~oOo~

Log Horizon © Mamare Touno

This work provided under section 107 of the copyright act of 1978

Chapter 14

~oOo~

There was no good and no evil, only the will to power.

So Indicus didn't feel at all guilty as she manipulated Lord Marves.

He hung on her every word as she gestured over the railing, pointing to the Tailors, Knife Grinders, and Fullers.

She explained how Plant Hwyaden had once again increased the quality of its Tailors (absolute bullshit, of course; their Tailors had never been the bottleneck) and that would therefore lead to even finer materials for Westlande's nobility to enjoy.

When Marves asked about the Fullers and Knife Grinders, she played into his expectations and dismissed them as nothing more than laborers.

With the fact that their subclasses casually violated conservation of mass, that was of course incredibly erroneous. But Marves had been raised with the understanding that, even if peasants were far below him, artisans were at least a cut above lowly manual laborers.

Knife Grinders, with just a water and a stone, could repair not just weapons, but armour. Everyone else had been too dumb to realize what that meant, but Indicus had seen the implications immediately.

Obviously, they didn't act reductively, because what use would it be to make armor thinner?

So they had to act additively, creating more of the material they worked on through some sort of magic.

The thin metal under her feet creaked, as she directed Marves to follow her to less secret, and less important parts of the factory.

Fullers, despite being a 'realistic' subclass, could adjust clothing. With the ability to make clothes fit on larger frames than they had been made for, they were therefore able to generate rare materials straight out of the nether for no cost other than time, effort, and mana.

Indicus nodded, murmured, and smiled as Marves said some trivial banality about how this innovation demonstrated the clear ideological superiority of the Holy Empire Westlande over the Freedom Cities Eastal.

Indicus didn't know where the material came from, and to be honest, she didn't give a damn. Because with Knife Grinders, Fullers, and Tailors working in tandem, she could manufacture rare quest drops then immediately turn them into expensive clothes without squandering the time of Plant Hwyaden's higher level players.

She clasped her hands behind the her back, above the bow of her french maid outfit. As she walked, Indicus sashayed side to side, just a little bit.

The trade of luxury goods was one more way to get the nobility of Westlande under her thumb. And they didn't even realize what she was doing.

She was nothing but polite towards Lord Marves despite being well known for her short temper. Despite his bizarre looks, his sickly face and fish like eyes, she pretended to actually like the man.

So Marves put two and two together, helped along by her Elder Maid subclass and desperate desire for validation, and decided she was simply particularly enamored with him, and of course, his social status.

The influence she had gained over the ugly, and likely inbred elf noble was a little hilarious. With just a well placed suggestion, she'd gotten him to hare off to Akihabara, nominally to embarrass the Cowens. He'd been nothing more than an oblivious distraction, of course, but despite Nureha getting in the way of Indicus's war, it was still incredibly gratifying to have that sort of power over a person.

Nureha was a Courtesan. A whore princess, to use the literal meaning of the term. The masses loved her, and the nobility viewed her as a peer. But while she pranced around, Indicus wielded the real influence.

~oOo~

Princess Lennisia lay on her back, arm over her brow. Her feet fell over the edge of the massive bed, fuzzy slippers hanging loosely off her toes. Her long, silver hair wasn't in its usual orderly state, instead laying splayed over the mattress.

She actively avoided trying to avoid thinking about anything in particular, instead attempting to simply relish the experience of lounging around in her pajamas while having absolutely nothing to do.

But the very reason for why she had nothing to do had the audacity to occupy her thoughts.

For once in her life, she'd actually been prepared for a diplomatic engagement. But random chance had blocked her from performing a job she was, if not looking forward too, then at least not wholly opposed to doing.

It wasn't like she wouldn't go across, of course. She was sitting at the very top of the list in terms of who'd get to go over, and as an apology for failing to bring her over the first time around, the Round Table had even agreed to send her handmaiden Elissa over with her.

But still, her feelings were conflicted.

Did she or did she not want to go to Earth?

She knew, more than most Landers, how Adventurers acted. How they thought, their social customs, the new ideas the brought- all these were things she had experience with.

But even with that knowledge, even knowing that most Adventurers were good people, and that they change they brought was overwhelmingly good, there was still the feeling that things were just going too fast.

She missed the feeling that everything was simple, and that a smart enough person (if not necessarily her) could look at the world, nod, and say that it made sense.

But the Adventurers looked at the world, nodded to themselves, and declared that it could be improved.

Most changes had been for the best. Tasty food, new music, and the introduction of games and sports not known to Yamato had made life better, for nobility and commoners alike.

