Changeling

Someone knocked on Nestra’s door, or rather, on one of the metal tubes that kept the tent upright. She gave her alarm a bleary gaze.

It was 8AM.

“Who the FUCK —”

“Special Agent Palladian?”

Camille wasn’t there. Nestra was left poking her head through the tent flap, glaring at the muscular army gleam standing at attention. It was cold here in the mornings which wasn’t an issue for Nestra but still… that was the spirit of it!

“What do you want?” she spat.

The slightly smug smile on the lout’s face — barely noticeable but easily deniable — was the most infuriating thing ever.

“Congratulations, Threshold’s Foreign Affairs have approved of your plan.”

“Huh?”

PDA? Oh yeah, the datasheet. Oh, this was about the lizardmen fuckery.

“The commander strongly suggests that you take this morning to relax in anticipation for a long day. And, if I may?”

Nestra blinked. A grunt displaying personal initiative? Something terrible was afoot.

“The mess hall closes in fifteen minutes.”

Her stomach took the opportunity to express a very deep discontent.

“Shit. Thanks for telling me!”

“You’re most welcome,” the grunt told the closed tent flap.

***

After a brief breakfast consisting of one French toast with syrup, one with honey, a full English breakfast with bacon supplement, three cappuccinos, a cone of ice cream, a leftover tomato salad, a plate of boiled asparagus, a mango, a serving of waffle fries, two cups of orange juice and a family package of crackers for the road, Nestra was herself again. Checking her PDA revealed a distressing absence of news even though she knew the election results ought to be out. Maybe the portal wasn’t scheduled to be opened.

Camille had left a message in their tent. The fencer was in a secluded field away in the forest, a place Nestra had passed by the day before on her way to killing lizards. They invited Nestra to join them for ‘sparring’, but Nestra knew what that really meant. Loading up on an additional bag of meat jerky and one of baby carrots and celery, she raced through the industrial section on her way out. Work had already resumed though the engineers were grim-faced. A few waved her hello, which she returned. Sometimes, their eyes would travel to the tree line in search of danger. Yeah. She couldn't blame them.

A ten minute sprint led her to clearing where Camille was meditating. Their eyes opened when she approached.

“Finally, I thought you might miss breakfast.”

“I almost did! Anyway, I’m going to test the new form which I will call… Mlemra.”

Whatever serenity Camille would have achieved shattered on the spot.

“You can’t be serious.”

“The human form is Nestra, the true form is Nezhra,” she said, the name strange and hissy in her mouth. She frowned.

“How the fuck did you make that noise?” Camille asked.

“Errr, didn’t think it would almost work in human form like that. Let’s just say my true form’s mouth isn’t supposed to be able to vocalize most of the tongue and yet it still can. Anyway, enough of this. Mlemra time!”

Nestra almost pulled her mask, but then she remembered something.

“Look, I’m going to need some time to acclimate. Don’t worry if I start touching trees or something.”

“Not to worry, I installed a translator,” Camille replied, showing their datasheet. “I got special dispensation as an independent raider thanks to Mazingwe.”

“Oh, haven’t seen him this morning.”

“He’s Earth side getting briefed. As our team leader, he is the one who needs to petition for a conclave according to lizardman custom. Oh, you probably read the information packet.”

“I have not, actually.”

“You should do that before they call you.”

“Yeah yeah ok. Form first.”

Camille stood up with a long suffering expression.

“I will set up privacy barriers. Nothing fancy but they will block the view. You know, with me being an extremely competent barrier mage and actually planning an outing so you could do your thing.”

“Thanks! I owe you one, Camille. You’re definitely my favorite convict of all time.”

Camille was such a dear. Nestra felt some trepidation so she did slow down to make sure to select the proper form. It was much easier this time than the previous one, barely taking a conscious effort.

And then she was shorter. Her vision turned monochrome, the light dimmer until she adjusted, then both very precise and tunnel-like. Her hearing picked up more details. She tasted the air, tongue flipping out to sample the local scent. The human smelled like soap, fresh sweat and vanilla shampoo, scents familiar to the other form. Leaves, sap, moss, wet soil. No prey, no danger.

She could no longer feel the wind on her skin. Her sense of heat and cold was muted. It felt a little constritive. Her gaze traveled to her arms: beige with black and yellow patterns. Pretty patterns.

