Marigold - A LitRPG

"You called me 'Girl'?! Do I look like a girl to you?" Ken snapped, irritation flaring in his voice as he stood and hastily wrapped himself in the towel that had been handed to him.

Morthak merely arched an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. He let his gaze drift lazily up and down Ken's form before resting his chin on one hand, as if genuinely considering the question. "Well... yes? Not in a million years would I mistake you for a boy. Your kind has peculiar offspring."

Ken let out a low, guttural growl, his narrowed eyes practically machine-gunning Morthak with silent contempt.

Honestly, I didn't quite get why he was so offended. He really did look like a waifu straight out of some overindulgent fantasy. Hell, he even had that bizarre habit of prancing around in skimpy nurse outfits, the kind that left little to the imagination—like something out of Skullgirls. How could someone like that be upset about being mistaken for a girl?

Maybe it was the hive's fault. Inside the nest, it didn't matter how effeminate Ken looked or how he dressed. No one would ever mistake him for female because everyone was connected through the link. There was no room for misinterpretation. Perhaps Morthak's mistake hit a nerve precisely because it was something Ken had never had to deal with before—something so "obvious" to an hive member but completely alien for a outsider.

"Hrrrr... yes, they are adorable children," I said, stepping between them, my voice deliberately soft. "He needs to rest. Poor thing just evolved and is utterly exhausted." I offered Morthak a polite, almost sickly sweet smile.

I didn't like this. Morthak seeing Ken evolve was dangerous. I liked Morthak, sure, and we had a... "good" relationship, but that didn't mean I trusted him. We weren't friends. We weren't family. We weren't even acquaintances in the normal sense. I wasn't sure how easily people in this world handed out trust, but I knew I couldn't afford to be careless. Maybe it was the hive's instinct, but something about Morthak lurking around, sticking his nose into things that didn't concern him, made my skin crawl.

Letting him witness Ken's evolution was a mistake. A big one.

What could he do with that knowledge? Would he try to use it against us? What if he hurt one of my babies? The thought made my claws twitch involuntarily. I wanted to kill him—gods, I wanted to rip his throat out just to be safe—but let's be real. Kill Morthak? I couldn't so much as scratch him. If he turned on us, we'd be dead before I could even scream.

A sudden shift in the hive's atmosphere made the air thick. A low hum vibrated through the walls, a chorus of chittering whispers, the clicking of mandibles, the restless movement of countless unseen eyes watching from the shadows. Morthak picked up on it instantly.

"Hmm... is there a problem?" His voice was casual, but there was an edge beneath it. His gaze flicked around, sharp, observant. "I don't seem to be welcome."

His eyes met mine, and a cold shiver ran down my spine.

What do I say? If he decides we're a threat, that's it. We're done. Should I apologize? No. I can't afford to be weak. I need to draw a line before he gets any deeper into our world.

"...Morthak, please. Leave." The words left my lips slightly unsteady, but I held my ground, forcing myself to meet his stare.

"Oh?" Amusement flickered in his expression. "And why should I?"

"This... this is personal. It's important to us—important to me. I appreciate your help, and your... kindness, but you're not welcome here right now." My voice hardened as I spoke. I had to be firm. I had to make him understand.

Morthak studied me for a long, uncomfortable moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small, considering hum, he nodded. "Very well. I'll be waiting for you to return to our lessons."

"What?! Seriously? Just like that?"

"Hmm? Yes. I've already told you—I respect other cultures. If this were something that affected me, I would refuse, but this?" He gestured vaguely toward Ken. "This is just... curiosity."

He leaned slightly to the side, peering at Ken over my shoulder. "Your kind is certainly unusual. Strange, even. But at least you're not like the Barthart people from the southern fire mountains. They used to drug visitors and sacrifice them in elaborate rituals, believing they could steal their strength." His lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Compared to that, you and your... children are simply peculiar."

"Hey!"

Morthak chuckled. "I don't claim to understand you. But if I were given the chance, I'd love to dissect that 'little boy' of yours to see what's under his skin." His tone was far too casual for the words he'd just spoken. "Alas, I'm not willing to make an enemy of someone as... extraordinary as you over a momentary curiosity."

"Ugh. You could've stopped at 'I don't understand you.'"

He laughed, a deep, amused rumble. "Have a good... whatever this is."

