As much as I would have liked to spend every day by the forge, I had much else to do. My most important duty was to hike down the mountain and descend into the valleys between them. Once there, I simply needed to channel my mana through my horn and prance about the fields. It was how we earned our daily bread; everyone who wasn't a child would have to descend the mountain and perform the ritual.

Any plants touched by our mana would grow at thrice the pace, and the various species that worked the land would present us half their harvest as tribute. To them, we were sacred beasts, the harvest goddess' messengers. And though that wasn't exactly the truth, neither was it far from it. For we had long settled into our role as symbols of wisdom and fortune.

___

A wall of spikes burst from a mundane stone wall. The sickly green that adorned their venomous tips was bright enough for one to think it steeped from a crushed turquoise. It screamed poison, venom in every sense of the word. And yet, it was still somehow more toxic than it looked. The liquid was an extract taken from the deadliest serpentine species to exist in Obloydd lands. Known as the burning death, the acid excreted from their fans was powerful enough to melt through solid metal. Only by coating the spears and walls in a specially brewed, acid-resistant powder were they able to keep them from turning to goop.

Claire observed the trap from within it, tilting her head as the blades closed in on her body. The half-mechanical, half-magical mechanism shrieked as it threatened to turn her into a lyrkrian skewer, its gears grinding loudly enough that she felt like her ears were about to burst. But when the sharpened edges finally made contact, they proved incapable of piercing her armour. If anything, it was the trap that suffered from their collision. Unable to withstand the stress of being pushed against her body, every spear that made contact was bent and warped if not snapped to pieces. The mechanism itself soon followed suit and broke apart, but she continued regardless after refreshing her outfit to purge its ugly green stains.

As per the destruction in her wake, it wasn't exactly the first trap she triggered. Claire didn't have any reason to avoid them. Perhaps, a few ascensions prior, they might have proven fatal. But as she stood, they had no effect. Not a single one had managed to scratch her skin.

If anything, their activation only provided her the option to experiment with her runecloak. Griselda's modifications had greatly increased its defense and adaptability. She could feel it adjusting in real time, changing the particulars of its properties to better defend against the incoming attacks.

"So uhh…" The secret service agent following behind her did his best to smile as he looked over her handiwork. "Want me to step out in front? I can probably handle the traps without slowing us down."

Claire shook her head. "Don't bother."

"Are you sure? Having to clean yourself off every time seems like it's probably more trouble than it's worth."

"It's simpler than it looks."

"It also probably isn't the best idea for us to leave so much evidence."

"It'll be fine."

"Right…" The rogue grimaced, but continued to follow.

Despite her unique approach, Claire soon reached the arena without triggering any alarms or otherwise putting the whole facility on guard. All of the guards that'd noticed her were unconscious. For better or for worse, her watcher was the only one to have witnessed her advance.

The arena's design erred on the side of boring. It was a simple gladiator's pit with two rows of seats along the outer edges. Size wise, the ring itself was average, but it lacked many of the standard features that a Cadrian might have come to expect. There were no terraformers, no floating displays, nor any vendors selling food and drink. There wasn't even a barrier to prevent the observers from getting caught up in the battle, though it didn't seem all too likely, given the level and nature of the ongoing duel.

Two tiny fighters, a pair of tentacle-faced men, were locked in a deadly dance of blades. Their dark purple skin flashed in the candlelit darkness as they met in the center of the arena. They wielded five swords apiece, one shorter blade for each pair of tentacles and a much heavier weapon gripped between their hands. Any broken blades were immediately replaced; swords of all different shapes and sizes were stabbed into the ground around them.

Fighting with the very same techniques, the two swordsmen appeared to be on almost perfectly equal footing. The slightly taller one had more power behind his blows, but the shorter one compensated for his weakness with speed. He was just fast enough to spin out of the way and throw a counter every time his foe broke past his guard.

All things considered, the fight was surprisingly watchable. Their five-weapon approach was unique enough to spark Claire's interest and, while the fighters weren't exactly competent, they were cognizant enough of their relative strengths to base their strategies around them. If stuck in Valencia's colosseum, they likely would have been considered a pair of interesting fresh faces and at least garnered enough attention to keep their careers afloat.