She heard the wind in the leaves above. They danced a hypnotic waltz that turned the canopy into a sea of fading forms, each as unique as it was ephemeral. There were patterns everywhere, she realized, from the bark of the alien trees to the splayed roots to the way the grass grew in messy tufts, and even in the armor of the human, the way the hexagons of tight fabric curved to embrace their scaleless body. Nestra placed her palm against the ground. Her fingers obeyed after a brief delay. When she gathered them again, she raked earth and rocks. She had small claws. She flexed and unflexed her fingers.

Strong. Not as agile, not as coordinated by a long shot. Sluggish but mighty. She stood and walked. Her short tail failed to follow, forcing her to stop.

No, she knew how to walk. This was just silly. And she did, if she didn’t try to think about it. A minute passed while she walked around the clearing, turning a stumbling gait to a predatory, sinuous stride. Much better. Now to address the most pressing concern.

She was starving.

The meat jerky was a religious experience, one of the best things she’d ever eaten but maybe that was hunger talking. Water on top of that really made it an excellent meal, and the celery was divine but the carrots were almost unbearably sweet, so she ate them sparingly. The bag of jerky was empty by the time she was done. Camille was meditating, their shield in place.

What now?

On a whim, Nestra approached the nearest trunk. Climbing proved to be just as easy and instinctual as walking. Up there, she nestled herself between two branches and waited. Her tongue darted out again.

A robotic voice came from below.

“Can you mana hunt? Second ascension?”

“You can speak in the human language,” she hissed back “I still understand.”

“Oh alright,” Camille said. “I was just curious.”

Nestra swung herself to a low branch. An errant thought made her consider using her tail but this was quickly abandoned. The tail was only used for balance. And, she realized, for attraction. Otherwise it was mostly vestigial, she assumed?

“Hsss.”

“The translator didn’t catch that,” Camille informed her.

“It means: hmmmmmm”

That sound proved surprisingly difficult to properly make with lizardmen lips. They did have lips, kind of, but those were rigid and inflexible.

Nestra hummed. She had the basic functions more or less acquired, more of an instinctual thing than something she had to learn. Next would be martial ability. She checked around, finding a young sapling slightly taller than she was. It would make for a good sacrifice. With an effort, she pulled it from the ground, then tried to remove the small branches. That turned out to be difficult with her reduced dexterity… and then something clicked.

With religious, almost obsessive care, she started to pluck the branches out one by one with very slow, very controlled gestures. Her mind fell into a state of zen. She could see the way each node popped out from the ‘trunk’ and how it would probably make a shit spear but that didn’t matter. This was merely a training tool. Although, with some love…

She was barely halfway down when a pair of unamused, pale blue eyes met her own. The intrusion in her ritual was a jarring experience, one that filled her with a dull anger until she realized the local sun had moved a little.

“Hsss,” she swore.

“That read as an expletive. I just wanted to offer to do it for you since our time here is limited.”

“Alright.”

She couldn’t let yet another form get ruled by its instincts. Camille made short work of the process, finishing in basically five seconds and leaving the sapling straight and well-balanced. Nestra first tried to wield it as a two-handed sword — like she would in her true form, only to realize it was excessively difficult. Her neck was too long so not only was the balance off, but the overhead strikes ended up awkward and devoid of power. Her narrow lizard torso got in the way of most standard maneuvers, and moving the ‘blade’ around with any degree of precision made her muscles ache and her mind swim.

“Wow. Maybe this form should stick to the spear,” Camille suggested.

“Maybe you should stick your advice in the grotto the sun never reaches,” Nestra replied, counting on the translator to convey the insult. Fortunately, it did. She wasn’t sure since there was no ‘stick’ metaphor in lizard tongue. The only word at her disposal was ‘put’. Actually, they didn’t seem keen on metaphors and synonyms in the first place. This only reinforced her impression that humans were multiverse-level bullshitters and gossipers with languages that reflected that. Camille chuckled, especially when Nestra did as they suggested.

A few basic kata proved that she wouldn’t have the whole range of motion required to use a human style, but the lunges were easy. In fact, they were better and more powerful than what she could achieve in human form. Curious, Nestra experimented a little more. Another lunge garnered a whistle of appreciation from Camille.

“Not bad at all. Is it also part of your instincts?”

Nestra considered it. She didn’t think so, or rather, the lunge gesture felt part of her instincts while using a spear didn’t. But of course, the explanation was obvious. Lizardmen were ambush predators as well as opportunistic feeders. Their bodies were literally built for fast and sudden gestures. Doing so while striking with the spear was just playing on their natural abilities. Holding the spear firmly while attacking with minimal movement also bypassed some of the fine motor control issues they seemed to have. She experimented a few more times, finding that by keeping her body tight with her elbows sticking to her chest, she could better aim the tip. Her tunnel vision also helped with focusing on just one point.

