Outcast Chapter 230 (Book 6 Chapter 15) (Patreon)

"5%."

Rob threw out an offer as soon as the door was closed shut behind him. Ragnavi appeared momentarily taken aback at him going on the offensive; she clearly wasn't used to people speaking before her. "5% of what?" she asked.

"Don't act like you don't know," Rob flatly stated. "I want Meyneth let off the hook. You want some of your Corruption gone. Purging 5% of it is a fair trade."

Rather than lashing out at his impudence, the Dragon Queen merely tilted her head, inspecting the Human as if he was a puzzle to be solved. "You aren't putting in an act," she said, sounding mystified. "It isn't a strategy – not primarily, at any rate. This is truly your nature. Someone who speaks without regard for decorum. The strongest Combat Class user in the world stands before you, and it means nothing."

Yes and no. Internally, Rob was walking a tightrope. He knew that any wrong word he said could set her off. It was a balancing act of measured aggression, taken down a notch from when he went a bit overboard in their meeting outside the Harpy capital.

But she was right in that her strength meant nothing to him. Not in the way it did for other Elatrans. They were raised to view Levels as inherent identifiers of self-worth. Even if they objectively knew someone was a dumbass or a prick, that bias would seep into their thoughts, coloring their worldview and interactions.

It was a cultural difference that he'd never fully embraced, and never would. Rob could be polite when he needed to – like when the Village Elders judged him for the crime of existing – but an intrinsic respect for high Levels wasn't a factor in that decision. And the more he spoke with Ragnavi, the more he came to realize how much that confused her. He lacked subtle tics and nuances that literally everyone else she'd met possessed.

"Believe what you want to believe," he said, giving a non-answer. "You still haven't responded to my offer. 5% of your Corruption in exchange for sweeping this incident under the rug."

She narrowed her eyes. "Is there perhaps a reason why you seem so rushed?"

Because making small talk with you is miserable. "It's been a long day," he said, "and we'll be heading out tomorrow. Honestly, I'm surprised you're trying to drag this out – figured someone like you, surrounded by yapping nobles all day, would be tired of the whole song and dance."

Ragnavi flinched. "You have no idea." Her voice came out as a hiss, in sync with her extending claws. "Tiresome cannot begin to describe it."

A red stoplight lit up in Rob's head. Something in her tone was...off. He'd evidently touched a nerve, and even if the Queen's anger was currently aimed at obnoxious nobles, it wouldn't take much to redirect it towards the Human who'd reminded her of them.

Before he could think of a way to salvage this, Ragnavi exhaled, her claws shrinking. "It matters not," she mumbled. "Their prattle is no longer a concern. When I see them next, I'll kill them, to the last."

Wait, what?

"5% is an insult of an offer," Ragnavi continued, as if she hadn't just confessed to planning a purge of the Dragonkin nobility. "Your companion's crimes are severe. Under normal circumstances, I would be well within my rights to dissolve our alliance and have her executed."

No, hold on, back up a bit. You can't drop some juicy gossip and immediately move past it! That's not fair!

If she noticed his consternation, she didn't care. "However, as the gods have all but commanded that we join forces to slay the Blight, allowances can be made. Meyneth is a worthwhile asset to retain for our incursion into the Deadlands. Executing someone with a Level exceeding some Leaders would be detrimental for the both of us."

Rob suppressed a sigh. Fine. Don't explain how or why you're going to clean house. Doesn't affect me either way – and you'll be dead before you get the chance. "Get to the point," he said, focusing his attention on the topic at hand. "What do you want?"

Ragnavi spread her arms in a gesture of magnanimity. "To ensure that your ally's emotional outburst doesn't sour our relations, of course."

Any petty disappointment Rob may have felt instantly evaporated at the words 'emotional outburst'. As he spoke, his jaw creaked with the effort of not clenching his teeth. "Excuse me?"

"Is it so difficult to believe that I would also prioritize the continuance of our alliance? After all, I do wish to have my Corruption removed. There's no sense in denying that."

Her lips widened into a sharp-toothed smile. "Although I am appalled that you'd set the price of your friend's life equal at a paltry 5%. Do you value poor Meyneth so little? She, who called you family? To preserve that bond, I will accept no less than half of my Corruption expunged."

