Chương 81: Chapter 79 – What’s in the Box?

Chelsea"I don't understand why you don't have more armor on. You're sparring with real weapons," Passion said. Chelsea looked down at herself. She had enough armor to avoid being completely eviscerated, but not nearly enough for most people's comfort. That was intentional. The last thing she needed was The Perfect Outfit giving her a pile of extra attribute points and ruining the entire point of the practice.

"I don't want to hurt her," Chelsea explained.

"I don't want my armor to give me any more attribute points than I need to keep up with her." Passion stared at her for a moment, clearly not understanding. Chelsea stepped onto the practice field and went through some basic stretches. The morning air was cool, and the dirt under her boots had already been torn up from earlier training. She could still see the marks from yesterday where Bea had knocked her down repeatedly and then complained that Chelsea was falling wrong.

Ivy stood beside Passion at the edge of the field. She kept her hands clasped in front of her, already looking worried.

"What you're about to see is incredibly hard to watch," Ivy explained.

"Just know she's fine." Passion turned toward her.

"Why would you say that?" Ivy only grimaced.

"No ghost weapons this time," Bea said as she walked up to Chelsea.

"Fine. And I only have a javelin so far," Chelsea replied.

"Whatever." Bea looked past her toward Passion. Her eyes moved over the ashen-haired Valkyr, then narrowed with immediate suspicion.

"Who's the new girl? Channeling your inner Leech? Never took you for the harem type." Chelsea sighed.

"She's one of the other Valkyr." Bea made a small sound of disappointment. They moved into position before Chelsea could give her aunt time to make another comment. Chelsea pulled out her black stick. The weapon shifted in her hand, extending into a spear as she grabbed her shield from storage. The familiar weight settled against her arm, and she took a steadying breath.

"Ready," she said. Bea did not answer right away. She grabbed a finger-sized rock from the ground and tossed it into the air. Chelsea lowered her stance. Bea did the same. For a brief moment, everything narrowed to the rock, Bea's hands, and the distance between them. The rock hit the ground. Chelsea launched forward with a thrust. Bea deflected it without effort, turning the point aside just enough to make Chelsea adjust. Chelsea pushed forward again, forcing her footwork to stay controlled.

Then she triggered Havoc Spear. Both strikes came out fast. Bea still caught them. Not cleanly, but clean enough to deny Chelsea the advantage. Chelsea kept pressing, trying to use the speed and awkward timing of Havoc Spear to force Bea into a mistake. Bea gave ground in small steps, never retreating more than she needed to, never letting Chelsea feel comfortable with the distance. For a little while, Chelsea thought she was doing well. Then Bea changed tempo. There was no warning.

One moment Chelsea was attacking, and the next Bea had nudged her rhythm out of place and taken control of the exchange. Chelsea brought her shield around to cover the first strike, but she was late on the second. The spear cut across her shoulder. Another strike opened her side. A third hit her thigh when she stepped wrong. Chelsea did not feel the wounds, but she knew they were there. She felt the liquid on her skin and soaked into her clothes.

Her body moved slower when damage stacked in the wrong places, and Bea had been teaching her exactly how many small mistakes could pile up. This was what they had been working on for the last two days. Defense. Like… real defense. Not surviving because her body was hard to kill or ignoring pain because she did not feel it. What most people needed to learn even though she had her advantages. She was learning to read movement, guarded openings, and stopped relying on the fact that Bea could heal whatever she broke.

Bea stepped in with a thrust toward Chelsea's head. Chelsea saw the signs of a feint. The shoulder angle was wrong. The lead foot did not commit fully. Bea's wrist had shifted just enough to suggest she wanted Chelsea to react early. Chelsea leaned into it. For one perfect instant, she thought she had read Bea correctly. Then Bea completed the thrust. Chelsea realized the mistake too late. The spear punched into her left eye socket and drove deep.

Her head snapped back from the force, and her entire body stopped responding. Her fingers loosened around the spear. The weapon dropped from her hand and hit the dirt, shrinking back into its stick form before it settled. Passion let out a horrified gasp. Chelsea heard nothing after that. Her arms and legs went limp, and her body folded where it stood. At the edge of the field, Passion looked toward Ivy, expecting panic. Ivy had gone pale, but she was not screaming.

Her mouth tightened, and her hands clenched in front of her, but she stayed where she was. Bea planted the heel of her boot against Chelsea's face and yanked the spear free with no gentleness at all. Chelsea's body dropped fully into the dirt. Bea shook her head in annoyance.