Then, just like that, he left.

I stared after him, momentarily dumbfounded. I hadn't expected him to listen to me. I'd thought he would brush off my request, maybe even challenge it. But no—he'd actually respected it. For someone so terrifying, he was disturbingly reasonable.

"Phew. Glad that worked out," I muttered, turning back to Ken and the nurses. "Alright, listen up. Ken needs to rest. But now that you've evolved, you're going to need a job. You'll be supervising the ward until the nurseries reopen."

Ken frowned. "Hmm... okay, I guess I can live with that. It'll be nice to see if those idiots ruined everything I built."

He stepped away from the pool of viscous pink liquid, his footprints leaving a slick, sticky trail. The nurses and the cleanup crew swarmed in immediately, their mandibles clicking in satisfaction as they began to clean. By eating the mess.

I grimaced. "Ugh... this is really weird. It looks like melted gum. Or syrup. But... damn. It's still technically amniotic fluid."

The workers chattered happily, their jaws snapping as they lapped it up. Whatever it tasted like, they clearly enjoyed it. But no matter how nutritious it was, I couldn't bring myself to eat it.

There were some things even I wouldn't do.

"Sorry for the delay. I was taking care of some things with my children," I said, settling into the seat across from Morthak once more. "And also... thank you for respecting our customs and privacy." My voice lowered as I inclined my head slightly in acknowledgment.

Morthak regarded me in silence before letting out a soft "Hmph." Then, without a word, he reached into his bag and tossed something onto the table. The moment it landed, the smell of charred flesh hit me, acrid and unmistakable. My eyes fell on the blackened corpse of the Burmmer, its insides split open, as if something had torn through it with unsettling precision.

"Ugh—what do you want with that thing?" I asked, recoiling slightly from the sight.

"Do you even understand what you've done?" Morthak's tone was calm, but his eyes were sharp, unwavering.

"Huh?" My mind scrambled for an answer, but nothing stood out. "No...?"

Morthak exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "Curses don't cause destruction like this. Not a curse cast by someone as untrained as you, at least. Which leaves me with three plausible explanations." He held up three fingers, tapping them down one by one. "First: You're not as green as you pretend to be, though that seems unlikely. Second: You're some kind of idiot savant, a natural who stumbles into power without realizing it. Or third, and by far the most likely—" he leaned forward slightly, the weight of his gaze pressing into me—"you have a bloodline that makes you naturally attuned to cursecraft."

I blinked. "...A what?"

Morthak rubbed his chin, then gestured toward the corpse. "Certain beings have blood infused with raw magic, making it a potent ingredient for curses, elixirs, and enchantments. Basilisk blood, for example, can be used to create a hex that turns a victim's veins to dust, or a poison so virulent it kills on contact. Your blood seems to carry an effect of annihilation—utter destruction." He nudged the Burmmer's corpse with the tip of his claw. "Those flames you conjured weren't ordinary. They erased."

I felt my stomach twist. "Wait, wait—so you're saying it was my blood that did this? That sounds... excessive."

"There's a simple way to find out," Morthak said, already reaching into his satchel. He pulled out a small pan, glass vials, and several cloth pouches, placing them neatly on the table. Then, with a practiced motion, he traced a glowing sigil in the air. Cracks splintered through the space before him, and from that unnatural rift, several ornate vials materialized, drifting down to rest beside the rest of his tools. "I'll make a blood reagent. It'll reveal the purity and nature of your lineage."

He uncorked a few vials, pouring their contents into the pan. A thick, tar-like substance formed, releasing a rancid stench, like burning oil mixed with something even fouler. The acrid fumes stung my nostrils. Morthak barely reacted. He simply retrieved a wickedly sharp knife from his belt and extended a hand toward me.

"Give me your hand."

I instinctively recoiled. "Are you insane? I don't even know if what you're saying is true, and I sure as hell don't trust you with my blood."

Morthak sighed dramatically. "Do you have any idea how many people would kill for a natural affinity like this? Depending on the strength of your bloodline, a single vial could sell for a fortune."

I narrowed my eyes. "Are you trying to sell me, you damn old man?!"

"Oh, stop being so melodramatic. A few drops of blood won't kill you," Morthak said dismissively. "Besides, I still need to assess its actual potential."

I frowned. "Potential? What do you mean?"

