Chapter 41: Punishment and Coin (Patreon)

Chapter 41: Punishment and Coin

/Yo, waddup bitches!! It's your main man, big FFF back in the house, comin' at you with some straight facts. Today on Homeboy Radio we got a new hot topic in da city of Stormbraver! 'Parently there's some fuckin' trial going on. Real beef between da church n the city, ya hear?

Honestly, this is some real slight political maneuvering shit tho. Like, man, who actually gives a fuck? Just let people live, if someone fucks up, have 'em tried, don't threaten 'em with death yo. That shit's major sucky.

But fo' real tho, everyone here sucks. Man, merchants be planting false evidence, church be convicting some bitches, godseekers causing chaos on a wild chase in the city... hell, even the damn council is being real shady and quiet about this shit. Like, no official statements or anything? Y'all, that seems major criminal to me.

Well, still, we got brighter pastures ahead, 'parently. War effort's going good, cogs turning, weapons churning, and people being slaughtered all-'round. Shit, what the fuck kinda text y'all making me read? That's not fucking greener pastures, what's this shit supposed to mean?

*mumbling*

So fucking what if we're winning? You can't make me read that our soldiers are killing theirs and expect me to make it sound rosey! This ain't no propaganda channel, bitch.

Alright, triple F here, no script now. War sucks. Like, real fucking sucks. It never deserves to be glorified, or made sound any better than the bloody reality is. There is no winning battles in war, only losing good people.

Fuck. I hate when this shit turns all somber. I lost my old man to this shitty territorial BS, and y'all wanna make me read a paragraph of propaganda? Naw, man. Those battlefields are slaughterhouses, and to anyone who can, keep yo feet off 'em. Don't ever put your life on the line for something you don't believe in fully. All countries have flaws, so-/

The newest broadcast of Homeboy Radio, right before the speaker, Frank Faizan Fallon, was cut off and the show shut down.

- - - - - -

The boy ran. He ran with everything he had, ran faster than he had ever run before. He ran with every single ounce of energy he could summon from his legs. Always another step, no matter how much it took from him. Just one more, and another, and another, faster than he should have been able to, faster than he should have had to.

And yet, the boy ran. With his full strength, and determination far above it. Something so common, yet suddenly turned so terrifying. When someone runs, there usually is a reason. For some it is a destination, others run because of a lack of time, and because they are in a hurry. Some run because they want to be able to run better, and some run, because there is a consequence if they do not get somewhere.

Some run professionally, for the reward at the goal, and some run to clear their head. Some run because they believe it will make them better, others run because they believe it will help make them less terrible, and again other run for the sake of running itself.

But this boy ran because there was no alternative, there was no way out, there was no place for him. He ran, because he was chased. Chased by something far faster, far stronger, and far scarier than he should have ever met. The boy ran with tears in his eyes, ran forward, charging with every bit of might he could summon, and ran while his lungs and legs screamed and screeched in pain.

The boy didn't care, couldn't care, because every ounce of attention he had was set simply on not stopping. Not stumbling. Not pausing, not even for a short moment. He could feel it behind him, breathing down his neck, taking every step he took, and with every step he took forward, he felt it take three. It came closer, rapidly, stalking and hunting, no matter what he did.

Seconds ticked by gruelingly slow, as every moment was a struggle against himself, a struggle he knew he was slowly losing, and yet the words echoed in his mind.

"Run, boy."

Words that might haunt his mind forever, words that had yet to reveal their edge, words that were currently still buzzing around in his skull, urging his feet forward. Step, by step, by step, by step. Agonizing, cruel, and hard, yet those words were so unbelievably caring. They were the only thing he could hold onto, as the tears streaking down his face seemed to freeze.

Behind him, no matter how fast he ran, it was coming closer. A storm was brewing, a storm that he didn't know if he would survive. But he knew one thing, no matter how close the storm got, he would run. Run until the end of the world, run until his legs could no longer, run until-

Until he could run no more.

- - - - - -

Count I'htar did, as he always did. He counted his coins, his money, that he had profited from loans and investments, his golden gold. The sparks and bolts he had worked for so hard. That had taken him and his family multiple lifetimes to gather.

They had earned their way to the top, the title of count always only going to the heir with the best head. Making only the best decisions, for the best shops, and driving all competitors out of the market.

And he had done just that, once again. Supplying some poor charrs to the storeroom of some of Foss' footfolk, and the church was clawing at their throat. Of course, the city couldn't have it, the merchants wanted revenge. He had hoped they would tear each other apart. But the godseekers intervened.

Well, it mattered little. In the end, they were still fighting, and even if they only lost a little standing, well, they would still have lot standing, while he was simply sitting here, counting his coins, clinking them through his hand one by one.