"You drive a hard bargain," Rob said, in a dull monotone. "10%."

The Dragon Queen nonchalantly examined her claws. "To think that mere moments ago, you were accusing me of wasting time." She spoke with an air of well-honed indifference, as if this entire conversation was beneath her. "Out of the kindness in my heart, I might be willing to lower my demand to 45%, yet I shall go no further."

"Well, I'm convinced. 10%."

She hesitated, before fixing him with a frigid gaze. "You don't seem to understand how this process goes."

"I'm just being honest." For some reason, his voice was tight. "10% is the limit. You can threaten me all you want – it won't get any higher."

He knew she'd fold. It was killing two birds with one stone. Ragnavi would've needed to have some of her Corruption purged sooner or later – otherwise, there was close to a 100% chance that she'd go stir crazy and start killing people. Diplomacy had been extremely confident about that, comparing the Queen to a ticking time bomb whose fuse could be extended by easing the near-debilitating agony she suffered from.

With that in mind, their plan was simple. Meyneth gets revenge on her dad. Rob secures her amnesty by offering the Queen a sample of Purging, which he would've offered anyway. Ragnavi pushes for more, gets shot down, and ends up caving, as she doesn't actually hold the cards in this situation. 10% of her Corruption is removed, leaving her mollified while still very much weakened.

Step-by-step. Like clockwork. Everything was progressing as it should.

So...why.

Why did he feel so–

Ragnavi interrupted his thoughts with a snarl. "Why must you be so infuriatingly stubborn?"

"Because you dangled Meyneth's abusive dad in front of her, you psychopathic piece of shit!"

That hadn't been what he meant to say. As Ragnavi gaped at him in shock, Rob tried to stop himself from continuing, but he may as well have tried to stop a truck with a twig. Anger was boiling over within, having risen far faster than he realized, smothering his thoughts and emotions. The fact that they'd anticipated Vurshath being brought along, the fact that they'd prepared for this, the fact that everything was going according to plan...

It all fell away when he remembered the look on Meyneth's face when she saw him.

"Tell me," he began, stepping forward. "What exactly did you expect? Like, honestly, I'm curious to know how your rotten apple core of a brain functions. What part of 'my friends are off-limits' was confusing to you? I was very explicit when I said that. Happened right after you mentioned Vurshath to Meyneth. So naturally, you...bring along that garbage heap of a father anyway. Fucking ridiculous."

Ragnavi seemed frozen, assessing him with a look he couldn't quite parse. There was still time to back off, smooth things over, but Rob just took another step forward. If it wasn't for the absence of static in his mind, he would've assumed Leveling High was interfering – that was badly he wanted to rip the Dragon Queen to shreds in this moment.

"None of us were surprised, for the record. Did you think you were being clever or something? All you know how to do is attack weak points. Reigning as the undisputed top dog in Dragonkin territory for so long has dulled your wits. And then you have the audacity to call Meyneth's reaction an 'emotional outburst'. Downplaying the anguish that YOU purposefully caused."

"Why does that concern you?"

Rob blinked. "What?!"

"Why does that concern you?" Ragnavi repeated, phrasing it like a legitimate question. "This particular emotional outburst – which it most definitely is – serves no purpose. In fact, let us hypothetically presume that I'd immediately accepted your offer of 5%. In that scenario, you achieve your goal with minimal fuss. Somehow, despite prevailing in our negotiations, I'm fairly certain you'd still have lost composure at me. The specifics of our agreement matters less than the sadness of that traitor friend of yours."

She crossed her arms. "You are aware that Meyneth wished for this outcome, yes? It's obvious that she intended to kill Vurshath from the start."

"There were better ways for this to play out," Rob seethed. "Ways that didn't involve putting her on public display. Meyneth will be fine, but that's because she's a survivor. It could've ended up a lot worse."

Ragnavi tapped her fingers on her thigh. "Hmm. You are dependent upon them. That Party of yours."

A sudden chill ran up his spine. "They're my friends and allies," he said. "Seems obvious I depend on them."

