Chapter 230 - Glimpse Of A Brighter Future (Patreon)

Seeing only a few of the clan leaders present, Jiran's aura scanned the inner forest, not finding any other tier seven Forkara, “Where are the other elders?”

Dokkuun wore a conflicted expression, “It was voted, and agreed, that if an elder chose not to participate in your call to arms, they would send their two next of kin in their place. So far, none have violated that portion of the agreement.” Jiran prompted him to continue with a nod. After a short pause, the old Forkara spoke his mind, “Sixty percent of each clan's warriors were supposed to unite. Becoming your personal army. Based on more than a few reports from our spies, several clans from the Divine Faction have sent significantly less, disguising their troops as farmers and cloudfishers.”

Jiran frowned, having no idea how to handle that kind of political snafu. Not only was this the first time his orders had been blatantly refused, it could also easily blow up into a much worse situation if handled poorly.

Wasn't it an executable offense to refuse sending soldiers to your liege in the medieval times? Do I really want to use this as an excuse to start killing off the rebellious leaders? Won't that just cause more dissatisfaction and hate, compounding the problem into something worse? If I ignore them, they'll think they can get away with more. Damn, if Olive were here, she would know exactly what to do.

“What do you suggest?” Jiran included the entire room in his question.

“Their wings should be ripped free and mounted upon your mantle!” Keeon growled, baring such keen fangs Jiran was sure he had been sharpening them in his spare time.

Keeon's twin sister, Keara, shook her head, “That would incite their hidden troops into action, and since they cannot match us, they would strike at our homes while we are engaged elsewhere.”

“We cannot simply acquiesce to such miserable dirt wrigglers! They must be taught a lesson!” Frakkoa shook his fist, his wings twitched, desiring to be unfurled in the constrained tent.

“We should dispatch forces to protect our people while simultaneously striking first to relieve them of the equipment they have already received. All the clans now realize that a properly equipped warrior is worth twenty times his density! Without Senior Brother’s weapons and armor, they will think thrice before launching any offensives.”

Jiran didn't like anything he was hearing but he had to admit they each had their own valid points. A solution cycled from one of his minds to the next, his thoughts racing several times faster than theirs as he picked apart the weaknesses in his plan before presenting it, “Rahaak.”

“Yes, Senior Brother?”

“I want you to organize and lead an inspection force to every clan. Those found hiding troops will be stripped of all weapons and armor created by me. I only promised to supply a specific quantity of equipment, there were no stipulations regarding dispersion. Disarming them won't be the duty of your inspection team though, I’ve got something else in mind for that. If you find evidence, keep it to yourself and report to me once I've returned. Additionally, their clans will lose access to the portals I'll be creating to link the roosts together.”

Even the Timberlings, who had mostly tuned out of the irrelevant conversation, ceased their fidgeting and wandering eyes to stare at him with hungry intensity. The Forkara and Imperials were no exception.

Dokkuun licked his fangs, his voice trembling excitedly, “You're going to create those portals in every roost?!”

Jiran nodded, “That's right. They'll all lead to the same place. A new city, or roost, that we'll be constructing together. A central hub for travel, trade, and prosperity that will be shared with every race who allies with us. Madra's a big place, but with our portals, it doesn't have to be for us.”

The air trembled as folded wings vibrated. Branches shook, releasing a cascade of falling leaves that painted the floor in shades of golden-hued lavender. Greed flashed in every eye, and they were all painted at Jiran.

Seeing how excited they already were, Jiran kept quiet about the rest of his plan, as building a city was only the beginning, “Thank you for bringing that to my attention, Dokkuun. Oh, Rahaak, make sure to include members from the Divine Faction in your team. We don’t want to alienate them further.”

Rahaak’s salute was crisp, full of vigor despite his age, “Yes, Senior Brother. I know just the pair for the task.”

“Great, are there any other urgent matters that can't wait a few days?”

“Yes, Great Spirit. There is much hostility, where we wish for amicability. Our songs they do not hear, creating much fear. Can you provide a bridge to cross this divide?”

Jiran nodded to the Matron of Songs, “I have a plan for that, but it won't be a viable long term solution. Once we have a few who can translate, they'll need to teach those willing to learn. Spread that word that anyone who desires a position of authority in our new home will be required to at least understand every language.”

“This new home, our valley is all we’ve known. We cannot leave, or our hearts will grieve. We would never disobey, so I hope you will allow us to stay,” The Matron of Cleansing knelt, tears in her eyes.

