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Chapter 15 of Soulless Prince has posted!
~~~~ Floritan burst to his feet. "You will not be considering that thing equally!" he shouted, stabbing a finger at Solace.
Slightly irritated at being called 'that thing' Solace considered throwing something at him.
Charlotte slapped the table hard enough to bounce their dishes. "Solace is the rightfully born prince of this kingdom."
"He's soulless!" another woman shouted.
“He’s an imposter!” someone else accused.
"Soulless. I keep getting called that, but I don’t particularly agree with that assessment,” Solace said, though his voice was drowned out by the cacophony of shouting now filling the room. Gwain heard, though, and looked at Solace with a hint of sympathy as if getting drowned out by other people was a common occurrence for him.
The blonde at the other end of the table bent forward and slowly sank back into her seat. She was laughing so hard that her face had turned bright red. The dark-haired young man next to her turned with an admonishment, but she wasn't listening.
*Two reincarnations and an isekai walk into a bar--
The only one happy to be there is the isekai because he's ready to quit this whole world-saving thing. One reincarnation doesn't like alcohol and the other is trying to get them OUT of the bar because the world need saving.
*not a real situation from the book, but whatever. got your attention, right? ;)
Join Solace, Reed, and Gwenivar on their journey to save Mythiric from the demon god!
Chapter 16 and Reed STILL hasn't learned not to ask "Can anything else go wrong today?"
sweaty, it can be a minute before midnight and there's still plenty of time for shit to hit the fan.
"What did it look like before you cleaned?" he asked.
Reed went to the windows. They were dusty and undisturbed.
"Well… His Highness's hairpin was on the floor. But that's it," Marigold said. She pulled her apron between her hands, starting to get nervous with Patrick and Reed’s serious tone.
"Hard to make a mess when he's the only thing in here," Patrick admitted as he turned slowly, looking around the room as well. “Has anyone else been to see him this morning?”
“No. Everyone’s busy getting ready for dinner tonight,” Marigold said.
“How long was he alone in here?” Patrick asked, pulling out a notebook to start writing her answers.
“Eh…” she shifted nervously. “We’ve left him alone before. Why is it suddenly a problem?”
Reed knelt to look at the floor. Patrick was a good investigator, but some things he just wasn’t going to think to look for. Although Reed wasn't sure what he was looking for either. Circles of salt? Candle wax? Mythiric was a world that had a rich history of magic and swords that could cut stone, but all that was in the past. They’d lost the knowledge about two thousand years prior when the first queen of Durshand had purged the corrupt priests of some demon religion. His history lessons had been over five years ago and his disappointment that he couldn’t sling fireballs or summon monsters as pets had caused him to lose interest.
“It’s not a problem,” Patrick assured. “We’re just… looking into something.”
Marigold fidgeted. "Reed? What are you doing?"
"I'd say it was witchcraft, but y'all ain't got that here." He got up, dusting his hands and pants. Ten years he'd been in this world, and all that time he'd thought soullessness was just this low-technology world's way of describing birth defects. Boy, was I wrong… Apparently, inert lumps of flesh can spontaneously become complete assholes.
"What?"
"Never mind," Reed said in English, then waved it off. Correcting to Durrish, he asked, “Can you answer the question, Marigold?”
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“Think about it. The Soulless Prince wakes up on Blessing Day, just before the crown competition announcement. Nyltia herself said Gwain was to be king. She’s been insisting Solace not be composted for seventeen years. Y’all’s goddess has been all over this mess from the start. Yet you’re denying that maybe she knew this shit was about to explode and gave us a weapon?”
Turning to look back at Reed, Captain Raccoon lifted both his brows to his hairline. “A Han lecturing a Dur on Nyltia’s faith? Now I’ve seen it all.”
Reed shook his head, lifting his hands out. Figuring he’d gotten as far as he was going to get on this, he stood. “Just tell everyone to stay indoors at night, no wild parties.”
Raccoon lifted his brows again, this time sarcastically. “You tell the Hans that.”
“Yeah. I know. They’re loud.” He waved his hand dismissively.
"What did it look like before you cleaned?" he asked.
Reed went to the windows. They were dusty and undisturbed.
"Well… His Highness's hairpin was on the floor. But that's it," Marigold said. She pulled her apron between her hands, starting to get nervous with Patrick and Reed’s serious tone.
"Hard to make a mess when he's the only thing in here," Patrick admitted as he turned slowly, looking around the room as well. “Has anyone else been to see him this morning?”
“No. Everyone’s busy getting ready for dinner tonight,” Marigold said.