"You know what I was referring to." She spoke without malice, as if making an impartial observational statement. "There is a stark difference between depending on an ally, and being dependent upon them. Those Party members mean too much to you. As someone who is excellent at identifying weaknesses, a strength you yourself have surmised, this is apparent to me. If I were to cull just one or two of them, you would go on a rampage befitting your Class name."

Blue motes shimmered around Rob's hand as a longsword appeared from Spatial Storage. "Keep talking. See where it gets you."

"At ease, Human." Ragnavi shook her head. "I still desire the removal of my Corruption. Stay true to your word, and no harm shall come to those you hold dear. Furthermore, In light of the points you've raised regarding my supposed transgressions, I am willing to accept your offer of 10% – albeit with some stipulations. I won't even ask what that blue light was, or where that sword came from."

It took Rob several long seconds to realize what she was doing. First, begin with a jarring declaration, meant to put them off-balance. Then, continue with targeted aggression, toeing the line of what's acceptable to say. Finally, throw them a bone, de-escalating on your terms.

Ragnavi was using the same strategies on him that he'd been using on her.

At least she's worried I might take my ball and go home. Wouldn't be bothering with strategy otherwise. Even that notion felt like giving himself a participation trophy, though. It was impossible to deny that he'd lost his temper and let her steer the flow of conversation. "What kind of stipulations?" Rob asked, forcing his tone into a semblance of calm.

"Nothing you should object to. To start: we shall no longer meet without other parties as witnesses to our negotiations. I do not believe this alliance will survive another private talk." Just for an instant, her eyes flared with volcanic rage, before being smothered by a veneer of noble impassivity. "If you'd gone any farther with your disparaging remarks, I would have been honor-bound to kill you."

That was barely a stipulation; Rob wholeheartedly agreed. He couldn't trust himself alone around her. She pushed his buttons in all the wrong ways. It was disappointing to learn that his self-control needed improvement, but he'd managed his anger better in the past, so hopefully it was just a Ragnavi thing.

Additionally, this chat had been a reminder that the Dragon Queen was centuries more experienced than him when it came to political negotiations. While her arrogance and instability held her back, she was already catching on to some of his tactics. Shock and awe would only take him so far. Limiting their interactions going forward was for the best.

"I can agree to that," he replied, after a few seconds of pretending to consider the pros and cons. "Any other stipulations?"

"One." Ragnavi quirked a smile that seemed more genuine than usual. "I'd like to speak with Meyneth." She raised a hand to forestall his automatic rejection. "To clarify, I vow that I will not harm her, or punish her, or attempt to subvert her to my cause. This is simply a matter of satisfying my curiosity. It isn't often that a Dragonkin turns their back on their homeland. Her perspective is fascinating, and I'd be interested to hear it."

Rob wanted to tell the Queen to shove off, but lashing out again wouldn't help, and he couldn't risk her changing her mind on the 10%. "I can relay your request to Meyneth," he carefully stated. "It's up to her whether or not she obliges."

"That is acceptable." Ragnavi tensed, a degree of anxious enthusiasm leaking through her facade. "So. 10% of my Corruption, as agreed. How does the procedure work? Will there be pain? How will you know when you've removed enough?"

"No pain. Just needs touch contact. As for knowing when to stop – I have a Skill called Sense Corruption. It's like Sense Mana, except with...well, take a guess."

"That should prove useful when hunting Blights in the Deadlands." She arched an eyebrow. "If I asked where you learned all these unique Skills, would you tell me?"

Rob matched her eyebrow with one of his own.

"It was worth an attempt." She steeled her resolve, then extended her hand. "Proceed."

Good to know I'm not shallow, Rob mused, thinking idle thoughts to distract himself from the situation. Although Ragnavi was – like most Elatrans – very attractive by conventional Earth standards, the idea of having to touch her made his skin crawl, as if he was submerging his arm in a pile of toxic waste. He placed the barest tip of his finger on her hand, determined to get this over with quickly.

It was as he remembered; by far the worst case of Corruption poisoning he'd ever seen. Enough to kill a normal person five times over. Her vast pool of Vitality and HP should make the pain easier to endure, but still. Removing even 10% would require as much energy as curing several Fiends combined.

