An Outcast In Another World (Subtitle: Is 'Insanity' A Racial Trait?) [Fantasy, LitRPG] - Chapter 70 (Part 2)

2021.09.27 06:09 Determination7 An Outcast In Another World (Subtitle: Is 'Insanity' A Racial Trait?) [Fantasy, LitRPG] - Chapter 70 (Part 2)

Note to new readers: Chapters 1 through 38 have been taken down and moved to Kindle Unlimited. If you're interested in reading the story from the beginning, you can find it here.


In a place far south of Esternard City, two men knelt on the ground, cowering in fear as they regretted their life choices. The stone floor of the throne room was cold, hard, and positively inviting compared to the pitiless gaze being directed at them from on high. They stayed perfectly still, sending wordless prayers to whatever deity may be listening, and waited for the hammer of judgement to fall.
Dragon Queen Ragnavi gripped her claws around each man’s head, resisting the idle urge to crush them into pulps and send brain matter splattering across the room. She didn’t, of course. That would be a waste.
The floor had been cleaned just yesterday.
“I find myself at a loss,” she said, in a carefree tone. “You’ll have to walk me through what you were hoping to accomplish, because from my perspective, all I can see are a pair of fools rushing to meet Tylrud centuries before their appointed time.”
Neither spoke. Ragnavi tightened her grip by a fraction, causing each man to wince. She lamented that neither them nor the crowd of voyeuristic noble onlookers appreciated how difficult it was for her to squeeze harder without injuring either of the fools. It took the finesse of writing a letter with a sword dipped in ink. Strong as the two Dragon Lords were, if she were careless, she would break them before the festivities had truly begun. And that wouldn’t satisfy anyone; not them, not the crowd, and certainly not herself.
“Did you forget the purpose of the yearly rebellions?” She asked. “The Dragon Lords and Ladies battle for scraps of power. Some win, some lose. New lines in the sand are drawn. Vows of vengeance are sworn. All in good fun, yes? A way to release pent-up aggression so that we don’t rip ourselves to shreds. The aim is to prevent unnecessary Dragonkin deaths. Nowhere is this stated in Draconic law or an official proclamation, as there’s never been a need to do so. Mere children are able to discern the writing on the wall before they hit the age of twenty.”
She laughed, low and jovial. “You can imagine my astonishment when I discovered that two Lords were conspiring against me. In earnest. Enlighten me: what started this? Bet gone wrong? A drunken night of overpromising? Spent too long out in the sun, and your brains overheated? Whatever the reason, I’m willing to listen.”
At this point, she wasn’t even attempting to grind their spirits into the dirt – that was just an amusing byproduct. Ragnavi was legitimately confused. She’d been Queen for several decades, and a genuine rebellion hadn’t transpired in, what, almost a hundred years? Did they honestly think that they’d possessed a greater chance at toppling her than any of her predecessors?
“You were unfit to rule,” Lord Xaelar hissed. His hiss of defiance turned to one of pain as she increased the pressure on his skull ever so slightly.
“Do tell,” she purred. Xaelar tried to turn away from her gaze, but she kept his head locked in place. “No, go on. Why the hesitation? Your resolve must be worth more than a single sentence of defiance.”
A thrill coursed through her as Xaelar hesitated. He was doing an admirable job at keeping his composure, but she could feel the slight shivers in his body, see the errant beads of sweat running down his brow. For one born, trained, and raised to be the unyielding and invincible head of their household, those small tells were equivalent to screaming like a newborn babe. Xaelar was terrified, fully aware that any moment, without warning, may be his last. Lord Hraes, locked in a similar position by her other hand, was faring little better than his cohort.
Ragnavi drank in the sight like it was divine ambrosia. Levels went a long way towards erasing the fundamental difference in power between larger and smaller creatures, but she always enjoyed pushing others below her in a more literal sense. Each Dragon Lord was at least seven and a half feet tall, a full foot taller than her, and with twice as much muscle mass. And yet there they were, kneeling before her. Powerless. Afraid. Two proud souls used to being in command – and who had lost control of their futures, all because they dared to bare their claws against her.
It was a cheap thrill. But in a world that had long since lost its luster, she would take any thrill she found.
