金瓶梅第2部

It was a modern, multicultural crowd, a colorful mix of soldiers and mercenaries from across the continent. A regal Forcen Knight in silvered chain sat beside a Nemayan Pistolier with a bear pelt draped over his shoulders. An elf from the Ebon Mask tribe crouched motionless on a high branch of a nearby tree, while a grey-bearded dwarf sat on its roots, smoking a long pipe.

There was an orc deftly weaving through the lines of people. He was selling fried crickets, his supplies dwindling quickly.

Tycondrius considered supporting that fellow's business... but he balked at the price.

The nearby mercenaries began to shuffle about, moving out of the way of a large gentleman with the giant bloodline-- fire giant, to be more precise.

He had long red hair, tied back according to military regulations. His clean-cut beard was a bit lengthy but... forgivable.

The man's height, however, Tycon found bothersome.

He was well over 8 fulms tall, thus was well over regulation height.

⟬ Droghan Ashlord, Gold-Rank Titanblood Swordmage. ⟭

Hm. Dragan seemed to have reached Gold-Rank with his chosen Class. His aura was stable but lacked a certain level of oppression that his personality would have otherwise suggested.

"Hey, Boss," greeted Dragan. "Just saw Bella. She told me about Wroe."

"Yet," Tycon began with a deep sigh... "you and I still live. Somewhat surprising, no?"

"F*cking baffling," Dragan shrugged.

Tycon stood up and the two shook hands, clasped at the wrist.

"Why are you here, War Prince Droghan?"

"Oh, I see how it is," Drogan sneered, "You want me to f*ck off, is that it?"

Tycon narrowed his eyes.

Dragan chuckled to himself, "Hehe... Ah... I put the gnoll in charge."

"Ah, I've heard of her," Tycon pursed his lips and nodded. "The Ogre Slayer?"

"Murtana Ogreslayer," Dragan grinned. "Yeah. She's alright. Kinda... all over the place, but if you go killin' off o'er a hundred ogres in a single sun, that's enough to rate a leadership position in my book."

So Dragan had a book. That was clever of him.

"If the Realm wasn't ending soon," Tycon mused, "I'd have wanted her indicted into Sol Invictus."

"Ah, yeah," Dragan sighed, "Gods-damned shame. How's Lone?"

"Dead," Tycon answered simply.

He was tempted to provide the details of the idiot laying hands on a pair of cursed Elven artifacts and the events leading up to the quickly approaching cataclysmic event.

...but he didn't want to waste so many words.

"A damn f*ckin' shame," Dragan shook his head. " I thought he was alright. Remember that time when he got crabs?"

Crabs? Tycon decided to ignore the question.

"The Martialist?" he asked.

"Finished her training," Dragan waved, "then she went with Pale and the Holy Princess to do hero shite."

Tycon narrowed his eyes, "What kind of training did you give her?"

Long ago, he had advised Dragan to bring Kimura Taree to the hidden village where the Flamescarred Martialists were known to reside.

However, from the missives he'd received over the years, he learned that the Kimura girl accompanied Dragan in Port City Vralkek.

Tycon expressly trusted his Titanblooded friend for the decision.

However, it was within his right to trust and still request verification.

"You sent me all sorts of training shite," Dragan shrugged.

"Brother of mine," Tycon sighed, "you know I don't like to repeat myself."

"...She wanted to be strong," Dragan admitted. "So I made her strong."

"Provide a metric, if you would."

"...The f*ckin' brat's stronger 'an I am," Dragan said in a low voice.

"Hm... acceptable," Tycon nodded proudly, "Are they still in the Realm?"

Dragan shook his head, "Haven't heard of 'em, so probably not-- which is a good thing, yeah? On account o' the fact that this Realm might not make it..."

Tycon was 100% certain that the Realm would not make it, but he decided not to inform Dragan of the fact.

Pale and his companions were no longer in the Realm. That corroborated the request of the lizard Jerim Jya.

She asked Tycon to assist the so-called Heroes in their 'extraplanar fight.'

...but considering the strength of Pale, Troia, and a Martialist stronger than Dragan, Tycon had difficulty imagining a threat that could oppose them.

"They need more guys," Dragan mused. "I think it's just the three. So whaddya say, Boss? I think you and me would do good to round 'em out."

"I agree that Pale's party, as we know it, is sorely lacking," Tycon replied. "However, best practice dictates that the Hero's companions have moderate-to-high potential *and* belong to the younger generation..."

