The Hero Became a Succubus, and the Only Way to Level is to… What?!
Chapter 395 – A Plan in Motion (Part 1)

They were mere hours away from the appointed 'sign' that Rasheena spoke of from the lighthouse. Renya Rown pressed a hand to her drumming chest. Was she anxious? No! Excited? Very much so. Because loaded in the back of the wagons were caches of dynamite. Dynamite that would find itself blowing up some Ortesian ships very soon.

Oh, what fun. This was beginning to feel like her old pirating years again. Renya had to bite down on her finger to keep from smiling so much.

The rancid smell of rotting fish and guts overpowered the seabreeze. Waves crashed gently against the docks and the hull of ships. Even at night, hundreds of dock workers continued to labor away. They mostly unloaded cargo from imperial ships. Whatever it was, the Ortesian officers constantly hounded dockhands to be faster. To make things worse, there were succubi flying around. None of them looked like they were part of Kanae's Sisters of Sin either. But Renya was familiar with their crown-like horns.

Their caravan stopped inside a warehouse. As soon as Renya jumped down, someone handed her clothes a dockhand would wear. She changed behind the privacy of some crates. A baggy white tunic topped with a leather vest, and a pair of pants with some holes at the bottom of the legs. She even fastened on a red durag in case someone recognized her by the platinum hair. After tucking her flintlocks inside the vest, she joined Rasheena's resistance members by the wagons.

"No one better try on my coat and hat while I'm gone! I can tell by the smell. So, when does the fun start?" Renya asked, tossing her clothes into the cabin.

"Now," Rysla said.

The centaur and her crew of six hoisted boxes down from the wagons onto smaller pull carts, all the while keeping an eye on the warehouse entrance for the port authority. Patrolling footfalls passed them often. As long as they were busy, no one would suspect a thing.

"There's twelve ships currently docked," Rysla gathered everyone and explained. "I picked up a manifest from a supervisor earlier in the day. They are all moored and won't be leaving any time soon. We're going to deliver these one by one to exactly where Renya pinpointed, and—"

The warehouse gate screeched open. Two succubi flew in, scanning the area and grinning as soon as they saw them.

"Why, hello there, cattle~"

"Care for a little fun?"

"We're kind of busy here. Come back later!" Rysla shouted.

One succubus clicked her tongue. She clearly didn't like the tone Rysla had taken. Both of them flew right up to the centaur woman and charmed her. The others shrunk away, hoping not to be next. A terrified elf backed into a cart and alerted them.

"Wait just one moment!" Renya came between him and a hungry succubus. "Far be it from me to deny a temptress her meal, but I also certainly don't want to deal with a pissed off high elf. I mean, you hang around those hoighty-toighty pricks all day and night. They get pretty feisty, yeah?"

"Mmm. High elves have soured my appetite as of late. Are you going to sate my hunger then? I wonder if you dark elves taste like chocolate?" the succubus asked seductively.

She drew closer and winked. "Oh, I assure you: I do. But work takes precedence! If we start fornicating, and don't deliver these goods, those Ortesians are going to come looking and ruin the fun. I come back later, give them a reason not to get all bitchy, and we have all night without any interruptions. Sounds swell, doesn't it?"

"Ugh. The last thing I want is a high elf barging in while we're fucking. If only Ambrosia didn't tell us to play nice," the other succubus grumbled.

Ambrosia? The Mistress of Desire was here? Renya tried not to let the 'oh, shit.' look show on her face.

"Fine. Go. We'll keep the centauress in the meantime. But when you come back, I am going to take my time with you. I want to see what that big mouth of yours can do," she whispered.

Renya bowed and whistled sharply to get the disguised resistance members into gear. They were too scared to move, so it took a swift kick to their ass before anything got done. It sucked for Rysla, but someone had to take one for the team.

They finished loading six carts, and half their cargo would be loaded into each Ortesian ship for a total of twelve. Renya bowed and bid Rysla good luck in feeding the succubi, then rallied the crew to be on their way.

