Chapter 309: Hiwardian Drift

Chapter 309: Hiwardian Drift

After Ishi’s oopsie with her Dragon breath, Grotto kicked us out of the training space. The portal barrier surrounding it had been annihilated, and the damage had caused several mana weave blowouts between the training hall and the nearest obelisk, which had been supplying the portal with its mana. The obelisk was fine, but Grotto was amply grumpy about having to redo the weaves and told me to figure out where to host the rest of the tryouts myself.

I thought it would be best for everyone if we took a little recess and decided to teleport Ishi and me to our upgraded lounge. That was also where our next candidate was hanging out while awaiting his time in the hot seat:

Varrin’s older brother, Ealdric ‘Drift’ Ravvenblaq the Fourth.

“Aha!” said Drift, spreading his arms as Ishi and I appeared. “Your Royal Highness, the lady of the hour, how wonderful to finally meet you, Princess Ishi.” He stood from the settee he’d taken over to greet us, stepping forward and offering a formal bow. Ishi watched the display with a critical eye, looking pleased at the address. She held out her hand, which Drift deftly accepted, incorporating the gesture into the bow itself.

Drift had the typical white hair of a Hiwardian, cut short, with just the right amount of white scruff to look intentionally unintentional. He was four years and some change older than Varrin and nearly as tall, but where Varrin was a Herculean exemplar of ultra-masculinity, Drift had a leaner, more traditionally athletic physique. There was a clear family resemblance, one that had only grown stronger as Varrin had put on a few more years.

A quick check of Drift’s soul and level showed me that the man was Level 18, full Platinum. Considering the fellow had been Level 12 just two years beforehand, it was an impressive jump, although Varrin had gone from Level 6 to Level 16 in that same timeframe.

We’d soon find out that this was why Drift was here in the first place.

After standing from his bow, the roguish Ravvenblaq threw me a wink and a nod. “Your Majesty.”

I put my hands on my hips and shook my head. “Ishi gets a whole song and dance while I barely get a mention? This disrespect will not stand!” I clapped my hands together twice. “Servants, fetch me the headsman!”

“Pah!” I said, reaching over and grabbing a few choice pieces of asiago. “I’d never dirty my hands with such peasant work. I’ll simply have to endure your discourtesy. Still, you’ll rue this day, Ravvenblaq.”

Ishi stepped around me to pick through the tray and selected a candied apricot for herself. “Shall I consider these improvisational skills as part of your tryout?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at Drift while she politely nibbled on the fruit.

“Of course, Princess,” he replied. “One cannot simply murder all the problems before them. One must be well-versed in the art politic, or know well when to call upon a companion with a firm grasp of such social nuance.”

“I see. One might say that is my own role in the party,” Ishi countered.

“And you are generating a potent reputation as a cunning diplomat, Your Highness. But while you operate in the light of day and sail upon crystal seas, I find myself navigating murkier waters. It pays to take the pulse of the underworld, and such skullduggery is beneath your royal notice, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Ishi agreed, daintily wiping her fingers with a moist towelette. “How is it that a Ravvenblaq finds himself wading through hives of scum and villainy?”

“They don’t smell money like blood in the water?” I asked.

“What Ravvenblaq?” Drift brusquely asked, his voice pitched down and taking on a rasp. I blinked as a stranger now sat on the man’s settee. His hair and eyes had turned dark, and his pale skin had become a ruddy tan. Even the shape of his soul transformed, the Platinum Delver levels shrinking away as his body shrank alongside it.

“Solid trick,” I said. Ishi looked him over, nodding her approval as well.

“Bloody nobles,” Drift grumbled as he popped up off the couch to walk towards the bar, a heavy limp to his gait. He did a quick roll across the bartop, the disguise falling away as he spun, gone by the time his soft boots clicked back down onto the floor. He ran his fingertips over several bottles on the shelves before him, then began pulling down half a dozen selections.

Drift smiled at us over his shoulder. “As for smelling like money,” he said as he poured a careful measure of rum into a crystal glass without looking, “there is always a time and a place. After all, what enterprising information broker would meet with a destitute vagrant?” He looked down and quickly combined small portions from all six liquors into three separate tumblers, then squatted to peruse my selection of mixers and fresh fruit, disappearing behind the bar. A shapely woman in a low-cut blouse emerged, holding several oranges and a sprig of mint.