"Fucking idiot," she muttered. She bent down, holding one hand about six inches above Chelsea's face, and began an incantation. The magic gathered quickly. Flesh repaired. Blood slowed. Chelsea's eye reformed beneath Bea's hand. A few moments later, Chelsea's fingers twitched. Then she grabbed her stick, pushed herself up, and got back to her feet. She was a bit wobbly but she could stand.

"You feinted a feint!?" Passion Passion watched as her pair was brutalized for the full hour. There was no better word for it. Training did not feel strong enough. It wasn't sparring. Havoc was cut, stabbed, knocked down, healed, corrected, and sent back into position again and again. Bea never seemed satisfied, and Havoc never asked her to stop. That was the part Passion could not get used to. Havoc endured pain and injury beyond what anyone should have been able to take, but she never cried out or complained.

She did not curse Bea. She didn't beg for a break or even look angry. She only asked questions when she missed something. Then she'd… smile? Every time she fought, her face didn't change. She was always smiling. It was… off-putting in this context. Passion had trained with the trainers of Valhalla. She had sparred with the other Valkyr. Yet the worst she endured was… nothing in comparison. This was different. Havoc was not pushing through pain. She was moving without it, and that made everything harder to watch.

Pain was supposed to teach. It warned, corrected, punished, and protected. Havoc had none of that. Finally, when the hour ended, Havoc walked back over to Ivy, who already had a wet rag pulled from her pouch.

"You're definitely improving with the shield," Ivy said excitedly.

"Thanks. It doesn't feel like it, but I'm really trying." Havoc leaned forward and pressed her face into the rag Ivy held for her. Ivy scrubbed at the blood and dirt with practiced care, though the rag seemed to become just gore almost instantly. Havoc glanced toward Passion while Ivy continued cleaning her.

"I know it looks rough, but it's how the Wixx train."

"How..." Passion started. She stopped there because she did not know which question to ask first. How was Havoc still standing? Why was the elf who stood beside her acting so calm? Who was Bea to treat a girl she apparently loved like a training dummy? When was Adriane going to step in and say 'this is not ok'? Havoc wiggled her fingers.

"Spooky demon magic." Passion did not find that answer believable. She had taken part in a battle involving the Kingdom of Dryscape. Demons felt pain and reacted to it. They ran by the manor so Havoc could bathe quickly, then headed for the market. Passion walked with them in silence for a while, still trying to place what she had seen into some category that made sense. Havoc was unrefined. That much was obvious. Her stance was improving but still imperfect. Her shield work needed discipline.

Her spear technique had promise, but too often she relied on strange abilities and durability instead of clean fundamentals. And yet, she could continue. That was the part Passion kept returning to. Havoc could be brutalized for an hour, heal, wash off the blood, and then walk through the city as if the entire morning had hadn't happened. A proper trainer could shape that into something incredible. Maybe this was what Ivy meant when she said Havoc would change how Passion viewed her.

"It's been bothering me," Passion finally said.

"How long could you keep up training like that? The one-hour time restraint, I'm guessing, is guild enforced?"

"I don't know," Havoc answered.

"We haven't ever really gone longer. I'm to a point, though, that I could probably go for a few more hours." Passion nodded slowly. Havoc was rough. Very rough. But her ability to continue without pause was unheard of. Horrifying, yes, but incredible. Passion could already imagine the drills. The repetition. The way a body like that could be trained if someone had enough patience, and enough healing.

"Here we are," Havoc said. They entered an armor shop. The heat struck Passion immediately. It rolled out from the back of the shop in a constant wave, carrying the smell of hot metal, charcoal, and sweat,. The front room was packed with armor pieces, weapon racks, and half-finished repairs waiting to be collected. It was not the largest forge Passion had ever seen, but everything about it felt real. Nothing was decorative. This was where adventurers went for weapons.

"Miss Chelsea, always a pleasure to see you. I have two of your pieces completed. Want to see?" the blacksmith behind the counter asked. He was an incredibly sweaty man with the most ridiculous mustache Passion had ever seen. It curled outward in thick sweeps, somehow holding its shape despite the heat trying to destroy every living thing in the room.

"Oh my gods, yes! I didn't think you'd have two done so fast!" Havoc exclaimed. She sounded genuinely thrilled.