Outside on the docks proper, they looked like any other worker. But Ortesians eyed them like hawks and looked for easy marks to bully. Three imperial soldiers stopped a wagon carrying bottles of wine to a warehouse. The merchant gritted through it as they rummaged through his goods, taking a bottle each to drink.

Renya's trigger finger twitched. At Port Kandis, that would have earned them a blast to the face. She swallowed the urge to do just that and looked to the near future instead. They came up to the first Ortesian galleon. Uniformed sailors stopped them near the ramp.

"Halt. We weren't expecting anything to be delivered on board. Who are you?" their superior officer, a high elf with long and bushy sideburns, asked.

"That's the whole point of a surprise gift. It's a surprise! The viscount wanted us to deliver authentic Avanessi coffee beans as a gesture of goodwill, guaranteed to wow your tastebuds. Snap you awake faster than an explosion. And the best part, it smells amazing?" Renya made a dramatic show of sniffing the cart's goods.

The high elves stared suspiciously.

"Very well. Leave them here. You may go," he said.

"Not so fast, good man!" Renya intercepted him as the elf turned to leave, but he drew his saber at her.

"Keep your distance, dock rat!" The Ortesian glowered.

"It's just that coffee beans are very delicate. They must be stored somewhere very dry, exposed to decent airflow, and away from other goods that might foul up the smell. Also, heavy lifting is beyond the station of a high elf such as yourself. Allow my peers and I to do it in your stead. You may watch!" she insisted.

Their standoff lasted for what felt like an eternity. The officer eventually lowered his saber, but he walked behind the cart instead. In one quick swipe, he sliced open a burlap sack. Deep brown beans spilled and scattered to the ground.

"You're suspicious. I get it. I don't blame you. But, here." Renya scooped up a handful of coffee beans and waved the scent in the officer's direction. "Savory. Nutty. Roasted to perfection. The taste? Exquisite, and unlike anything you will have ever drank. It will put wine to shame!"

"They do smell nice," he said.

"Better with a dollop of milk and sugar." She flashed a wide grin.

The officer sheathed his saber. He pointed out two sailors and ordered them to escort Renya and her crew into the ship.

"Oh, and about the airflow. It will be best stored on the same deck as your gunports. Preferably on the third or fourth deck below the upper deck," Renya added.

He nodded again and shooed them off. They pushed the cart up the ramp, and Renya breathed a sigh of relief. The coffee beans didn't come from the viscount of Sultan's Wake. It belonged to Edirashok Odika, who parted with a hefty amount of beans for the plan to work. A layer of bags hid the real explosive payload underneath, also contained in burlap as disguise.

Two Ortesian sailors guided them into the bowels of the ship. Renya committed to memory where the masts were above deck. She scrutinized the gundeck and determined the best place to put the dynamite was under the foremast. They hoisted bags of coffee beans and dynamite into a storage compartment that the sailors showed them. On the way out of the room, Renya quietly duplicated herself to leave behind a clone, who sparked a flame on her finger and saluted.

They proceeded to do the same for all of the ships, and the Ortesians were none the wiser about contributing to their own destruction. Renya and the resistance members delivered the final payload to the last ship when the succubi from earlier became suspicious. On the upper deck of the ship, she caught sight of them going from galleon to galleon speaking with sailors.

"Change of plans. Why don't you guys take off early. I'll bring this downstairs myself," Renya told Rasheena's crew.

"Are you… sure?"

"Yeah, get lost. It's only a couple of bags," she said.

The group exchanged worried glances but didn't argue. Renya, along with four high elven sailors, descended to the gundeck with a cart of coffee beans and dynamite. She quickly stored the bags into a closet until the succubi entered from an open gunport.

"You!" one shouted. "That centaur cattle had something to say about you that we didn't like. Who the hells are you really?"

Renya slowly reached for the flintlock in her vest. Something roared in the distance that rocked the ship a little. Everyone ran to one side of the ship.

"Is that… the lighthouse? What just happened?!" A sailor gasped.

