A massive wolf monster collapsed to the ground and began to fade away.
Lara wiped the corner of her mouth.
“Existence replication — minimal effect.” Magic power +1 Somewhere along the way, ordinary monsters like these had stopped being able to increase Lara’s strength.
Magic power did tick up a little every few encounters — not by much, but as long as it wasn’t zero, those small quantities would someday accumulate into something more.
“Status” Name: Lara Age: 18 Race: Human Physical Condition: Severely Exhausted (Abilities ↓15%) Grip Strength: 511 kg Magic Power: 62 Special Abilities: Metamorphosis, Holy Light Blessing When her strength had stopped rising, Lara had asked 0083 about it, and the answer she received was just as blunt: ‘The human limit is around 500 kg.
The reason you are not increasing, Master, is because you have not absorbed information from creatures with greater strength.
While your raw strength is no longer rising, your physical durability is still improving.’ Bad news: her strength was nearly at its ceiling.
Good news: she could still become harder to put down.
When she first learned this, Lara had briefly wondered whether she was still human at all — after all, she had surpassed the theoretical five-hundred-kilogram limit.
But after thinking it over, she decided it was a philosophical question: judged by physical parameters, she was certainly a “new human”; yet her mind hadn’t changed, and by the logic of “I think, therefore I am,” she still considered herself an ordinary person — just one with a little more strength.
After confirming her condition, Lara raised her head and looked into the distance.
Her gaze swept across the open plain to a city encircled by grand walls, standing firm beneath the clear sky.
The tops of its palace towers rose above the battlements, commanding the eye.
This city might well be the place she would settle for a while.
The last time she had stayed in any city for more than five days was back in Eilan’s — though most of that time hadn’t actually been spent inside the walls, Lara reflected.
The wind across the plain carried the scent of grass and the fragrance of earth, and now and then a butterfly settled on Lara’s pauldron.
The white city gate swelled larger with every step, until Lara could no longer see its top through the narrow confines of her helmet.
The great gate was shut fast; only a small door had been cut into its lower right corner, barely wide enough to pass two wagons abreast.
A line of people stood there waiting to enter.
“So the big gate is just decoration, huh,” Lara thought to herself.
She joined the line.
The guards up ahead checked each person in turn, looking for anyone dangerous trying to slip inside; most were waved through with a glance.
The queue moved quickly, and before long it was Lara’s turn.
“Hey — you there, the tin can!” A guard called out to stop Lara.
He drew his sword with his right hand and rested it on his shoulder, while his left hand pointed to the open ground in front of the gate.
“Dressed like that and you think you can just walk in?
Get over here!” It was only then that Lara remembered she was still in full armor — which must have looked highly suspicious — and she had no choice but to step out of the line to be questioned.
The guard had a head of tawny-brown hair and looked remarkably young — like a young lord’s son sent out to gain some experience in the world.
When Lara had come to within roughly two meters of him, he waved his hand to signal her to stop.
Lara stood motionless in the open space, like a statue.
The guard’s gaze swept her from head to toe; he propped his left hand under his right elbow and demanded: “A helmet that hides your face, a sword as tall as a person, head-to-toe armor — are you heading off to war?” Looking at the guard’s furrowed brow, Lara could feel the curious and nervous eyes of the crowd around her, along with the young guard’s attempt at a seasoned, authoritative scrutiny.
After a brief silence, a clear, slightly husky female voice emerged from beneath the helmet, carrying an utterly matter-of-fact calm: “Used to it.” The voice, filtered through the helmet, was impossible to place by gender.
The answer caught the guard even more off guard.
“U — used to it?” He repeated the words, more baffled than before, his eyes running over Lara more carefully as though trying to see through the iron shell.
“Walking around in a lump of iron weighing hundreds of kilograms is a habit?
Hiding your face is a habit?
What kind of bizarre habit is that!” He jangled the sword on his shoulder.
“Remove the helmet!
Now!
Submit to inspection!” This time, Lara did not stay silent.