"Some bloodlines are too unstable for standard use. Their magic is volatile, impossible to control, and any attempt to harness it could backfire. One mistake, and the blood itself could revolt against the caster. If yours turns out to be one of those... well, I'd rather not be anywhere near you when you try to use it."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

A shiver ran down my spine. I wasn't sure if he was trying to warn me or scare me, but either way, it worked.

I hesitated, staring at the knife glinting in his hand. "Ugh... do you really need a knife?"

"Stop stalling. Give me your hand." Morthak's voice was flat, but there was a glint of impatience in his eyes.

I hesitated for a moment before slowly extending my arm. The second my palm was within reach, he moved—swift, precise. The blade pierced my chitin with a sickening crack, and a sharp, searing pain shot up my arm.

"Ah—!" I hissed, instinctively jerking my hand, but Morthak held it steady.

My blood dripped into the pan below, thick and dark, curling into the inky black liquid like veins of molten gold. For a fleeting moment, the entire mixture shimmered—vivid and radiant—before the golden hue faded, leaving behind a deep, blood-red substance.

Morthak remained silent, watching with intense curiosity. His expression darkened, unreadable.

"W-What just happened?" I asked, my pulse still pounding from the pain.

Instead of answering, Morthak reached for an empty vial, dipped it into the pan, and—without hesitation—drank the liquid in one swift motion.

"Morthak?!" I choked. "Are you insane?!"

A sharp cough racked his body. His face contorted as green smoke curled from his lips, and suddenly, black, rotting wounds began to bloom across his skin, festering like something diseased—only to vanish the next instant, as if they had never been there. Morthak exhaled, patting his chest as though shaking off a bad drink.

"Damn," he muttered with a raspy chuckle. "That was strong."

"Yeah, no shit! What the hell were you thinking?!"

"Evaluation," he said, waving the empty vial like it explained everything. "And I must say, your blood is... fascinating."

My stomach twisted. "What do you mean?"

Morthak rubbed his chin, his eyes gleaming with that unnerving, academic interest—like I was an experiment under a lens. "I'm no expert in blood magic, but I know enough to recognize something unnatural when I see it. Normally, a creature's blood carries distinct magical traits tied to its nature—predictable, logical. A basilisk's blood, for example, naturally imbues potions with poison or petrification effects. But your blood?" He gestured at the now-settled liquid in the pan. "It's a contradiction. A seamless blend of conflicting abilities, working in perfect harmony. It shouldn't make sense—but it does."

I frowned. "I still don't get it. You're saying my blood has powers?"

"Not just powers." He tapped the vial against the table. "It's a paradox. I tasted extreme toxicity, enough to kill an ordinary man, yet it had an equally potent regenerative effect. A self-destructive cycle—decay and restoration, happening simultaneously. It carries a massive amount of mana, but also a counter-magic effect, as if rejecting its own energy. I felt paralysis, sleep, and pain poisons trigger in my body the moment I ingested it—but they were immediately nullified by the same source." He laughed, shaking his head. "It's absurd."

A cold feeling crawled up my spine. "So... what? You're saying I'm some kind of mistake?"

Morthak tilted his head. "Hmm. Maybe, maybe not. But if someone handed me a sample of this blood without context, I'd swear it belonged to a chimera. Not a normal, singular being."

My breath hitched. "A chimera?"

"Think about it. Chimeras are cobbled together from different creatures—stitched abominations. Normally, merging incompatible traits creates instability, which is why most chimeras are failures. But you?" He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "You're like a perfect chimera. Your body doesn't just contain multiple opposing traits—it chooses when to use them, how to balance them. As if nature itself crafted you with meticulous care." There was something unnervingly reverent in his tone. I should've felt complimented. Instead, all I felt was dread.

"Are you saying… that I'm a chimera?" I asked warily. "Like, one of those grotesque patchwork beasts?"

Morthak scoffed. "Don't put words in my mouth. I said you RESEMBLE a chimera—but only in the way your blood behaves. Physically, you look like any other—well, almost any other—creature."

I exhaled, tension loosening slightly. "Still… I've never noticed anything special about my blood. Is there any way to actually control these 'innate powers' you're talking about?"