Eventually, the silence was too much for their nerves to bear, and Lord Hraes spoke up. “The Blight has returned,” he declared, in a solemn tone. Every member of the crowd tensed in unison. If there was one thing that the nobility detested, it was being reminded their their easy ride might have some upcoming bumps in the road. “It is the greatest threat Elatra has known or ever will know,” Hraes continued, his voice intensifying. “And you do less than the bare minimum necessary to stop it. The world suffers under your uncaring indolence!”
Ah, this one’s found his spine again, Ragnavi mused. Probably left it right next to where he lost his balls. We’ll see if he’s managed to locate the latter as well.
“Strange that you would rally behind a banner that is inherently disprovable,” she remarked. “Have I not burnt out the Blight’s creeping tendrils from our lands? When its foul presence attempted to merge with the magma of Mount Tylrud, I was there before anyone else, and I was the one who prevented it from manifesting.”
“If that is what you think is sufficient,” Hraes spat. “Then our cause is truly lost.”
Ragnavi adjusted her hand and gently inserted a claw into Hraes’ left eye.
“I am allowing you to speak,” she calmly stated, swirling her finger around for good measure. “Do not interpret that as weakness.” To his credit, Hraes barely flinched while his eye was pureed into a gelatinous slurry. Several of the softer nobles looked about ready to be sick, which was a more shameful sight than the two Dragonlords on their knees. Had the standards of the Dragonkin elite fallen so low as to be disturbed by this much?
“You reject the other territories’ requests of aid,” Hraes said, in a tight voice. “Their own efforts to expunge the Blight go unassisted. By doing so, you condemn us all to a slow and torturous death. The Elves, the Harpies, the Dwarves, the Merfolk, and even the Gellin will need the might of Dragons in order to prevail. Their fights are our fights, as if they lose, the Blight will grow stronger and spread to Dragonkin territory after consuming theirs. This is not a border conflict between warring nations – it concerns the survival of the entire fucking world, and I would hear why you refuse to treat it with the severity it deserves!”
A kernel of regret settled in Ragnavi’s heart. Why did someone so competent have to try and rebel against her? Why couldn’t it have been Lord Yurak? That pissant could get eaten by a pack of rabid Volshoks and no one outside of his immediate family would bat an eye, possibly not even them. Losing a skilled orator and administrator like Lord Hraes was going to play havoc on her delegation of duties.
“Do you believe that a traitor deserves answers?” Ragnavi said, sidestepping his question. “What was your plan upon unseating me from the throne, exactly?” She glanced between the two Lords. “Would you have assumed power, or he?”
“Lord Xaelar and I would have divided the distribution of power as necessary,” Hraes stated. “Our goal wasn’t to seize influence. Not for its own sake. We only wanted to marshal the Dragonkin against the Blight. What purpose is power when the world is gasping its dying breath?”
What a fucking idiot.
The tiny kernel of regret inside her heart vanished as quickly as it came. Hraes may be competent when performing his duties, but she had no idea he was so painfully naive. One look at Lord Xaelar’s countenance made it obvious that he was, in fact, seizing influence for its own sake. The threat of the Blight was a polite excuse. If they’d managed to overthrow her – she held back a snort at the thought – then Lord Xaelar would have backstabbed Lord Hraes at the first possible moment. Literally. Then their two families would have gone to war, the power struggle would have risen from the ashes stronger than ever, and the Blight would have been left woefully unattended whilst Dragonkin nobles squabbled amongst themselves. Logically, pragmatically, and idealistically, Hraes’ plan had been stillborn in the womb.
Ragnavi comprehended all of this in an instant. There was a part of her that had been raised to analyze political byplay, and it acted as a constant voice in the back of her head. One that acted automatically and of its own accord, even long after she’d stopped caring about what it had to say. Still, in this case it managed to make itself moderately useful, as it informed her that she had no need to waste any further time with these men. Even if she’d been in the mood to step down, handing control of Dragonkin territory to the two buffoons masquerading as Lords that were knelt before her would plunge the nation into turmoil. Their claim that she was unfit to rule was hypocrisy of the highest order.