“Of course. I'm not going to force anyone to leave. Besides, this valley holds the platform, we can't ever leave it undefended. No matter what, there will always be Timberlings in their ancestral home.”

The matrons shared relieved glances while Kaprokka pushed the conversation forward, “Where will this new roost be constructed? Aah! We must organize another tournament to choose a most glorious name for what will surely become the pride of all our peoples!”

Jiran’s eyes flew open and he desperately wracked his brain, mumbling an offhand response to the question, “I was thinking near the Land of the Lost, since we'll want to control the nearest source of tier sevens.”

“Quickly, gather the cryers and—”

“Wait! I've got the name covered! No tournaments, no competitions, no cryers. Please, just focus on preparing our people for the move. I'll be back as soon as I can, with Olive.” The Forkara glanced uncertainly at each other before dipping their chins. Jiran met the eyes of each person in the tent one at a time, finding no further questions, only eagerness to begin.

He stepped toward the tent’s exit, but realized he didn't know where the person he needed to talk to next was, “Anyone know where Niya is?”

“She’s camped at the eastern wall. Apparently, she was disturbed too often by menial tasks, like saving lives.” One of the two remaining Imperials spoke up for the first time. Like with the general, Jiran couldn’t fault him for his frustration, though taking it out on his cousin seemed odd. He had no intention of reprimanding the man without knowing the whole story though.

Jiran motioned for the Imperials to follow, and together they ducked outside into the crushing rain. They joined him in the air, heading east, flying low over the massive trees—each marking the grave of a transcended Timberling.

While Jiran was observing the numerous Imperials spread throughout the woods, the same ornery officer wiped the side of his nose with a thumb, “How'd you manage to catch Oliviala's eye? From what I've heard, she's notoriously frigid.”

Jiran frowned at the man, “Frigid, really? You're a bit of an ass, aren't you?” They passed the edge of the forest, entering the plains and hills that separated them from the circular valley's wall. The Imperial camp extended almost a third of the distance, rows upon rows of tents, bustling with organized chaos.

“Hah! If I wasn't, I wouldn't still be a major. I've been serving twice as long as that pup, Reifvus.”

“Well, keep the attitude to yourself. I'm not in the best mood right now,” Jiran grumbled with a snort.

“Names Major Dontin,” the officer supplied, earning a nod from Jiran. The last officer didn't bat an eye at their exchange, his expression as stony as it’d been since Jiran first saw him. “Don't bother with Colonel Mart here, he doesn't talk much. Though he'll shout orders loud enough to drown out a battlefield.” Jiran listened absently, his thoughts elsewhere.

“You have no idea what you're doing, do you?” Dontin said with half his mouth pulled back in an odd grin.

Jiran grunted again, “Hardly ever do. I've been making the most of bad situations since I was pulled from my home and thrown into the wild.”

“Well kid, shit doesn't get any easier. Eventually, I realized nobody knows a shadow's ass from a claw in the gut. You're doing fine far as I can see, though you have a nasty habit of wantin’ to do everything better than its been done before. When you change shit troopers’ been doin for five, six years, don't expect ‘em not to stab themselves with their own spear.”

Jiran immediately began taking the Major’s words more seriously, “Thanks for the advice, I'll keep it in mind. I guess not everyone is used to adapting on the fly just to survive.”

“Xactly. You got it. Drills keep us alive, and if the drills don't mean shit no more, people die.”

The conversation concluded as the valley’s circular wall loomed before them. At its base, Jiran spotted two large tents that had been stitched together with Forming. A covered cooking fire smoldered nearby and inside were several manapools, only two familiar.

The moment his aura neared the small camp and brushed against those within, Niya blasted out of the tent into the rain. Her face was twisted in a snarl as she launched herself into the air, tearing toward them.

Jiran’s escorts moved behind him, hiding faster than he would expect for a couple hardened tier sixes.

Niya was yelling before she arrived, her voice shaking with rage, “You idiot! What the blasted inferno were you thinking?!” She slammed to a stop, her finger centimeters from his nose, “You, of all people, could have found a way to leave a message! A formation that shapes a cloud into a few simple words, or-or a ridiculously loud alarm or flashing light, or something. Anything! Do you have any idea how worried they were when you disappeared without any warning at all? Just… figure out a way next time…”

Her rant tapered to a whisper. Her clenched jaw and moist eyes were more than enough for Jiran’s heart to feel like it would burst from his chest. He gently brushed aside her extended hand and pushed through her stubbornly resisting aura to wrap his arms around his cousin in a crushing hug.

