Marigold - A LitRPG

I look ahead, my gaze settling on a small platform of wax and branches, crudely fused together to form a makeshift enclosure around a lone, radiant star of light suspended just above a bubbling fountain of brilliant blue water.

Brightly veined roots snake across the cavern floor, their glowing fissures pulsing like veins beneath translucent skin. They stretch toward a wooden structure where they twist and knot together, passing through clusters of raw mana crystals. The roots continue onward, funneling energy into a crude contraption—part battery charger, part relic—crafted from wood, wax, and glimmering shards. It is connected to a primitive terminal, little more than a slab of wood fitted with basic buttons and a single lever.

A line of figures clad in thick, wax-coated leather marches toward a crate brimming with living mana crystals. Their garments glisten with an oily sheen, soaked in some unknown solution, likely for protection. Each one swiftly collects a crystal before rushing toward the charging station, sliding their chosen crystal into a narrow slot. With mechanical efficiency, they seal the opening with a sliding panel of stone and wax before stepping back in anticipation.

The wizard at the terminal bellows, his voice reverberating off the cavern walls. "Attention!"

He grips the lever with both hands and yanks it downward. A crackling surge of energy ripples through the roots, igniting them with a golden brilliance. Sparks dance and sizzle along the tangled network, leaving behind tiny bursts of blackened scorch marks. Then, the machine hums to life, the sound starting as a low vibration before escalating into an unbearable, grating whine. The air thickens with the acrid scent of burning wood and ozone as arcs of electricity leap from the station, licking the surrounding surfaces.

"Stop!" The command rings out, sharp and absolute.

The lever is immediately reset, and the glow fades, leaving behind nothing but a network of charred roots tinged with veins of eerie purple. Smoke drifts lazily from the wreckage, curling into the damp air. No one seems particularly concerned.

One of the mages who inserted a crystal into the machine strides forward and unseals the compartment. A thick, swirling smog of black, violet, and gold billows out. He doesn't flinch, merely stepping aside as another mage, wielding a massive wooden pick with a wax-coated tip, takes his place. The second mage carefully reaches inside, extracting something with precise, deliberate movements.

The cavern holds its breath.

A mana crystal emerges, its deep golden glow proof of a successful charge. Yet, its once-pristine surface is marred by jagged cracks and deep scorch marks.

"Tsk." The first mage clicks his tongue in irritation before raising his hands. With practiced ease, he encases the damaged crystal in a shimmering [Mana Bubble], assisted by the second mage.

"It's not perfect..." Max mutters beside me. He clutches a small book to his chest like a child clinging to a security blanket. "But it's the best we can manage with what we have. We can charge maybe three, four life mana crystals at high purity before the whole setup degrades beyond use. The method is... volatile. It severely damages the integrity of the crystals, and the equipment wears out fast, but at least we're not coming into direct contact with the life mana."

I exhale slowly, watching the entire process unfold before me.

Essentially, my people have jury-rigged an energy generator—though calling it an 'invention' would be generous. It's more of an adaptation. And by 'energy,' I mean life mana.

My [Node] naturally converts ambient magic into life mana, which is a huge advantage. But the real issue remains: my children lack the [Life] affinity. They can't safely interact with life mana. It doesn't just resist them—it actively rebels.

I've explained this before, but the problem with life mana is that it doesn't tolerate being mishandled. When it enters the body of someone who can't control it, it goes wild. Sometimes it tries to 'fix' whatever it perceives as an imperfection. Other times, it decides that the best course of action is spontaneous and horrifying mutation. Grow an extra limb? A second head? All possible. Life mana doesn't discriminate—it just reshapes.

That's why, despite its usefulness, this mana 'generator' was something only I could use. Until now.

With this setup, they can manipulate life mana indirectly, reducing the risk of accidental self-destruction. They need mana for everything—food, medicine, alchemy, experiments.

Sure, they can use standard mana, but some things require life mana. Like Max's [Growth Pendulum]—a device I dearly miss right now. It only runs on life mana. Trying to power it with normal mana is like shoving coal into a car engine. It won't just fail; it'll break.