Luckily for her, he was an old pro at this. Rob wielded Purge Corruption like a scalpel, cutting out a piece of the Blighted infection in one smooth motion. The isolated piece wriggled, resembling an earthworm exposed to the sun – and then vanished as it was annihilated by Purging energy, consigned to oblivion.

Rob swiftly pulled his arm away. "There. All finished. You should...uh..."

Ragnavi was crying.

She seemed just as surprised about it as him. The Dragon Queen gingerly touched the tears streaming down her face, hands shaking like grass in the wind. "Relief," she whispered, as if it were a solemn prayer. "Hurts less. So long...been...can't..."

Distantly, Rob wondered if this was how drug dealers felt after giving a prospective victim their first free hit. The rapturous expression on Ragnavi's face left him completely at a loss for words. She turned away, hiding herself and going quiet, but her trembling shoulders told their own story.

"I'm..." Rob scratched the back of his head. "I'm gonna go."

She remained silent as he closed the door behind him.

Mixed feelings whirled in his head as he walked down the empty Village roads. On one hand, Ragnavi was definitely invested in their alliance now. They were probably safe from a random betrayal.

On the other hand...she'd reacted more strongly to Purge Corruption than he envisioned. Much more strongly. Just 10% removed had reduced her to tears. If his analogy was accurate, and that relief was akin to a drug for her...

How soon would she beg for her next fix?

--

They departed at sunrise. The Village Elves weren't particularly broken up over saying farewell to their old home – they'd more than gotten their fill of bitter nostalgia. Everyone else shared similar sentiments, ready to skedaddle before another Blight-messenger showed up. Walking in silence, the strongest Combat Class users in the world officially embarked westwards, both groups choked by a miasma of unease thicker than the Corruption they'd soon be wading in.

It was almost funny. Rob could remember back when the allied coalition joined together to march into Harpy territory. Elves, Fiends, Merfolk, Dwarves, Gellin, and one Human, all gathered under one banner. There'd been growing pains and points of awkwardness, but overall, their alliance had actually functioned better than pretty much anyone expected. Thanks to the rare and powerful magic of 'good faith cooperation', strained tensions were kept to a relative minimum.

After just one day of travel, Rob could already tell that the Deadlands squad was not going to be like the allied coalition. They marched together, technically, yet it was with forty feet of distance separating the coalition members and the Dragonkin at all times. There was practically a physical wall superimposed between the two factions for how little they interacted, and no one was in a hurry to tear it down.

Especially Meyneth, who'd been anticipating some manner of reprisal from her siblings. Dragonkin social politics were bizarre and open to interpretation, but according to her, patricide should've prompted one or two revenge attempts. While her siblings weren't strictly honor-bound to avenge Vurshath...sort of...letting their father's death slide would tank their reputation back home. They had to at least try.

Yet they hadn't, and no one was sure why. Maybe Ragnavi ordered them to not rock the boat. Maybe they were in deep mourning and unable to process their loss. Maybe they just knew that Meyneth would hand them their asses on a silver platter, and didn't feel like being publicly humiliated in front of three Leaders. Whatever the reason, they kept out of sight, positioning themselves on the opposite end of their side's marching formation.

Thankfully, as Vurshath's son and daughter seemed unwilling to avenge him, none of the other Dragonkin were going to raise a fuss either – although Diplomacy picked up on a few interesting details from watching them. Underneath their masks of professional stoicism, the Dragonkin soldiers were kinda freaking out. None of them gave two shits about Vurshath as a person, but the Queen's toady had still been one of their number. If he could be slain in broad daylight by self-professed allies, his murderer suffering no punishment whatsoever...what did that mean for the rest of them?

Rob would've had more sympathy for them if they weren't Ragnavi's handpicked cronies. Probably just got done wiping innocent Harpy blood off their claws before heading to The Village. So they were considered expendable by their lunatic boss? Aww, how tragic. He'd make sure to play the world's smallest violin at their funerals.

Another day of travel passed. Both factions spoke roughly a dozen total words to each other in that time frame. The third day of travel was no different. On the fourth day, they finally buckled down and admitted that they needed to hash out some detailed strategies. Arriving at the Deadlands without a solid game plan in mind would be embarrassing for everyone involved.

