Blind Chaos - Tales Beneath the Dragoneye Moons

The journey, at the very least, felt faster with their new escort. The former soldiers had actual experience with convoys and had made dozens of little things more efficient, like tending to the donkeys or dealing with a wagon that got stuck. Plus, they repacked the luggage—what was left after the bandits’ so-called fee—more competently and freed up a bit better than half of the space on one of the wagons. This allowed for a break rotation that kept the convoy mobile while its less physically capable members (mostly the kids that hadn’t unlocked yet, not that any of the group except their escort had a decent level) rested as needed.

So, it felt faster, though Ranthia had her doubts that it really improved their speed all that much. The road always seemed to feel the same, which made it difficult to believe that they were truly much faster.

Ranthia, for her part, was more stubborn than ever and was determined to gain additional natural strength, speed, and vitality stat points. This made her determined to completely avoid time spent on the wagon. Unfortunately, life conspired to thwart her, it seemed. First, there was the—oh so minor—fact that she was still stuck in an 8-year-old body that had never really been well-fed or fit. Second, her ill-fitting sandals got progressively worse almost daily as she suffered through another minor growth spurt. Every time she was forced to take a break in the wagon she seethed, felt sorry for herself, and just generally made for terrible company, even by the low standards she had previously set.

When she wasn’t indulging in a perfectly reasonable bout of grumpiness that certainly wasn’t a childish tantrum, two of the three former soldiers indulged Ranthia. They welcomed her presence when sleep eluded her—restlessness was perfectly natural, she absolutely was not still distressed over that horrible stranger she had briefly called her mother—and she joined their watch shifts, and the same duo happily trained with her before the convoy broke camp every morning. They were also happy to share the practical sorts of wisdom that trained soldiers of the Legion picked up.

The third ex-soldier, on the other hand, was content to loudly (and repeatedly) snort in derision if he felt either of his peers wasted too much time over the weird girl, but otherwise ignored her existence. She was all too willing to ignore him in kind.

Not that Ranthia had absorbed a single name from the former soldiers still. She had no idea how or why she was so terrible with names, but the affliction was really starting to bug her. What kind of a person heard someone’s name—even repeatedly—and just… failed to absorb it unless it stood out in some horrible way?

Though Ranthia trained with two of the three former soldiers-slash-former bandits, one in particular tended to be her direct trainer. The short one, as she mentally referred to him, used dual short swords and was, honestly, kind of brilliant about advice on how to modify his techniques to suit her knives and smaller form.

He also had an inordinate fondness for the weirdest training exercises Ranthia had ever seen.

“Left!”

Ranthia pivoted on her heel—while her too-small sandals dug into her feet—and raised one knife to parry, while she slashed with the one in her right hand. Once the maneuver was done, she kicked off the ground to resume her sprint, lest she get bogged down.

She had only made that mistake once. The whole ordeal was exhausting, but getting bogged down had nearly brought her down.

“Faster, we’re losing the convoy!” The short ex-soldier snapped.

Not that losing the convoy was even remotely possible, but she had lost a bit of ground on the last few exchanges.

They were in an ‘especially nasty’ stretch of the jungle. The villagers had been loaded into the wagons entirely while the ex-soldiers stoically ignored the nonstop litany of complaints from the overcrowded idiots.

Because the ex-soldiers had killed seven Saber-tooth tigers already, in the span of half a day. The donkeys were a curse that slowed them down, but at the very least they could keep the helpless off the menu. Thus, the contained and unhappy villagers.

Ranthia, ever foolish, had argued that she could help protect the convoy since there were only three protectors. Her lethality might have been quite a bit beneath that of the ex-soldiers, but she was the only [Mage] present and she had improved by leaps and bounds since she had wandered directly into the bandits’ ambush.

Then the short one had proposed a training program for her that took advantage of the situation. Neither of the other ex-soldiers really approved of the plan—though the one that disliked her had quipped that maybe the headache would get eaten—since it left one protector per wagon, but the short one thought it might distract the predators.

And, frankly, he was gleeful to inflict his newest terrible idea training program upon her.

And that was how Ranthia found herself sprinting five to seven paces—strictly enforced—behind the short ex-soldier while they held a mock full retreat against an imaginary force. The ex-soldier called out directions which represented attacks that she had to parry or evade while she counterattacked, without falling out of the five to seven paces of range with her mentor.

Worse, she had to keep a close eye on him all the while. At first his own movements with his dual short swords mirrored his orders, but soon after he had started varying things up. It was difficult to respond to his words and ignore his own attacks on fictional foes, though it made sense. If they were actually pursued by a real force, it was beyond unlikely that their foes would be polite enough to come in even waves against both of them.