"Oh Arnold, this is the Valkyr of Passion. Passion, this is Arnold, the best blacksmith in any of the three neighboring kingdoms." Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"You flatter me, Miss Chelsea. Miss Passion, it is a pleasure." Arnold gave Passion a respectful nod, then turned back to Havoc.

"Now, to those pieces. I do wish I could wear something of this quality. But alas, the life of a blacksmith is to dwell in low levels." Passion was taken aback. Usually, when she was introduced to someone, there was a reaction. Awe. Fear. Stammered respect. At minimum, people stared at her armor. Arnold did none of that. He treated her like another person coming to look but not buy and Havoc like the only actual paying customer he's ever had. Was it because he was accustomed to dealing with Havoc?

That had to be it.

"Oh Arnold, don't be hard on yourself," Havoc replied, patting his arm gently as he led them into the back. The heat became worse immediately. Passion felt it through her armor and under the edges of her collar. The forge burned nearby, and the air seemed to cling to every exposed inch of skin. Ivy looked miserable within seconds, strands of blonde hair sticking to her temples as she tried to keep from visibly melting.

"Your work has saved more lives than any one adventurer could in their lifetime," Havoc continued. Arnold slowed at that.

"You know, Miss Chelsea, I never thought of it like that," he said, furrowing his brow. He looked genuinely affected by the comment, though he tried to hide it by turning toward a covered section of the workbench.

"Here they are." He pulled the covering away and pointed to a pair of boots and a pair of pants. Passion approached before she could stop herself. She could not read, but she knew gear. Every Valkyr knew gear. Color classifications, rarity markers, enhancement strength, and the little visual details that separated a piece made by a skilled craftsman from one that had crossed into something far beyond ordinary work. Her eyes moved over the pieces. The boots and pants were not simply well made.

They were not merely expensive, either. She held out a hand and used the eyes. They carried the unmistakable classification color of genuine historic+1 gear. Passion stared.

"What the fuck!?" she yelled, looking from the gear to Havoc. Havoc blinked at her, clearly not understanding the severity of what was sitting on the workbench. Ivy, who looked like the forge was slowly defeating her will to live, gave Passion a tired smile.

"Impressive, eh?" Passion pointed at the gear.

"I've never seen historic gear, let alone anything like this. And it's +1?" Arnold's mustache lifted with his pleased smile. Havoc looked proud, but not surprised. Havoc reacted to the impossible with delight, then immediately treated it as something to be folded into her plans for the day.

"Hey, Arnold, here's a bonus for finishing the pants so fast. Thank you so much," Havoc said. She pulled out a slotted pouch, not unlike the one Havoc used. Presumably it was full of coins and set it down for him.

"The Valkyr are trying to collect me now," Havoc continued.

"If my mother ends up folding and letting the Valkyr take me away to their little fight club, at least I'll have your work to fall back on." Passion stared at her. Havoc had probably just handed a blacksmith more coin than many adventurers would see in a five years, thanked him as if he had done her a small favor, and discussed being collected by the Valkyr in the same tone someone else might use to mention afternoon tea.

"Oh, Miss Chelsea, you don't have to do that. These are my crowning achievements in blacksmithing. Plus, you've already paid me way too much to make them." His mustache twitched with the effort of refusing it politely, though Passion could tell he wanted to accept. Not greedily. Not the way some merchants eyed coin. There was a difference between hunger and gratitude, and Arnold's expression carried far more of the second.

"No really, please take it. You've earned it. Do you mind if I take them today?" Havoc asked.

"They're all yours," he replied. Havoc made an excited noise and rushed forward to give the blacksmith a hug. Passion watched Arnold freeze for half a second before returning the hug with awkward care. He was a large man, broad from work and heat, but he handled Havoc gently. Everyone did, Passion was beginning to realize. Even the ones who knew she could survive being stabbed through the skull still seemed careful with her in small, strange ways.

"You're my favorite!" Havoc said. Arnold's face reddened. Havoc released him and picked up the boots to inspect them properly. Her eyes moved over the leather, metal, stitching, and fitted plates with open admiration.

"So beautiful." Passion looked at the boots again and shook her head slightly. Historic+1. Havoc was admiring them the way a young girl might admire a pretty pair of festival shoes. Then she stowed them away in her pouch. Passion stared at the worn brown pouch.

"We have a few more places to hit in the market. Again, thank you so much!" Havoc said.

