A few days' march was all it took for the party to return to Amrinia. The last leg of the journey was swift and smooth, in part because of their growth, and in part because the monsters grew weaker the further south they got. Still, everything was stronger than it was in the cold. Only after they passed the last mountain and arrived at the foothills did they find a region where the opposite was true.

Without Olethra to mess everything up, the buffer zone between the Langgbjerns and Amrinia was quiet. The predators were few and far between and the prey was barely level 1000. The particular species varied from region to region, but few were too far ahead of the herrings that schooled each winter.

Claire took up the party's rear, her eyes ever darting. While there weren't many threatening monsters about, the whole area was flooded with Cadrian soldiers. Ostensibly, they were just pawns present to monitor the supply line, but that didn't make them any less obnoxious. They watched the Vel'khanese carefully, occasionally even letting monsters through in order to evaluate their responses. It was not out of malice, but pure curiosity. They were too excited, drunk on the high wrought by the upcoming proxy war. They couldn't stop themselves from wondering what the future entailed, especially with their enemies returning from the mountains without losing a single member.

Controlling the flow of information was left to Claire, who endeavoured to provide her countrymen with something to talk about whilst also ensuring that no one learned anything significant about the brigade's prowess. The job sounded like a mess of complex logic, but in practice, it amounted to little more than some good old violence; she simply dashed into the fray whenever they were attacked and exterminated their assailants with her bare hands.

The party had briefly debated leaving the duty to Allegra—the Cadrians knew of her abilities already, and she could easily wipe out the fodder without revealing the extent of her growth—but the Cadrians wouldn't get nearly as excited watching the rabbit cast her usual spells; a fresh face was much better for driving the rumour mill. And if there was one thing that the Vel'khanese needed, it was the Cadrian everyman's anticipation.

Negotiations were sure to be drafted far before the proxy war concluded. The wants that the two parties defined would surely be influenced by the public's sentiment; not even strict monarchies could afford to outright ignore the will of the people.

To that end, many of Claire's kills were flashy. She punched giant lizards straight through the mountains, crushed diamond golems with her bare hands, and kicked bloodthirsty behemoths beyond the planet's grasp. Every time the soldiers tested them, she demonstrated such an excess of force that the resulting shockwaves rendered some of the less-resistant observers unconscious.

The last leg of the journey didn't have quite as many opportunities for her to demonstrate her ridiculous brute force, but evidently, the message had already been delivered. The Cadrian soldiers deployed throughout the foothills, the grunts in charge of maintaining the supply chain, whispered rumours of her strength whenever they spotted her.

"I must admit, Amrinia is quite pleasant to gaze upon in springtime," Arciel spoke as they crossed the bridge that led into the city, "and it is even more delightful in close quarters than it is from afar."

Though one could see more of the city's structure from atop the mountains, most of the details were lost and it was precisely therein that the city expressed its beauty. The various plants that grew all over had their locations and growth calculated well in advance. Even the angles of their individual branches were preset, carefully managed by the terraformer that controlled the city's climate.

"It's better than most," agreed Claire.

In spring, it was configured to feature blossoms and greenery. Lily pads grew atop the lake on which the city was placed. And though still a beautiful polished white, the almost temple-like buildings that extended into the sky were covered with vines and bushes. There was almost more plantlife than stone. And yet, it didn't look even remotely overgrown; everything was tastefully arranged, manually placed by the city's aestheticians.

Amrinia was a bit of a peculiar municipality in that it was illegal for the residents to decorate their property without approval. One had to file a proposal with the city and await subsequent permits before any changes could be implemented. For the average citizen, it was well worth the trade-off. The committee was incredibly quick to respond, often replying on the same day, and their professional designers took care to integrate the property owner's wants with the city's aesthetic. More importantly, the terraformer would handle maintenance on the property owner's behalf and ensure that any disruptions were immediately undone. Overall, the service was viewed as a boon. Only those with budding green thumbs were stifled, but there were plenty of public growhouses in which they could pursue their hobby. All they needed to do was apply for a spot.

"It appears that there is some manner of festival ongoing," said Ciel. "I have not heard of any deities celebrated at this time. Is this, perhaps, a strictly Cadrian tradition?"

"Doesn't matter. It's not important," said Claire, as flatly as possible. It was impossible to see her eyes with her helm covering her face, but she shifted them anyway.

"I have not the faintest clue as to what you are trying to say."

"She's trying to cover up her embarrassment!" chirped Sylvia, from atop Claire's spiky, armoured helm. "They've been partying ever since she killed Olethra."