It was still distracting when she had no other visual references to rely on.

Part of the exercise was to keep close attention focused on their surroundings. Ranthia had [Boosted Reflexes], while the soldier had a skill named [Zeal of the Legion] that similarly boosted his situational awareness.

…Of course she had memorized the skill name after hearing it once, while Ranthia had heard the soldier’s name multiple times and couldn’t tell you a single sound that was found within it.

“Q-Four!” The ex-soldier shouted in a completely different, more urgent tone of voice.

Ranthia had begun to turn before [Boosted Reflexes] finally recognized the danger. One of the large, hungry felines had begun to emerge from the jungle, its gaze fixed directly on her.

Immediately, as planned, Ranthia triggered [Homunculus of Light] and sent the glowing thing directly into the path of the Saber-tooth tiger. The soldier blurred past her—his speed beyond what her vitality could follow—but the tiger aborted its charge and fled back into the jungle with a snarl.

In theory, those moments were the ones that Ranthia was in the most danger. She was small and, by conventional wisdom, vulnerable. She had low vitality—which the damned beasts seemed to somehow sense—and was basically the perfect prey as far as they were concerned.

Ranthia had talked a big game when the danger was more hypothetical than real, but she had come to understand that her best outcome if one of those things reached her was to make it suffer before she died. They were insanely fast and stealthy enough that [Boosted Reflexes] was almost worse than her own eyes. The big beasts seemed resistant to the skill, somehow.

When her protector—as much as she hated to admit that he was her only lifeline—was out of position, all she could do was activate [Light Haze] and watch her mana pour out like she had turned into a leaky bucket while she and her surroundings were mildly distorted as her spell twisted the light around her a bit. It was less than a Mirage classer could do, but it might, maybe, make a lunge from one of the murdercats miss. If she was lucky.

Very, very lucky.

Fortunately, this time her protector was back in place swiftly, since the Saber-tooth tiger had retreated. She was able to drop [Light Haze] immediately.

“Ready to concede and return to the wagon yet?” The soldier asked casually, as if he wasn’t aware that a hungry feline still stalked his student.

“No!” Ranthia snapped stubbornly, “…Though I might only have the mana for one or two repetitions of that.”

The combat sprint and vigilance required were solid training—not that she was going to admit that out loud, it’d just make the man insufferable—and she hated to give it up. But she also wasn’t quite stubborn enough that it made her stupid.

The risk of death aside, it was kind of… fun?

They had emerged from the most dangerous portion of the road, but the journey wasn’t done.

Ranthia’s feud with her mother had another side effect she hadn’t expected: group social dynamics. Even before they had left the bandit camp, the baker—and soon after, his sons—treated Ranthia with obvious iciness as part of the man’s transparent efforts to get closer to her mother. Hexara—and, at first, the younger girl that Ranthia had saved—spearheaded the opposing faction and were eager to sing their praises for the prickly 8-year-old and tried to engage with her when she wasn’t training.

But things had shifted. People gradually started to congeal around Ranthia’s mother and the baker, slowly enough that Ranthia hadn’t even noticed. By the time that the tavern wench and the awkward teen with a toddler had finally joined them, likely while everyone was clumped together in the wagons, it was impossible to miss the schism that had been created.

The anti-Ranthia group often congregated together, either in clumps or as a unified whole, and held whispered conversations while they glared at Ranthia periodically. The many and frequent glares were what finally clued her in to the twist in the social dynamics. Even the mother of the little girl that Ranthia had saved from the snake had joined the group. While the girl who Ranthia had saved just looked guilty and awkward, her mother and her younger sister—the one that had once been so grateful—were among those that peppered Ranthia with glares.

Hexara was the last person among those that had left Perinthus that Ranthia could even trust. She clearly had lost some social dynamics power play without ever even noticing the danger until it was far, far too late.

Yet, she wasn’t sure if she cared. Instead, Ranthia responded by redoubling her training—both physical and magical—while she made sure that she slept near one of the friendly ex-soldiers. It was all too easy for her to imagine her former mother convincing someone to make an attempt on her life while she rested.

The two friendly ex-soldiers outwardly pretended to not notice, but Ranthia’s instincts said that they had increased their own vigilance of the group. They might not have known the details, but they clearly could tell something was amiss.

They were good men.

“What do you mean you can’t open the gates?!” The pregnant woman demanded.

“That’s the rule. The sun set quite some time ago.” A bored and disinterested guard answered, from the other side of the gate.

“We were in view before you closed the gates!” The same woman snapped.