“Wanna light spar?” Camille offered. “I’ll just parry and counter, alright?”

Nestra nodded, then she was trying to stab Camille. The experienced fencer deflected the tip of the training spear with ease. Nestra realized that while she had a good understanding of how to keep her foe at bay and how to time her attacks thanks to her general battle experience, the lizard shape didn’t handle getting bull rushed well at all. It triggered all sorts of panic instincts. Once Camille was really close though, Nestra’s urge was to drop her spear and claw her opponent.

“Interesting,” she hissed.

“What is?” Camille replied after a delay.

“Lizardmen like to keep things away. Their mind is good at handling prey at a distance of several meters or reflex/attack enemies that are very close. Changing distances or staying just outside of claw range upsets them.”

“From my experience I’d say all C-rank enemies have learnt to compensate for that.”

Nestra bobbed her head, realized it wouldn’t be understood then made the unnatural, human nod instead.

“Yes. Compensate. Not overcome. Still unnatural.”

“Noted. I have to say, ‘know your enemy’ is the sort of adage that gets proven right, again and again. Should we continue?”

“Yes. I want to test the differences some more.”

Now that Nestra had the basics down, she tried to imitate the way she saw the lizardmen fight. It was difficult. Although her mind had inherited the battle senses of her other forms, the muscle memory simply wasn’t there. She wouldn’t magically gain hundreds of hours of form practice the way she had inherited walking and talking, it seemed, and it was… fair. Her form already grasped what it took toddlers years of practice to get right. She vividly remembered watching baby Helena picking toys between her stubby fingers with an inspiring level of concentration. Bypassing all of that shit was already a blessing. She couldn’t get too greedy. Unless the male Aszhii could inherit fighting styles from their kills in which case it was utterly unfair.

“Lost in thought again?” Camille asked.

“I think captured forms inherit the foundational skills the young instinctively develop during their developmental years, but not the more… culturally developed skills like dancing or fighting according to a specific style.”

“Your species is creeping me out a little, Nestra. No offense.”

“There is no enmity between us,” she gracefully allowed. “but it will take a long time before this body catches up to the other two. I will need to practice.”

The brief experiment answered a few lingering questions she’d been having about the Aszhii, questions that Sereth had been vague about. There was nothing — in theory — that stopped old Aszhii from fighting by using a hundred different bodies before revealing the real one, thus forcing their opponents to chew through a lot of spares before reaching the main attraction. If each body had to be trained independently, however, then only the native one plus possibly a handful of others would be a real challenge — the rest would just be victims. It was still a traumatic experience to die — as Nestra had discovered herself — so there would be little reason to undergo what had to be a painful ordeal.

There was also pride. It was infuriating to lose.

Nestra grasped her spear tighter. She’d just gotten insight into the lizardman form just by assuming one. There were definitely maniacs who would dedicate themselves to mastering all of their bodies just so they could fight everything with an advantage. Maybe she would do it as well, in like, three hundred years or something. There was so much of the Aszhii world she was curious about…

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Nestra?”

Right, time was limited.

“I will test magic now.”

“Understood. I will reinforce the barriers.”

“Is it difficult?” Nestra asked.

Camille shook their head.

“Static, specialized barriers are the easiest to maintain, concentration-wise. It’s good practice for me anyway.”

“Alright. I appreciate it.”

Nestra had two affinities in her new form: earth and nature. Earth was the most straightforward, so she tried it first. The mana willingly left her core but it felt sluggish compared to her normal magic, and she knew why: earth was a heavy flow element. It was slower but also denser and more resilient, and its constructs could be formed and then left alone. She tried to form earth out of nowhere like she knew was possible, but found out that she couldn’t. This was her first time. She didn’t even know how to start.

“Hss,” she hummed.

Well, the most basic exercise in mana manipulation, even before manifestation, was to take control of a similar energy. She infused mana into the soil at her feet, then coaxed it into changing form. Slowly, a depression opened, revealing moist loam and tangled roots. It was difficult, but she could do it.

Ok so maybe she’d been a little wrong about the forms. Physical prowess had to be learnt anew, or at the very least adapted, but mana manipulation was definitely the same or almost the same. Did that imply that Aszhii would handle acting as mages a bit better? Would Nestra perform better in a form that was much closer to the human one, like Sereth’s own species?