"Are you sure? That was last month, wasn't it? Seems like an awfully long time to keep a festival going," said Chloe.

"I think it's technically a slightly different festival now?" Sylvia tilted her head and put a paw on her chin. "The first two weeks, they were celebrating 'cause Claire killed Olethra. The third week was 'cause the marquis' wife used to be Claire's maid, the fourth and fifth weeks were for the spring festival, and the sixth week was 'cause Claire's dad came all the way up north. Oh, and the seventh week was 'cause everyone thinks Claire and her dad are gonna be working together to conquer the continent, and then there was this most recent one 'cause some of the soldiers came back, and the expedition was going super well."

"It appears they are simply leveraging any excuse they can find to celebrate," said Arciel.

"Sounds like they're doing fuck all in terms of real work though," said Jules. "Their harvest is gonna be totally boned if they don't get off their asses and get to it."

"That was what the spring festival was for," said Claire.

"Wait a second, Sylvia. How many times have you been back in Amrinia? Because it's sounding like you've checked in at least once a week," said Chloe.

"Errr…" The fox averted her eyes. "It's not my fault the fish are tasty, okay!? I swear that's all I dropped by for!"

"Suspicious," said Lana.

"Isn't she? She's being way too specific," said Chloe, in a not-so-hushed whisper.

"Huh? How?" asked the fox.

"Well, it's clear that you've been doing things behind our back, which means you're probably hiding a lot more than you're letting on," reasoned the maid. "Spill the beans! You've been eating snacks behind our backs, haven't you!?"

There was a glint in the wolf girl's eye. "Snacks? Behind our backs? Pure evil."

"H-huh? I-I mean, sure, sometimes. I-is that supposed to be a problem?"

"Yes!" cried the maid. "Let's get her!"

"On it," said Lana.

The two spent a moment circling around Claire before leaping in tandem for the fox atop her head. Sylvia leapt out of the way at first, but Chloe quickly grabbed Lana by the waist and gave her a boost while she enabled her time dilation. Captured, the furball was taken in for interrogation by way of endless tickling.

Such nonsense rang abundant as the party walked through the city. Their destination was the hotel; everyone had agreed that first things first, they wanted to kick back and unwind. They strolled leisurely through the streets, with different members stopping at different shops along the way.

It was during one such excursion, while Jules and Lana were picking out their aperitifs, that Claire noticed that something was amiss. The party had quite the number of eyes upon it. That much was perfectly natural; everyone was curious, eager to check out the opposition following its triumphant return. But not all of the gazes were quite natural or well-intending.

One such gaze belonged to a perfectly ordinary-looking man with a perfectly ordinary ice cream cone in hand. He sat on a bench next to one of the clothing shops and idly enjoyed his afternoon treat. The only thing odd about him was his species; he was a florn—a sort of bipedal squirrel that stemmed from the continent's west coast. Still, he didn't stand out. His size, shape, and overall fuzziness had him looking enough like a cottontail that he was rarely given any second glances.

It wasn't like his species was entirely nonpresent in Cadria. Though they were certainly far more common elsewhere, their kind loved to spread their wings far and wide. The obvious implication was that they weren't particularly attached to their place of origin, but it was precisely the opposite. Florns fanned out precisely to serve the motherland's interest.

Naturally, given the nation's location, the Democratic People's Republic of Flor was a part of the Obloyd Alliance. The squirrel-shaped man was one of the most potent spymasters therein—the agent responsible for determining why Cadria was at war with Vel'khan. If not for the necessary exposure in light of recent affairs, the broodmother would have been the only one certain of his existence. Even among allies, he was but a rumour, a catch-all they used to explain the otherwise inexplicable. They called him Shadow, for he was silent and ever-changing, unseeable beneath even the brightest light.

And certainly, he had the skills to match. It was precisely because he was so proficient that he realised right away.

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One of the targets had noticed him.

The armoured Vel'khanese soldier had met his gaze.

It wasn't just a coincidence. She—they had already discerned the soldier's gender during a prior investigation—had precisely picked him out in the crowd and made note of his presence.

Shadow was surprised, but he didn't mind. He had already gotten all the information he wanted. Ice cream and all, he vanished from the scene and returned to the lotus he'd placed on the other side of town. His face changed upon his arrival; his bones morphed and shifted around, twisting out of shape until he was unrecognizable. Neither face was entirely fake nor entirely genuine; both were built from the fundamental blocks that made up his true structure. Though, even he had long forgotten how exactly said truth was defined.