She flailed ineffectually against his much higher attributes, “Agh! Let go of me! Your armor is freezing. Why is it so damn cold? And what’s with the crystals? You look like a pampered noble’s brat.”

Jiran let her go with a bark of laughter, “Oh, sorry. I ended up in a desert. Forgot to turn the cooling off. As for the crystals, you’ll find out soon enough.” He said with a wink.

She shivered, jumping back a few meters, “Obnoxious as ever with your secrets and plotting. How are you still alive wearing that? You don't even feel it, do you? Monster.”

A smile was plastered on Jiran’s face as he enjoyed every second of his cousin’s typical antics, “Well, maybe if you weren’t wearing a dress in a storm, it wouldn't be so bad.” Leaning so he could see around Niya, Jiran yelled loud enough to cause a tremor to sweep through the rain, “Cameron! Why are you hiding back there?” 

The noble was ducked behind the double-sized tent as if that would somehow obscure him. Upon being called out, Cameron came slinking around the corner, holding his clothes in a bundle in front of himself. A single quirked eyebrow from Jiran was all it took to make him wilt.

“I-I was lost. That's all, just got turned around while… taking a shower! Perfect weather for a nice shower, isn’t it? Ha, ha, ha.”

Niya shook her head, “What are you getting so worked up for? I already told you Jiran knew.”

“What?! I thought you were just saying that,” Cameron craned his neck to look up at Jiran, “How? When? Why didn't you say anything?!”

“I did! I told you to be careful, remember?”

Cameron shook his head, his mouth hanging open in disbelief, “I thought you were talking about the Graymin!”

“You ahh, don’t seem too worried about Olive.” Jiran’s brow lifted again as he glanced down at the bundle of clothes clutched in his friend’s hands.

“Not a bit. She’s probably safer with the church than she would be here, tripping over sticks worrying after you. They wouldn’t touch a hair on her head for fear of Dominus. She’s the perfect political prisoner and she’s useless to them damaged. He would level their entire city and they know it.”

Jiran had already imagined the massively built emperor doing exactly that with nothing more than a wave of his arm. It was relieving to hear he wasn’t the only one with a similar opinion of Olive’s current predicament.

A Timberling woman chose that moment to dash from their tent. Jiran noticed she was missing several long strips of bark down her torso and arms. Niya yelled after her, “Sorry we had to leave! Do you need a ride home?”

“No, we will take this chance, to run and dance. There has been no crime, thank you for another good time,” she waved over her shoulder with a wink, sprinting through the rain toward the nearby forest. Two Imperials and a Forkara followed after her, the whole group poking at each other and laughing.

Cameron was hastily dressing and Jiran’s brows were now up to his hairline as he shook his head, “How have you two—”

“Don't you start with me!” Niya leveled her finger at his nose again, “I'm allowed to enjoy my life however, and with whomever, I choose. After you spend half your life cooped up in a tower, then you can talk!”

Jiran held his hands up defensively, “Woah, woah. Ease up. I was only going to ask how you're communicating so well. Did the authority plan actually work?”

Niya grimaced, breaking eye contact, “Ugh. Sorry, I got all worked up seeing your idiot ass alive. Yes, it worked. I unlocked the translator three days ago, after the seventy-fifth crystal was filled.”

“Seventy-five?! That's ridiculous. How many Timberlings did you have to drain to pull that off?”

“All of them. Three times. We’ve been chewing on those shadow cursed vines day in and day out. They do not taste good, Jiran!” While he laughed, she pulled a thick sack from the tent with her aura and tossed it his direction. Inside, he was greeted to the site of dozens of glowing crystals from Sanctuary. 

Good to know we have the option of boosting authority to the point of accessing the translator, but definitely too expensive for everyone. Not to mention, we really don’t want to spread this knowledge casually. I wonder if any of the rankers are close enough with their authority for a race evolution and just need a little push…

Jiran pulled one of the crystals free. It pulsed softly in his grasp, packed with enough mana to possibly boot up another of Sanctuaries mysterious systems. Cameron joined them, working so hard to avoid looking at Niya that it made his awkwardness even more obvious. Jiran couldn't have cared less. With the mana of an entire race literally at his fingertips, he felt more than ready to face the Church of the Voice. 

While staring at the crystal, a smoldering spark of emotion made itself known, churning impatiently within his chest. He examined the feeling, quickly realizing that his past nervousness at reuniting with Olive was long gone. All that remained was a desire to return her name to his party window, where it belonged.

His voice was thick with emotion as he replaced the crystal and cinched the bag tight, “Get suited up, it’s time to go rescue a princess.”