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45 — A noble's burden
🕑 Added 2025-09-07 20:24:33 +0000 UTCMaeve
This was supposed to be simple—so very damn simple. Who was she kidding? Did she ever think it would be so damn simple? If only the Mara woman had given her the damn thing from the get-go, she wouldn't be in this situation. It was laughable, really. Ridiculous, really.
How did this happen?
One moment, she had been on her tiptoes; the next, on the ground. Like some ridiculous play. What if Rennia was brain-dead? What was she supposed to do then—drag her out, stay here while being attacked? Maeve's heart pounded as she contemplated her situation in the silence. She had been trying to wake her for the last ten minutes. Trust her, she did. But the peasant girl wouldn't budge.
Maeve tried again, yanking her shoulders, pinching her skin, lightly slapping her cheeks, even going so far as to throw water onto her face. She needed to wake, and quickly. She had cast a spell called [Cure] several times over, but she wouldn't budge a damn bit. She was absolutely hopeless. She tried again but refrained from starting the effort. A weak glow left her spellbook, then faded. And then her arms went limp.
"Useless, useless, useless—everything, you, me, and this fucking spell." She spoke to the sleeping Rennia.
Creak. Creak.
She heard noises in the dark, very much akin to something being scraped, or was that a far-away echo? She went quiet, like a mouse that just spotted a cat. There were no foot or paw steps, thank the gods, but the guttural echo she heard on this mine's second floor of the dungeon caused her tension to spike.
She needed to move to somewhere a bit more secluded. There was a hollow space in the walls behind her—a small alcove that didn't put them in the light.
Maeve dragged Rennia by her legs with much effort. The girl was certainly "heavier" than she should be. Was this the work of the armor, or did she have some kind of debuff ailment? No matter. She owed Maeve big time after this, and Maeve was going to drive the point home.
Maeve sat her down again. She was pretty sure the dragging had probably messed up her head. Trembling, Maeve stuck out her hand, then put her hands inside Rennia's chest, as her hands were cold. She blushed slightly—it was intrusive, and of course she'd be dirtying her hands touching a commoner's breasts. But was that not the right of regal folk like her to do what they pleased? Of course, she was doing it for a reason. She felt around, settling on her chest.
Instant relief—there was a pulse, at least. She stopped herself before pulling her hand out of Rennia's chest. Her breasts were certainly a bit bigger than Maeve's, and this wasn't the time, but she couldn't help but feel curious. She felt around a bit as Rennia's chest jiggled. And then slipped it out. That was wrong.
She sighed and turned her attention elsewhere. She couldn't believe she would do such a thing. She started rationing to clear her head again, checking the food quality and water for both her and her "peon." They had enough for two days, and judging by her predicament, they might be here for a while.
If she doens’t wake.
"Blasted Rennia, a rock of all things? Why does it have to be me? Always, it has to be me in the most unfortunate situations."
Rennia said nothing—she couldn't. Maeve stared at the wall. She threw the blanket out again, but this time she scooted inside. The blanket covered both of them.
Her ears perked up. There was noise in the distance, she thought—serious noise, like wet claws scratching stone. Maeve instantly froze, frightened. She was no frontline fighter; some mine devil would eat her up for dinner.
The noise disappeared after a few seconds, and Maeve breathed a sigh of relief. But now her mind was left to wander back home. The estates were in civil war turmoil back home, fighting over who got what and who belonged to whom and would steal what. She didn't have the stomach for it. Not when her family was involved. For all her aristocratic appeal, she hated the daggers that lurked in the dark. And she couldn't bring herself to participate, not when family had been on all sides.
She just couldn't. She had to flee—feels so she could carve out a piece for herself. The guild was supposed to make it easy for someone like her, someone with status. Her status brought her nothing in the free city. Nothing. Half the peasants barely knew what her house name meant.
And the nasty truth was, she was out of coin, out of money. The pouch she offered Rennia—it was a bluff, a fallacy, a ruse, and it had nearly worked. The reason she followed Rennia was that all the groups she had approached had been male-dominated, overly cutthroat, and she saw how they looked at her. Predators, the whole lot of them.
She sighed. Her birthright was as good as declaring herself the master of the lords of all lords. It meant nothing here, maybe in Osterria it would have been better.