“Yup.” The guard agreed.

“You could have waited!”

“Nope.”

Most of the rest of the group had accepted the inevitable and begun to set up for a final night of camping. The town guards responsible for the night shift were obviously the sort that cared more for the letter of a rule than they did for people.

But the pregnant woman seemed to consider it an insult too far. She was within reach of a bath and clean clothing, and she refused to accept any further delays!

Which Ranthia grudgingly had to agree with. Between her training and the scant sources to renew their stores of fresh water on that leg of the journey, she was all too aware of her own aroma and the almost scandalously tattered state of her tunic. Not that she expected to be able to remedy either problem—or her painful sandals—if she entered the town.

Even if the bandits hadn’t taken every coin and valuable they owned, Ranthia hadn’t exactly possessed her own funds. Most baths, even the public ones, required coins to enter, at least from her limited experience with Perinthus. There was a reason she usually cleansed herself with a bucket and a rough rag before they left home.

Ranthia shrugged it off, it was a problem for the morning. She just settled in as near to one of the soldiers as anyone dared with the unique and pungent aromas each of them possessed and tried to sleep, serenaded by the ongoing argument between the pregnant woman and the town guard.

Bright and early, the group amassed while they waited for the guards to oh-so-slowly open the gates, as if they were thrice their size and far heavier than the thin wood they were made from. At last, the gates opened, and the group poured inside before they immediately scattered to the winds.

Ranthia blinked. It felt almost rehearsed. One moment they were clustered together, the next everyone had gone in a variety of different directions with vague plans to meet again around noon.

Ranthia just shrugged and wandered off herself. She didn’t have any coin—none of them did, except the ex-soldiers—but she was resourceful and observant. The first bit of the morning was spent with her eyes to the ground as she wandered the small town.

It was smaller than Perinthus and was the sort of town that tended to only exist because it was where multiple roads converged. The town subsisted entirely on travelers that wanted a place to find food, rest, and cleanliness. Most of those that Ranthia saw were travelers like they were, with the town’s population making up the minority of those out and about.

This was a good thing; it meant the local population of thieves and beggar children were basically nonexistent. Which was the only reason why Ranthia managed to locate enough dropped and lost coins across the morning to afford the local bathhouse.

Bathhouses seemed to be a major fixture of Remus that did brisk business. Ranthia paid the—mercifully minimal—fee for use and eagerly shucked her filthy tunic in the changing area.

…Except she would have to put it back on after she was clean, she realized just before she entered the women’s bathing area. Ranthia hesitated briefly, before she balled it up and brought it with her. First, she scrubbed herself aggressively, trying to remove most of a season’s worth of filth all at once. Her hair had gotten longer, since her mother wasn’t around to cut it. That was a problem for later though, for the moment it too needed to be scrubbed clean. Her tunic was last up for scrubbing, then she wrung as much water out of it as she could and walked back into the changing room to hang it from a corner.

She wasn’t too worried about a cheap child’s tunic that was tattered and stained almost beyond recognition being stolen. She left it to dry while she returned to the baths proper to indulge in the real draw: the bath itself. She had been focused on scrubbing before, but she was finally ready to just soak and relax.

The bath was a massive pool of water kept so heated that the area became steamy and mystical. The steam was thick enough to give the illusion of privacy while Ranthia soaked and allowed her sore muscles and sorer feet to rest and recuperate.

She was hungry, but after so long, food was a want and cleanliness was a need.

Ranthia, clean and garbed once again in her still-damp tunic and ill-fitting sandals, wandered around until she located the gathering place for their meeting. It was only the villagers that slowly ambled into the empty space that the town had walled off for future expansion, the ex-soldiers’ roles were done.

The men had gotten them this far, and now it was up to them to find their own way forward, ideally alongside other travelers.

At last, the final stragglers arrived—the pregnant woman with many daughters—and the meeting got underway. The baker took lead, as usual, in the woodsman’s absence and Ranthia was grudgingly impressed with how much he had accomplished during the morning. …Though she was less impressed with how the man kept looking to the woman that used to be her mother, since it seemed that he was checking to see if she appreciated how impressive he was.

The man had started to court Ranthia’s former mother almost as soon as the horrible woman cut ties with her. It was disgusting on every level.

He had arranged for them to join up with a merchant convoy that was leaving in five days, one that was bound, ultimately, for the capital, though it planned to stop in a number of towns along the way. In a surprise twist, one of the former soldiers—the unfriendly one, naturally—had signed on with the convoy as a sword for hire. Somehow, he had already traded down his contraband Legion-issued equipment for a mismatched set more proper for Adventurers. There was no mention of the other two former soldiers, though presumably as previously planned they were still trying to become Adventurers, especially since the plan was supposed to be for the ex-soldiers to avoid the capital or other regions where they were likely to encounter Legion soldiers or anyone that knew them.