"I'd love to stay and make your intimate acquaintance, but I have a job to do. This is where I say, goodbye and get fucked!" Renya drew her flintlock and fired a single blast at the dynamite. The burlap sacks started burning. Some of the faster sailors realized what was going on and raised a magical barrier around them.

Everything exploded. Renya clicked her heels together and blinked out of the ship. The blast punched a large hole through the bow, and a series of chain explosions ran across the docks as dynamite exploded on the other ships. She hit the water with her ears ringing and face covered in splinters. The entire ship was on fire and quickly taking on water, and she welcomed the heat that licked at her skin.

"Haha! I still got it, baby! I'm the scourge of the fucking seas!" Renya howled into the night.

Evening on the western coast of Savir was still painfully hot. There wasn't a puff of cloud in sight. The full moon and stars lit up the entire city in celestial moonlight, as if the gods had taken center stage to watch what was about to unfold.

Shrouded in a large cloak and hood, Petyr Stormcloud calmly descended into the docks to fulfill her part of the plan. After the lighthouse exploded, chaos broke out all over the city, not just at the ships and lighthouse. It sounded like something was going on over at the edirashems, too. The civilians of Sultan's Wake ran to safety, and city guards rushed to wherever the commotion was taking place. Filthy succubi and undisciplined high elves struggled to restore order.

The succubi charmed people by the crowds. Ortesian high elves forced the rest off the road. Wagons with the imperial seal rushed past Petyr, seemingly in a hurry. One hit a snag on the cobbled street, and a wheel came off. They scrambled out of the vehicle to fix it but were without tools to do anything.

Disorganized, untrained, structureless. Pathetic. Watching them gave Petyr a frustrating itch she couldn't scratch. She swallowed the urge to bark orders at them to get things moving. Unfortunately, she wasn't an Ortesian anymore. At least not in the eyes of imperial high elves, whose leadership had branded her a traitor. They would sooner attack than follow her orders.

Petyr scoffed. Amethyst Hall, for all its faults, had better organization, training, and structure. Fuck you, Petyr thought of Kanae for even making her think positively of the ragtag group of idiots. She paused in the middle of the road and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Riley. Where the hells are you right now?" Petyr sighed.

"Hey, you! Get off the road before we make you!" a high elf on a marsteed shouted.

A procession of wagons had stopped in the streets because of her. They were guarded by succubi and armed Ortesians.

"Oh, I know what she wants. You want us to charm you into our thrall, don't you?" A sultry succubus touched ground next to Petyr, nibbling on her lower lip.

"You're the ones…" Petyr grabbed the succubus' throat and hurled her into an empty vendor stand. "Who are in my way!"

"Th-That temper… It can't be… Lord-Major Petyr Stormcloud?" The mounted elf gulped.

So much for going incognito. Petyr pulled her hood back, drawing harsh gasps and frightened whimpers. She gave them enough time to pull out their weapons, then pummeled her way through. None of them were any match.

One of them was smart enough to come up from behind and thrusted his sword into her back. The tip caught on the dragonscale armor, just centimeters away from slipping into the gap between the pauldrons and cuirass.

"You would have done better with proper training!" Petyr whirled around and punted him with the felmetal maul.

It was suddenly hotter and brighter than the sun. A fireblast hit Petyr from the front, sending her skidding back a few paces. Her cloak burned away, but the fire resistant nature of the armor absorbed the heat. The two elven mages who had casted the spell flinched when she looked their way.

Petyr decimated the entire group, carriages and wagons included. Succubi, high elves, and other Ortesian subjects laid still on the ground, many groaning in pain. She walked up to one vehicle and tore off the door from its hinges. Inside were boxes upon boxes stamped with the seal of two hands cupping a potion bottle, emblem of House Tinderspark.

A dynasty of alchemists, the Empire of Ortesia's foremost apothecaries. They were the same ones who replicated the anti-succubus magic potions Gretchen had sent to Ortesia years back. Someone hidden under all the debris squealed for help. She caught his flailing hand and yanked a high elven man out. The broken spectacles on his face were bent out of shape and cracked in one lense. He didn't have the stupid-looking thin moustache that all men of the Tinderspark family sported.