Too many assumptions. Her lizard brain rebelled at the way her thoughts kept going off in every direction, a more human mindset. It felt unnatural. And time was limited. She wanted to try nature next, so with another effort, she pushed mana into the surrounding roots. She felt them and understood them as if they were long-lost limbs she was rediscovering.

“Hss!”

“Are you alright? The translator interprets all of those as ‘interjections’, whatever that means.”

“I have access to new mana types. They are unfamiliar.”

Camille gave Nestra a glare of pure annoyance.

“I am a little jealous.”

Well, they would be. Nestra next tried to move the roots, a classic nature-aligned trick to trap people and also why fighting them in forests was a major pain in the rectum. Her attempt failed miserably, as did the next three. She just wasn’t getting it.

Camille’s datasheet beeped.

“Communication from Earth. They must be transferring data right now.”

Nestra changed back. Immediately, she was taller, more familiar with her body although her mana reserves plummeted. Going back into a D-class body from a C-class one was certainly a distracting experience.

Immediately, her head exploded with ideas. Ok so, mana experience carried over from one body to the other, probably because it was more of a mind thing, but what if alien species had mana-dedicated organs like her Aszhii horns? What then? Maybe it took some getting used to or even radically altered the way mana was manipulated. There was also a possibility that some alien species were so naturally attuned to mana that they had an overwhelming advantage compared to humans on an anatomical level. Humans had evolved from a manaless world, thus they were adapted to that. What if some other worlds had started with mana? The reason why Aszhii were interested in humans was their adaptability and speed of progress. This wasn’t a mana thing. Also, Sereth alone could destroy human civilization. What if there were any more sapient beings at his level out there? What if they were hostile?

Shit she really hoped humanity would get the time it needed. Maybe she could do something about it. After all, Sereth was already dating a human. Might want to keep her happy and her planet intact…

Weaponizing Stibbs made her feel dirty. Maybe she ought to do the protecting herself. The Aszhii female covens were apparently very influential since they were the pathfinders of the species. She had the power of negotiations between her gray fingers.

Something to consider for later. She had to survive to B-rank first. Learning how to use several affinities might help. After all, her Aszhii self only had a few for now, but the way her body worked, it might unlock more at a later time like she’d already been C-class when getting shadow.

This led her mind down the path of mana types. It had been her first time experimenting with heavy flow mana and it had felt very much unlike void or electricity. To be fair, those were the highest flows around, and even ice was weird with a light flow manipulation but heavy flow effects. Moving earth around had been completely different. Electricity could barely be controlled but earth didn’t want to move. For electricity, the main factor was concentration. For earth, it was obstinacy, if she had to simplify.

It made her admire her father and Ragnarok that much more. Especially the old woman. She had to be impossibly stubborn to make steel flow like that.

She definitely needed more practice with those. Considering the Aszhii’s fascination with new things, she had a feeling experiencing various bodies and techniques would let her understand them more so she could kill her foes more efficiently. It was great! Sadly, it ate into the very resource she had never enough of: time. She didn’t have the time to experiment with everything.

There was something ironic about not aging anymore, yet having less time than ever to accomplish what she wanted to do.

“Nestra, I’m not sure but this might be important?” Camille said, her voice hesitant.

Nestra grabbed her own datasheet, suddenly worried. There was mail transferred via a server carried by a bunch of poor fuckers across the portal every time it opened. It was just like in ancient times when postmen had to physically transport envelopes across large distances, and people had to write replies with actual pen and paper. It sounded horrible. Although, maybe they had fewer AI scam mails then. Nestra shook her head. The human’s mind really enjoyed jumping all over. Anyway, there were a few messages from her family but nothing concerning. Threshold was still standing, only, Helena had failed her biology exam and was now complaining about being grounded to Nestra. Her mom also sent a mail informing her that Helena was forbidden from raiding until her grades improved. Damn. What was next? Ah, yes, the news. The elections!

Mayor Kim hadn’t won.

“What?”

She had to double check the results, and then the various articles.

Well, he hadn’t lost either, but he would need opposition members in his cabinet. That was… so weird. After so long, the Threshold government would be split. Entire districts had switched control, including where Nestra had her den. It looked like the aerospace stunt and beast tide that resulted from Threshold’s first expansion had left the public unimpressed. Although few people had died during the event, the defense had been touch and go in enough places to leave people scared for their lives and their loved ones. This felt more like a punishment than a real switch, but the result was the same. The very charismatic Liam Hunnigan was considered for an important position seeing as he’d been instrumental in presenting the hodgepodge of disgruntled politicians that formed the opposition into a cohesive group. The man had campaigned on restricting guild powers. Although Nestra nominally agreed that some of those assholes must be kept in check, she knew it took a delicate touch to keep the intricate network of egos that formed the city’s beating heart into a peaceful circus. Not to mention their associated megacorps.