She spared Lord Xaelar and Lord Hraes one final look, confirming that she’d seen enough. It was time to derive what enjoyment she could out of them and move on.
“I find myself at a crossroads,” Ragnavi said, putting on an imperious tone. The crowd and the Lord unconsciously straightened their postures. “Treason deserves death, but your attempt at a coup was so inept that I am loath to call it that. Would you consider me fair if I executed a child for throwing a rock and declaring himself the new King? I think not.”
Ragnavi felt that same cheap thrill from before as the Lords’ faces tightened. Diminishing returns meant that the feeling was lesser compared to last time, and would be even lesser in the next instance, so she shortened the speech that she’d been formulating in her mind and got straight to the point. Ragnavi gestured to her personal guard, and then to the other prisoners held in the back of the throne room. “Bring their heirs.”
Xaelar and Hraes moved to protest, but claws held over their remaining eyes stifled any complaints. The heirs – Xaelar’s son and Hraes’ daughter – were brought forth and forcibly knelt down beside their parents. Both heirs were in their fifties, well-groomed, and seemingly capable. Most importantly, each father looked at their progeny with genuine affection in their eyes. That was ideal – it meant that what she next proposed would have meaning.
“I will offer you three choices,” Ragnavi began. “The first is the immediate execution of every member of both your families.” Their aghast expressions prompted her to give them a fang-filled grin. “Somehow, I doubt that’s what you’ll end up selecting. The second choice is a trial by combat. Lord Xaelar and Lord Hraes against me. I will restrict myself from using my Draconic form, while you may both use yours. Defeat me, and whether or not I live or die, I will abdicate the throne. Lose, and the same punishment applies. Death for all of you and yours.”
Out of the three choices she had in mind, this was the one she most wanted them to take. It had been a while since she’d had a proper excuse to fight high-Leveled people. Hell, with those handicaps in mind, they might even be able to put her through the paces. The notion was appetizing, and she was tempted to make that their only choice, but Option 3 had its own different sort of appeal that she was too interested in to pass up on entirely. Ragnavi gave the Lords half a minute to mull over the idea of facing her in combat before she continued.
“The third choice is another trial by combat,” she said. “In this case, as a duel between your respective heirs. They will fight until the other ceases to draw breath. Regardless of who wins and who loses, the rest of your families will be pardoned. As long as one heir dies, all others live.”
Ragnavi released her hold on the Lords, relishing the stricken looks of horror on their faces. “Choose wisely,” she said. “Oh, and there will be no bargaining. The opportunity for that is long since past.”
As if it had been planned, her attendant chose that moment to burst through a door. He barreled into the throne room at a full sprint, piercing the heavy atmosphere without a care as he sidled up to her. “My Queen,” he whispered. “There is an urgent matter that requires your attention.”
Annoyance flared within her, but it quickly died down when she considered the situation. Actually, this will do nicely. Ragnavi faced the Lords and heirs, addressing them in her favorite queenly tone. “You have one day to decide.” She grinned. “Be aware that whatever follows is a direct result of your actions. You took your best shot, futile as it was, and missed. Later on, when you’re alone with your thoughts and sinking into despair, deciding if it would be worth it to throw away your sense of self and activate Melancholy Resistance, and wondering why this had to happen to the ones you love...I suggest you look inward for an answer.”
“Please,” Lord Xaelar pleaded, his voice choking with sorrow. “Not my boy. I’ll bow to any punishment or indignity if you would just spare my boy.”
“I accept the trial by combat,” Xaelar’s heir said without delay. His proclamation caused the group of four to erupt into a flurry of shouting, refusals, and determination. The heirs were the smart ones, having immediately understood the situation, their wills already resolved to minimize the damage done to their families. Their fathers hadn’t come to terms with the fact that there was no way out of the corner they’d put themselves in. Perhaps they never would. That was a feeling Ragnavi herself knew with intimate familiarity.