Then there are the golems—long gone now. The farm golem, the mushroom golem… all required life mana to function. The same goes for potions, elixirs, and medicines. We're already feeling the loss.

Back in Aurum, Jasper and the care club once developed a healing potion using life mana, herbs, and... let's just call them 'organic ingredients.' The system labeled it as [Healing Potion - Greater], a concoction described as 'Partially nullifies pain while restoring 30% of total HP. Tastes like grease. Texture of old oil.'

Unappetizing? Absolutely. Essential? Even more so.

Battle medics carried those potions like lifelines. Now, they're gone. Jasper claims it's not a complete loss since the knowledge remains, but knowledge alone doesn't heal wounds. We need resources.

And the wounded? There are more than ever.

Back in Aurum, injuries were brief inconveniences. Here, they linger. Our nurses and healers are skilled, but their mana pools are abysmal. A single healer can barely mend three soldiers before they're drained dry. That's why we rely on mana-sharing tactics, carefully rationing energy so no one collapses from overuse.

Healers are our most precious resource, and they're treated accordingly. They receive the best meals, the most rest, the highest priority. They don't fight—except for the rare [Battle Healers], a rare breed among them. The rest? They hide. They cower behind the warriors, shielded and protected like delicate relics.

If I'm the 'princess in the tower,' then the healers are royalty locked in a fortress, buried underground, surrounded by walls of steel.

I sigh. "It's not ideal, but we make do with what we have." I glance at Max, watching as he frowns at his notes, clearly dissatisfied with our makeshift solution.

To an outsider, this setup might look advanced. Complex. A technological marvel.

It isn't.

It's improvisation, pure and simple.

The [Node] continuously converts natural mana into life mana, but it's not a flawless machine. It doesn't stop. It doesn't slow down. It keeps going until it reaches a point of dangerous instability. If left unchecked, it could spiral into what my mages call a 'highly volatile and dangerous critical mass event.'

Or, to put it simply: Boom!

We have two options. The first? "Kill" the node. Shut it down. But I can't guarantee I can recreate it, and losing it could be catastrophic. The second? Regulate it. Drain the excess mana before it builds to a catastrophic level. Create a failsafe. Keep the cup from overflowing by punching a hole just big enough to let the magic drain at a controlled rate.

Simple in theory.

But if there's one thing I've learned about life mana, it's that nothing is ever simple. To do this, I had to step in—pulling magical energy from the node and using it to produce food. The problem? Right now, food is... "stable," at least for the moment. But life mana is needed elsewhere. And to use it, we have to transfer that energy into mana crystals.

I can't do this directly. Why? I don't know exactly. Some issue with "attunement" or "tuning," maybe. It doesn't make sense to me that I can wield life mana freely but can't charge a crystal with it. But I can use life mana alongside my [Crystallize] skill to create life mana crystals. The problem is the mana loss—massive, wasteful. Right now, it's just not worth it.

So, the next idea? A machine. Something that could charge the crystals using the node's energy. Max, Levi, and Jasper helped put it together. Boom. Here we are. Levi mapped out the entire setup with Max's guidance. Jasper handled the alchemical components, crafting the delicate parts. And me? I used magic to weave the roots that serve as makeshift power cables.

It's far from perfect. It's dangerous, exhausting, expensive, and honestly, a pain to maintain. But it's what we've got.

"How many usable crystals do we still have? How long can they last?" I asked Max.

Our "original" mana crystals were lost. They had a natural affinity with [Fire]—probably because they came from an abandoned mine where [Blooming Bloons] used to grow. But after countless cycles of infusion with life mana, their affinity with [Fire] faded—almost completely. That used to irritate me. Now? I'd give an arm to have them back.

The ones we're using now came from Morthak. They're big. Weird. Something about them makes my skin crawl. They seem... empty? No natural affinity. Just raw material. Maybe it's because they came from someone "untrustworthy." Maybe it's because they're just different from what I'm used to. Either way, I'm not in a position to be picky. We had to break them apart to get smaller pieces for use, but overall, they function well enough.

"Not many," Max said, scanning his notes. "We have two large crystals left to be polished and ten small ones in circulation. But six of those ten are already showing serious wear. Two of them have cracks turning into full ruptures."

