of thing to be shared with just anyone, let alone some fleshy weirdos and their creepy rituals.

  The tall, diligent stranger she met a few weeks ago was different, however. Even though he used her mother’s Authority, he didn’t once presume to give her orders or make demands. He treated her with the respect she was due and performed a number of favors for her. He even taught her a few tricks about handling various vermin all on her own. All he asked in return was a quiet place for him and his minions to lay low. This was the first time someone had helped her out that much while asking so little in return.

  It really was a shame only his pets were around lately. If anyone earned the right to sample her nectar, it was the Sandman. In fact, after that brief bout of consideration, Cyrilla found herself rather excited at the prospect of having him suckle the stuff out of her teats.

  Part Three

  An enormous stone archway stood in the middle of a certain plaza within the Ishigar Republic’s capital city of Azurvale. The semi-circular structure was roughly twenty meters wide at ground level and eight meters tall at its highest point. It was constructed from hundreds of white marble-like slabs that fit together like an elaborate three-dimensional puzzle. Several ridiculously long vines coiled themselves around it as if they were holding the stones in place. Which, given the lack of any visible mortar between the blocks, may have been the case. It was surrounded by a perimeter of armed guards and twenty or so loaded wagons lined up on one side of it.

  Any outsider visiting the city for the first time would assume this was a historical monument of some kind, or perhaps an abstract piece of artwork. While true in some respects, neither of those descriptions took into account the landmark’s function. The archway, along with the secrets of its construction and operation, were but a few of the marvels left behind by Tol-Saroth. The great elven sage was an immensely controversial figure, but none disputed his genius toward research and magic development. The large stone structure in the middle of the plaza remained as a living testament to the man’s brilliance.

  A quiet rumbling rose from the soil underneath, prompting the guard perimeter to go on high alert. The vines wrapped around the archway shifted slightly, tightening their grip on the white stone blocks. An eerie green light shone through the marble slabs’ gaps as it was filled with an immense amount of magical energy. The glow crawled up along the arch from both ends and converged at its apex. The light suddenly pulsed brighter once, twice, three times before it abruptly went out altogether, though it did not stop shaking.

  The gathered merchants weren’t pleased with this development and voiced their displeasure. The civilians let out a collective murmur as an appointed government official went to check on the problem. The scruffy-looking dwarf walked up to the building, stroked his beard thoughtfully, and delivered a solid kick to a loose slab. The piece clicked audibly as it sank into place.

  *FWOOOM*

  Having received some apt and prompt percussive maintenance, the structure instantly lit up with a much stronger glow than before. It no longer rattled, but emitted a gentle hum. Moments later, the arch’s interior filled up with a multi-colored array of energy. The magic rapidly coalesced into recognizable shapes that made it seem as if it was painting a landscape on a canvas of thin air. Satisfied with his work, the technician jogged back to his post just beyond the security perimeter.

  With the technical hiccup resolved, the massive Forest Gate successfully established a connection to its paired structure hundreds of kilometers away. Gazing through either side of the archway revealed a much smaller and more modest town than Azurvale. The portal looked and functioned almost identically to a Transfer Gate Spell, although its size and scope were far beyond any one Wizard’s abilities. The Forest Gate had its limits, of course. It could only be activated once every two days and would stay open for about half an hour at a time. Thus, its operation was strictly regulated by the government. Anyone who wished to access this marvel had to purchase a Gate Ticket in advance and then move quickly once the gate activated to ensure a smooth departure and arrival.

  As part of the established procedure, the technician in charge of the Forest Gate checked on some of the arcane instruments at his disposal. After confirming things like ‘spatial coordinates locked’ and ‘interdimensional link stable,’ he gave a thumbs up to a nearby guard. The dwarf then magically amplified his voice in order to address the crowd.

  “Your attention, please!” he announced. “The Forest Gate is now open. Have your tickets at the ready and step forward in an orderly fashion. I repeat-”

  The mass of people and wagons followed the directions of the officials and started moving forward as one. The portal would instantly transport them halfway across the country while an entirely different set of travelers came out of the other side. This was another difference between a Forest Gate and the Wizard Spell that served as its basis. Under normal circumstances, Transfer Gates created a two-way link between two points in space, but this structure was able to sustain two simultaneous passageways back-to-back. People and materials could be transferred both ways without bumping into each other. Alternatively, it was possible to use both ‘lanes’ in the same ‘direction,’ but that was usually reserved for large-scale troop deployments.

  All in all, these Forest Gates were not only a sight to behold, but also gave the Ishigar Republic an unrivaled logistical edge. And yet, this magical marvel seemed positively mundane to Azurvale’s citizens. The country had dozens of gates set up throughout its territory, most of which were situated in the capital. Not surprisingly, the people there
were quite accustomed to the magical light shows and dimensional shortcuts. Normally only tourists and outsiders would be found gawking at a Forest Gate in operation, but something happened that drew the attention of even the more jaded of the citizenry.

  A red-haired, slim-tailed, cat-eared beastkin girl burst through the portal almost the instant it was open. She dashed forward on all fours, crossing the large clearing around the gate in no time flat. She approached the line of startled guards, who reflexively moved to block her. However, she casually leaped over one of them while doing a front-flip.

  “Hey, Frank!” she called out while upside-down in mid-air. “Bye, Frank!”

  She landed with a small roll and ran off into the distance. The startled guards watched her leave out of curiosity but saw no need to chase after her once they realized who she was. They couldn’t forget the fuss she kicked up when she departed the capital through the very same Forest Gate weeks ago. First-timers were always a bit troublesome. It was common for them to feel nervous, excited, or a little scared to pass through the imposing portal, but that girl had somehow managed to be all three at the same time.

  Ultimately, they all silently agreed to let her be. They were all notified in advance that the strange girl performed some great deed at Fort Yimin, and that she was to be waved through without delay. There wasn’t much need to confirm her identity as their colleagues on the other side would have done so already. The only reason there were so many guards on the Azurvale side was because that Forest Gate was linked to a town close to the front lines. Their presence was mostly intended to give the people some peace of mind. Their job involved maintaining order and organizing the citizens, so chasing the redhead would be in direct violation of their orders.

  Well, that and they honestly felt that they had absolutely no chance to actually catch her even if they were to give chase.

  As for Keira, she was back to her usual shenanigans. She dodged people, ran along walls, slid under carts, and leaped over stalls as she sprinted through the streets. Once she got closer to home, the cries of ‘Watch out!’ and ‘What are you doing, psycho?!’ were replaced with ‘Welcome back!’ and ‘Good to see you!’ Her antics had become commonplace ever since she moved into that part of the capital, and the people who saw her acrobatic performances steadily grew fond of them. Although she seemed reckless at first, she never bumped into pedestrians and very rarely knocked anything over. Rather than being a nuisance, her unrestrained, energetic demeanor injected some life into the neighborhood and distracted them from the horrible realities of war. The locals had honestly missed seeing her run around with that pure, joyful smile on her face.