Nestra watched the true winner of the election congratulate his followers during his first public address. Hunnigan looked moved to tears.

“Although the pedestal of Threshold’s old order still stands, we still gave it a good shake!”

There were a few chuckles in the assembly. To be fair, the opposition had done as well as it reasonably could. He was right to be proud.

“Now the real work begins for your representatives, and for you of course. We must show our fellow Thresholders and the world at large that another order is possible, one where leaders are selected on their ability to lead, not on their wallet, or their mana, or the people they know. We must build a city where citizens may feel safe, may raise a family, without the risk of monster attacks fueled by poorly prepared expeditions designed to satisfy the greed of the few, rather than the prosperity of the many. It is time for us to restore the balance that will carry us into this uncertain future. Tomorrow, I will be meeting Mayor Kim to discuss my potential appointment as a member of his cabinet. I cannot say for sure what my responsibilities will be as of now, so I do not want to set the wrong expectations. What I can tell you is to expect resistance. The hierarchy is cunning and well-entrenched. They will oppose change every step of the way. I tell you now that we will not be discouraged. We will fight them. We will learn their way. We will change the city. This is only the first step! Thank you.”

Nestra’s attempt to read between the lines failed. It was not exactly a speech empty of meaning, maybe more a reminder that there was only so much his party could do with the limited seats they would get, but it still didn’t tell her which of the contradictory policies carried by the opposition would actually get implemented.

She wondered if her family would be affected. They were legally a guild, albeit a medium-sized one, so there was no telling how things would go. Medium and small-sized entities were often the victims of large power struggles, swallowed by rising costs and upheavals they didn’t have the resources to survive.

“I hate to ask and look selfish but, is it bad for me?” Camille asked. “I am not familiar with the city’s politics yet.”

“I doubt it,” Nestra replied frankly. “Hunnigan is after the guilds. Your agreement is with the government. If anything, they might want to reduce your prison time in the hope you join the gleam police, or maybe some government-allied smaller guilds.”

“Oh. Okay. I just… don’t like prison.”

“No shit. Ok, I have experimented as much as I wanted to for now. I’ll need more time to test stuff. How about I read the information package here and then we head back? After second breakfast.”

Camille frowned.

“You can have two breakfasts? I thought breakfast meant breaking fast, as in you eat after a long time not eating? Or is my English too poor?”

“Look, we can call it elevensies. Or tensies. Gimme a moment.”

The package of crackers disappeared into sad crumbs, forcing Nestra to relocate to the recreation center for sustenance. The information package contained a summary of what a conclave was, what to expect, and a very long list of things to avoid. Some of it was common sense, like not interrupting the other side. Others were good reminders of things she might have overlooked, like not showing teeth when smiling as this was considered a display of aggression in lizardman body language. Nestra read them with all of her attention before returning to the more personal part of the package. It looked like both Nestra and Camille would attend as Mazingwe’s seconds since they were witnesses. This wasn’t unexpected. Personal involvement and the words one must speak in a ritual setting were the core of a civilization that didn’t use writing.

Nestra had lunch, then at one PM sharp she was at the commander’s quarters in civilian clothes. Why he had picked those, she couldn’t be sure until she entered the low but heavily defended building to find a salon of sorts, a bubble of simple comfort in an otherwise dreadfully sterile world. It even had a good coffee machine! Commander Xayavong welcomed her at a varnished table, showing her one of the comfortable seats available. She noticed Mazingwe and Semerdjian were already present.

“Good afternoon, Special Agent Palladian. And Citizen Nguyen.”

“I do not have citizen status just yet,” Camille said with a humble smile.

“Raider then. I wouldn’t want to call you convict while we’re all here sipping java and defending the city’s interest, hmm? As far as I’m concerned you’ve risked your life for us, so you deserve my welcome.”

In a private setting, the commander looked much more approachable but Nestra watched the eyes and as usual, there was no warmth there. This was just a politician aiming for the best result through thoroughly calculated gestures. She wasn’t even mad though. This was just expected. Welcoming Camille was a gesture he didn’t have to perform anyway.

Camille blushed as they sat. Truly, they couldn’t handle compliments.