“But, yes, you’d never want the riff raff to know that you’re carrying a pack stuffed full with golden notes,” the lady Drift said. Her curls–and other parts–bounced as she shook her head and shuddered. “Heavens! I couldn’t even be-gin to imagine the trouble that would cause.” A knife appeared from nowhere, spinning around his or her finger, then Drift began slicing up the fruit. She paused and pointed the knife at the two of us. “Unless you do want them to know you’re loaded, of course.” She returned to the fruit, chopping it with slightly more aggression. “Money’s the simplest bait you could ask for.”

Drift pulled away an orange peel and deftly ran their knife along the outside, creating a dramatic spray of zest that sprinkled over the contents of the glasses, while getting absolutely everywhere else at the same time. I looked up from the fresh mess, slightly annoyed, to find that Drift was back to his normal self. He gave me a dazzling smile and waved at the drinks with a flourish, presenting them for our inspection. A glance down showed each drink with a light dusting of orange peel, with the counter beneath it sparkling clean.

Intrigued by the janitorial magic, I walked forward and took up one of the beverages, then looked it over skeptically before taking a sip.

“This is apple cider,” I said, confused. I dipped my finger in and gathered some of the zest to taste. “And this isn’t orange, it’s cinnamon!” I took another sip. “Hmm… there’s something else. Something a little spicy.” I smacked my lips. “Pretty good, though.”

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Your Poison resistance has negated the effect of Enhanced Wayward’s Venom!

“Hey!” I said.

“What?” asked Drift, the picture of innocence as he took a sip from his own glass. “It adds a flavorful undertone. Besides, I don’t have any Poison buffs. This stuff could barely kill a horse.”

I frowned, but took another sip regardless. My months of bathing in Nuralie’s poison gases may have warped my tastes, but the venom did

Ishi nursed her own beverage without comment, but I noticed that her glass was smoking. “Why do you wish to join my party?” she asked.

Drift took a long pull from his drink, which could have been filled with literally anything, and I’d have had no idea. Had he even used any of the bottles he’d grabbed off the shelf? A quick glance showed them all neatly stowed away, back in their proper places. “My current party insisted on some time off,” he said. “Unfortunately, my goal is not to slow down, but to move at an even brisker levelling pace.”

“Any particular reason they felt the need for a break?” asked Ishi. I could tell that she’d picked up something in Drift’s tone that I’d missed.

“I pushed them harder than they liked,” he replied. “They’re a good group, skilled, well-prepared, but they aren’t playing for the end game. This, hmm–we’ll call it a breakup–had been coming for a long time, but they’re old friends. I deluded myself into believing they’d share my convictions.”

“They aren’t taking enough risks for your liking?”

“I won’t lie. That’s part of it. But it’s more that they aren’t pushing to be the best version of themselves. They’re complacent. They’ve made a good run of Platinum, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re already planning on dropping down to Gold. They certainly aren’t planning to push past 30 Platinum Delves.” He set his tumbler down with a clunk. “I’m already leaving the party behind. Soon, I’ll be dragging them up alongside me, and that’s how people die. I want to be surrounded by people who challenge me.”

Ishi didn’t comment, but stood with her glass raised in a casual stance, like she was considering taking a sip. Instead, she peered over the rim and watched Drift with an expectant look.

“I’m… also… feeling somewhat jealous of my little brother,” Drift admitted after wilting under Ishi’s expression. “I’m nearly five years older than Var. I was Level 10 when he underwent Creation. Level 10! Now, he’s only two levels behind me! I refuse to let him outlevel me.”

“Keeping up with the leveling pace of Fortune’s Folly isn’t easy,” said the princess. “Doing so means staying competitive with the current world record holders. Most would call it impossible.”

“Nonsense,” said Drift, standing up straighter and placing a regal hand on his chest. His expression struck me hard with the memory of his father, despite what little time I’d spent with the man before his death. “I am a Ravvenblaq. I hail from a noble family of overachievers, and I’m much too rich to be told that something is impossible.”