Tycon shook his head, "You and I, old friend, do not fit the latter requirement."

Dragan's face began to twist, perhaps trying to verbalize a proper response.

After a short while, he shut his mouth properly, his expression locking into a grimace.

"They'll need a healer... or maybe a caster?" he quietly suggested, "How 'bout that Oracle girl you adopted? In your letters, you said she got training in the Holy Country?"

Dragan was referring to Tycon's daughter, Sasarame.

It was true that a powerful Oracle would behoove Pale's party...

Joining the party of a Hero was an opulent dream of many adventurers. However, Tycon loathed the thought of subjecting his daughter to the thankless and demanding position.

"No," he waved. "I have two others in mind, one of which is in our camp. Do you remember Suka?"

"Eh?" Dragan scratched his head, "Oh, yeah. Cassi's friend, right? Shadow Snake... Adept Class. Didn't think of her as Hero material."

"Suka recently changed her Class to Incanter, like her sister," Tycon explained. "And considering the upper limits of Princess Ananta... if Suka were to gain even a fraction of that power..."

Tycon did not finish.

The implications of that level of magical power, both positive and negative, were manifold.

He looked over to where Cass and Ananta were... still fighting. Cass was at the eye of a localized tornado, emitting lightning bolts in her fingers. Ananta was hurling a number of black spheres, each of which spat shadowy arrows, seemingly at random.

The area of destruction had grown so much that all but the strongest (or most foolish) of mercenaries had remained to spectate. Also, one of the Sapphire Tower's medical teams had arrived. They were performing triage under the protection of a magical barrier.

Tycon had a sudden, selfish, and unfair thought... that, on a personal level, he would not like Suka to be as strong as her sister-- or *his* sister, for that matter.

"Yeah, I'm pickin' up what you're puttin' down," Dragan conceded. "How 'bout the other kid ya mentioned?"

"I found a Sea Serpent in my travels," Tycon smiled fondly. "Her name is Iyuri. She's a kind child-- with excellent potential."

"Yeah-- that might be even better," Dragan nodded. "Water affinity kids take to healing Spells real good."

"She would still need specialized training," Tycon lamented.

Iyuri's potential would make her a quick learner... but time was limited.

In fact, Tycon knew a third child with heroic potential, a young human boy by the name of Rickert. However, he was even younger than Pale. If they had a few years instead of moons and weeks, the child would have served as a perfect support for the Morninglord Scion.

Still, Suka and Iyuri were suitable candidates. After minimal (but focused) training, either or both of them would be fantastic additions to Pale's party.

Once the anti-lizard offensive suffered its inevitable failure... assuming the Realm was still standing, he'd collect those two and send them away off-Realm to join the boy.

Granted, if Pale and his companions somehow managed to return before then, he planned to send them away, too.

"You go back to see Queen Rylania yet?" Dragan suddenly asked.

Tycon raised an eyebrow, "My mother? To memory, she bid me to complete her three tasks before returning."

Dragan furrowed his brows, "Uh... you mean... *you* decided to complete the three tasks-- tasks she assigned at random."

"Ah... right," Tycon nodded gingerly.

Some years ago, he had awoken in an inn without his memories. Certain details of his history prior to that were... lost to him.

"We killed that noble in the Kingdom," Tycon said, "That was on behalf of Princess Aurala."

"Ah, yeah. King Adal's youngest," Dragan said, pursing his lips. "Wasn't she related to Wroe? Cousins or something?"

"Yes, I believe so..." Tycon replied. "Then... I was intrinsic in restoring the status of House Vanzano in the Holy Country."

"Yeah, that was a big thing over there," Dragan grinned. "The uh... husband? He's a Holy Lancer, right? Think I'd win in a fight?"

"Hmph," Tycon smirked. "Tanamar is still young. Give him another decade before you challenge him and I daresay the outcome would not be so certain."

"10 years?" Dragan frowned, "I don't plan on living that long. Do you?"

"Neither do I," Tycon admitted. "And my last task, should my garbage memory serve... was to the Ashlord Warband. Your father's-- or... yours, now, I suppose."

"You mean... the first?" Dragan asked.

Tycon tilted his head, "I was under the impression you had but a single father."

"I mean the quest, Boss," Dragan said, baring his teeth, "The quest for my dad was the first thing we did when we got the guild back together."

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