I clicked my tongue. "Tsk. Are we seriously gonna have to become mining bees? We could create pure life mana crystals, but the mana cost would be astronomical. That leaves us with two options—mine them or buy them."

"Hmm, maybe," Max mused. "Actually, mining might be a good plan. We have a lot of [Crystal Bees] in the hive. They should be able to track down magic stone veins."

That got my attention. "Oh? What makes you think that?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. If that were true, the mining plan just became a lot more viable.

Max shrugged. "I don't know. Just a gut feeling? I mean... they're Crystal Bees, right? They've gotta be good at finding crystals."

I blinked. "Wha—Are you serious?! What kind of logic is that?! You're a Crystal Bee too. Can you sniff out crystals like a truffle pig?"

"Hey! I was just trying to help! But you have a point... I can't smell crystals, but some of them do taste amazing."

I sighed. "Okay, fine, I'll give you that one. There's a honey crystal I make using [Crystallize]. It's delicious—pops in your mouth, bursting with this wild, rich honey flavor. It's incredible."

Max's eyes gleamed. "Ugh, I wish I could eat one right now—" He stopped, shaking his head. "Oops. Got distracted. Anyway, we need to talk about the homework Morthak left us."

My good mood soured immediately. "Ugh. That shameless old bastard. Does he really think it's that easy to create something extraordinary out of twigs, mud, and sweat?"

Max gave me a deadpan look. "We built a charging station with twigs, mud, and sweat."

I crossed my arms. "I—It's different! This charging station is kind of our thing. So, judging the results based on the starting point is just wrong! If you put a fish and a monkey in a competition to see who's better at swimming, obviously the fish wins. And if you make them race up a tree, the monkey wins."

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Max exhaled. "Huff... okay, fair point. But as the leader of the magic club, it hurts my ego that I can't crack this."

I get it. Really, I do. I pretty much dumped my homework on the hive. I don't think it's dishonest, though. Our knowledge is shared. It doesn't matter who learns what. In the end, we all absorb it. So why wouldn't I leave magical theory to Max, and alchemical artifact crafting to Jasper? It's what they do.

Max had his eye on this project from the moment I got it. The kid is ambitious—dangerously so. The type to take on more than he can handle if left unchecked. His hunger for knowledge and success? A good thing, for sure. After all, lack of purpose leads to stagnation—acceptance of mediocrity. But if he gets too caught up in chasing the future, he might not notice the hole in the ground until he's already fallen in.

Jasper, on the other hand, is blunt. Direct. The kind of guy who always knows exactly who he is and doesn't bother pretending otherwise. He has ambition, sure, but it's nothing like Max's. Max is all drive, all hunger. Jasper? He's more like a cocky recluse—someone who works with complex, borderline insane things not because he has to, but because he enjoys it. He's obsessed with alchemy. I mean, really obsessed. I never cared enough to figure out why. Maybe even he doesn't know.

Then there's his thing with explosives—an odd hobby for someone so cold, so distant. He doesn't talk much, and when he does, there's this detached, almost clinical sharpness to his words. Like he's dissecting you in real time, but can't be bothered to finish the job. But underneath all that? There's something else. Something softer. He doesn't express kindness through words—he wouldn't be caught dead doing that—but through actions.

Jasper was the mind behind countless innovations: soaps, emulsifiers, cleaning agents, skin creams, gels, shampoos, even solid fertilizers. All the things people call "modern luxuries." And why? Not for profit. Not for recognition. Just so his brothers wouldn't have to live in discomfort. That's Jasper in a nutshell—a heart of gold buried under layers of something sharp and jagged. A sweetheart with a face that could make children cry.

"Well, I gave you my initial notes, plans, and ideas. But none of it was more than theory anyway. We can test some methods together later."

Max tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Hmm? Sure, why not? A 'new' perspective won't hurt." His tone dripped with condescension, like he was humoring a child.

I knew why.

The hive doesn't really think in different ways. Sure, each of us has a unique approach, a personal way of looking at things, but we all draw from the same Source. Our thoughts, our perspectives, even our instincts—variations of the same blueprint. Like shades of blue. You could tweak the saturation, shift the hue slightly, but in the end, it was still blue. Always blue.