"Not surprising," Morthak mused. "Your blood doesn't seem to carry a singular, defined power like a typical 'bloodline.' It's more like… a survival mechanism. Something screaming 'I am not prey' to anything foolish enough to consume you." He let out a dry chuckle. "As for learning to use it, that's easy. You'd need to study blood magic or start experimenting with potions and elixirs to see what works."

I wrinkled my nose. "Ugh. Blood magic. I know it's just another form of magic, but it still sounds…"

"Wicked?" Morthak finished for me. "A common misconception. Blood magic is often used by vampires and demons, so people assume it's evil. But the magic itself? It's just a tool. No one needs to die for it to work. Most practitioners sacrifice their own blood to extend their mana reserves or enhance their spells. The problem is, most humans and similar beings can't handle the loss. A few blood spells, and they pass out from anemia."

I raised an eyebrow. "So it's like trading blood for magic?"

"Precisely. Blood can be used to strengthen yourself, empower others, or fuel rituals. Its effectiveness increases when the blood comes from a creature with a powerful lineage or unique properties. For instance—" Morthak's voice lowered slightly, almost reverent. "Cain himself. He can forge weapons, armor, even soldiers from his own blood. He can drain the life from weak creatures without lifting a finger. If there has ever been a master of blood magic, it is him."

"Oh! Could you teach me something about that?" I asked, considering the possibility of using blood magic.

"I'm sorry, but I know basically nothing about blood magic. All I know are some elixirs and basic potions," Morthak said.

"Are you serious? Someone as high-level as you doesn't know anything about blood magic or the like?!" I asked incredulously.

"Hey! I'm a necromancer. Blood magic is useless to me," Morthak said.

"How?"

"Well, I don't have blood, you know? As a necromancer, our biggest weakness is receiving fatal blows before we can summon our minions, so there are rituals and the like to make our bodies 'resistant to death,'" Morthak said simply with a laugh. "Some methods are better than others, of course. Most necromancers just choose zombification, but I opted for a safer alternative."

"S-So you're kind of a corpse? I know you look like one, but I never imagined you were actually one."

"Well, you could say yes, but I prefer the term 'Walker.' My body is just a way to preserve my integrity without me actually running any real risk of death," Morthak explained.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, girl, I can't go around spilling my own secrets, but let's just say that I don't fear death," Morthak said with a smile, making me gulp.

"Ugh... another bizarre thing I've encountered..." I muttered to myself.

"Ugh... It's so weird... I don't know how to say this. It just... it kind of seems wrong, you know? Something like a super evil villain who 'wanted to overcome death' would do," I said to Morthak, who gave a light laugh.

"Well, maybe I am an evil villain. We really don't know much about each other to say for sure what the other is, do we?" Morthak said with a slight smile. "Maybe I just showed you my best face, and I'm someone evil and cruel," he added, his laugh dark.

"Ugh... You don't seem like that to me. To me, you look like a grumpy grandpa with a huge backstory he doesn't want to tell anyone," I said to Morthak.

"Haha! Well, to me, you're a naive little princess playing house with her 'dolls,'" Morthak said acidly. "A kid who has no idea what she's doing or why she does what she does."

"Hey! I'm trying my best here, okay?" I snapped. I knew I wasn't a professional at keeping all of us alive, but I had managed to get a satisfactory result so far.

"Huh? You call 'this' doing your best?" Morthak scoffed, gesturing around us, showcasing the damp and cold cave, with wax stuck to its surface and bees flying here and there. "If this is what you call doing your best, then you're a lazy idiot."

"Ugh... What do you know? You don't know us, you don't know anything about what we did to get here!" I snapped, my irritation flaring.

"Haha! I really don't know, but I know one thing: You are not a leader. You are a maiden who needs protection, like noble girls surrounded by fortresses full of walls and guards just waiting for a suitor to take them to other fortresses protected by walls and guards. You don't know how to fight, you don't know how to do what it takes to survive. You are... talented, but very, very ignorant and 'innocent.' You seem to survive only with the help of your instincts and your 'children,'" Morthak said coldly.

I could only listen to him talk. At some points, he seemed right about us, but what was really the problem with being a 'princess in the tower'? I wasn't fighting to become a super strong and badass warrior—I wanted to be what my children needed me to be: a queen. Someone who could take care of the hive and make it prosper. But was I really on the right path? There was a difference between a participating queen and a Queen. I wasn't someone who liked to impose my will on others or force them to do things they didn't want to do. I just wanted us all to be happy and safe—I didn't want to create some kind of crazy bee monarchy.

