>>6087591You feel uncomfortably weak trying to move out of bed. All your limbs shake, almost as hard as your mother trying in vain to stop you, yet you soldier on regardless. Your mind flashes to the now-dead Stranger and what he let slip, then to Marie’s face losing its color, then finally to the Metal Castle and all the things you could barely comprehend. What weapons of annihilation can Earth still offer? You’re unsure you even wish to know. Fights should be between combatants close enough to feel their opponent’s breath, where the victor is decided by skill alone. Yet, even the fantastical rifles of the skeletons, of which you still own one, could change warfare forever in this world.
“No, Mother, it’s not fine,” You say as you clamber out of your nice, lavish bed and into your slippers. It seems you’ve been put into your nightwear while you were out, and they probably burned your previous blood-covered outfit. Still, that doesn’t stop you from shuffling away as your mom tries to guide you back to bed. It’d be easier for her if she touched you, but she refuses. She probably thinks you’ll shatter if she tries to grab you, “I have things I should tell Father and the Lord Inquisitor. T-they’ll want to know.”
“H-honey, I’m sure they already know- you don’t need to-” The robe feels nice around you. You’re surprised you haven’t been stopped yet, given the looks your mother is giving your sister-in-law.
The gray-eared demihuman rolls her eyes, “If she doesn’t leave the palace, I ain’t gonna bug her,” She says before eyeing your walk-in armory, “Though I wouldn’t mind staying here for a bit longer. Nice collection, by the way.”
You mumble some form of thank you as you continue in your march. It is totally a march. Anything less would be demeaning, no matter how much mana exhaustion sucks. You haven’t felt this tired since arranging all those events for the Academy’s cultural festival. However, you realize a mistake you made as you open the great doors to your room and walk into the hallway where a few menial servants do their duties. You turn to your mother, who is just walking behind you, “Where’s dad?” You ask, moreso whisper.
All she does is sigh.