It was unfortunate then that none of the other observers had any interest in the entertainment that the men provided. Though not quite in uniform, they were clearly military folk, older men and women who stood with their backs ramrod straight, their hands behind their backs, and their feet in line with their squared shoulders. They were not spread throughout the arena, but bunched together with their backs to the entrance and their eyes on the ring.

They never cheered or reacted to anything, remaining perfectly silent even as the smaller fighter removed his counterpart's tentacles and declared his victory.

A group of cottontails stepped into the arena shortly after. Some lifted the fallen fighter onto a stretcher and carried him away, while others cleaned up the many swords scattered around the ring.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen? What'd you think?" The most well-dressed of the bunch stepped out in front of the crowd with a grin. "Brilliant, isn't it?" The enchanted goggles he wore made it clear that he was some sort of artificer, likely a native who'd abandoned his national pride and sold out to the foreign crowd. The impression was backed by his overall aesthetic. It wasn't just the in-fashion suit; the rabbit was covered with artifacts that looked like they'd come straight out of Tornatus.

"It was as impressive as you'd described," said one of the bat-pigs in the crowd. "I never imagined that you'd be able to make a sword that enables a pair of children to fight as well as the twice ascended."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"It wasn't easy," said the artificer. "Of course, it does have a few drawbacks, especially in the experience gain department, but it does serve well if all you need is a bunch of mediocre infantry."

"Excellent," said the bat-pig. "We'll have your research grant delivered later this week, as promised."

Claire shook her head and sighed. It was about as she'd expected. The man was after funding because he was researching something that no Cadrian would have ever considered. Rather than a weapon that drastically bolstered one's power level to undeserved proportions, and subsequently cut one's experience gain, the national zeitgeist dictated that one was best off seeking a weapon with the exact opposite effect.

"Thank you, Sir," said the artificer. "You won't be disappointed." Humming to himself, the man followed his already evacuated compatriots and exited the arena's stage.

It didn't take long for him to be replaced by a woman in an adjacent trade. She was something of an old donkey. She sported a short, stout frame with a set of well-defined muscles, though they were difficult to make out beneath her fur. There were a few traces of her once golden-brown coat remaining, but for the most part, her pelt was grey, ashy as her wrinkled skin. Like the artificer, she wore a pair of goggles, but hers were of a completely different function. Rather than enhancing the viewer's ability to perceive magic circuits, it was simply made of a tough material that would protect her eyes from the sparks emitted from the forge. She carried the accompanying tools she needed on her belt, a full set of tongs and hammers ready to go at a moment's notice.

"We wrapped up our work on it last night. It's a real beaut." She spoke in the sort of scratchy grumble typical of grumpy craftsmen as she grabbed the curious weapon mounted to her back. It was difficult to identify even after she pulled the cloth off its frame. The overall length and style were somewhat reminiscent of a greatsword. It measured in at around one and a half meters and ended in a long handle with a counterbalance on the end. Still, it wasn't exactly a sword. The so-called blade was tubular and loosely shaped like a shark; its only cutting edges were the spikes along the fish's spine and the teeth between its jaws. "It does exactly what is promised."

"Show us," said one of the military folk.

Nodding, the smith walked over to one of the wood targets in the building's far corner and raised the sword in both hands. She stood far enough away from the target that Claire assumed she was going to break into a dash, but the donkey didn't take a step. She simply raised and lowered her weapon. And took a chunk out of the log.

The weapon itself did all the heavy lifting. Extending and enlarging midswing, it grasped the target between its teeth and ripped a piece of it away.

So on and so forth, similar scenarios played out. The rabbit and the donkey were only two of the many to present their case to the alliance. Every weapon was equipped with some crazy gimmick or other. There were self-replicating scissors, invisible saws, and gloves that would repeat motions previously performed.