Ishi chuckled at that. “What if I decide that we should take things more slowly than King Xor’Drel’s party?”

“Frankly, I understand the need to step back and take things slow and steady on occasion. I’m not willing to sit around, but that doesn’t mean I’ll press for something reckless. So long as we’re pushing ourselves, always looking to sharpen our edges, I’ll be satisfied. I get the impression that you are not one for half-measures, Your Highness. I believe our goals align quite well.”

“You’re looking to live the work hard, play hard lifestyle,” I said. “Harder than your average Platinum party, but you’re not trying to be suicidal about it.”

“Precisely, Your Majesty.” Drift took up his drink again, which was miraculously full. “I’ve been quietly looking for a new group for some time, but there aren’t that many Platinum parties. My call went unanswered until King Xor’Drel provided me with an invitation to this very tryout.”

“It seems we’re havng more of an interview than a tryout,” said Ishi.

“An interview is a more appropriate structure to demonstrate my talents,” said Drift, white teeth gleaming behind his wolfish grin.

“Regardless, it is important that I have an understanding of your combat prowess.” Ishi finished her drink, and the glass floated away, setting itself down gently on the bartop. “There are some challenges within the Delves that must be overcome with force.”

“Ah, but I disagree,” said Drift. “While I have not always been successful in the attempt, I am convinced that all Delves have a non-violent solution.”

“Are you incapable of defending yourself, then?”

“Hardly,” said Drift. “Although I’d hesitate to call it ‘defending’ myself. By the time it becomes apparent that someone insists on violence–”

I felt a prick on the underside of my jaw and between my ribs just below my armpit. Drift’s voice came quietly from behind me.

“–they’re already dead,” he finished.

My mind spun as the Drift in front of me, a man with a pulse and body heat, who gave off the faint scent of alcohol and floral cologne, whose every movement displaced air, and who was surrounded by a fucking soul halo, evaporated into mana mist.

He’d been an illusion the entire time.

Drift–the real Drift–stood behind me in a dark suit of leather and soundless fabrics, darkly colored in Ravvenblaq hues of black and silver. He held two shortswords, with the point of one pressing against the underside of my jaw, angled towards my brain, while the tip of the other was perfectly positioned to skewer my heart from the side of my chest.

The position the man had to be in to make this happen was mildly intimate, and I spent a moment considering whether this was a physical form of irony.

Both of Drift’s blades emitted a chilled vapor, and my musings were interrupted when I noticed the skin where each one touched me was rapidly dying to the tingling sting of frostbite.

I hadn’t known a whole lot about Drift’s build, other than he was a charismatic spellblade of sorts. The older Ravvenblaq had made a name for himself as a treasure hunter, always out in the world exploring for new Special Delves, so I’d been hoping that he had high levels in Investigation and Reconnaissance. Having a scout and smoothtalker would be a solid addition to Team Princess. I had also assumed some classic Ravvenblaq slice-and-dice was rolled up neatly in that handsome package, but I was taken off guard by how effective of an assassin the man turned out to be.

Drift slowly withdrew his blades and took a step back. Ishi had her bow floating in the air and a spell on her fingertips, looking ready to do to my lounge what she’d already done to our training room. I held up a calming hand, and Drift stowed his weapons away into their sheaths, which then disappeared into his inventory.

“Sorry if I alarmed you, Princess,” Drift said with a contrite bow. “There’s a reason I chose to demonstrate on Arlo, rather than Your Highness.”

Ishi took a breath and stood down, but kept her guard up.

“Also, please refrain from attacking everyone else,” said Drift. Before Ishi could ask what he meant, the man snapped his fingers, and it was revealed that the three of us were not alone within the lounge.

My eyes widened as I turned around to survey the crew that had popped up, seeing Guardian Lito and Dancer Myria standing behind the settee that Drift had been sitting on, while the twins–formerly triplets–of Ember and Cole leaned or sat against the bar.

All of them even had their own drinks!

“How in the fuck?” I asked, stepping forward to poke Lito in the chest.

My former sensei batted my hand aside with an irritated grunt.

“Stop that,” he growled out. “I’m real. Stop fondling me.”