That's the unity of the hive. A seamless, collective consciousness. It makes us stronger, keeps us moving as one. But it's also a cage, a quiet, insidious limiter on our ability to think beyond what we should think. To imagine what we shouldn't.

The only exception is the [Debaters].

They exist to challenge. To think in colors that shouldn't exist within the hive—red, yellow, green, or pink. The hive watches them carefully, labels them as potential dangers. They belong, and yet... they don't. It's the same unease humans would feel if their own kind started being born in unnatural shades, tinged in hues that weren't meant to exist.

And yet, the [Debaters] have never failed us. Their job is to consider every possibility, every risk, no matter how ridiculous, no matter how far-fetched. They see the world in ways the rest of us can't.

And maybe that's why they terrify us.

"So… did you enjoy your little 'laboratory'?" I asked, speaking through Emi's body—my personal secretary. I should have used Yan, but he was busy managing his own secret club.

I hated doing this—taking control of my children's bodies. It felt… wrong. Worse after Morthak's words. Worse after that damned dream. But sometimes convenience outweighed discomfort.

"It's… acceptable."

That was all Jasper said. He didn't even glance my way. One hand stirred a mortar, another scrawled notes on parchment, while the third carefully agitated a thick, bubbling liquid in a clay pot. He moved like a machine, utterly absorbed, as if my presence barely registered.

We stood in his cramped, makeshift lab—wood and clay walls sealed with wax. There was no reliable heat source beyond a weak 30°C spell, making anything above a simmer impossible. Not exactly ideal for alchemy. I should fix it, but I'd already tasked Max with improving our [Heat] spell to breach that 100°C barrier. My job was invention, not optimization. I create new things, make them work once, and hand them off for refinement. The details were their domain.

"What are you working on?" I asked, my tone teasing, but Jasper didn't even flinch.

"An organic compound derived from [Harpo Sap], [Synovial Fluid], and proteins refined from an [Obomblo] corpse." His voice was steady, unwavering—focused like stone.

I paused to let that register. Even then, it only clicked when Emi helped me process it from within.

"Wait… You're not creating an [Abomination] like Morthak's, are you?" I asked, wary.

For the first time, Jasper hesitated—just a beat. Then he resumed his precise movements.

"No. I would love to create something on that level, but I lack the knowledge. Right now, my goal is a fully decomposable organic substance that solidifies rapidly upon air exposure."

"So… vials of liquid that become solid objects the moment they hit air?" I asked, trying to follow.

"That's one application," Jasper admitted. "But my focus is elasticity—something akin to rubber or cartilage, capable of withstanding high temperatures and shifting environments."

My mind conjured an unpleasant image: rubber made from corpses, spinal fluid, and sap—a flesh-and-cartilage substitute. What kind of natural disaster was this kid trying to create?

"Honey," I cooed, stepping closer with a big, forced smile. "Maybe focus on something else? Like… a stabilizing fluid for mana crystals? That'd be super helpful."

Jasper barely looked up. "The Magic Club already uses a diluted mix of [Life Drops] water and honey for that. It's not perfect, but until I have a full lab, we can't do much better with our resources."

"Of course you can, my little angel," I purred, inching closer, voice sweet as honey. "How about you set aside those tools and talk to Bax instead? Help him make some plans? Mommy would really appreciate it. It's exhausting producing [Life Drops] with so little mana in stock. And after I went through all that trouble dipping that Wverny heart in a pool of [Life Drops]… Well, you wouldn't want all that effort to go to waste, would you?"

Acting cute wasn't my strong suit—sounding harmless and flowery. But my boys had a knack for doing whatever I asked. A little coaxing, a little sweetness, and I could steer them without outright refusal. It avoided hurt feelings. Jasper might have the emotional range of a brick, but his heart was softer than he'd admit.

Jasper sighed, setting down his tools. "If it's your wish, Queen Mother, I'll do everything in my power to complete the task." Without another word, he turned and left for the Magic Club.