“I will let you prepare here before Shinran arrives. Please make yourself comfortable. I have my own duties, but you can call for my aide should you have any reasonable requests,” Xayavong finished.

The table expressed their gratitude until the commander left. Now Nestra knew why they’d gotten the nice setting: Xayavong couldn’t afford to welcome Earth’s top raider in a simple tent.

Nestra was allowed a minute to grab a nice espresso, then it was on. Semerdjian led the charge with what was basically a lecture on lizardman body language.

Nestra had to admit he didn’t make a single mistake. Some of the tricks, like watching the tail, wasn’t even something she had considered.

“The conclave will take place on neutral ground. This time, we have picked a relatively intact clearing at the edge of the zone of devastation. Our guests will be facing the bombarded area as a ‘subtle’ reminder of what we’re capable of. As for clothes, you will be wearing your full armor.”

Nestra frowned. Those were not designed for sitting comfortably.

“You will be provided with stools. They have the hidden advantage to make you taller, not as tall as the lizardmen but almost a match. The armor is a, ah, how should I put it?”

Semerdjian was on fire when he talked about lizardmen culture.

“It’s a status symbol. Belts and spears grow more decorated the higher in the hierarchy someone is. We know the lizardmen envy our wealth of magical tools. The more engraved, the better. Your gear serves well, you Mazingwe, with the Dawn set, and you Miss Palladian with what I assume is a Bellerophon creation?”

“That is correct.”

“Raider Nguyen’s sword also qualifies. I advised against replacing your armor. The gear must be familiar to the wielder, as there is little worse to lose face than to wield the weapons of someone else. Now, after you sit, an automated translator will be deployed, so it’s important that people do not speak out of turn. Oh, and Raider Mazingwe will be the lead after the introductions are done. Now I’ll coach you on how to start…”

The preparations continued well into the night. Shinran never showed up, too busy with his own life. Nestra didn’t think he needed help handling lizardmen anyway.

***

The next day, the human delegation made their way to the meeting point, past the fort’s main gates and deeper into the portal world. The battlefield had been cleared of corpses but not of devastation. Ravaged trunks still littered the ashy plains outside of Camp Riel, and the air was heavy with the scent of soot. They moved in silence, with no guards. Only when they approached a massive red tent clearly made from Earth material yet ancient in design did the last member of the delegation join them. He stood next to the entrance in his traditional monk robes.

“Hello, Shinran,” Nestra greeted.

The monk tilted his head to the side.

“I feel like we have met before?”

Oh yeah shit he didn’t know her civilian form, which she remembered, but that meant she had to treat him with deference because she was a low D-class. Ugh, this was all so confusing!

“You tried to heal my core several years ago. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out,” she said.

Shinran made ‘o’ of surprise and realization.

“So it is! I knew that name was familiar. You are the one who went to Switzerland! And to think, when I tried to heal you, I was so sure you were just as you were meant to be. How foolish…”

He shook his head. Nestra was a little weirded out by the wise old man persona, but after seeing Shinran fight, maybe he needed that to anchor himself. Maybe it wasn’t just designed to put his allies at peace.

“Kappa no Kawanagare, as my grandmother used to say. Even experts may fail. It is a good reminder about myself, as well. For deceiving you, I apologize.”

He gave her a light bow. She wasn’t sure what to do so she just smiled. Many times, it worked.

“It was a rather unique condition so, at least it led to a breakthrough in core treatment for high raiders, thanks to my aunt.”

“Ah, yes. Claire Reid. Did you know that just last week, a falling rock broke the limousine of Manatech’s CLO? Right after he sued an independent artist for copyright violation. An abusive lawsuit designed to force the artist to settle…”

“Maybe the CLO shouldn’t park under mountains.”

Shinran wasn’t amused.

“This was in Central, Miss Palladian.”

“Some mountains have great reach. I hope the CLO is ok. I’m sure he will get his money back after a few more abusive lawsuits. Or, since you are aware the lawsuit is abusive, perhaps you could talk to him about the risks of unexpected landslides?”

Shinran’s gaze couldn’t be read. Nestra honestly didn’t give a shit.

“It appears some things run in the family. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance as a user, young Palladian.”

“Pleasure’s mine.”

Mazingwe and Shinran exchanged a manly nod, but Camille by Nestra’s side was struck into silence by the appearance of mankind’s most famous living raider.

“Shi… Shinran.”

“Hello, Raider Nguyen was it? I read your file with much attention. Welcome to Threshold, and I hope you find a home here,” the crafty monster replied with kindness.