Plan A was straightforward and devised around the idea that nothing unexpected would go wrong. In this plan, they would enter the Deadlands from its southern tip, then methodologically work their way north, then a little west, then south again, repeating until each section of the entire region had been canvassed. Any Blights they found would be eradicated, and any Loci of Power would be cleansed, expunging the last bit of Corruptive stains from Elatra.

Caveats: it assumed the Blights wouldn't converge on their position en masse the instant they set foot in the Deadlands. It also assumed that the massive skyward plume of Corruption that sparked this whole trip was totally nothing to worry about. Just the Blights...uh...holding a wild party. Yeah.

No one put much stock in Plan A.

Plan B assumed that the Blights would more or less go to war with the Deadlands squad. Rob didn't believe the creatures were organized enough to have, say, a line of foot soldiers waiting patiently at the border, but what one Blight knew, all of them did. Many would want to take a shot at felling the dreaded Heartkiller.

Which honestly wasn't a terrible scenario. One of their alliance's primary goals was a complete extermination of the Blight, so having their enemy come to them was almost convenient, really. They just needed to immediately put down whoever rushed over, taking out the abominations one or two at a time. That would prevent them from forming a large attack force.

At most, the alliance could potentially defeat three Blights at once. Thanks to Purge Corruption and stupidly high Vitality, Rob was fairly positive that he could solo-kill a Blight on his own. Riardin's Rangers plus the elite coalition soldiers could likely handle another. Ragnavi and her Dragonkin groupies would get the third. While it was hardly an ideal situation, at least it wasn't a guaranteed death sentence.

If a fourth Blight appeared...that's when things might get dicey.

Plan C was Rob's suggestion, as well as his personal favorite. It stated that they had zero realistic idea of what was going to happen in the Deadlands, so they should be prepared to play it by ear. Which – if he was being honest – didn't help much, but it annoyed the crap out of the Dragonkin, so it was a win in his book.

"Just improvise, you say?" A soldier's eyes narrowed. He didn't seem to notice that his Queen wasn't stepping in. "You must be joking, mad, or both."

Rob grinned. "Hey, thinking on my feet has gotten me this far."

"I am unwilling to accept trite reassurances as a replacement for logical stratagem. Many of the men and women I've led into battle are alive precisely because I took great care to examine all possible avenues of victory."

"Led into battle, huh?" Rob dryly commented. "Who'd you fight?"

The soldier – apparently a commander – puffed out his chest. "Discounting the Gellin, I have engaged in battle with every race of Elatra. Even the Merfolk, during a rare occasion when the cowards deigned to poke their heads above the water's safety."

"Known quantities, then. You made your plans based on pre-existing intel."

After a moment, the commander's mouth dipped into a frown. "Naturally. What you describe is a fundamental tenet of warfare. Our finest strategies are birthed from accumulated information; not thrown together on instinctual whims. The Blight is a formidable opponent indeed, but we've faced enough of them to gain insight on their capabilities and temperament. We know what to broadly expect."

Rob rolled his eyes. "My Party has faced them, you mean. Only person on your side who's tangoed with a Blight is the Dragon Queen. I don't recommend taking credit when you haven't even seen one. Aside from that..."

He turned to Elder Duran. "Enlighten us – when's the last time someone returned with actionable intel about the Deadlands?"

"Alas," the Elder began, with a shake of his head, "I cannot. What we know of the Deadlands is derived solely from external observation. Perhaps someone has set foot within its domain in the past, yet if so, none lived to tell the tale."

"And there you have it." Rob's grin faded. "I'm not saying it's a bad idea to make plans. By all means, go crazy. Helps to have something to fall back on when the chips are down. But don't assume that we know what we're walking into. While the Blight and its Corruption are known quantities, to a degree, the Deadlands very much aren't."

He glanced westward. Although they were still over a week away, Sense Corruption was already starting to activate. Like a persistent, muted alarm in the corner of his mind, sounding just a bit louder with every passing day.

"They called it their Elysium," Rob muttered. "Not home. Elysium. Like paradise, or sanctuary...or heaven."

His skin prickled. "And I can guarantee that whatever's heaven for them is going to be hell for us."

--

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