His face wasn't the only part of him that was altered. He grew fatter and gained a few centimeters of height despite beginning to slouch. His fur went through an even more drastic shift. It went from brown with black stripes to a pale sickly grey. He greased it for effect whilst replacing his casual outfit with the sort of low quality suit that one would expect from a seedy-looking merchant.

The disguise was perfect, but he didn't trust it. He teleported to a second lotus in a different city and swapped his shady merchant-look for that of a hungry orphan, and then a third as a nobleman's maid. He repeated the process over ten times before he was finally satisfied. He knew that the precautions were unnecessary. Even the best hunter would lose him by the second time he moved. His Stealth skill counteracted the effects of Tracking, and his maxed Perfect Disguise, honed over three hundred years of espionage, ensured that he'd never be recognized even if somehow discovered.

Still, he took extra care to shake off any tails before finally stepping out into an Obloyd city, notably one in the Gobglobgob Republic. Its name was Rouflagob, a medium-sized suburb with no particularly noteworthy features.

Only then, disguised as a chronically depressed barber, did he wander the streets. He turned down two roads, went through a bar, and visited an acquaintance unaware of his work before finally heading into a bookstore. He walked straight into the back, where all of the pornographic material was kept and grabbed a volume with a pink bunny on the cover. He opened it to a very specific page and slowly traced his fingers across an elephantine mermaid's stomach.

The shelf behind him rose like a portcullis as he did and revealed a wide passage. Shadow replaced his book and entered the tunnel, his steps perfectly silenced. The veteran spy pulled a mask from one of his pockets and slipped it over his face as he continued through the torchlit cavern, and since he was reporting on Cadria, he felt that it was probably appropriate to cover his head with that of a horse's.

Only with it in place did he step through the illusory wall at the end of the tunnel. The brick accepted him as if he were a spirit and ferried him into the room beyond.

Unsurprisingly, there was no one present. The hall was empty. There were chairs and long tables placed around a platform, but no listeners to fill the space.

The bipedal squirrel pulled a chair up to the lectern. Using it to boost his height, he pressed his hands against the crystal ball atop it and enabled the relic's function.

Nothing happened at first, but squirrel-shaped shades began popping up all around, filling the many seats that lined the hall's interior. Each individual was adorned with a mask, a completely different shape that kept their face and identity obscured.

It was an impromptu meeting. Assisted by the god of the whispering wind, the florns were hosting a conference.

Or at least that was how it might have appeared to an outsider.

And how their species had sold their story.

None of the others knew that they shared one will, that every single individual was but another altered fable through which the broodmother manifested.

The entire conference was bollocks.

Even the supposed god was bollocks.

He was supposedly worshipped only in Flor and seen as a provider of long-distance communication. In reality, the florn god had no florn believers. Everyone knew that he was but a work of fiction. But everyone was bound, by an oath to Flitzegarde, never to reveal the truth.

The necessary lies were already widespread, shared through the broodmother's link. Still, he continued, precisely because he knew that the Gobglobgob Republic was watching, carefully monitoring their supposed stations under the guise of protecting them.

"My brothers and sisters," he started, in a whisper. That was another one of the fake conditions that the florns had invented. "I have appraised our enemies' enemies and confirmed all of our suspicions. They are weak, foolish, but we will be able to use them, precisely as we planned."

"And how, exactly, are you planning to use us?"

A shiver shot up Shadow's spine as he spun around to face the voice's owner. Somehow, the Vel'khanese knight, the one always dressed in full armour, was standing directly behind him. She was half leaning against the wall, her arms crossed and her frozen gaze shining through the gap in her visor.

Shadow didn't humour her with a response. He kicked off the ground, extended his wrist blade, and aimed for her throat. It was the only appropriate response. If she'd followed him all the way to his fake HQ, she was far too dangerous not to silence.

In reality, the initial thrust was just a feint. He was already prepared to launch into a rising kick the moment she raised her arms. The blades hidden in his shoes would claim everything beneath her elbows and leave her unable to fight. The quality of her armour was irrelevant. His blades were born of a goddess' will. There was nothing that they couldn't pierce.

If she were slower, she would probably die before he even pulled back. And if she were faster, she'd probably block both strikes and force him into a third. But that was fine. He was ready to transition into a third attack.

There was just one problem.

She had grabbed him by the throat before he could even finish his first.

He opened his eyes wide. He couldn't believe it. Almost all of his points had been invested in speed. He could practically outrun the sun.

And yet, her hand had reached him before he had even registered its movement.

"Who do you work for?"

Shadow didn't answer.

"The broodmother of Florn?" But somehow, she continued like he had. "How boring."