The most interesting of the bunch was a spear supposedly capable of bolstering its own power by eating the souls of those it slew. The alliance's members had rightfully dismissed it on account of the lack of evidence, but Claire was more interested in the idea. Boris was technically capable of performing the same function and likely far more efficiently. The lizard was technically a level-capped aspect; the Olethra fight had instantly pushed him all the way to the limit. Alas, he was still too lacking to become a celestial. Eating souls was the only way he would be getting any stronger unless he wanted to spend eternity actively training his skills. And given his propensity to nap, it was difficult to say if he'd ever put in the effort.

Perhaps sensing that she was thinking about him, Boris suddenly appeared in the space beside her. He looked lazily between his mistress, the watcher, and the arena before yawning, laying down on the floor, and closing his eyes.

"The hell?" asked the observer.

"He's a friend."

"A friend?" repeated the rogue.

"Technically a weapon," said Claire.

The man grimaced. "Almost reminds me of that poor fish you had when you were little."

"I had a pet?" Claire innocently tilted her head. "Surely you must be mistaken. Father never allowed it."

The agent pinched his brow. "Some things never change, do they?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"...Right."

Not bothering with any further comment, Claire returned her eyes to the arena to find a man riding around in a cube covered in head to toe with weapons. An array of mechanical arms—miniaturized versions of the giant tools often attached to ateliers—held dozens upon dozens of blades and mana projectors, each engraved with a specific circuit to apply or enhance a property.

It roused her curiosity, but only briefly. She spun around when it fell apart and made for the building's exit. She did at least try to clean up after herself as she left. Every time she walked past a trap, she would loosely put it back together. Of course, they couldn't exactly be fixed in a heartbeat, but neither were they quite as irreparable as they looked.

Claire easily fixed the broken spears by jamming their tips hard enough into their shafts that the pieces stuck together. Similarly, she lodged the boulder into the wall again after condensing it down to pebble size and ground the shattered swinging blades to dust so no one would have to see them. Sure, there were a few extra sparkly particles strewn all over the floor, but it was dark enough that Claire doubted anyone else would notice.

"How the hell were you doing all that without using your hands?" The agent asked the question as they exited the building. "Wasn't like anything I've ever seen."

"Secret," said Claire.

"Oh, come on."

"You knew I wasn't going to tell you."

"You never know," he said with a shrug. "Mind sharing what ascension you're at, at least?"

"Guess," said Claire, with the faintest of smiles.

The spy scratched the back of his head as he looked her up and down. He was just about to open his mouth when she opened the floodgates. Magic and divinity flooded through her body, but only for the briefest of moments; it was gone by the time he blinked.

"Motherfucker…" he muttered. He spent a few seconds rubbing his eyes. "Wh—"

"Figure it out yourself," said Claire.

She extended her ears, growing them to the size they were in her true form before giving them a flap and taking off. Boris followed right after, floating through the sky atop his giant pillow. Only after they got high enough to break through the barrier and escape the agent's perception did Claire grab the lizard by the tail.

She changed his shape as she lifted him, turning him into the shark-shaped weapon, a pair of replicating scissors, and a rubber duck that exploded on contact. All of their properties were stolen without the faintest hint of difficulty. He didn't even need any time to deduce the methods of their operation. He simply became and improved; adopting only the stats superior to his own—not that any of the alliance's garbage was capable of reaching the bar.

Claire commanded him to take on a more familiar shape after another moment of curiosity. And surely enough, he did precisely as instructed. His body and his tail became a narrow shaft, while his head perfectly mimicked that of the giant golden spear present in her father's armoury. And surely enough, all of its function was present. It glowed green when she fed it mana. Its tip erupted into a dozen blades of wind, contained within each was the power of a raging storm. Claire spent a few moments playing with the magical constructs, ordering them around with every swing and occasionally manifesting their vortexes in reality, before undoing the lizard's transformation and returning him to his pillow.

Stretching, she ignored the incredibly confused guards, who'd headed up into the sky to seek the source of the commotion, and warped herself back into the castle.

She still wasn't sure if she'd felt bothered in the first place, nor how one was meant to fall asleep. Still, she changed into something more appropriate, sank into the bed, and cast her consciousness aside.

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