She walked slowly as she departed the throne room. The nobles’ debate, charged with raw feelings of panic and loss, serenaded her ears with the last of the cheap thrills she would be able to wring out of their failed insurgency. It was the culmination of her sheer, overwhelming superiority. The Lords had plotted, schemed, and risked everything – and their efforts had been swept aside with the barest wave of her hand. She had crushed them, utterly and entirely.
It made for a decent snack.
‘Decent’ was as far as she would call it, though. The thrill had waned further every passing year. She could barely recall what it had felt like to have real passion for something. Had there truly been a time when adrenaline would course through her? When her heart would quicken in the heat of the moment? Trampling her enemies underfoot had used to be fun. It was the greatest pastime of any self-respecting Dragonkin, and she had been the Queen of it.
Then the war happened.
Banishing the thoughts that were creeping into her mind, Ragnavi faced her attendant. She didn’t bother pressuring him with a royal glare. Unlike certain others, he already knew his place. “What is so urgent that you would call me away from a gathering attended by every noble under the sun?” She asked.
Her attendant bowed. “My apologies, Queen Ragnavi. I regret to inform you that the Scrying Stone detected an...unusual mana signature in the Human territories. Unusual and powerful.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Powerful enough to be felt this far south?”
“That’s right. And what’s more, the mana was entwined with the Blight’s stench, like two snakes constricting each other. The surge lasted for approximately ten seconds, after which it disappeared – and the Blight’s signature with it.”
He paused. “The Mage Symposium fears that a Blight may have absorbed a Locus of Power. They very, very humbly beg that you investigate what transpired. With your indomitable might, you’re the only one-”
Ragnavi descended into a bout of raucous laughter. Her attendant froze like a fledgling Draconic Warrior being stared down by a rabid Vraal. He clearly felt like he had stepped into a field of Mines, and the look on his face redoubled her mirth just as it was fading.
“Were you listening in on the judgement of Lord Xaelar and Lord Hraes?” Ragnavi asked, once she’d calmed. Her attendant blinked, and then shook his head slowly and carefully.
She turned around and walked away, leaving him to sort out his relieved befuddlement. Twice in one day I’m asked to confront the Blight, she thought. And from independent sources, no less. That’s as sufficient a motivation as I’m going to get.
Ragnavi had few delusions about herself. One day in the near future, when the last drop of enjoyment from being the Dragon Queen had been drained, she would quit this place. Fly off into the sunset in search of new horizons. Leave this colorless world behind, and never turn back.
But that was then. For now, she had duties to fulfill. Much as Ragnavi wished that she could delegate them all to her subordinates and spend her time searching for new pleasures, she had enough respect left for the station of Dragon Queen to wield her claws when and where the territory needed them.
Ragnavi traversed the hallways of her castle until she arrived at the one spot that brought her a modicum of peace. Tranquility settled inward as she took in the sight of a large painting on the wall. Twenty feet wide and large, exquisitely crafted, and protected by every magical protection spell known to the world. More spells were added by the year as a dedicated team of spellcasters she’d formed continued to invent new ones, crafting specialized magic specifically for the purpose of ensuring the painting would survive into perpetuity. It was her one true treasure, the thing she valued above all else.
“Good day, my dear ones,” she sighed, exulting in their presence. “How I’ve missed you.”
Brave and noble Ardrud. Strong and brutal Iaso. Quick and cunning Chosne. Husband, son, daughter. The sun, the moon, and the stars. Irreplaceable.
“It’s been quite the busy day,” Ragnavi said, chuckling. “Upstart nobles, apocalyptic invaders...if nothing else, they stave away the doldrums.” Her gaze drifted leftward. “What do you think, Ardrud? Should I venture out into Human territory and test my strength against nigh-invincible abominations?”
She closed her eyes. “You should, my love,” he would have said. “For the good of our people, and the future of our children.” Yes, that was how it would have been. Ardrud had possessed the heart of a hero. He helped guide her wrath when she felt lost and aimless. If she beseeched his advice, he would have told her those exact words, in that exact tone.

