Chapter 170: The Sufferings of Success

The battlefield breathes a collective sigh of relief as Vexena and Hela settle their fight over a discussion regarding Virelle’s cuteness and fondness for anything plush. Smoke still curls off the cratered farmland behind them, the twin suns sinking low and bloody over the wreckage, and for the first time in what feels like hours, nobody is actively trying to kill anybody else.

"Fantastic!" Bela says, arms held wide as she steps between Hela and Vexena. "We’re all friends now."

"She is not my friend!" Virelle scoffs, arms still crossed tight against her chest as she glares up at Hela, nose wrinkled in stubborn defiance.

Bela turns to her sister, voice low enough just for her to hear. "Now, can we please just go? We’re running out of time!"

"Right! Of course." Hela turns to Vexena, bows slightly, and rises with a warm, genuine smile. "It truly was an honor and a privilege," she says. "I wish you well on your endeavours. The Great Mother—"

"Enough, sister!" Bela snaps, before turning to the group with a small, impatient smile. "So sorry, but we really must go."

The trio gather together before strutting over to Pip. Hela grabs his hand and pulls him gently but firmly away from Vuvi’s side.

"We’ll keep him perfectly safe," she assures her, tender and reassuring, as though this were the most normal thing in the world. "We have waited a long time to meet him. Thank you, Lady Blackthorn, for affording us this opportunity."

"W-What!?" Vuvi sputters, wincing through the pain, fury cutting straight through her exhaustion. "You didn’t afford—"

"Where," Veena interrupts, placing a hand gently on Vuvi’s shoulder, "are you taking him exactly?"

"We will commune with him," Hela breathes, her voice filled with reverence, "as the Great Mother wills it. To test his purpose, his resolve... and his heart."

"And if he is found worthy," Bela adds, "he will be blessed."

Nela grabs Pip’s other hand, burying herself happily against his side. "We’ll be at the Church of the Great Mother. The big one, in the dwarven capital! You should come. Their baths are divine! Literally!"

Vuvi’s mouth falls open, and for a solid three seconds no sound comes out of it at all before a slow, escalating squeak escapes her throat.

"You’re taking him to the church?" Veena finally manages. "To be tested? By what, exactly? Who tests a divine construct’s resolve? How do you even—"

"Think of it as more of a... interview," Nela offers helpfully, nuzzling her face further into Pip’s shoulder. "A very thorough interview," she adds, licking her lips far too suspiciously. "We’ll need to know everything about him... and his gifts."

Pip gives a small, uncertain beep, glancing back over his shoulder toward Vuvi, torn between his usual eagerness to please and the very obvious panic written across his creator’s bruised face.

Bela drifts past Vuvi on her way to the horses, pausing just long enough to pat Vuvi’s shoulder with genuine, motherly affection, the kind of touch that somehow makes Vuvi’s throat tighten despite the fact Bela is currently about to ride off with her construct.

"I’m sure he’ll do wonderfully," she assures her. "I’ll personally see that he’s kept safe the entire time. You have my word on that, and my word actually means something."

She continues on, waving cheerfully at the rest of the battered, mud-caked team. "It was lovely meeting you all! Honestly. Interesting lot you all are."

"I swear!" Vuvi calls out. "If I find one scratch on Pip—"

"I swear!" Bela calls back. "He’ll be fine!"

Her gaze catches on the scattered, smoking remains of the soldiers Vexena’s army lost to her and her sisters, and she winces again, pressing a hand briefly to her chest.

"And, again, so, so sorry about... all of this," she adds, gesturing vaguely at the entire ruined battlefield with an expression of genuine, if fleeting, remorse. "But do hurry to the Dwarven Kingdom as soon as you are able. We’ll make sure the Prince is waiting for you at the church."

The three of them mount horses conjured fresh from thin air, gleaming and untouched by the carnage, and in one smooth, perfectly synchronized motion they dart off across the ruined battleground at a completely undignified pace, tearing up the countryside behind them without so much as a single backward glance, hooves flinging clumps of scorched mud in every direction.

Pip cranes his neck to look back at Vuvi for as long as he possibly can, beeping something that sounds distinctly apologetic, before the smoke and cinders swallow them entirely.

The three riders and their captive pleasure-construct vanish into the drifting haze and slowly dying light of the afternoon, hoofbeats fading fast, leaving absolute, ringing silence behind in their wake.

Nobody moves for a long moment, every face turned toward the empty horizon, as if waiting to make sure the day is finally done with them.

Vuvi shakes her head slowly, incredulous, and turns to look at the rest of the team, every single face equally battered, equally bruised, equally and thoroughly bewildered.

She sits down hard in the mud, all the fight finally draining out of her at once, then lies flat on her back, arms flung wide in total, exaggerated defeat, staring up at the smoke-streaked, twin-sunned sky like it might have some answers to offer.

"I need a drink," she announces to no one in particular. "I need several drinks."

"Your flask’s still gone," Veena reminds her gently, easing herself down into the mud beside her, wincing at her own healing ribs.

"Then I need a new flask," Vuvi sighs. "A bigger one. The biggest flask that has ever been made by dwarven hands."

Sera flops down on Vuvi’s other side with a groan, staring up at the same smoke-streaked sky. "We’ll add it to the shopping list."

"How big is that list?" Raikya mutters, limping over to join them, mud sucking at her boots with every step.

"Long enough to need its own carriage," Penelo offers, dropping down cross-legged in the mud without any apparent concern for her own dignity. "Right next to the one for bandages."

Maribelle and Eris trail a few steps behind, still shaking their heads slowly, each of them trying to dislodge a memory that won’t leave and trying to rattle some sense into a day that seems to have handed them so very little of it.

One by one, the rest of the team drifts over and simply collapses into the mud alongside them. Bilorial, Xenara, Mika, Penelo, Lula, and even Vexena herself each find a spot, while Virelle stands a little apart, waving, preferring to keep her dress out of the dirt.

"You’re crazy, all of you!" Virelle informs them primly, though she edges close enough to lean against Vexena’s shoulder anyway.

No one moves a muscle, entirely content with ending their day right there, until the entire ragged, battered group is just lying in the mud together, in the middle of a ruined field, saying absolutely nothing at all.

And somewhere, far off to the side, in a crater still smoking gently, an empty puddle of black blood stands motionless where a certain battered Baroness had been completely forgotten amid the chaos and confusion of the Saint Sisters’ arrival.