Chapter 374 - Minor Interlude - Around the world (Patreon)

Iona woke up to a punch in the face.

It was a mostly harmless punch, the fist having no direction or intent behind it. The Valkyrie opened her eyes, but stayed lying down, grabbing Elaine’s fist as it flailed again.

She was having another nightmare. One of the hazards of sharing a bed with Elaine. She was whimpering, her face twisted in anguish and longing.

Iona wrapped her arms around Elaine, and the woman immediately calmed down. She shifted in her sleep, putting her head on Iona’s chest, then settled down. Her breathing slowed into long, deep breaths, and Iona watched the tension leech out of her muscles.

A small smile crossed her face, and she kissed the top of Elaine’s head.

“Love you.” She whispered. “Sleep well.”

Iona closed her eyes, and was well-trained in the art of falling asleep whenever, however. She was back asleep in seconds.

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[*ding!* [Eternal Artist of Living Flesh, Blood, and Life] leveled up! 830->831!]

“Again?” Marcelle remarked to nobody.

Vampires were lucky to level once a decade. This was the seventh time she had leveled in three years.

Something is going on. Something big. Marcelle thought to herself as she let the saber-toothed rabbit escape from her grip, back into its cage.

She couldn’t ignore it any longer. She had to find out what was generating all those levels.

First things first. See if the other professors had noticed a similar phenomenon… or if the other vampires had.

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Tolthor, son of Lamae, was the most famous, highest-leveled [Postman] in the world. He accepted letters for delivery, any time of day or night, and had the power and skills to simply teleport the letter or small package to its intended destination.

His prices weren’t cheap though. He averaged a single letter a week, and was paid so extravagantly, he was able to live in the lap of luxury in a manner mere mortals could only envy. His postal territory generally only covered the Immortal lands, but on rare occasions he was called to send a letter to mortal royalty.

A package, anywhere in the world, in an instant.

It was a far drop from the greatest [Postman] in the world to the more common ones. The best reasonable message delivery was the Ceaseless Circuit, their bags and powerful [Couriers] marked by a scroll with wings. The Immortals who found themselves working for the Ceaseless Circuit were the best, fleet of foot and untouchable. They were not quite as instantaneous as Tolthor was, but they boasted they could get a letter delivered anywhere in the world within three days.

If one read the fine print on their boast, they specifically meant the southern continent, and messages delivered to the northern continent weren’t guaranteed, nor were messages to the School.

Flying fortresses were right out. The target needed to have a fixed, non-moving address.

Within the Ceaseless Circuit were multiple levels of priority, from high-value, as quick as possible delivery, to the more mundane mailbags that tracked from town to town, the cheapest letters delivered in bulk when one of the organizers got an entry level runner to move the mailbag.

That was, of course, the well-organized Immortal organization, who had the time, and more importantly, the stability to form a wide-reaching network.

Mortal lands were trickier. Oh, they attempted to mimic the Ceaseless Circuit. Express Parcels Unlimited attempted to make similar claims to the Ceaseless Circuit, but not even the most fanatical supporters believed they were close to the same class. No, the post in most of the world worked on a town or city level. If a villager somehow knew how to read and write, knew another person who could also read and write, and somehow had the spare coin to send and receive letters, they would need to travel to the nearby town just to drop a letter off, and hope that the post would move it along, that enough coin had been attached to the letter to make it worth it.

Nobody wanted to deliver a letter across multiple mortal lands, and there frankly was little communication across those lands. Who needed to talk with someone more than a county or two away? Who knew anyone more than a county or two away? The life of the average citizen of Pallos didn’t include much travel, and most travelers were looked upon with a degree of suspicion.

Multinational letters were a tricky thing.

Take the letter one Vitus had written in Rolland, postmarked for Sangino. 30 arcanite coins had been attached for its delivery. The trip was a long one, and a [Courier] picked it up along with a few other long-distance letters as she delivered an urgent message to the Blade of Grass Sect, located in The Great Tang. She took 5 of the 30 coins for herself, a meager amount made worth it only because she was making the trip already.

Now the letter had gotten closer to its destination, but there were only 25 coins left. It stewed for some time, no mail heading towards the Forbidden Four users of Nime or the tribes of Tuvan. Eventually, enough westward bound mail piled up, that a courier finally was interested in hopping across the Tuvan Tribes into Lithos. He took 10 of the remaining coins - excessive, for the length the letter still needed to travel. There, it was snowed in for a winter, with no couriers interested in making the trip through the snow for the paltry amounts offered.

The letter’s lurching journey continued, the pay regulating the letter to the bottom of the pile, only taken up by runners bundling enough letters together to make the trip worthwhile for themselves. After all, 15 coins to travel a third of the way around the world? It wasn’t close to enough.

Still, piece by piece, hop by hop, the mail system did work, getting the letter to its destination nearly four years after it was postmarked.

Nowhere close to the record for longest delivery. That record belonged to a letter in a watertight safe that had sunk on a ship, retrieved 200 years after sinking. Once it arrived in Sangino, with a single coin attached for delivery to the door in question, the street runners practically fought over who’d get to deliver it.