Was...was the timbre of his voice quite that low?
Ragnavi’s eyes snapped open. Her eyes bulged as she stared at Ardrud’s smiling portrait, examining every detail of his face, using their features to summon distinct memories. A fond dinner, a nightly embrace, simple words of encouragement. She listened to them all, again and again, searing the words into her mind like a hot iron prod pressed against her brain. They were crystalline and pure, exactly as they should be.
At least, she thought they were. There was, within, a hint of d-doubt. A horrible little parasite that latched onto her psyche that wouldn’t let go. It whispered into her ear, asking her if she really remembered. If her family’s voices had sounded exactly the way she was imagining them.
After all; if they hadn’t, how would she know?
The hallway began to melt as rageborn power leaked out from her core.
No. NO. It had been a scant eight years. She couldn’t already be forgetting. There was so much of her life left to live. If she was already forgetting, then what would her memories be like in decades, centuries? Like reading from weathered parchment? Facsimiles of her dear ones twisted by the ravages of age and time? When that day came to pass, her family would die their second deaths. The world would progress without them, and she would be left behind once more.
Her breathing grew fast and ragged. The stone walls and floors were bubbling as her aura suffused the area. Only the painting remained untouched, pristine. A visual representation that would never be distorted. But you couldn’t make a portrait of a voice – you just had your mind, and fervent prayers that it would not fail you.
Couldn’t be forgetting. Couldn’t be forgetting. Wasn’t possible. The doubt was lying. Tear it out. Reach inside and tear it out. Mind Mage could do it. Go grab-
Ragnavi froze. She’d already used the Mind Mages to reinforce her memories. Allowed them access to the depths of her sense of self. Their magic should have preserved her memories for longer than this. Had they failed? Had they LIED?
Moments before she was about to run off, an idea struck her. Ragnavi activated the tracking spell she’d placed on a servant many years ago in preparation for an occasion such as this. He was two floors down, and on the other side of the castle. The man was likely cleaning or performing some similar duty and she didn’t fucking care. The sole purpose of his existence was that his voice was the closest approximation to Ardrud’s that she could find. If she heard the servant speak, then it might jog her memory. There was no guarantee, but right now, she would take anything. ANYTHING.
Without preamble, and in the time it took to blink, Ragnavi brought her fist down on the ground. She fell through to the lower floor, screams erupting around her as molten stone covered the room and its occupants. Another punch collapsed that floor as well, sending everyone and everything inside crashing down again. Screeches of pain surrounded her ears like buzzing gnats, and she nearly swatted them out of instinctual annoyance. But that would have taken precious seconds that she couldn’t afford to spare. Her mind was focused on one thing, and one thing only.
Ragnavi took off running, plowing through the castle walls like a hot knife through butter, forging a straight path to the servant. An arm went flying as she clipped its owner. A streak of blood splashed across her face. The castle trembled as she burst through a support pillar. None of it mattered.
She. Needed. His. Voice.
After an eternity, she was there. The servant cowered in fear as stone and dust from a collapsed wall plastered the front of his uniform. Ragnavi blurred forward and grabbed him by the arms. Bones cracked as a cry of pain tore out of his throat. Yes, she crowed. Similar. She had the voice – now she needed the words.
“Say this exact phrase,” she whispered. “Say: ‘You should, my love. For the good of our people, and the future of our children.’ Say it.”
“I, I, what-”
She roared. It was a guttural bellow that echoed throughout the castle, spraying flecks of spittle onto the servant’s face. “SAY IT.”
“You s-should, my love,” he stuttered. “For the good of our people, and the f-future of our children.”
Ragnavi considered his words. Rolled them around in her mind, examined them from every angle. They were…slightly different from Ardrud’s. And by hearing what Ardrud’s words were not, she reminded herself of what they were.
She sagged with relief. Haven’t forgotten. Won’t ever forget. They’ll stay with me until the sun itself burns out – and after.
Satisfied, Ragnavi dropped the man to the ground and exited the room via the impromptu doorway she’d created. People were running and screaming in the background, but she paid them no heed. They would fix the castle and tend to any wounded. That was their duty. They had theirs, and she had hers. With languid steps, Ragnavi set off to her chambers.
She had a trip north to prepare for.