"It is my pleasure," Arnold replied. They started toward the front of the shop, but before they could leave, Arnold called after Passion.

"Excuse me, may I have a moment, Miss Passion?" Havoc glanced between them, then nodded. Ivy did the same, though she looked far more eager to get out of the heat than to linger. The forge had done its best to destroy the poor elf. Strands of blonde hair clung to her face and neck, and her robes looked far heavier than they had when they entered.

"We will wait out here," Havoc said. She and Ivy stepped outside, leaving Passion alone with the blacksmith. For a moment, Arnold said nothing. He wiped his hands on a cloth that had probably once been white, then looked toward the door where Havoc had gone. The easy cheer from a moment before faded into something more serious.

"Miss Passion, I don't know what exactly the Valkyr are doing with Miss Chelsea, but please look after her." Passion did not answer right away. Arnold continued, his voice low enough that it would not carry outside.

"She is too good for this world and deserves more respect than even her mother at this point. So please, I say again, if you do take her away, please look after her." Passion stared and couldn't form words for a moment. There it was again. The same thing Miss Harlo had done. The same thing Ivy kept doing. The same thing even some of the adventurers at the guild seemed to do when they looked at Havoc. They spoke of her as if she were precious. Not weak or an innocent little thing. Like something truly precious.

Passion did not understand it. Was it just the money? Havoc threw gold around without hesitation. Spoiled rich children did that. Nobles did that too Merchants' heirs did that when they wanted people to love them. Money could buy shallow loyalty, comfort, affection, and praise. Passion knew that well enough. But Arnold was not looking at the door like a man who had been purchased. He looked… worried? Stressed about her well being? That bothered Passion.

Maybe everyone loved Havoc because Havoc made their lives easier. Passion wanted to believe that. It would be so much simpler. But there was still something she was missing and she couldn't figure it out. She gave Arnold an unsure nod.

"Okay." The word felt really really small for what he had asked, but Arnold accepted it. When Passion exited the shop, the market air felt cool compared to the forge. She found Havoc and Ivy only a few steps away, already in conversation with a noblewoman dressed in a tasteful morning gown. A man accompanying her stood nearby carrying several boxes from what appeared to be a successful morning of shopping. This interaction made more sense to Passion. A wealthy person speaking with another wealthy person.

That was familiar. That belonged to a category she understood.

"Oh, Lady Graves, I do apologize. I must be on my way now," Havoc said. Her tone was as warm as ever, but there was a practiced politeness to it that reminded Passion she was not merely wandering through the market. Havoc had business everywhere.

"Feel free to swing by the merchant guild anytime if you want to help with the effort."

"I will, dear, and please give my regards to that charming uncle of yours," Lady Graves said. Havoc smiled, gave a polite curtsy, and stepped away with Ivy and Passion as Lady Graves continued on with her boxes. Passion looked back once, then forward again.

"Next up," Havoc said, "I am a bit scared to go into." That caught Passion's attention immediately. After what she had seen that morning, it was hard to imagine what sort of shop could frighten Havoc. A temple? Maybe a tax office? Or some merchant who sold demon-hunting supplies? They crossed the square and stopped in front of a dress shop. Havoc reached for the door with visible hesitation. The bell gave a pleasant jingle as they stepped inside.

"I'll be right out!" a voice called from the back.

"It's me," Havoc called, then grimaced. Passion glanced around. The place was clearly under renovation. Ladders leaned near one wall. Paint cloths covered part of the floor. Boards, tools, and stacked materials had been pushed toward the front where they would not block the racks. The shop needed the work, but it was easy to see what it could become.

Dresses filled the space wall-to-wall, some simple, some were elegant with enough fabric and embroidery to feed a small family for a month if converted directly into coin. The whole shop smelled faintly of wood dust, fresh paint, perfume, and fabric.

"Chelsea Wixx," an angry-looking young woman said, appearing from between two racks.

"I was going to pay you a visit later." The woman was younger than Passion expected. She wiped one hand against her skirt, then set both hands on her hips.

"Hey, Maggie," Havoc greeted. Passion looked between them. This was not fear exactly. Havoc was not afraid of the woman hurting her. That much was obvious. This was something else. Guilt, maybe?

"You know," Maggie said, turning and heading back between the racks, "I had a tea social yesterday." Her voice carried from somewhere deeper in the store. Havoc winced.