"Morthak, you don't know anything about us or how we function. Between me and my children, there are dozens, if not hundreds, of them who are much stronger than me. And that's normal for us, because we function differently than you might be used to," I said to Morthak, irritation creeping into my voice.

"Pff—You don't even know your own potential," Morthak said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You want a comparison? Fine. Comparing you to your children, in terms of raw talent, is like comparing a dying ember to a roaring pyre that lights up the night. You have the power to be something far stronger than you are now. That's why you caught my attention. But you lack ambition, the will to rise beyond what you are. You're so... soft." He paused, a dark grin tugging at his lips. "I've traveled to tribes, herds, packs of monsters, and all sorts of creatures across the world. Do you know what they all had in common? Despite their different shapes, sizes, genders, and attitudes, they all had one thing— a leader. Someone who could alter the mood just by being in the room. Someone who made my senses go on high alert. But you? You don't even seem like a leader. You don't even seem like the 'mother' of these creatures. You're nothing more than a trophy. A beautiful, adorable trophy, locked away, hidden, and protected by those who truly know 'what they're doing.'"

Morthak's piercing eyes were fixed on me. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Ugh," I muttered, looking away, my chest tightening.

He laughed, deep and mocking. "See? No claws. You know, as I was nearing the cave earlier, my senses went on edge. I could feel something was lurking, so I looked back. What do I see? A tiny insect, surrounded by a swarm of others. One of yours. Alone, it was nothing. Weak, pitiful. But the way it looked at me? The aura it gave off? The killing intent that wrapped around it like an iron vice? That was different. It made me respect it, in a way. But you? I don't feel that from you. No weight. No presence. I don't respect you, or your requests."

He paused again, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "But today, things were different. When I stood there, watching your offspring 'evolve,' you looked me dead in the eyes and told me to leave. For the first time, I felt it—the pressure you can radiate. And then, I regretted the talent you've wasted."

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words caught in my throat. My mind spun in circles, desperately searching for something to say.

"I..." My voice faltered.

Am I really like this? The question gnawed at me, tearing through the fragile confidence I had carefully built. All my life, I'd believed I was worthy of respect. The hive had always treated me with a mixture of fear and admiration, but what did that mean, really? Their respect was born from fear, not true reverence. What did it matter if I held sway over those who couldn't challenge me? It didn't matter to someone like Morthak. His judgment was different.

I never thought I was weak. I'd always considered myself friendly, even kind. But if Morthak, someone common in this world, could look into my eyes and see nothing but weakness, then it had to be true, didn't it?

In my old life, I'd have been seen as introverted, maybe shy. But I wasn't in my old world. This was a place where weakness could be fatal, where kindness could get you killed. So, what should I do? Should I be cold and ruthless like Hans? He commanded respect without saying a word, a figure of authority whose presence alone made others quake. Was that the answer? To be like him? To force others into submission with nothing more than a glance?

I didn't want to be that way. I didn't want my children to fear me. I wanted to be gentle with them, to guide them without instilling fear. I'd only ever done it twice—once when I had to put the newborns in their place, and again when I silenced the whisperers. But even then, I'd done it reluctantly, a necessary evil.

Still… when I imposed my will, things changed. I had never had to deal with an uprising from the newborns, nor did I fear a whisperer spilling secrets when I used my authority to make the hive follow my wishes. Maybe I hadn't been as weak as I thought.

But I didn't want to be feared. Not like that. And yet, I couldn't let others walk all over me. I couldn't let them walk all over my children. Maybe if I were more imposing, if I had a stronger presence, perhaps that human wouldn't have attacked us, and we wouldn't have needed to leave Aurum. Maybe if I had more backbone, more attitude, things would've been different. Maybe I was doing more harm than good, trying to be someone I wasn't in this new world.

Things had changed— the culture, the people, the norms. Everything was different. I wasn't human anymore. And yet, I kept trying to apply human standards to a place that was nothing like Earth. I found myself disgusted by things my children did, horrified by their cruelty, but when I looked at them, I wasn't human anymore. I was something else.

The rules were different here. The people were different. I was different. I guess I just hadn't been able to shallow it.