Nestra wasn’t duped but she had to admit that fucker could be smooth when he wanted to be.

“Tha… thank you!”

Ah, to tease Camille about their star crush. But that would be for later. First, the four raiders left their weapons on the outside, fairly visible, with Nestra opting to just put it on the ground with her belt and sheath. Mazingwe planted his spear vertically in the lizardman fashion. Nestra then followed Shinran in, finding a firepit in the middle and cushions arranged around it in a circle, four to each side, with the translator installed at the edge. Beyond the circle was the sealed coffin that would contain the deceased Carved Tusk B-class. Incense burnt in a zen setup in a corner, although Nestra wasn’t sure if she could use ‘corner’ for a circular tent. The structure might look cool from the outside, but the inside remained a little sad without any sort of ornaments, or convenient pillow piles. The light was too dim, the air too warm, and it smelled vaguely of plastic. Nestra had been in more welcoming interrogation rooms, sometimes even as the interrogator!

Nobody asked her opinion so she followed the group and at Shinran’s behest, she sat next to Mazingwe and the farthest seat from the entrance. The outer cushions would host the less important members of each delegation. As promised, there was a stool under hers so she was slightly higher than the lizards would be. She was still putting her delicate buttocks on her armor’s ‘culet’, the back of the skirt-like extension that protected the vulnerable and arteries-rich midsection. Her culet was flexible but it was still made out of metal, and not designed for comfort. Incidentally, cul meant ‘ass’ in French.

“One two, test, can you hear me?” a voice said in her ear.

As requested, she clicked her tongue once. The small communicator hidden in her ear must have received the data, because Semerdjian’s voice kept going.

“Alright, it looks like it’s working. Speak up if you hear the other people’s tests, remember?”

Nestra did. The communicators used some form of skull vibration to make Smerdjian’s voice travel. It wasn’t supposed to be picked up by anyone, especially not the lizards.

“I can hear Mazingwe’s microphone, but I don’t think a B-rank would be able to do it unless they already reformed their ears and nervous system. It should be fine,” Shinran said.

Nestra still thought it was a little risky but she wasn’t in charge. They waited some more, then some more. And she realized the problem: lizardmen didn’t have watches. They probably couldn’t keep time very well…

“They’re coming. Group of four. It’s up to you now,” Semerdjian said, voice dripping with excitement.

Nestra wasn’t that excited. The first to enter was a large specimen with light green scales, a male according to her file. He tasted the air with his tongue, then opened the flap to let others in. Two were female, one an agile fighter with yellow scales, the other a short, muscular one wearing bone ornaments on her skull ridge: a caster. The last one was another male with light blue scales and a lighter build. None of them were armed. Their mana remained remarkably restrained.

Slowly, they sat in their designated seats, their eyes never leaving Shinran. It was he who opened the dance. His tone was slow to allow the translator to hiss his words between each sentence.

“I am Shinran. I am the warchief of the Threshold clan. I call this conclave with the Carved Tusk clan to demand reparation for oath breaking.”

Their guests remained impassive when the last hiss died down. They were neither surprised nor angry at the accusation, which implied they expected it. As protocol demanded, the largest lizardman replied.

“I am Blood-in-Throat, Warchief of the Carved Tusk. Name the agreement that was broken, and how it was broken.”

So far so good.

“By our treaty, you were to warn us in case of an attack by enemies. This treaty, you broke in spirit.”

Nervousness seeped into the three followers. Nestra wasn’t sure why. Shinran wasn’t done, however.

“By our treaty, you should not take arms against us. This treaty, you have broken in letter.”

This time, the three attendants grew visibly agitated. This was the type of violation that had destroyed the Nameless Tribe. Maybe the fact it came from humans gave it less weight, but it was still very serious.

“You call us honorless,” Blood-in-Throat acknowledged with widening nostrils on his serpentine snout, a reaction Nestra interpreted as horror.

“He’s surprised. And horrified,” Semerdjian whispered in her ears. “Look at the nostrils and the way he lifts his head, like he smelled something bad.”

Accurate enough.

“I ask for your tale,” the warchief demanded.

“Dawn Spear will speak now,” Shinran replied.

Mazingwe leaned forward.

“I led my small warband to chase after our fleeing foe two days ago. We traveled back, away from the portal, towards a small river. The foe had taken the heads of our gatherers and artisans.”

The shaman’s ridge bristled. She clearly disapproved of killing civilians.

“We gave chase. We killed all but one warrior of a small warband. The last one escaped to the river. On the riverbank, we found another warband of foes. They were consorting with a Carved Tusk third ascension. The Carved Tusk have broken the treaty in spirit.”