The moment he was gone, I muttered under my breath, "Emi, send the Cleaning Club over. Have them rearrange the lab, move supplies—anything to discourage Jasper from restarting that experiment. But don't let them damage any of his ingredients."

A response bloomed in my mind, Emi's voice clear and immediate: "Understood. Executing now."

I exhaled slowly, letting my shoulders relax.

That had been too close.

"How's Trevis been?" I asked, voice low as I stepped closer to the tall, rigid bee standing before me. A crisp breeze cut through the air, making the large white scarf around his neck ripple like a banner. He didn't answer at once—just turned slowly, fixing me with that deep, unreadable stare. Cold. Detached.

My real body lay hidden at the bottom of the cave-hive, cocooned in warmth and shadows. Around me, a wall of buzzing guardians stood vigilant, protecting me like a priceless artifact. There, I expended every bit of mana I had to nourish the hive and generate more [Life Drops]. That work drained me. Drained me dry. So while my body rested, I used the hive's Skill to drift from vessel to vessel.

Right now, I inhabited Yan's form. This was his official duty—being my eyes and hands when I needed them. And honestly? He loved it. A little too much, if you asked me. The way he spoke about being my vessel… nearly obsessive. Kinda macabre, but it worked.

It had been a while since I last spoke to Trevis directly. Maybe because he thinks differently than I do. Maybe because it's easier to avoid certain conversations. When you command an entire hive, keeping close ties gets… complicated. Some see me once or twice a month. The Inner Circle sees me almost daily. Not that it makes much difference—when I'm here, I'm still a shadow they follow, not a person they know.

"Queen Mother, is there anything I can do for you?" Trevis asked, bowing slightly. His voice was smooth, formal, but there was a weight behind it—something heavy. His tall, insectoid form gleamed faintly in the pale light, sharp angles and rigid posture. If he stood still long enough, you might mistake him for a carved statue.

"How's the work going?" I asked casually, though my words were pointed. "Has the Exploration Club found anything interesting?" Yan's body shifted beneath the oversized silk coat, the thick fabric brushing softly against his legs.

"Nothing worth reporting," Trevis replied, voice steady. "Some gathering points, predator trails, faint traces of hunts. But no camps. No roads. No signs of civilization." His words were precise, cold. But through our link, I felt that ripple of discomfort—no matter how well he masked it, he couldn't hide from me.

Hmm… still upset I didn't take his side earlier? Or is it because Hans chewed him out? Fear's useful, sure—but…

Something about this felt wrong. My own children should not fear me, right? Some would call it authority—proof of my power. But is that what I want? I want to be someone they trust, someone they can turn to. But Morthak's words lingered like poison I couldn't shake.

What is a leader, really? Someone who commands others? Someone feared? Someone who never bends? Or is it something else? And deeper still—do I even want to be one? No. That's not the right question. I am a leader, whether I want to be or not. The real question is—can I be a good one?

I would do anything to protect my hive. Anything. I never thought that way before. But after everything we've been through, I know now. I have to protect them. I don't care what it takes. I won't lose anyone else. Not again. But am I willing to become a monster to do it?

In my old world, power came easy. Money bought anything—protection, influence, safety. But here? This world doesn't play fair. Everything wants to kill you. The air, the earth, the people. Even the sky feels dangerous sometimes. And the only thing that matters is strength. If you have it, you survive. If you don't, you die. Simple as that.

Morthak… Just thinking about him makes my blood run cold. The way he looks at me—like he could snuff me out without breaking a sweat. He shouldn't exist, but he does. And as long as people like him exist, being nice won't save us.

If I had his kind of power, we wouldn't have been forced to flee our home. If I were stronger, that vile thing would never have laid a hand on my babies. If I'd been more—more—I could have torn her apart. And maybe I should have.

"…Trevis." My voice came out softer than intended, more human. "What do you think of me?"

He didn't hesitate. "You are the Queen Mother—the great and beloved—"

"No." I cut him off. "What do you really think?"

His mandibles snapped shut, tension rippling through our link. For a moment, the only sound was the distant hum of the hive. I wanted truth—his truth.