Shadow furrowed his brow as he quickly reviewed his actions. He was sure that he hadn't reacted in any meaningful way, let alone given out such crucial information. It must have been the effect of a skill.

He racked his mind for a countermeasure, only to freeze as their surroundings warped and shifted. Suddenly, they were in the sky. There was no rhyme or reason to drive the insanity. It was like the world had simply decided that they were somewhere else.

"Let's see…"

She looked into his eyes.

And then it happened again. There was no distortion. No transition. No evidence to indicate that they had even tried to move.

One second, they were above the Republic.

And in the next, the skies were Florn.

He recognized the islands that dotted the peninsula. The bay that was his hometown. Seen from the cliff he'd always scaled as a child. He wanted—needed—to believe that it was just an illusion, but the sting of the salty sea breeze was all too real. He could feel it seeping into his neck as her fingers dug further, permeating his very bones.

Her armour prevented him from seeing her face, but he could swear that she smirked as she turned to the town, her silvery-blue hair fluttering in the wind behind her, glimmering in a way that was all too familiar.

He opened his eyes wide.

"Claire Augustus."

She didn't bother replying. But he knew that it was the truth. She was too much like her father for it to be anything but, for she had inherited his cold-hearted strength.

And so too did she inherit his cruelty.

She pointed an open palm at the city and prepared an absurd amount of magic, more than one, ten, or even a hundred magi could have rightfully possessed. But she handled it like it was childsplay. It was a threat, a demand made in cold blood.

A single wave of the hand was all it would take for her to erase his childhood.

Buildings, people, and geographical features alike would all be turned to dust in tandem. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. Everything that her hand swept past was sure to be obliterated, completely and utterly erased. Still, he kept despair at bay.

"It doesn't matter what you to do me or our people. The broodmother will have you hunted, chased to the end of the earth and killed like a dog!" he snarled.

"Then I'll just have to kill her."

The man laughed. "She'll have our armies upo—"

His words never left his throat. Because there was no air. They had warped again. Suddenly, they were high in the sky, above the capital of Florn.

The colour drained from Shadow's face as he laid eyes upon the giant blades hovering in the space around them, their heavy tips pointed towards the world below. He gulped. Her plans were clear as day. But she didn't unleash her spell right away. She simply waited, watched, allowed him to marinate in his misery before she finally struck.

Or at least, that was how he understood it.

In reality, she was simply thinking it through, carefully doing the math in her head to ensure that the attack fell within the limits that Flitzegarde would deem as acceptable. In broad strokes, she was free to do as she pleased as long as the planet largely emerged unscathed and remained in stable orbit. Only after she triple checked—the last thing she wanted to do was embarrass herself by having her attacks cancelled by the system—did she unleash her might upon the landscape beneath her.

Shadow stared in horror, his eyes opening wide as blades rained from the sky. They fell with such force that they left craters in their wake. The stricken guards were turned to paste or mist. Not even those that threw up their defenses proved capable of weathering the storm. Their swords and shields shattered as they found the falling stars, breaking alongside their spirits.

The giant, twenty meter monoliths didn't stop or shatter when they hit the ground. Sprouting lizard-like legs, they waddled about and took their positions in and around the royal hatchery. To those on the ground, the pillars were haphazard, seemingly placed at random. But from the sky, Shadow could tell that they were intentionally arranged, placed to form a magic circle that spanned the hatchery's entirety.

The artificial circuit glowed.

And then, it erupted.

A blast of pure mana that consumed all it touched. It only lasted for a few seconds. But it blew everything away.

The royal hatchery. The noble quarter. And even the sky above it.

Shadow searched for the broodmother. But no matter how desperately he tried, he couldn't hear her voice.

He couldn't hear any of the million voices that should have flooded his mind.

He was left all alone, with nothing but the deafening silence to accompany the empty space where the hatchery had once existed. The last thing he heard, besides the crack that accompanied his end.

Claire knew he was dead, but she bonked him over the head a few more times for good measure before releasing his corpse and flicking the blood off of her gauntlets, a frown on her lips all the while. She wasn't happy with her handiwork. She was going to need more practice. If even the squirrels could react, her father would have surely dodged the bombardment with ease, but she would have to reduce each object's mass if she wanted to bolster its speed, and the stupid old moose was sure to deflect any lighter attacks.

Still, it was a stark improvement. At the very least, she was able to get the attacks to fire without being interrupted by Flitzegarde.

A faint smile returning to her lips, Claire opened a gate and returned to Amrinia.

She had a fox to tickle, and she wasn't about to miss out on account of some worthless rodent.

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