That didn't stop change from being scary.

It was paradoxical and intoxicating, the feeling that Landers were both gaining and losing control over their own destinies.

Not that that mattered to her, of course. Lenessia was lazy, but she wasn't a fool. She'd be married to some nobleman, pop out a few children, and occasionally sit and look pretty for official portraits.

Unbidden, Krusty's face flashed in her mind.

She suppressed it as well as possible. It wasn't healthy to dwell over the impossible. Krusty viewed her like a little sister anyways.

Though she was a little embarrassed to admit that Krusty's presence on the other side made her just a teensy bit more eager to finally get across.

For all that she reluctantly enjoyed the company of Reize, Akatsuki, Marrielle, and her other friends, Krusty had still been the first adventurer to approach her, the first to look past her social status and attempt to befriend her.

Less 'attempt' and more 'succeed,' she had to admit.

Stupid glasses-wearing monster.

~oOo~

"Just shoot him! Please!"

"Again, I can't! I wasn't kidding when I said I wasn't armed."

Michael groaned.

Sparks flew off the concrete, as yet another knife was thrown by the gangsters. Who, despite their tough words, were perfectly fine with sitting back and trying to puzzle through their new abilities.

Michael could hardly believe it- they had been smart (or lucky) enough to figure out how to unlock the Assassin class, but hadn't even done any research on how to actually use it.

So they sloppily threw knives from a crate filled with them, rather than actually bothering to close the distance to Michael and Faraday.

"We can't just let them throw knives at us. You're the adult, you take the lead."

"We totally can, though. They've only got a limited number of knives, we can just wait for them to run out."

"And then they'll pull out their guns!"

"I doubt it. This is an attack of opportunity, they-"

Faraday made a strangled noise as a knife embedded in his side.

"Shit!"

Michael wasn't sure whether he, Faraday, or both of them had said that.

Faraday pulled the knife out and tried to staunch the bleeding, as Michael looked around for the gangster who'd flanked them.

Michael noticed Faraday gaping at his wound as it healed under his fingers out of the corner of his eye, but his focus was on evading the blades being thrown at him.

Despite being unbalanced pocket knives, they flew through the air with surprising grace.

There weren't any trick shots involving bouncing off objects, and they didn't move particularly quickly, but Michael still had trouble avoiding them.

He tried to evaluate his options, but his situation basically boiled down to being outnumbered and outgunned. Faraday would have his back, but it wasn't like he could deal an appreciable amount of damage anyways.

On the flipside, however, the other party was overspecialized in assassins while he and Faraday at least had a little synergy going on.

"Buff me!"

"With what?"

"Whatever!"

Faraday mumbled under his breath and Michael heard far off drumming.

He activated Wildcat Stance, and the world slowed down.

Not by much, but by enough.

He easily dodged the incoming knives as he burst towards the first gangster, flipping over an abandoned minivan to drop down on his target.

Even with Faraday increasing his mana regen enough to maintain the stance, at his level Michael didn't have much mana to spare, considering how he wouldn't be facing unsuspecting opponents like last time.

So he settled for a physical blow rather than using an ability.

The gangster was knocked off his feet and barrell rolled across the ground until he impacted against the curb with a thud.

Michael heard gasps and then cheering from the remaining bystanders.

He tried to capitalize, but almost immediately two other gangsters engaged him.

He turned his torso, barely avoiding being skewered by a six inch long serrated switchblade.

The gangsters had evidently decided that their strategy of bombarding him at range wasn't working, which was wise of them, but not great for Michael.

He turned off Wildcat Stance as he threw himself backwards.

The scratches on his side healed themselves, and he had a momentary respite from pain as both groups eyed each other warily from the edge of their respective engagement ranges.

He saw one of the gangsters shift slightly, while Faraday began mumbling another enchantment.

His mind blanked out from the pain.

His back felt like it was on fire, and he fell to his knees.

His health bar had changed from green to the barest sliver of red in the span of the moment. He noticed the regeneration rate was higher than normal, and realized that if Faraday hadn't predicted what would happen and switched to a healing spell, he'd most likely be dead.

Not temporarily, but permanently.

He stumbled back to his feet, mentally berating himself for forgetting about the last gangster, to see Faraday trying to fend off all four gangsters at once.

His pistol was out and firing, but he obviously had difficulty engaging four targets at once.

This was the last chance Michael would get.

Tiger Stance.

Time dilated, and he pushed off the ground.

~oOo~

A/N: Did you know that Lenessia is only fifteen (well, sixteen, here)? That makes Krusty/Lenessia only marginally less skeevy than Shiroe/Minori.