Chapter 1768: Ayame’s Realization |
The glare that burned behind them carried every ounce of wounded pride and predatory fury the wolfkin lord had swallowed since the negotiations began.
He held it there, seconds stretching, turning heavier, as if sheer will could convey the promise his words weren’t allowed to make.
Then he scoffed, sharp and guttural, and turned his back on the armored figure.
"This is a grave mistake!" The snarl tore across the field as Skarn stalked away, his grey fur still bristling.
Rajah’s amber gaze lingered on Quinlan for a beat longer than Skarn’s had, cold and measuring, before the tigerkin lord turned and followed without a word.
Quinlan watched them go, then looked at Gorruk.
The bearkin lord seemed to be the one all of them listened to. At least somewhat... Vargis was not only a dogkin, a tribe not counted among the apexes of the beastkin, but he also had familial ties to Quinlan.
All of this made Gorruk the one worth talking to.
"I’ll reach out soon to iron out the details," Quinlan said. "You have my word."
Gorruk nodded toward the armored figure, a slow dip that carried the weight of a handshake between men who didn’t quite trust each other but understood the math.
"We’ll take the foxkin with us," Gorruk said, his attention shifting to the disarmed soldiers huddled among the beastkin ranks. "What’s left of them falls under the Confederation’s jurisdiction."
Quinlan nodded in response. Silver’s remnants were a mess the Beastman Confederation would have to sort through on its own, and he had no interest in meddling with their internal politics as long as whatever they decided didn’t circle back to bite him.
Gorruk turned without ceremony, and the beastkin withdrawal began.
It wasn’t a retreat.
Skarn’s wolfkin fell into formation first, moving with the tight discipline of a pack following its alpha regardless of his mood, weapons still drawn and ears flat as they filed away from the field.
Rajah’s tigerkin followed in loose, prowling clusters, amber-striped soldiers casting glances over their shoulders at the elven and human ranks as if memorizing faces for a later date.
The dogkin lingered longest.
Vargis gave Quinlan a long, measured look before turning to his soldiers. "Let’s move."
Although he visibly would’ve liked to stay, he had his duties as the tribe’s leader.
"Bye-bye everyone!! Thanks for the help!" Kitsara cheered, waving energetically at her people.
The dogkin troops fell in behind Vargis with tails wagging upon hearing the gratuitous words their princess had spoken, and more than a few of them stole glances at Blossom as they passed, ears perked and eyes bright with the same fierce approval their lord had shown during her eruption.
Gorruk’s bearkin moved last, massive forms peeling away from the edges of the field in unhurried strides with their lord at the center. Among them, the foxkin prisoners shuffled, disarmed and surrounded, trembling like deer in the headlights.
Four separate columns filed off the flat ground, each tribe keeping its own line and its own pace, and the gaps between them said everything about the state of the Confederation that words hadn’t.
A collective exhale rolled through the elven ranks as the last beastkin column disappeared from view, thousands of shoulders dropping at once as the tension that had been coiling since Skarn first snarled at their queen finally bled out of the field.
They had come within a breath of fighting each other, and every elf present knew it.
"She’s been stabilized."
Seraphiel’s voice arrived from behind Ayame, warm and steady.
The Dawnbringer had been kneeling over Kaede since the negotiations began, golden light fading from her palms as she rose to her feet and dusted off her knees.
Ayame found her sister being lifted off the ground by two elite soul healers, Kaede’s body limp and her breathing shallow but even.
The stat loss from the Fujimori blade going inert had turned injuries she could have fought through into ones that put her down, and now she hung between the two souls like a puppet with its strings cut.
Ayame watched them carry her away, and the expression on her face was one that didn’t belong to either version of herself.
Not the composed second-in-command, nor the bratty girl.
Just a woman staring at the unconscious body of the sister who had sold her and ruined her life, not knowing what to do with any of it.
A hand landed on her shoulder, heavy and warm.
"You have all the time in the world," Quinlan said, his armored fingers squeezing once. "No need to rush anything."
Ayame exhaled slowly, the tension leaving her frame in stages, and nodded. "Yeah. I know."
Quinlan’s visor lingered on her for a beat, then the fire behind it shifted. The helmet receded until his face was bare for the world to see, showing a smirk. "Tell me, how was it?"
Ayame turned to look at him, and the grin that spread across her face was the most satisfied expression she had worn all day.
"Roasting the priestess?" She tilted her head, savoring the words. "It was phenomenal."
"WHAT?!" Elisabeth’s shriek nearly took their eardrums out. After all, she was only a step or so away. "I’m still right here, you know! Only the beastkin left!"
Ayame didn’t so much as glance in her direction. She shook her head, still grinning, and her voice carried the lightness of a fresh discovery, the kind of universal truth that left her amused beyond belief.
"I’ve learned something new today, Quin. If you have a gullible little sister who sold you into slavery and almost ruined your entire life because she was too easy to manipulate, all you really need is an Arch Priestess to use as an emotional punching bag and suddenly everything feels just a bit brighter."
"HAH?!" Elisabeth’s voice cracked on the syllable, her face cycling through so many shades of red it was almost impressive.
Myrasyn covered her mouth with both hands, but the laugh escaped through her fingers anyway.
It was new to all listeners, the heretical behavior these people showed toward the Goddess and her chosen. Though they had to admit, listening to them had been anything but boring.
In the elven ranks, thousands of ears twitched in sync, hoping they could hear more from these people who bashed the hypocrite priestess with so little restraint.
As the woman in question kept harrumphing about sacrilege and the like, Seraphiel began giggling into her palm and Vex’s cackle followed.
Despite the rising tide of overlapping voices, Quinlan’s chuckle was the loudest of them all.
His gauntlet came up and ran through Ayame’s lush black hair, slow and fond. "Well said."
"VILLAIN!" Elisabeth stamped her foot, golden hair flying. "I can HEAR you!"
Nobody cared.
Quinlan let the laughter settle around him, his fingers still in Ayame’s hair, and his gaze drifted to the horizon where the beastkin columns were shrinking into the distance.
It was time to move on.
He had settlements to show to his new guests and a church for the Arch Priestess to lose her mind over.
And after that, it would finally be time to crack open the secrets the Fujimori clan had been hoarding for generations.
...
Author: there’s a vote for novel covers on my discord server. I worked hard to make a lot of them. I think many are pretty neat, including ones with multiple characters. Please join and let me know what you think!
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