She felt bad—bad for Rennia, less frustrated. She could have warned if she had spotted the rock. Maeve sighed as she sat still in the dungeon, grimoire at arm's length. The faint noise was somewhere far away, but she was confident it was something moving.
But she was powerless.
Her eyes drifted to Rennia's vulnerable form. She was so vulnerable and yet so pretty. Her hair was not as dark as Maeve's pitch black, but it was strangely regal. She was so vulnerable. Maybe could pull a prank on her, do a few tricks, or braid her hair, make her look more than just an adventurer with mild tits.
Was she a secret noble herself? Or just blessed.
Something twitched against the blanket—very sharp, like some muscle spasming. She instantly moved, and then Maeve startled, lifted the blanket cautiously, and then rubbed her eyes, doing a double-check. Her eyes were very wide. Was that a bulge at her groin? Did something just move? It was hard to see because of the plates.
She was curious to inspect. Perhaps Rennia had some kind of condition she was hiding but wouldn't tell, like cancer the folks in the north got.
"What the fuck is—" She swore she was imagining it, that it was nothing, just her imagination, a mild dream. But her eyes couldn't keep averting it. She was curious. There was shame in her body, and yes, she was just caught in some other force's building. A little lift wouldn't hurt—a peek inside her privates.
She moved her hands closer, aching with anticipation.
Something twitched beneath Rennia's blanket—a sharp jolt, almost like a muscle spasm.
She whispered angrily at herself: "Focus, Maeve, damn it. Not the time."
The twitching thing moved, and suddenly, purple light surrounded Rennia's body—her whole body—and then it started levitating, jerking upward. And before she knew it, Maeve stared at her in awe and submission.
Rennia's body floated into the air, her limbs loose and hanging, eyes open wide and large, her face in a state of astonishment. Maeve had forgotten to breathe. She gasped and lunged forward, attempting to nudge Rennia down.
"Dear goddess, what is going on!" She used both her arms on a single limb and tugged until her face was blue. Then she recoiled, falling on her behind and sighing. Purple light ejected itself from Rennia's skin like wild mana lashing out at her.
The air started tasting like clouded weather—stormy and metallic. Maeve's heart pounded until a pulse of magic slammed her against the wall, sending her body into a state of shock. She coughed and looked up. At the corner of her eye, she could hear sounds from the dungeon starting to creep closer, louder and bolder. She saw small shadows creep near.
She immediately grabbed her grimoire, readying an incantation in her head. A fire spray spell would reveal her nasty opponents to her and hopefully torch them into smithereens. Her eyes lurked, and Rennia hadn't stopped spinning. The cavern vibrated, and loose stones rattled down from the ceiling.
She scrambled for a defensive position—not angry but irritated and frightened. Her hands were settled on the motion. Whatever was in the dungeon needed simply to bare their heads, and she would blast them. She put a mana shield around them just in case. If her old teacher had found her cornered like this, she would lose all honor she had as their estate's sorcerer. Stupid Rennia—what the hell was going on with her?
She braced herself. And waited. And waited. And waited. But no monsters came.
The purple surge of light around Rennia came to a crescendo, and then she plummeted down. An impish head peeked out from the corner—skin reddish, face barely discernible. It stared at Maeve and Rennia on the ground. Maeve waited no more than a split second and then gushed a flaming spell at the enemy.
The creature—or creatures—recoiled. She heard it run into the distance. Rennia snapped awake, her eyes wide, staring at her.
Maeve looked at the commoner girl who looked breathless, confused, and out of place. Maeve's heart pounded like battle drums, and then whatever had been near them retreated. Maeve slumped down in retreat and silently in relief. She crawled toward Rennia, putting her grimoire down. The mana shield went away.
Rennia stared at her like a complete buffoon, and Maeve started giggling—no, laughing. Tears welled up in her eyes. That was scary, too scary. Dungeons weren't supposed to be frightening like that. They shouldn't be.
She felt powerless, completely, and Rennia—whatever she was—intrigued her. She sagged against her. She didn't say a word, not yet.
She hated it—coming here, forced to live under a pretense as a common adventurer for her safety. That Mara woman, needed an immediate interrogation. Above all else. One thing was indeed on her mind.
"Rennia."
Rennia made a "hmm" sound, but it was laced with confusion.
"We need to leave!"