"You know that's not what I asked, Trevis. I want your truth," I said coldly, locking eyes with him. His body tensed, chitinous limbs flexing, and I caught a faint tremor in his stance. The wind cut through the clearing, carrying the hive's pulse in the background. Guilt gnawed at me, but I pushed it aside. No way to be loved by everyone. Impossible to solve every problem the same way.

"…Incompetent, immature, irresponsible, and unprepared. That's what I think of you, my queen." Trevis's words hit me like a blow—sharp, unflinching. No fear. No restraint. Just raw, unfiltered truth. He could speak so freely only because of the link. Normally, those "below" never dared talk to those "above" like this. But with the link, no one could hide from me—not even Trevis.

"You never think of us as a nation. To you, we're family—and that's not wrong. But you're so consumed with shielding us from the world that you refuse to see the bigger picture. You're obsessed with trivial matters and petty conflicts while ignoring what truly matters. I thought you'd lead us to a better future—a guiding light in the dark—but you don't care if we're lost. You just want to soothe your conscience." His voice was steady, but the anger beneath it burned hot. My fingers twitched in irritation. In the past, I would have lashed out—tell him I was doing my best—but that never worked. Not with him. Not with anyone. Even if it hurt, I needed to hear this.

"You're not fit to make critical decisions for the hive," Trevis continued, colder now. "Because you can't put the hive's interests above your own feelings. You wasted time and resources helping a bunch of useless kobolds for nothing. You cut work hours to ease your conscience, even though it slowed our progress. You banned dangerous research—research that could have made us stronger—because you're afraid. And that fear is making us weak." The sharp click of his mandibles echoed as he crossed his arms. "I know you want us to be happy, Mother. I know you just want to keep us safe. But that's not enough. Wanting isn't enough. You need to act. You need to carry the weight of your choices and stop hiding behind the Inner Circle. You're the queen—no one else. The responsibility falls on you."

The wind picked up, swirling dust around his feet. I stood silent, letting his words settle. He had always been this way—pragmatic to a fault. Trevis was the kind of leader who would send a hundred soldiers to their deaths if it meant forging five elite warriors. And the worst part? He might be right.

Great leaders don't stay clean. They stand on piles of bodies. Maybe they don't kill themselves—but their hands are never really clean.

He was right about one thing: I never saw us as a nation. To me, we were family—a fragile, broken little family trying to survive in a cruel world. But maybe… maybe that wasn't enough anymore.

The best decision for the family might destroy the nation. And the best decision for the nation? It might tear the family apart.

If we lose the nation—the shell that protects us—we lose everything.

Why does it have to be so hard? The thought echoed bitterly. I wanted to protect my babies, to keep them safe—but was I holding them back instead?

I can't be the queen Trevis wanted me to be. But I can't stay the queen I am, either.

I always forget something important: we're not humans. We don't need human rules or their ideas of fairness. We have no crime—no theft, no betrayal, no greed. Everyone works together toward a common goal. My human solutions—work schedules, research bans—solved problems that don't exist here. And forcing a solution on a nonexistent problem only creates new problems.

Take the work schedule. I banned anyone from working more than twelve hours a day because, in my old world, that destroyed lives. But here? No one minds working longer if it's necessary. My rule only slowed us down.

And the research ban… I thought I was protecting them from dangerous experiments. But maybe… maybe I was just too afraid. Too scared to face risk. Too weak to bear the thought of losing anyone else.

I'm not a wise queen. I'm not a great leader. I'm not the perfect mother.

I'm just an idiot trying to do something extraordinary in a world where idiots don't survive.

"You're not entirely wrong," I finally said, voice softer, heavier. Trevis's antennae twitched in surprise. "But you're not entirely right, either. You're right—I need to see the bigger picture. But I'll never stop protecting my babies. If that means staining my hands, fine. But I won't let it be our blood on them." My gaze locked with his, and for the first time, I let the weight of my resolve show.

Now i known for sure.

I don't care if I have to become a monster. I don't care how many bodies pile up beneath my feet. I've already killed thousands of creatures just to get Xp. If anyone dares to hurt my babies, I will destroy them. Tear them apart piece by piece. Because I will never—AbSoLuTeLy WiLl NoT—bury anyone I love ever again.