Though Dimocles offered his hand to close the deal, Argrave did not move to take it. They persisted in awkward silence for moments, seconds stretching into minutes.

“Do I have something on my hand?” Dimocles pulled it back, studying it with his blue-green eyes.This content is © .

“You say you know so much about me,” Argrave spoke past him, staring down Dimocles. “Do you think I’m someone who likes to look good, or be good?”

Dimocles lowered his hand, returning Argrave’s gaze. “I’m thinking you look rather like you want to hit me.”

Argrave ground his teeth. “Your words, not mine. That’s been the case most of this conversation, looking back.”

“Well…” Dimocles’ face went cold, some of its perennial artificial warmth fading. “You should know that you’re not the only one with the Blessing of Supersession. And unlike you, I’ve been at A-rank for quite some time.”

Argrave’s hot blood grew a little colder. “So, the veneer of friendliness goes away?”

“I would just hate for you to make a mistake,” Dimocles answered back. “This isn’t a game that forgives mistakes, Argrave. And when a king errs, it’s his subjects that suffer.” His eyes wandered to Anneliese. “Your queen—she’s going to make some critical observations. Namely, that the emissaries are no longer bound to the shrines as they used to be. And that the Lord can personally manifest in this realm. With those two facts at hand, you should know that the Lord is… emotionally compelled to keep you alive. The same cannot be said for those near you.”

A deep-seated rage almost made Argrave make the mistake Dimocles was warning against. The thought of his closest companions being hunted by the monstrous emissaries made him nauseous. Perhaps that was precisely the point. He’d grown desensitized to personal danger, but regarding others? Perhaps Erlebnis did have a better grasp on Argrave’s psychology than he gave the god credit for.

Anneliese grabbed Argrave’s arm, drawing him from his stupor. He saw her Starsparrow sitting atop the ward he’d conjured, locked outside.

When he looked at her face, he somewhat knew the answer she’d give. Nonetheless, she provided it, saying, “The elven gods are fleeing from… a swarm of Erlebnis’ emissaries. They rain down S-rank spells endlessly. It…” she swallowed her despair, but it had already seeped through. “They seem to be retreating capably, but… and the elven armies…”

He turned his head to Dimocles, who smiled like a customer service representative even now. He asked Anneliese quietly, “Block him out.”

Anneliese conjured a ward within his, dividing Dimocles from their conversation. The man didn’t look offended.

“How bad is it?” he asked her.

“They rain down S-rank spells, Argrave. You saw Mateth, the destruction from Castro’s spell… he may be a special case, someone who is especially powerful, but that matters not. They destroy. They tear up the land with their magic—spells I have never seen, let alone heard of.” She kept a strong face because Dimocles watched, but Argrave knew hopelessness when he heard it.

Argrave was angry enough he couldn’t let despair claim him. He insisted, “Kirel Qircassia has been here far longer than Erlebnis, if indeed he’s breached through in this area. Even still, he died to the elven gods all the same. Erlebnis can be pushed back, beaten.”

“Like I said, it matters not,” she disagreed. “Erlebnis is not making a personal showing whatsoever. His emissaries are the sole reapers, and there is much sewn for them to harvest. Regardless of if their bodies are weak or strong, they have the Blessing of Supersession just as you do. You told me of that boundless strength pooling within you upon its use, do you recall? They have that same strength, Argrave. All of them.”

Argrave stared at her amber eyes, his jaw shut tight. Seeing her grounded him, softened him, and made him lapse back into rationality. That was all he needed now—rationality. Anything for an opening, a way out.

“God damn it, Anneliese,” he looked to the side, where everyone else stood. Nikoletta, Duke Enrico, Orion, Mina, Vasilisa, Artur—they all watched with concern, while the Veidimen stood guarded. That was who Dimocles threatened. “I knew all the way back at the start of this. I knew to stay away from the ancient gods. I knew. I knew that nothing good would come of flaunting my knowledge. Now Erlebnis knows I know things, and he… he’s taken interest in me.”

“It was inevitable. If not anywhere else, the royal summit exposed your insight to the whole world. And we cannot know Erlebnis’ purpose in coming here.” Anneliese shook her head. She almost reached out to comfort him, but their position between all parties made her hesitate. “And I… I should be saying ‘god damn it,’ you fool. I cannot read Dimocles. I cannot help you. If I could tell you where he lies and where he speaks truth…” She sounded powerless and frustrated.

“You couldn’t read the Alchemist, either,” Argrave pointed out. “And their abilities are similar. Similar, yet different. [Polymorphism], that A-rank ascension… I know its ins and outs.” He sighed. “Do you remember why I refused Erlebnis, all that time ago?”

“This is my fault. My A-rank ascension pressured you into seeking—”

“You didn’t pressure me into anything. You tried to pressure me out of it, but I didn’t listen,” he reminded her. “Come on, good looking. I thought you hated self-pity.”

Anneliese managed the smallest of smiles even now.