This city paid. They always paid. He got his money, from all those he lent it too, growing his fortune coin by coin, until he had left everything prosperous under him. Yes, always under him. There was no shot he would allow anyone to stand on a level with him. He would make personally sure this small union of merchant, that guild in his city, would be driven out of power.

Soon enough, he thought, soon enough.

For now, he was awaiting the outcome of the trial. The amount of money all guilds would have to sink into exterminating the moles he placed to sell mana bombs. It was all coming together beautifully.

The city council would think it was a lucky find, when truly, he had placed the commission back up in Evlenor. It was but a single letter among many he sent. Not trackable, and even if they won this pointless war, who would bother to check if he had placed anything up in that shithole of a country?

No, this was a solid investment. A letter, a well paying commission, and some mana bombs made by his own attendants. Off the record, obviously.

And now, the city had to start a witch hunt, paying the godseekers with money they didn't have. Money he'd lend them, and eventually receive back. With his dues, of course.

As always, his banks and investments paid off. The chump change he made from stores didn't amount to much, it was larger schemes like this, that took a few month to pull off, that really filled his treasury. Perhaps he should soon begin expanding to more cities? Oh but he'd have to find more capable personnel. That wouldn't quite do.

Indeed, until his coffers were fuller, he would simply continue in Stormbraver, and the backwater village around it. Things were going smoothly, quite smoothly, even.

I'htar nodded to himself again, with a calculating smile.

All was as it should be.

- - - - - -

Mercury could see that people outside the courtroom were looking pretty nervous. Avery was pacing, Lucia was tapping her foot, and Foss was wiping the sweat from his brow.

Strangely, only Gorm Gorm seemed entirely unfazed by this whole situation. The old man probably had simply been grated down by years upon years of administrative work. Mercury himself could most certainly relate to that...

Well, then again, he shouldn't judge. Perhaps the old man simply had nerves of steel or unwavering confidence in their position. They were the city council after all. If anyone had the last say, it was them. So that was probably enough to make him feel little worry about this.

Still, shouldn't he look a little shaken, with a war going on and all that?

Thinking about the war, Mercury actually considered how superhumans were handled in those. Like, seriously, someone like Avery, who could literally dodge Arrows and knock people out with single hits must be a machine on the battlefield.

"Hey, Avery, may I ask how you people actually do wars?"

"Hm? Us people? What do you mean with that, my guy?" The man cocked his head a little, slightly confused.

"Well, like... high-rank people. Someone who can jump meters high into the air, or summon bows of light, like Lucia. How does that even work?"

"Ohh, that. Well, for me and her it's relatively simple, since we're both B rank. Though, to be fair, she is most certainly closer to the top of it than me."

Wait, Avery was B? How the fuck was he B?! Mercury thought he would at least be A, maybe even S??

"How are you in B?!"

"Hey, still gotta keep our voices down. Advancing gets exponentially harder the further up you go, my guy. There's even extra steps added, because otherwise, the power difference would be too big. I'm just B rank, While Lucia is pretty close to B+. Her magic is just a level above my speed, but I don't lack too far behind," Avery said with a smile.

"But when it comes to war," he shook his head, "we would probably be in some special force to take out high-profile targets. Man, just saying that feels gross. I've always hated assassinations, you know? Well, still, higher rank individuals rarely fight in wars, and even more rarely are they associated with countries. Most of them come and go as they like."

"Seriously?"

"What do you mean, seriously? What normal city guard is gonna stop a man who kills dragons for a living? Those people could waltz into a king's castle and no one would even bat an eye. That's a little high of a ceiling to aim for right now. Keep your eyes focused on the prey, you mopaaws are good at that, no?"

And with those words, Avery turned back to the courtroom door, seemingly ignoring the lightly pleased attitude Lucia was showing. Her chin had raised a little, Mercury noted. Somehow, she had heard parts of their conversation, and appreciated that Avery noted her being a bit better than him.

But just then, the door to the courtroom opened again, and everyone was called in. Mercury waited a good bit, until there was no shot of being stepped on anymore, and then headed in, taking his proper place as part of the overseers. He always felt so badass from up there.

Maybe to the audience he was just a cute kitty, but he was oblivious to it. Mercury imagined his cloak billowing, even though he was inside, and bore a wide smile at the thought. Yeah, this was a proper place for him.

"The jury has come to a verdict."

Oh, shit, right, there was still a trial going on.

"The Church of Order has made a mistake at imprisoning the shopkeepers, but it was not a kidnapping, as they had found faulty goods. Still, they overstepped their authority, naming themselves judge, jury, and executioner. The merchants they apprehended shall be released immediately. Reparations will be calculated."