Ranthia had started to consider her own plans, sort of. It was more of a whim, honestly, but she had grown fond of the two friendly soldiers. Plus, she was less than assured of her own safety if she continued to accompany the other villagers. Sure, some of the merchant convoy might be decent, but they also just as easily might not be. Still, she needed to speak to the former soldiers privately first, but she hoped that they would allow—

Ranthia’s introspection was abruptly shattered.

“Also, as a group we have discussed it; and Ranthia is not welcome to accompany us.” The baker concluded, as if this were some minor point, one not worth discussing.

Hexara made a cute little noise of pure outrage, as only someone midway through their teenage years could. But Ranthia’s other usual supporter, the daughter of the woman that sat beside Ranthia’s mother, only looked sad and, perhaps, a little guilty. No one else seemed remotely bothered, a few nodded. Then there was Ranthia’s former mother, the hateful woman had a vicious grin plastered on her face as she watched her former daughter.

The damned bitch wanted to see Ranthia break!

Ranthia just blinked and tried to process the sudden revelation. …She supposed that she should have felt angry at being abandoned by the only family she had, but…

In truth she felt utterly relieved. It was for the best if she parted ways with those that expected her to be a normal girlish child. This promised to make her life easier. She knew that she would never be what they wanted, and once they departed, she’d never have to pretend. She was finally her own woman, and she had all the foundation that she needed to make it work. It was almost what she had just been considering too.

“That’s fine, I hope your journey is a safe one.” She replied to the baker with a smile, after all too long of a delay when everyone was waiting for her to react.

Ranthia intentionally avoided looking at her mother and excused herself since her role in the meeting was done.

Ranthia walked away, intending to wander through town and revel in her newfound freedom. That was the intent, at least.

Her eyes grew damp, and her smile faded no matter how she fought to keep it plastered on. She was truly relieved to be free! She shouted the thought inside her head over and over with ever increasing frustration with herself, even as her tears fell and her tiny heart broke. The world wasn’t even kind enough to give her any rain to mask her tears this time around.

Ranthia finally mastered her tears—for the most part—and remained in blissful ignorance about just how puffy her eyes and tearstained cheeks were. It was closer to dinner time than lunch time, not that Ranthia had eaten since the prior evening. Ranthia had even managed to ask around, using rough descriptions, and learned from a merchant that ran a street stall with knives—far inferior to her own—that the two friendly ex-soldiers were last seen entering the local Adventurer’s Guild and hadn’t yet emerged. The man was visibly uncomfortable to interact with her, for whatever reason, but she thanked him all the same for the information.

In that semi-recovered state, she planned her clever ambush of the friendly men—by lurking near the entrance to the local Adventurer’s Guild while she waited for them to finish inside—while she planned her speech in her head about why she had value and would be useful to them as Adventurers. Her [Mage] powers weren’t impressive yet, but she’d give them the full details of her build. They’d be impressed, she just knew it, and until then she could help with campsites and her current skills were already applicable.

The instant the men emerged, Ranthia hopped forward, mouth open and ready to give her grand speech.

“There you are! We were worried that you might have left town or something! I know this isn’t much, but would you be willing to come with us instead? There’s no way we can leave you alone, not after those pieces of shi—ahem, those rude people abandoned you.” The taller man spoke up before Ranthia had even managed to get a single sound out.

…So much for her speech, she supposed, but her smile finally turned genuine.

She was truly relieved that they were willing to tolerate her. Her speech was mostly intended as bluster, in truth she knew that she was still unable to even quite pull her own weight, let alone be invaluable to the ex-soldiers. Realistically, the two men either gambled hard on her potential growth… or they were just genuinely decent people. Either possibility was fine with her.

Of course, she utterly failed to even consider the risk that the men might have possessed less than altruistic intentions. She was entirely too distracted by trying to wrangle the too-large emotions that broiled within her.

While they talked, Ranthia learned that the third soldier (who wasn’t quite a friend of theirs, it seemed) had a lover in the capital and had decided that he was willing to take the risk so he could be with the man again. Not that the man had possessed the decency to tell his fellows ahead of time; he kept his plans quiet until he had paved his way to return to his man. The two nice soldiers that Ranthia was sticking with still made use of the guy’s contact to trade in the bulk of their Legion-issued equipment, though they grumbled good naturedly—more or less—about how he got to pick all of the best stuff.