“I refused him because I’d seen what Fellhorn had done, and I knew what the gods were capable of as a whole. This Divine Feudalism… I knew I couldn’t let a powerful god get a foothold on Berendar. I just… I thought I had more time.” He let out a deep sigh. “I’m not as smart as I thought I was. But supposing that everything Dimocles said here is true…”

“There are gaps,” Anneliese cut in. “As I said, the elven gods have managed a retreat. They are not slaughtered,” she pointed out. “They persist, even if on the run. I cannot say how long such a thing will last. And more importantly… would you say Kirel Qircassia is inferior to Erlebnis, in terms of strength?”

Argrave blinked. “His emissaries are definitely stronger. But one on one? Kirel might be stronger, fully manifested. And he has his Qircassian Coalition. That’s another strength.”

“Then why would Kirel agree to only seize the Bloodwoods at Erlebnis’ request?” she asked. “It… may be possible that it is true. But at the same time, it is suspicious.” She ran her fingers through her long white hair, falling back into the habit of braiding it. “Even if it is true, the deal hinges on Erlebnis’ support. Even if Erlebnis truly does expect nothing from you, he would increase your reliance on him. Kirel Qircassia’s ‘friendship’ hinges on Erlebnis’ presence. The exiled elves—if indeed that was no lie—would be led by Altan, someone with undoubted loyalty to Erlebnis.” She took a breath as her rapid explanation came to an end. “In the end… everything he offers is but string. If you accept his offer, he will string you up and puppeteer you.”

Argrave listened to all of what she said, dividing things into an orderly chart within his mind. Seconds passed as she let him think.

Finally, he asked, “Anneliese… no matter what choice I make… you’ll be with me, right?”

“I will die with you, Argrave.” Her eyes, once nervous and unsteady, were immediately steadfast. “I will advise, disagree… but your life is my life.”

At the unconditional support offered in this hellish pit he found himself in, Argrave teared up somewhat. It faded as he reminded himself of his responsibility. “Same here, little lady.” He looked to Dimocles. “Let’s go back.”

Anneliese dispelled the ward, letting Dimocles back into the conversation. The man waited patiently as ever.

“Welcome back, you two lovebirds, to the land of the living. Have you had ample time to think about things?” He let the silence hang, as neither Argrave nor Anneliese offered a response. “All you have to do is nothing, Argrave,” Dimocles reminded him. “Take a stroll home. Bask in the changing kingdom, sit on your throne… the lord has done you a huge favor, ridding you of a headache. Though this may hurt to hear, there’s no shame in getting some help from a friend who loves you dearly. Being too proud for charity is a bad thing. When you’re sick, or down on your lu--”

Argrave interrupted, dismissing, “If all I have to do is nothing, then I don’t think we have anything further to discuss. You made it clear from the beginning that I’m already on your side, right? So, there’s nothing more to talk about, nothing to agree about.” He raised his hand, dispelling the outer ward around them. “You were very helpful.”

Dimocles looked at Argrave, and then at all around him. Finally his gaze settled back ahead, and he smiled and said, “Then I suppose I’ll leave.”

Argrave waited for Dimocles’ back to turn. When he did, Argrave’s hand started to move, but froze after seeing something.

There was a hand on the back of Dimocles’ head, its palm facing Argrave flat. Two eyes watched just below this hand. As he watched Dimocles cautiously, using his senses to take note of things… the magic power within Dimocles exploded. Argrave felt like he was looking at the Alchemist once again, seeing so much magic exuded from his very being.

It took him a moment of cautious paranoia for Argrave to realize what that was—namely, he had triggered the Blessing of Supersession. Dimocles didn’t seem to have any intent to attack—indeed, he only walked away deeper into the Bloodwoods calmly. The hand on the back of his head seemed ready to conjure a spell at a moment’s notice, and the eyes watched him. He was being just as cautious as Argrave was, it seemed. He had triggered the blessing to be ready to defend from any attack.

Argrave ran it through his head. B-rank blood magic—especially his B-rank blood magic—could break A-rank wards, no matter how many of them Dimocles could conjure. But could he kill him? The man would certainly have ways to escape. And once he escaped, word would get out that Argrave was not a cooperator.

He’s a dangerous bastard, Argrave’s inner voice said. Do him like you did Induen. Stomp his skull in.

Calm prevailed. Lashing out without preparation would be stupid. Argrave had endured a hit from Induen many months ago. His jaw had been shattered, and he’d been warned and threatened to cooperate. That had been a meeting of the same atmosphere as Dimocles’ conversation.

And where was Prince Induen now? Rotting in the ground, his ambitions turned to dust. There was a lesson in that.

Argrave suppressed his indignance, suppressed the feeling that he might not get another chance. Dimocles wasn’t the problem—Erlebnis was the problem. And so the collector walked in the Bloodwoods, fading out of sight.

Silence persisted for a time, and Argrave slowly turned. Everyone looked confused and concerned, but they could tell by body language alone that couldn’t have been a simple conversation.

Realizing he’d need to speak first, Argrave told them simply, “We have work to do.”