The crowd was pleased, but Lucia bit her lip. This was clearly annoying to her, but she still had to conduct herself appropriately. The priestess took a long sip of tea before gracefully raising from her seat.

"It shall be done as such."

The judge nodded at her before continuing, then looked over at Foss who didn't wear a smile. He had known this was coming.

"However, the Merchants' guild has sabotaged the investigation multiple times, and failed to adhere to proper procedure. As such, the perpetrators will be spending two weeks in the dungeon. This includes the guild master, Foss, as well as any members who attempted to plant false evidence."

The man in question gave a wide frown at this, slowly raising himself from his chair. "Your honor, would a paying of reparations not suffice?"

"No, it would not. This is supposed to be a punishment, not a slap on the wrist. Reparations would simply be losses, but some time in the dungeon is a much more personal experience. Your malintent was much more clear than that of the Church of Order, and thus, you must be disciplined appropriately."

Foss sharply sucked in some air, and then let out a defeated sigh. "It shall be done," he said weakly, plopping himself back down.

He had never even given the order to sabotage anything, damn it. Those members of his really needed to be reigned in some more. Seriously, who would attempt such poorly timed and executed subterfuge?

"The overseers, on the other hand, have properly done their service and shall be rewarded. The promised payment is currently underway. Thank you for your work."

"Of course, your honor," Avery said seriously, and alongside him, the godseekers all gave a short bow.

"With this, I declare court dismissed."

And slowly but surely, people filtered outside. The law scholar the merchants had ordered seemed quite displeased, but she had given it her best shot at the very least. Lucia seemed annoyed, but not too bothered, while Foss looked quite distraught.

Was this really quite fair? Mercury imagined that the dungeon would not be anywhere near as pleasant as the prisons in his world, and those were already quite harmful to any form of life in there. Literally scarring.

Foss also wasn't really built for physical work, that much Mercury knew? Did people work in the dungeon, or were they simply locked away? He really had no clue. Well, in any case, it wasn't him in there, he was just paid for his commissions. With that he could comfortably live for a little while longer in Stormbraver.

Eventually, he thought. Eventually he would find a way to bring all of them back.

- - - - - -

A red haired man was currently sitting at a desk made from fellfirn. He really liked this desk. It was resistant to the elements and very sturdy. If there were chips in it, it slowly regrew them. That's why it was so expensive, too.

Fellfirn was a wood that never really died, it simply would slowly regrow anything chipped away. Of course, that only went for the wood around the core, after all, fellfirn grew by absorbing stamina.

You could, of course, cut off some regular pieces of it, but then, those would simply turn into regular, if quite sturdy, wood. But to truly get the regenerative properties, well, you needed to fully extract the stump, since it absorbed stamina, or materials it could convert into that, through its roots. One of those breaks, and the tree leaks everything it absorbs.

In other words, the tree would slowly die.

But if you extracted everything properly, the fellfirn would start slowly growing outwards. This process would then be accelerated with mana infusions. Usually, that is, not for this desk.

He always hated the smell of mana infusions, so instead, he had simply allowed the fellfirn to grow naturally. Eventually, of course, once it was big enough, it was treated. The processing of fellfirn was a very special one, since, if not carried out properly, the wood would simply expand again, nullifying any work done on it.

So, to process fellfirn, it was kept in a special vat of sap, made from plants that usually have symbiotic relationships with the firn. That way, it can't absorb anything from the air, since it's submerged, and the sap belongs to its allies, so it doesn't absorb anything from it. That way, the firn can be shaped, the roots slowly changed using druidry.

And eventually, the fellfirn might be cut into a proper shape, which it then made to forever hold by working a stamina sink into it. This sink would essentially add a siphon to the fellfirn's stamina vessel. The extra stamina would go into a slowly amassing pool, used to keep the barrier around the wood active and strong.

That way, if it was chipped, it was only the barrier. If anything was strong enough to pierce the table, it would repair itself into the perfect shape, since everywhere else, it was still confined within a barrier. And as soon as it had regrown, the barrier would take the stamina from there again, and regrow itself over the wood.

It was an elegant solution that the man really enjoyed, slowly running his gloved hands over the beautiful grain of the wood. Oh, but what was he thinking about? He shouldn't be so focused on the table, and much more so the person across from him.

After all, across the table from him, in a fancy chair, sat a man hated by many. A man so vile, with light pulsing underneath his charred skin, with fangs poking out from his mouth, so large that the seemed to cut into his lower lips. The gloved man across the table simply looked this beastly figure up and down, looking at the patches of fur and scales dotting its skin.

"Well, Otto, it has been quite some time. What do you need?"