"Yeah?" she said, already sounding guilty.

"Sorry I couldn't make it again. My mom said she…"

"I was told the most interesting bit of gossip." The seamstress interrupted. Passion looked over at Ivy, who seemed to be enjoying every moment of this. The elf was standing a little behind Havoc with a smile she was doing a poor job of hiding. Was she enjoying seeing Havoc being scolded? Maybe she was finally tired of the nice act too. Maggie's voice carried from somewhere between the racks.

"You see, that friend I told you about who works at the bank said an anonymous person at the top of the merchant's guild paid off the loan that was under my name." Havoc looked smaller by the second. Maggie reappeared from between two racks, holding a large box in both hands. Her expression had not softened much, though there was something under the irritation that Passion could not quite name.

"Now I was thinking to myself, who do I know that fits that description and likes to do things anonymously?"

"Sorry, Maggie," Havoc said in the smallest voice Passion had heard from her.

"I just thought it was weird for a friend to pay another friend money every month. How much do I owe you for these?" Maggie stared at her for a moment, then looked down at the box.

"Chelsea, now I feel like I owe you more, and there is no way in hell I can charge you for these." She shifted the box in her arms and looked pained by the very existence of it.

"It hurts my soul to even make them." Havoc winced.

"It's for a good cause, if that makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't." Maggie turned and disappeared between the racks again. Havoc stood there for a moment, clearly deciding that retreat was the best option. Ivy seemed to agree, because the two of them started heading for the door. Passion watched them go, then glanced back toward the racks.

"Can you give me a moment?" she asked. Havoc nodded, grateful for any excuse to escape, and Ivy followed her outside. Passion waited until the bell finished jingling behind them before calling toward the back of the shop.

"Excuse me, Miss Maggie?"

"Coming," Maggie said. The change in her tone was immediate. The sharpness faded into something cheerful and professional as she stepped back through the racks.

"How can I help you?" Passion took a second to decide how to ask the question without sounding ridiculous. She had followed Havoc from the manor to the guild, from the guild to the orphanage, from the orphanage to the practice field, and then through the market. At every stop, people reacted to Havoc in a way Passion could not understand. There was real respect and affection from everyone. Also everyone seemed to worry over her. And now there was anger.

"Hi," Passion said.

"I have been following Hav... uh, Miss Wixx around, and I'm trying to figure some things out. Why is it that you hate her? Everyone seems to love her until we met you." Maggie blinked at her. Then she laughed. Not for long, but enough for Passion to realize she had once again misread the situation.

"Hate her? No, you have it all wrong. She is my favorite person in the world. I love Chelsea to death. She pisses me off when she does certain things without my knowledge, but her heart is in the right place." Maggie looked toward the front door, where Havoc had left. The irritation was still there, but it settled around something warmer.

"She had the merchant's guild approve my loan, and now apparently she paid off that same loan." Passion went still. Merchant's guild? Havoc could influence the merchant's guild too? This was the second time she'd heard the it mentioned by someone. Passion did not like how much she did not know.

"Thank you for talking to me. Have a wonderful day, Miss Maggie." She left the shop and found Havoc and Ivy waiting outside. The next place was more of the same, though Passion was starting to think that phrase meant something different around Havoc. It was a quaint food store where the owner knew Havoc by name and greeted her with the kind of warmth Passion had seen far too often that day.

Havoc purchased what she needed, asked after someone's injured brother, arranged another delivery, and somehow left the owner looking both delighted and overwhelmed. Passion did not stay back that time. She followed closely, listening. Trying to understand. When they finally started back toward the giant house, Ivy slid up beside Passion with an eager little smile.

"See it yet?"

"Nope." Ivy let out a laugh.

"You will." Havoc glanced back at them, suspicious.

"See what?" Ivy did not hesitate.

"See that sexy butt of yours!" Havoc's ears flushed slightly, but she still gave a cute little wiggle as she walked, making her tail sway more than usual. Ivy took a couple of quick steps and wrapped her in a hug from behind. Passion watched the two of them continue down the street like that, Havoc laughing softly while Ivy held on to her. It was strange. After everything Passion had seen this should have been the least important moment of the day. It wasn't though. It might be the most important.

Havoc did not look like the living weapon that 'the Valkyr of Havoc' title entailed. She looked like a girl walking home with someone who loved her. Passion still didn't understand. But she was beginning to believe Ivy was right. She would.