More chapters are available on Patreon.
If you'd like to support the story in other ways, please consider adding the Amazon version of Book 1 to your Kindle Unlimited library, or giving the story a rating. Every bit helps!
Thanks for reading!
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2021.09.27 06:09 Rereincarnated Any tips?

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I remember an episode, of what I /think/ is IASIP, but I don’t think it’s streamable because I watch the show so often and haven’t seen this one in years. Basically, Mac drags the guys to a show put on at a church. The show features a traveling group of bodybuilder type guys showing how “macho” Christians can be, etc. They hang out with Mac afterwards and they won’t drink beer (because Christian) and they appear to be under control of their “manager” that travels with them. Also they might be gay?? I can’t remember. Is this even an episode? Please help
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I think I can say, without a doubt, that this season will be insane 🔥🏆 submitted by Hp_ap to MichiganWolverines [link] [comments]

2021.09.27 06:09 prawnbiryani 💗☁🍦🌸🧁🤍🦩

💗☁🍦🌸🧁🤍🦩 submitted by prawnbiryani to 11hr11min [link] [comments]

2021.09.27 06:09 Soprano234 Market Wednesday

Where and what time is Market Wednesday, and wwhat products have you loved from there? Thanks.
submitted by Soprano234 to fsu [link] [comments]

2021.09.27 06:09 Buffalo_Great The Coke Bros

The Coke Bros submitted by Buffalo_Great to LivestreamFail [link] [comments]

2021.09.27 06:09 memo_rx What is the best way of get rid of hiccups?

submitted by memo_rx to AskReddit [link] [comments]

2021.09.27 06:09 WhitewolfLcT Was curious if anyone knew why my brownies baked like this? They still tasted great but the edges were definitely baked faster than the center.

Was curious if anyone knew why my brownies baked like this? They still tasted great but the edges were definitely baked faster than the center. submitted by WhitewolfLcT to Baking [link] [comments]

2021.09.27 06:09 WarWolf343 [Artwork] Amazing Spider-Man #74 variant cover. Art by Federico Vicentini.

[Artwork] Amazing Spider-Man #74 variant cover. Art by Federico Vicentini. submitted by WarWolf343 to Marvel [link] [comments]

2021.09.27 06:09 xo_buttmunch_ox Selling VIP wristband for $250! Located in Seattle.

Hello! I have a single VIP wristband that I’m selling for $250.
I bought them pre-COVID and forgot to transfer them to the new date for next year. They were originally GA+ tickets but got upgraded to VIP cause of COVID so I’m selling them for a lower price.
My SO’s birthday is this weekend and they’re not a raver so that’s why I’m not going! Please have fun for me!
submitted by xo_buttmunch_ox to BeyondWonderlandPNW [link] [comments]

2021.09.27 06:09 MonumentalRalph [Cables] 15000mAh 60W PD Power supply with cable - $60

submitted by MonumentalRalph to buildapcsales [link] [comments]