The address was well-known for its generous tips. A fact, if known to the couriers halfway across the world, would’ve gotten the letter delivered much more quickly.

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“All rise for her majesty, the Golden Lioness, Queen Aimee Morgans the Fourth!”

The dukes and duchesses of Rolland stood attention in the chamber off to the throne room as Queen Aimee swept into the room, in the appropriate ceremonial dress for the occasion, the golden lion stitched huge. A rare sight, compared to the usual armor she was known to wear.

It wasn’t just the highest levels of nobility in the Crown’s discussion chamber - her most trusted advisor, the hand, was present, along with the treasurer, and a number of other high ranking members of the court.

The queen glided to her seat and sat down, everyone else continuing to stand by their chairs.

“We permit you all to sit.” She declared after a moment, and seats were taken. “We would like to thank you all for attending this year’s tournament, and for bringing matters of the realm for us to discuss. Duke Ector Connors. I believe you mentioned you had an urgent item?”

The duke made a fist so tight his fingernails turned white. He snarled.

“The Han empire’s civil war continues to spill over our borders. We…”

On and on the conversation went, matters of the realm discussed before the council of the highest peers.

“Duchess Marie Argent.” The queen called.

She shared a look with Duke Montalembert, who gave her a small nod.

“The Valkyrie Order.” She said. “They are simply unable to hold their land. They are unable to protect their serfs. It is causing unrest. It is breeding monsters, who then lash out at my vassals. They simply do not have the forces needed to support and sustain the area they cover. Famous or not, their sparkling reputation no longer matches the reality of the situation. They are not one of us. I move that they be declared Outlaws, such that their holdings and wealth can be used to properly recompense those of us who have suffered, and proper management over their territories can resume.”

That sparked an argument, an old one. One that had been discussed many times in drawing rooms and dance floors, but never brought as a petition before the Queen.

The Queen sat back as her nobles argued. And oh, what flowery arguments they made. Fundamentally, it came down to wealth and power. The Argent and Montalembert families would be enriched, and become more powerful if the Valkyries were outlawed, and argued as such that they should. The Watsons, Barnetts, and Connors argued against it, not because they believed they were right, but because it would empower a rival.

Such was the petty politics of the kingdom.

Queen Aimee needed to walk a fine line, balancing the various powers among each other. As lands and powers went, she could simply be considered a duchess with a slightly larger holding, and had nothing close to absolute power. She needed to balance the various desires of her nominal vassals, such that they would continue to listen to her. Continue to keep her in power.

Speaking of power. Outlawing the Valkyries would gain her nothing, but make it look like she was weak, the other duchies able to simply seize power and give her nothing in return. There was a type of power in that, in people petitioning her for the solution, but down that path entirely ended… poorly.

After all. The royal name being Morgans was a relatively new - only 300 years old - development, and everyone here knew it.

Siding with Argent and Montalembert would annoy Watsons, Barnett, and Connor, but it wasn’t that simple. Fundamentally, they were correct in that the Valkyries, who were nominal vassals of the throne but only just, weren’t pulling their weight. Agreeing to their demands in full would enrich them too much. But the status quo wouldn’t be allowed to stand.

Naturally, they knew this, and had asked for far more than would ever be granted, letting the Queen demonstrate the ability to restrain them, in exchange for them getting what they actually wanted.

Politics. A delicate dance that everyone here knew how to play, a game that the members of the table loved to play.

As the Queen started to softly speak, everyone else immediately shut up, Duke Ector cutting off a word mid-shout.

“The Valkyries were reduced in number performing their service most admirably.” She said. “And there is not a single person here who denies it. Their history is long and storied, and nothing can come out of declaring them Outlaw. We do not wish to paint Sigrun into a corner where bloodshed is her only option. Indeed, we believe a celebration in their honor is due! Their current lands and holdings are undeniably unprotected, and they have stubbornly clung to holding them. We can not permit this, and we shall reassign their lands to lords more capable of holding them. The Valkyries are permitted to remain in Rolland, and will continue to enjoy all the protections and privileges awarded to them.”

Unsaid was that without a tax base, a land base, they’d have no money, and wandering knights didn’t make nearly enough to cover their expenses, especially for a full organization like the Valkyries.

Even if they were permitted to keep holding Castle Valkyrie and the attached town, it might be barely enough for the reduced size of the organization, forever strangled and unable to grow more.

In essence, they were very politely being shown the door, and in a manner they couldn’t even complain too harshly about.

Naturally, they could join the retinue of any current lord or lady of Pallos… fully trained, fully equipped, high level knights were difficult to acquire, and there would be a number of open arms.

“We do not wish for a repeat of the Valkyries, however, and overtax the poor counts and barons who live nearby by suddenly doubling the size of their holdings, without the appropriate manpower to protect the lands. We believe that will have us here again in a few years, discussing which poor lord or lady should have their lands stripped once again.”