Mazingwe paused then. The warchief could technically dispute the point now, or wait for later.

“I think he wants the whole story,” Semerdjian said.

“Once we arrived, my warrior attacked the fleeing foe,” the good doctor said pointing at Nestra. “And your warrior stopped her with a spear strike. The Carved Tusk have broken the treaty in letter. We invited you inside of our homes and you struck us. You drew blood,” Mazingwe concluded.

The reaction was massive. While everything had followed protocol so far, now the lizardmen were breaking it under Nestra’s fascinated gaze. “Impossible!” “Shameful!” “Who? Who did this? They have to lie!” surged from the female lizards’ throat while the blue one sat in stunned silence and Blood-in-Throat recoiled.

“A terrible tale. I wish to see the marks of it,” the warchief hissed slowly.

Nestra leaned forward in her seat. This was all so… interesting. And the way he had to force the words out as if choking on them! And it was all her initiative! She was feeling kind of proud right now.

“The body of Walking Mountain lies in this coffin.”

This shut the delegation up in an instant. Grief, surprise, shame, denial, so many emotions coursed through the delegation that it was difficult to grasp a single one.

“They’re… having a moment,” Semerdjian concluded. “It might be a good time to press on, I think.”

“Walking Mountain was at the river, in our back. The land still bears the scars of the battle. His mountain is still there, shattered yet recognizable.”

Mazingwe stretched his arms like he’d been asked to do.

“If a friend doesn’t warn of a thief coming through his territory, if the thief takes the lives of spawns, if the friend is found speaking to the thief afterwards, is he a friend? Or did he break the friendship in spirit? If he strikes when found out, is he a friend? Is he not an oathbreaker?”

The translator struggled to get all this through. The meaning of spawn was lost in there, but the message was clear enough that it wouldn’t matter.

“You claim Walking Mountain struck your warrior as she was attacking your foes?”

“I stand witness to it,” Mazingwe said. “As does this one,” he continued, pointing at Camille.

“Perhaps he was just pushing her away,” the chief begged.

Nestra was honestly impressed. The lizard leader was falling apart at the helm there. If human lawyers were here this would only be the beginning of a long and arduous battle, but the lizardmen were just more straightforward, and their cunning didn’t extend to court battle. Under Semedjian’s advice, Shinran moved in for the kill.

“It matters not what he intended to do,” Shinran said. “He struck my warrior to protect a foe. This is a terrible violation of the oath. We demand reparations for the actions of the transgressor, and for skirting the agreement.”

The lizardmen stopped moaning for one second. Shinran was offering them a way out now by presenting the situation as a violation in spirit, but also the crime of a single individual. The price would be steep, but the clan’s honor would recover. It looked like it would work until the blue lizardman leaned and whispered in the other one’s earhole. It was quiet enough that Nestra couldn’t catch it.

“You lie,” Blood-in-Throat said.

His ridge flared, and it might have looked like he smiled, but that was the purest expression of rage Nestra had ever seen on one of them.

Shinran frowned.

“Be very careful,” he replied.

“You lie! How could this one, a first ascension, survive a single blow from Walking Mountain? Even a push?”

“You question my skills?” Nestra retorted.

It was technically a violation of the order or speaking, but the situation had grown chaotic and she also knew she couldn’t let this shit fly. Lizardmen respected deeds backing few words. If she wanted to be respected, she had to speak for herself.

“Palladian,” Mazingwe warned.

“No, actually, let her defend herself,” Semerdjian urged.

She could tell he was smiling from all that action. Dork.

“You,” she said, pointing a finger at the blue-skinned lizard. “You told your warchief I am too weak to survive a single blow!”

“I did,” the lizard replied, predictably sticking to his words.

“You are on the second ascension. Would you say you could survive a single blow from a third ascension?”

Maybe he saw where this was going because he froze, and the hidden Mlemra tasted blood in the water. Incidentally, water was this fucker’s main affinity and that was going to be a problem for him.

“If the intention were not to kill, then yes,” he replied after a moment.

Translation: unless it was a super powerful attack backed by a skill, he could block the first thrust in the start of a sequence. He was probably right too.

“Good. Then you can help me show my mettle. I challenge you to a duel in the pit. You have called my skill in to question in front of my warchief? Face me, or be called a coward!” Nestra roared.

“Oh that’s a great idea,” Semerdjian exulted.

From their utterly horrified expressions, it looked like the other three disagreed.