Headed by a Snake

The Caeruleum Martial Tournament was the most important event for both House Vanzano and Guild Letalis Serpentis. Thus, the caravan was quite large, consisting of nearly all active Invictus members, all the members of Team Athena, and a dozen Letalis members that had earned the right to a short reprieve from training.

What surprised Tycondrius, however, was that Lieutenant Shao Ran of the Sea Wolves had chosen to also come along. As the Head Combat Instructor of Guild Letalis, the man had every right to do so.

However, it was... odd, concerning the fact that the city of Caeruleum was hundreds of malms inland.

"Brother-Ran..." Tycon forced a smile, "Tell me again why you are... here."

"Ahaha... haha..." Ran laughed. "Sorry, what? I wasn't listening. You know how it is, haha... long trip! Longest voyage of my life, even."

Tycon was fairly certain the usage of the term 'voyage' was incorrect, there, but... he doubted that Ran would be able to retain any learning, considering his condition.

The Sea Wolf looked miserable. His eyes darted from side to side, as if nervous, and he incessantly scratched at his dry skin and flaking scalp. The burn scars on his pallid face had hardened, cracked, and leaked, making him look not only pitiful, but like a carrier of a contagious disease.

"I'm thirsty." Ran croaked, "Is anyone else here, thirsty? Let's get a drink? Drink? ...Drink?"

So far from the ocean, the man was essentially useless. It was also possible that Ran could not function without alcohol.

Judging by the fact that Ran had badgered everyone around the campfire for a sip from their waterskins... subsequently emptying a half-dozen of them, Tycon decided to assume it was the former.

Tycon pat the Sea Wolf on the shoulder, "Nevermind, Brother-Lieutenant. Zenon, myself, and the children will be going into the city. I'll ask Victorius to stay behind and get you a... damp cloth."

If he knew Ran was coming ahead of time, he would have packed a few barrels of seawater. It seemed the gentleman had hidden himself in the guild's supply cart.

Athena sensed his presence. Tycon ordered him dragged out and seated in a carriage like a proper human.

Anyroad, without such preparations, any exposure to water mana could at least alleviate Ran's condition.

It wouldn't be unreasonable to find him a cheap public bath and have him... live there for the week. Failing that, a public well or water fountain would do just as well.

"No, I uh... nah," Ran tried to argue... "Yeah... No, that sounds good. I'll stay here. Definitely staying here."

He didn't argue for very long.

"Once you see whatever-his-name-is, send him to follow us. The signs set up in the city seem rather simple to follow." Tycon pursed his lips in a deeply set grimace... "Just let Victorius know if you need anything."

"Yeah, sure. Right. Got it," Ran collapsed against an old tree... "Go, Team Athena! Blood and... behhh..."

...

As soon as Tycon and the others departed, Shao Ran stumbled away from the camp's center, wobbling as fast as he could to the supply cart.

The last few weeks of his life had been a complete mess. He sacrificed his free time and sleep schedule to train a literal zombie how to fight. Zombie-Chaleb wasn't actually any good... but it could hold a sword, swing it, and even declare in a raspy, nightmarish voice that it was the embodiment of 'vengeance, given flesh.'

The zombie's existence had become... necessary, almost. Ran couldn't leave his cursed sword on the wayside... it would somehow find its way back in his pack, in his room. Once, he'd even woken up with it in his hands.

He needed to give it to someone... and it made more sense to give it back to its previous owner than to pawn it off to Sergeant Salt. As long as the dead kid had his sword, Ran didn't suffer any windedness, nor was he magically compelled to say stupid shite.

Ran hated sounding stupid. That's why he always used big words-- especially around Tycon!

To be perfectly honest, Zombie-Chaleb was a shite idea. There was no way it'd be able to beat anything that moved faster than a brisk walk... but Ran had given it his best effort, he really did!

Transporting the thing was an issue. Ran didn't want the guy just... walking around. The zombie was veeeeerrry limited in talking, too... so literally anyone could figure out that something was wrong with him. They might even be able to tell that he wasn't alive!

He decided to wrap it up in its tarp, tossing it in with the equipment. It would stink a bit, sure, but as long as Ran made sure no one else checked on the cart, it'd be fine.

Get to the cart. Grab the kid. Give him the sword. Hurry to follow Tycon to get the kid registered.

Easy. Easiest thing since he'd joined the Fleet. Easiest thing since...

Sea god's silverware.

Shao Ran was so thirsty, he could drink a barrel of literally anything. There had to be a water barrel in the cart...

"Instructor Shao? I was just about to look for you?" Victorius was tending to the horses that the supply cart was attached to... probably beating them off or something. That kid had weird tastes.

Ran ignored him, immediately climbing to the top of the cart and searching for a drink... err... no. He was looking for his personal failure.

"Ahem..." The blonde footman coughed, "Sir? You don't look well? Sir Tycon said that I should get you a--"

No... no no no no NOOOO!!

"Where is it??" Shao Ran leapt off the cart and grabbed Victorius' collar, screaming in his face, "WHAERRE IS IT?!? It was RIGHT! HERE!!"

Ran keeled over immediately, gasping for air and choking blood.

Some of the other caravan guards looked over, other mercs from Guild Letalis. Aw, shite. Ran was making a scene...

Ran moved close to Victorius to keep his voice low, "Listen, Tyrion... There was... a tarp... right on top here. I need to know... where it is... Also, a cup of water would be the tits right now."

Victorius caressed his crippled hand in worry, "Sir? I... I don't know? Was it secured properly?"

"Of course, it was secured properly! I'm a gods-damned--"

...Ran stopped.

Was it?

Ohhh.... Sea god's buttplug.

"Instructor?" Victorius frowned.

"...Idiot. I'm a gods-damned idiot."