There were delighted looks on the pro-Valkyrie faction’s faces, while the duke and duchess who wanted them gone looked like they’d eaten a lemon. They knew what was coming next.

“There is ever a shortage of lands for promising young lords and ladies who wish to hold their own. We request that each of you submit a few candidates for baron, along with proposed holdings that the Valkyries currently protect.”

The Queen, naturally, had a number of retainers who could be brought tighter to her with the promise of land. Oh, by the numbers, the distribution would be fair.

But the richest parts?

All but one would go to those would go to those loyal to the Queen. The crown jewel of the Valkyrie holdings, however, would go to the Montalemberts. It would mollify them, let them believe it was recompense for handling the fallout of the Valkyrie’s territory becoming unmanaged. Naturally, there was a knife in the offering. They were getting too powerful, and such blatant favoritism would cause the others to scheme against them, instead of the Queen’s loyal retainers who would be able to quietly grow richer.

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The witch in white robes sat in her garden, smelling the ever-blooming flowers.

It was a place of peace. Of calm meditation. A place where she could sink in for a few minutes, or a few years, and simply… enjoy the easy beauty of nature.

Work called though, and the witch got up, the pollen falling off her clothes. The flowers regrowing where she’d sat, springing back like she’d never been there.

The white-haired lady walked over to where the latest graduation reports lay, a list of everyone the School could claim was an alumni. She liked to keep tabs, know who was going through the School she helped direct. The knowledge was occasionally useful.

Flora of Arminium scanned the lists, freezing at a name.

At the place.

Elaine of Remus.

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Jaclyn walked into work, and began her usual morning curses.

Silently. No need to let others know her true thoughts.

When she had accepted the offer for Immortality, the conniving vampire had left out one critical detail.

Immortality meant retirement was impossible.

Mortals could retire. They could read the writing on the wall, and know they were going to die soon. There was a whole structure in place to allow them to gracefully age, supported by their family, then die. It only worked because they died.

Immortals couldn’t. One day they’d run out of money, and be forced back to work. Jaclyn had tried at one point. Scrimped and saved and managed to take off a whole century, doing nothing but relaxing and enjoying herself.

Then her money ran out, and she was forced to work once again. This time, in a much less prestigious, much lower paying position. She’d needed to work her way up the ladder once again. Difficult when half her superiors were vampires, and as disinclined towards retirement or leaving their jobs as she was.

Jaclyn had worked her way back up to the highest position that didn’t include mandatory retirement every 40 years - to prevent stagnation at the highest levels, and stop power structures from crystallizing - and stayed there.

Which meant paperwork. Reams of paperwork, every day. It was her job, and she’d even taken [Paper Pusher] as her third class. The worst part was, with literal millennia of experience doing it, she was good at it. Exceptionally competent, as Night would put it. Which meant trying to cross train out of it into something new, while keeping her standard of living was hard. Not impossible, but the barriers were high enough, and the work to pay ratio generous enough, that Jaclyn simply… stayed.

She sat down at her desk as the sun rose, its System-denying rays blocked by the thick clouds of ash the mages kept perpetually shadowing the capital, and started to work through the newest pile of paperwork. Requests for funding. Forms that required approval.

Mentions of Rangers lost, and who city team leaders believed they could use to replace them.

It was a bad month. This was the second mention of a lost Ranger out of the thousands in the Exterreri Empire, and Jaclyn cleaned up the request, filled out the appropriate form, and put it in her "out" tray to deliver to the correct person later.

A wrinkled, weather-beaten letter waited for her at the bottom of the pile. She opened it like all the rest, the years jading her response to the words inside.

To Command,

I have encountered a human individual, using the name Elaine, who has claimed to be a Sentinel. She speaks the vampire tongue, and is preparing to be admitted to the School of Sorcery and Spellcraft.

The evidence she provided of being a Sentinel was entirely incorrect, and she gave the title Dawn. I believe that she originally grew up in Exterreri, possibly as the daughter of a servant of a high-ranking citizen, and acquired the tongue simply by constantly hearing it as she grew up. She then fled to Rolland, hoping to lose herself in the crush of humans present, and lean on the reputation of the Sentinels for her own personal gain.

I do not dare presume to suggest what Command does.

Sincerely,

Vitus of Minervia

Jaclyn thought back to an Elaine she had known. A fierce and proud gladiator, a peerless fighter and warrior she had loved. Jaclyn had convinced the powers that be to Turn her, but she didn’t survive the early years, having picked a fight before she’d known deep in her bones that the sun stripped everything away.

She shook her head at the memory from when she’d been a young, 700ish year old vampire, and processed the request. A request that technically would need Command to approve, but in practice would be followed. They usually listened to the [Head Clerk] who’d been on the job for centuries, while they were limited. There was no Sentinel Dawn, the title not having been used in almost a thousand years.

Generally, titles were retired until everyone who’d known the last Sentinel with that title was gone.

Type: Impersonator

Location: School of Sorcery and Spellcraft

Recommendation: Deploy the roving Ranger team. Attempt to bring back alive for public trial and execution.