“How long was he alone in here?” Patrick asked, pulling out a notebook to start writing her answers.
“Eh…” she shifted nervously. “We’ve left him alone before. Why is it suddenly a problem?”
Reed knelt to look at the floor. Patrick was a good investigator, but some things he just wasn’t going to think to look for. Although Reed wasn't sure what he was looking for either. Circles of salt? Candle wax? Mythiric was a world that had a rich history of magic and swords that could cut stone, but all that was in the past. They’d lost the knowledge about two thousand years prior when the first queen of Durshand had purged the corrupt priests of some demon religion. His history lessons had been over five years ago and his disappointment that he couldn’t sling fireballs or summon monsters as pets had caused him to lose interest.
“It’s not a problem,” Patrick assured. “We’re just… looking into something.”
Marigold fidgeted. "Reed? What are you doing?"
"I'd say it was witchcraft, but y'all ain't got that here." He got up, dusting his hands and pants. Ten years he'd been in this world, and all that time he'd thought soullessness was just this low-technology world's way of describing birth defects. Boy, was I wrong… Apparently, inert lumps of flesh can spontaneously become complete assholes.
"What?"
"Never mind," Reed said in English, then waved it off. Correcting to Durrish, he asked, “Can you answer the question, Marigold?”
Find out what's happening on Tapas!
Chapter 15 of Soulless Prince has posted!
~~~~ Floritan burst to his feet. "You will not be considering that thing equally!" he shouted, stabbing a finger at Solace.
Slightly irritated at being called 'that thing' Solace considered throwing something at him.
Charlotte slapped the table hard enough to bounce their dishes. "Solace is the rightfully born prince of this kingdom."
"He's soulless!" another woman shouted.
“He’s an imposter!” someone else accused.
"Soulless. I keep getting called that, but I don’t particularly agree with that assessment,” Solace said, though his voice was drowned out by the cacophony of shouting now filling the room. Gwain heard, though, and looked at Solace with a hint of sympathy as if getting drowned out by other people was a common occurrence for him.
The blonde at the other end of the table bent forward and slowly sank back into her seat. She was laughing so hard that her face had turned bright red. The dark-haired young man next to her turned with an admonishment, but she wasn't listening.
Ch18, Gwenivar gets inklings that Reed is more than he appears. Can she save him from the malicious machinations of the high nobility? Or is he destined to dangle?
Catch up with the action now!
"What did it look like before you cleaned?" he asked.
Reed went to the windows. They were dusty and undisturbed.
"Well… His Highness's hairpin was on the floor. But that's it," Marigold said. She pulled her apron between her hands, starting to get nervous with Patrick and Reed’s serious tone.
"Hard to make a mess when he's the only thing in here," Patrick admitted as he turned slowly, looking around the room as well. “Has anyone else been to see him this morning?”
“No. Everyone’s busy getting ready for dinner tonight,” Marigold said.
“How long was he alone in here?” Patrick asked, pulling out a notebook to start writing her answers.
“Eh…” she shifted nervously. “We’ve left him alone before. Why is it suddenly a problem?”
Reed knelt to look at the floor. Patrick was a good investigator, but some things he just wasn’t going to think to look for. Although Reed wasn't sure what he was looking for either. Circles of salt? Candle wax? Mythiric was a world that had a rich history of magic and swords that could cut stone, but all that was in the past. They’d lost the knowledge about two thousand years prior when the first queen of Durshand had purged the corrupt priests of some demon religion. His history lessons had been over five years ago and his disappointment that he couldn’t sling fireballs or summon monsters as pets had caused him to lose interest.
“It’s not a problem,” Patrick assured. “We’re just… looking into something.”
Marigold fidgeted. "Reed? What are you doing?"
"I'd say it was witchcraft, but y'all ain't got that here." He got up, dusting his hands and pants. Ten years he'd been in this world, and all that time he'd thought soullessness was just this low-technology world's way of describing birth defects. Boy, was I wrong… Apparently, inert lumps of flesh can spontaneously become complete assholes.
"What?"
"Never mind," Reed said in English, then waved it off. Correcting to Durrish, he asked, “Can you answer the question, Marigold?”
Find out what's happening on Tapas!
AITA for choosing to continue in a competition that I am wholly unqualified for just to wreck someone else’s chance at winning?
I (M 17? 36? I never really knew my age; I don't think it matters now) got volunteered by my mother for a competition. Winning involves a lot of politics. I ran a clinic for the Temple before, so I am not wholly unfamiliar with being in charge of something, but this position requires being nice to a bunch of greedy assholes who can't comprehend that we're trying to have a society here.