Not that Ranthia had a high opinion of any of the pieces on offer, but unfortunately it was difficult to trade in illegal goods for their true value. Worse, the shady merchant didn’t even have anything that would properly fit her!

The tall soldier bought and traded for a variety of weaponry to go with his bulky, heavy iron armor—steel was outside of what they could afford—along with the large shield that absorbed most of his share of the funds. He was an Earth and Metal aspected dual classed [Warrior] that had class skills that made him roughly equally proficient with any weapon he wielded, though he was best suited for the traditional front-line [Warrior] role.

The short soldier, the one that had taken lead on her training, grudgingly traded his Legion-issued gladii for a pair of short swords that were plainly of worse quality, with a pair of knives as backup weapons. The man considered himself merely decent at knives, which frustrated Ranthia since she hoped to become at least half as ‘decent’ as he considered himself. He went with the lightest leather armor that still fit him, which made sense for a Wind and Wood aspected dual classed [Warrior]. His build was that of a speedster, someone that could close in and devastate an opponent rapidly, which made similar builds notorious [Mage] killers.

Spells didn’t do much if you had a sword in you before you could cast.

Ranthia ended up with a new tunic—sourced from a different local shop—and found herself wrapped in a thick dinosaur hide that she wore like a cloak. It was the closest thing to armor that anyone made for a child, which… grudgingly probably spoke favorably of Remus’ society. Herself aside, children probably shouldn’t be fighting.

Ranthia hated to do it, but she knew it was an absolute requirement.

She had asked the men to help her finally learn their names. Despite her sincere efforts, multiple awkward requests for reminders, and frankly impressive patience from the men, it still took days for them to sink in.

Tatius, the tall ex-soldier, was to pretend to be her father, because they superficially resembled one another (in that they both had brown hair and brown eyes, even if Ranthia’s were darker in both cases). Pupius, the short one, was an old friend and teammate for their little Adventurer group. She was free to call him Uncle, but she didn’t; that just felt too weird when the man was her trainer in the art of combat.

Ranthia was, sort of, registered to their party. The local Adventurer’s Guildmaster refused to allow an 8-year-old to register as an Adventurer, but he finally deigned to allow her to be recorded as an ‘unofficial’ member of their party so that she would be able to report on their party’s achievements—or, as the man clearly considered to be the more likely outcome, the deaths of the men—in their absence.

None of them had liked it, but they weren’t likely to change the obstinate man’s mind. So, they left it there and promised Ranthia that they could try other Guildmasters in other cities and towns.

Remus was larger than she had initially expected, it seemed.

The night before everyone that she had left Perinthus with were to report, Ranthia privately visited Hexara outside the inn that the villagers had—somehow—secured rooms in. There was no privacy in the room itself, but Hexara spotted her out the shutters and exited the inn to meet with her.

“Well, guess this is goodbye.” Ranthia offered awkwardly when the teenager arrived.

In her head, she had planned a whole thing, thanking Hexara for believing in her and for supporting her. It had meant a lot, and she knew that the teenager had suffered socially with the group for her continued support. Instead, Ranthia found herself awkward and unsure of what to say once she was face-to-face with the teenager.

Hexara hugged her suddenly.

“Just promise me you’ll look me up in the capital someday, okay? I wish there was more I could do for you, I guess I’ll just have to hope those two men are as good as you claim.” The teenager insisted.

“Sure.” Ranthia replied.

Not that she ever expected to go to the capital. It was the one city their Adventurer’s group couldn’t safely visit, after all.

Hexara, once again, kept Ranthia out late while she spouted out her plans and hopes for the future to the girl. One last time spent indulging the slightly older girl wasn’t too bad, Ranthia decided.

From an out of the way location, Ranthia quietly watched the departure of the people that she had known for, effectively, almost her entire life. Ranthia never bothered to seek out her mother, and the woman had clearly never tried to see her daughter one last time either. She knew the bond between them was destroyed, but she was also still surprisingly bitter about it. Perhaps with time… …well, she wasn’t even sure what she wanted though. Perhaps she merely hoped that the pain and bitterness would fade eventually. Maybe she hoped her mother would come to her senses someday and they would be able to try again.

Or maybe she hoped to find the courage to tell her mother the truth someday. The woman had been right, in a way, even if her own reasoning was beyond redemption.

But, at that moment, how Ranthia truly felt deep down was unimportant. Instead, she simply watched until the large merchant convoy was out of sight, then returned to the two former soldiers (turned bandits, turned Adventurers). They were the closest thing she had to family anymore, and that had to be enough.

Besides, their first job as Adventurers awaited.