NOVPUB*Bing-Bong*
We interrupt this chapter to inform the reader that the following dialogue contains Soarish, the language of the Soaring Griffon Continent, which will be denoted by "::".
To be more precise, it is a dialect unique to a certain region located between Roaring Tide and Soaring Griffon, so it will be marked with "<::>".
You’ll understand when you see it.
We now return to your irregularly scheduled chapter, thank you.
...
|Irregular schedule? What the heck?|
You know why.
|Oh...right...|
Side note, aren’t you worried about people complaining about tonal whiplash?
|No, because that’s the point.|
*Bing-Bong*
_________________________________
[They have my kin! I need to-]
[Whoa, whoa, whoa big guy! Calm down! You’re the one who said we can’t make a scene in public, remember?]
[Wait a minute, did he say kin? In like the same way between you and Elsa, or like me with my missionary buddies?]
[As in they’re my of my bloodline! I need to-]
[Hey! Hey!, chill,] Kit interrupted. [You’re causing ice to form in the waters near us. Tone it down a bit, and then we can proceed to do this...intelligently.]
[Intelligently?]
[You’ll see.]
...
<<Wait a minute, did he say a Blizzard Howler warrior? How the hell did he pull that off?!>>
<<Aren’t those guys the infamous raider tribe that all have the innate skill to produce storms with their voices?>>
<<Yeah, they’re also the type to kill themselves before they have a chance of getting caught.>>
<<You guys think it might be a fake?>>
In the Pearl Scale Empire, there is a name that is feared when one attempts to travel between here and the nations of Soaring Griffon, the Blizzard Howlers.
Despite what the name implies, the Blizzard Howlers were not a Bloodliner tribe. Instead, it was a tribe of warriors that all shared the same strange physique known as the [Storm Lungs].
The [Storm Lungs] were an inherited trait that allowed it’s owner to cause literal storms with their breaths while allowing them to breath anywhere and everywhere without the use of a treasure or innate formula feature. On top of that, if one were to practice aether arts that made extensive use of one’s breath, the [Storm Lungs] would be able to amplify the power of such arts by a magnitude of five by default, and ten if the aforementioned person trained hard enough.
<<If you don’t believe me, have a look for yourself!,>> the slave merchant shouted with vigor as he pull the tarp from a covered cage.
<:Mmph?!:>
<<Holy shit!>>
<<It’s real!>>
<<Damn, you guys feel that aura? This young man feels as if he wants to rip all of our heads off at once!>>
Locked in a cage, bound with chains and muzzled with a steel mask, a young warrior with blonde hair, artic blue eyes and a demeanor fiercer than a starving wolf, stared daggers at the people who were making a spectacle of him.
However, most of his ire and rage was directed towards the man who was trying to sell his ass in the first place.
<<As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, I had to muzzle the lad. Because all it would take is one powerful breath to send us all flying. Possibly to our deaths!>>
A majority of the crowd had some level of cultivation so they weren’t too afraid of dealing with an attack of that caliber, but they weren’t stupid either.
All it would take is one unlucky crash for it to end fatally.
That said, there were some doubters who demanded proof.
<<Oi! How do we know you ain’t lying to us and that muzzle ain’t just for show?>>
<<Oh? You doubt me, do you?,>>the slave merchant asked with a smile as wide as a Cheshire cat’s, <<would you like first hand proof? To come up to the stage and see for yourself?>>
<<Actually, I would.>>
The person who had challenged the slave merchant, and gotten up to the stage, was a tall, muscular man who was covered in scars, aka, the type of person who looked the part of being an aggravating shit kicker.
Whether or not this was staged was entirely up for interpretation.
Once the man had gotten on stage, the slave merchant directed him to stand opposite of the caged Blizzard Howler warrior, all while warning him that it wasn’t too late to back down.
Not that this scarred warrior listened.
<<Pffft! Please, I have slain bandits and beasts for fearsome than this little brat. Watch and be amazed as my [Tempered Steel Blockade] forces this fool to waste all his air. Ha!>>
A surge of aether later and the scarred warrior’s body began to take on a metallic sheen similar to that as a well-made steel shield.