I was going to withdraw, but then one of those jerks killed some of my guards to cover his own theft, and now I'm just angry.
Would I be the asshole if I continue with the competition just to make sure the other guy loses? I'm not sure what I'd do with the country if I won...
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AITA for choosing to continue in a competition that I am wholly unqualified for just to wreck someone else’s chance at winning?
I (M 17? 36? I never really knew my age; I don't think it matters now) got volunteered by my mother for a competition. Winning involves a lot of politics. I ran a clinic for the Temple before, so I am not wholly unfamiliar with being in charge of something, but this position requires being nice to a bunch of greedy assholes who can't comprehend that we're trying to have a society here.
I was going to withdraw, but then one of those jerks killed some of my guards to cover his own theft, and now I'm just angry.
Would I be the asshole if I continue with the competition just to make sure the other guy loses? I'm not sure what I'd do with the country if I won...
"What did it look like before you cleaned?" he asked.
Reed went to the windows. They were dusty and undisturbed.
"Well… His Highness's hairpin was on the floor. But that's it," Marigold said. She pulled her apron between her hands, starting to get nervous with Patrick and Reed’s serious tone.
"Hard to make a mess when he's the only thing in here," Patrick admitted as he turned slowly, looking around the room as well. “Has anyone else been to see him this morning?”
“No. Everyone’s busy getting ready for dinner tonight,” Marigold said.
“How long was he alone in here?” Patrick asked, pulling out a notebook to start writing her answers.
“Eh…” she shifted nervously. “We’ve left him alone before. Why is it suddenly a problem?”
Reed knelt to look at the floor. Patrick was a good investigator, but some things he just wasn’t going to think to look for. Although Reed wasn't sure what he was looking for either. Circles of salt? Candle wax? Mythiric was a world that had a rich history of magic and swords that could cut stone, but all that was in the past. They’d lost the knowledge about two thousand years prior when the first queen of Durshand had purged the corrupt priests of some demon religion. His history lessons had been over five years ago and his disappointment that he couldn’t sling fireballs or summon monsters as pets had caused him to lose interest.
“It’s not a problem,” Patrick assured. “We’re just… looking into something.”
Marigold fidgeted. "Reed? What are you doing?"
"I'd say it was witchcraft, but y'all ain't got that here." He got up, dusting his hands and pants. Ten years he'd been in this world, and all that time he'd thought soullessness was just this low-technology world's way of describing birth defects. Boy, was I wrong… Apparently, inert lumps of flesh can spontaneously become complete assholes.
"What?"
"Never mind," Reed said in English, then waved it off. Correcting to Durrish, he asked, “Can you answer the question, Marigold?”
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A beleaguered wife must chaperone her husband and his best friend to keep them from destroying civilization in their quest to save the world.
"What did it look like before you cleaned?" he asked.
Reed went to the windows. They were dusty and undisturbed.
"Well… His Highness's hairpin was on the floor. But that's it," Marigold said. She pulled her apron between her hands, starting to get nervous with Patrick and Reed’s serious tone.
"Hard to make a mess when he's the only thing in here," Patrick admitted as he turned slowly, looking around the room as well. “Has anyone else been to see him this morning?”
“No. Everyone’s busy getting ready for dinner tonight,” Marigold said.
“How long was he alone in here?” Patrick asked, pulling out a notebook to start writing her answers.
“Eh…” she shifted nervously. “We’ve left him alone before. Why is it suddenly a problem?”
Reed knelt to look at the floor. Patrick was a good investigator, but some things he just wasn’t going to think to look for. Although Reed wasn't sure what he was looking for either. Circles of salt? Candle wax? Mythiric was a world that had a rich history of magic and swords that could cut stone, but all that was in the past. They’d lost the knowledge about two thousand years prior when the first queen of Durshand had purged the corrupt priests of some demon religion. His history lessons had been over five years ago and his disappointment that he couldn’t sling fireballs or summon monsters as pets had caused him to lose interest.
“It’s not a problem,” Patrick assured. “We’re just… looking into something.”
Marigold fidgeted. "Reed? What are you doing?"
"I'd say it was witchcraft, but y'all ain't got that here." He got up, dusting his hands and pants. Ten years he'd been in this world, and all that time he'd thought soullessness was just this low-technology world's way of describing birth defects. Boy, was I wrong… Apparently, inert lumps of flesh can spontaneously become complete assholes.
"What?"
"Never mind," Reed said in English, then waved it off. Correcting to Durrish, he asked, “Can you answer the question, Marigold?”
Find out what's happening on Tapas!