"You're not a Tinderspark. Who are you, and what is the empire doing here?" Petyr asked.

"I-I'm not! Please, I'm just an apprentice under their employ. Ortesia… They want us to deliver potions to Sultan Cerberus… to ensure he conquers Savir," the elf stammered.

"And where is Vernon DeSalle?" She pressed the hammer to his chin.

"The docks! Trying to put out fires on the ships and—"

Petyr knocked him out against the side of the carriage, then fished around inside for a couple of potions and came across one with pink liquid. An anti-succubus magic potion and drank it. She sprinted down to the wharf, where warehouses and ships were set ablaze. Dockhands and sailors desperately tried to put out the fires. Mages rained down water spells, but that didn't stop the ships from sinking. If she remembered right, that rogue Renya was in charge of blowing them up. Ortesian galleons were built to take a lot of pummeling. Whatever that dark elf did, and to have it done at such a large scale, was nothing short of impressive.

Her arrival didn't go unnoticed. A contingent of high elven cavalrymen formed up in a half-circle around Petyr. Their shields, enchanted with defensive magic by a line of spellcasters behind them, raised a barrier that prevented her from getting any closer. Succubi crept up from the back, too.

"Lord-Major Stormcloud!" A high elven man in an officer's uniform emerged from the group. His face was clean-shaven and exuded inexperienced youth. Golden tassels that denoted the status of admiral draped down his spaulders. He wielded a saber leveled in Petyr's direction.

"Consorting with succubi, Vernon? How the empire has fallen." Petyr shook her head.

"You wouldn't understand. Or, maybe you would, seeing as you've also joined with succubi yourself. I should thank you for defeating my brother. I've been given a chance to serve the empire at my fullest capacity. When I deliver you to Lord Pyrelle, they will know who the better DeSalle is," he said.

Petyr cocked her head. What an outrageous thing to utter.

Vernon continued, "Give up, Lord-Major. Even you know this is far too many for you to take on alone. Come quietly, and I'll ensure you are treated fairly."

"Treated fairly… Like how the Lord Council treated Riley's family fairly? Like how they treated me FAIRLY?" Petyr boomed, causing them to take a step back.

"I… What? What are you even talking about?" he stammered.

"Allow me to demonstrate to you the fairness the Empire of Ortesia has shown me. Retribution's Cross!" Petyr flung her warhammer into the sky.

A massive, golden cross took shape above them. Beautiful in make, devastating by design, and exceedingly bright. Only one of them realized the gravity of the situation.

"Shields up, you fools! NOW!" Vernon yelled.

That same lack of discipline had been gaping at Petyr's skill rather than acting. Half of them lifted their shields in time before Retribution's Cross slammed into the ground. Petyr alone remained standing and picked up her hammer at the scorched intersection left behind by the cross. Her entire body tingled from being starved of mana. She popped open the cork of Tio's mana potion and downed the bitter liquid. Soon, strength returned to her.

As Petyr made her way to the edge of the docks, a hand grasped her ankle.

"Have you… no shame?" Vernon coughed.

"Shame implies I've done something wrong. The last time I felt shame was when I let my friend down." Petyr shook his hand off. "I'm coming after Arnault Pyrelle next."

Vernon turned over onto his back and passed out. Petyr stripped pieces of her dragonscale armor on her way up to the ledge. She drank a potion of water breathing, another potion that granted her increased swim speed, and lastly one that granted her darkvision. Night looked as bright as day, and when she gazed into the watery abyss, it was like standing over a shallow basin.

Petyr jumped in and allowed herself to sink to the rocky seabed. Some ships had already sunk to the bottom. Debris and flotsam littered the surface. She swam fast like a fish darting through the waters, unaffected by drag or weight. One by one, Petyr smashed the stone columns that connected the piers to the earth. She resurfaced to witness dockhands racing farther inland as the once solid surface collapsed and crumbled.

Ortesia had lost its port in Sultan's Wake, and that sure as three hells brought a smile to Petyr's scowling face.

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