“Understood.” Her voice remained as calm as ever, though it carried a slight explanatory note now.
“Sorry — I’ve been out in the field so long I got used to keeping the armor on at all times.
Forgot the rules.” With a scrape of metal, she steadily lifted the heavy helmet away.
In an instant, a cascade of slightly disheveled black hair tumbled free and stirred in the breeze.
A young face — tired, but young — was exposed to the open air.
The skin was unusually pale; the nose straight and sharp; the lips pressed firmly together.
Most striking of all were her eyes — not fierce or menacing, but a clear, vivid crimson, like molten rubies, gazing at the guard before her with unruffled calm, even a hint of unguarded ease.
Unobstructed sunlight fell directly onto her face, and she instinctively narrowed her eyes.
The young guard was completely stunned.
He had imagined all sorts of things beneath that helmet — a grotesque scar-covered face, the weathered mug of a grizzled veteran, even something inhuman — but never had he expected this: a young face, sharp-featured and even, one might say, rather pretty, and unmistakably female.
The oppressive weight that the armor had projected seemed to have lifted right along with the helmet, replaced by a sharp contrast and utter bewilderment.
Muffled gasps and hushed murmuring rippled through the waiting crowd.
“A w — woman?” The guard nearly blurted it out, his voice full of disbelief.
The hand gripping his sword loosened; his eyes darted back and forth between Lara’s face and the terrifyingly heavy armor, trying to reconcile the two.
“You — you walk around in all of that?
And carry a sword that big?” The interrogation had clearly lost all its authority; it sounded more like an expression of shock.
Lara tucked the helmet under her arm, crimson eyes meeting the guard’s gaze without flinching: “Yes.
Used to it.” She said it again, her tone as flat as commenting on fine weather.
“The wilds aren’t safe — this way is.
And it’s only right to be checked at the gate.” She turned slightly to one side of her own accord, inviting the guard to inspect her equipment.
The guard opened his mouth, then closed it again, momentarily at a loss for what to ask.
He looked at Lara’s calm face, then at the heavy armor caked with mud and dried grass, and then at the greatsword on her back that was nearly as tall as she was — gear that would have looked outlandish even on a man.
He stepped forward and gave a perfunctory tap of his scabbard against the joint between Lara’s breastplate and leg armor, then peered into the interior of the helmet she was holding, confirming there were no prohibited items.
“Ahem…” The guard’s movements were stiff; he cleared his throat and tried to reclaim some authority, though his voice had softened considerably.
“Right.
Your weapons — don’t go brandishing them once you’re inside.
Armed fighting is not permitted within the city.” He waved his hand.
“Go on in, and don’t hold up the people behind you.” Lara gave a nod and, without putting the helmet back on, walked through the city gate with steady, even steps.
Beyond the gate lay a city of bright, vivid colors — rooftops of blue and green that lent the whole place a lively energy, and in the distance a castle with a vivid blue roof that stood out even more sharply.
The windows on either side of the street were mostly open, and now and then a child could be glimpsed playing inside.
Beyond the gate lay a city of bright, vivid colors.
The tiled rooftops of blue and green lent the whole place a lively energy; sunlight fell on them as though each tile had been glazed.
In the distance, the castle with its vivid blue roof stood out even more sharply, its outline crisp against the clear sky.
The streets were paved with dark-grey stone slabs worn smooth over the years, two shallow wheel-ruts pressed into the center by countless passing carts, and along the edges a few stubborn tufts of green grass had pushed up through the gaps.
The windows on either side of the street were mostly open; clay flowerpots sat on the sills filled with clusters of small wildflowers, or else laundry hung out to dry.
The shops facing the street stood with their doors wide open, letting out the clang and ring of the forge, the warm wheaten smell of fresh bread, and the occasional cry of a vendor hawking their wares.
This was the city where the Hero would soon return in triumph!
Fifty years before Himmel’s death, Lara arrived at the place where she could finally rest for a while.
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