<<Okay, it’s your hospital bill,>> the slave merchant acquiesced. <<Now, gentle on-lookers, please cover your ears. This next part is going to get...loud.>>
The slave merchant stepped off to the side at this point, leaving the would-be shit kicker to be the only one standing in what was clearly being labeled as the point of impact to most of the crowd. Once the merchant was far enough, he proceeded to snap his fingers, use some aether and cause the muzzle on the Blizzard Howler’s face to fall right off.
What followed was a tirade of words that weren’t only laced with enough aether to punch a hole through a brick wall, but also had to be legally censored due to violating way too many laws of public decency.
The following is the redacted version.
<<Alright, you little git. Show me what you->>
<:FUCK OFF YOU RUSTED PIECE OF SHIT! BEFORE I *CENSORED* CENSORED* *CENSORED* AND I *BANNED IN THREE DIFFERENT COUNTRIES* AND I USE A *ENDANGERED* TO *ILLEGAL IN ONE SPECIFIC CITY BUT ONLY ON TUESDAYS* AND *LITERAL THOUGHT CRIME THAT MAKES EVERYONE WHO HEARS IT AN ACCOMPLICE BY DEFAULT.* :>
The words alone were enough to cause most people to recoil in shock and disgust, but the sheer amount of literal power the words were enough to quite literally knock the scarred man on his ass and off the stage.
<:THAT’S RIGHT! RUN AWAY YOU LITTE-:>
<<And that’s enough of that.>>
With another snap of his fingers, the muzzle reattached itself to the young man’s face and muted him once more.
<<And with the demonstration out of the way, I will now be starting the auction at one hundred gold coins or your best offer.>>
…
[Whoa…I was not expecting that to be the main method in how [Storm Lungs] could be used,] Kit commented.
[I didn’t even know most of those words and now my vocabulary has forever changed.]
[Girl…]
[Now that…was a nostalgic thing to hear.]
[The fuck?]*2
[But yes…what is this clever plan of yours, because I’m about five seconds from turning this canal into a frozen hellscape.]
[Well…]
________________________________________
While all the crazy shit in Roaring Tide was happening...
[Alright, I never had taiyaki before, but does it seriously take this long to serve people? It’s been hours!]
[It’s been ten minutes.]
[Well, it feels like ten hours.]
[Plus, this was technically your plan.]
[I know, but still.]
In order to not draw suspicion to their activity in wanting to figure out if this street cook was actually that old time guy, they opted to try and blend in with the crowd in order to ask him an innocuously loaded question. However, they forgot to factor in the fact that it was around lunch time when they made their move.
At the time they made their move, a literal flood of people poured out of nowhere to come and purchase a Sweet Bean Bream cake for only three coppers.
Evidently, the man was making money hand over fist at this moment.
"One at a time please, one at a time," the street cook said jovially while making piping out taiyaki and slinging them towards hungry customers as fast as his arms could manage.
Which was impressive to say the least, given his old demeanor and the fact that he radiated very little aether in his movements.
As this constant bean cake slinging was going underway, Screamira and Razorstella went over their plan one last time…despite the fact that it was painfully simple.
…
[So…we’re just gonna go up there and ask him the time? Seriously?]
[Yeah. Fool-proof ain’t it?]
[I’m not saying it’s fool-proof, I’m asking…how the fuck does this help us to determine if it’s the guy we’re actually looking for?]
[Okay, you know that phenomenon that occurs when a craftsperson gets really focused on their work and they just sorta...go on auto-pilot for everything, including responses?]
[Like when Hurricroak practices her instruments?]
[Exactly,] Razorstella nodded. [Once he’s in the groove, we ask him the time and if he has a pocket watch, he’ll…]
[Oh…okay, I get it.]
[Brilliant, right?]
[Sure…by the way, we’re next.]
[Oh shit.]
...
[Minn Jarl/Director, we’re about to make contact with the target.]
’Right on...why do I get the feeling I should be in a well-padded room for this part?’
