When I put aside the fish fork and, drawing the pear pie closer to me, picked up a dessert utensil, Larindel's eyelashes twitched, and his eyebrows rose slightly. Ender was convinced that I was a hereditary aristocrat whose family secret was shrouded in Sacred Veil. I was completely satisfied with such a "backstory," so I decided to play along. And judging by the exam in breakfast etiquette that the elf put me through, I succeeded quite well.
"Marvelous pie," I commented after tasting the dessert.
"Just the pie?" the captain of the "Defector" inquired with a touch of surprise.
Smiling, I tilted my head to the side, shrugged, and added:
"The wine is also marvelous."
"So that's how it is?!" exclaimed the Ruby mage, leaning back in the ornate chair and folding his arms across his chest. "So, the duck stuffed with apples and shiitake mushroom soup were mediocre? Have I understood you correctly, Mr. Raven?"
In general, edgy jokes are not the best thing you can come up with when talking to an elf, who is also much more powerful than you. Usually, that's the case, but the mock boarding of the "Free Wind" clearly showed me that Larindel is one of those who appreciate harsh humor. I tested this with my remark about the "breakfast," and his reaction confirmed my assumption.
"Not mediocre," I clarified. "Ordinary."
"What about politeness?" the half-blood asked with folded hands, curiosity in his voice. "Flattering the gracious host and all that?"
"I dare to assume that the gracious host is not interested in flattery but in something else."
"What then..." his whisper is bone-chilling, making a sweat break out on my back, "is the gracious host interested in, in your opinion, Mr. Raven?"
Taunting a tiger is exhilarating, but there should be a limit to everything. Therefore, instead of words, I silently issue a command: "Achievement Visualization."
"Oh! Oh!! Oh-oh-oh!!!"
All the rich and very expensive service we were provided with at the captain's table goes flying. Something breaks, like a porcelain cup of jam. But the elf pays no attention to it. In one motion, like a cat, he leaps up, glides across the table, and stops with his legs hanging off the edge of the table on my side.
"Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!!!"
The half-blood's eyes are as big as saucers. His slender, elegant fingers touch the Sign hanging in the air near my face. I don't interfere. I even try to breathe quieter.
Five minutes of silence.
Five minutes of indescribable emotions, unattainable for an ordinary person at such a pitch, splashing in the mage's eyes.
"Pure Palm of Five Empty Fingers," whispered the elf, falling face-up onto the table and spreading his arms out to the sides.
The scene was, to put it mildly, unusual, but even in this state, the half-elf looked like perfection itself, as if he was born to lie on tables like this, as if this was his true calling, not captaining a sea vessel.
As soon as Larindel closed his eyes, I immediately removed the achievement Sign. Silence lingered as the elf lay on the table, silently moving his lips. When I grew tired of watching him, I picked up a bottle of cherry wine from the floor, which was truly magnificent, and noticing that my glass was broken, took a swig straight from the bottle. As I put the bottle down, it was snatched from my hands, and the elf began drinking from it, not stopping until he emptied it in one go.
And why, when I do that, do I look like a drunkard from a back alley, but when Larindel does the same, it looks like a poem, a ballet, a painting! Well, the question is rhetorical, he's an elf, and I am not.
The Ruby mage glances at the floor and wrinkles his nose.
"Please excuse me for my excessive impulsiveness."
As he apologizes, broken and whole parts of the service rise from the floor at the wave of his hand, hover in the air, then the cabin window flings open, and all this expensive dishware flies out into the sea.
"Whoa!" I couldn't help exclaiming.
"Agreed, it was a beautiful service," the half-elf nodded.
"Thirty-five gold pieces at the Deytran market," I clarified my exclamation.
"Huh?!" He didn't understand at first but then burst into laughter. "Either this or that, yes. A pity in any case. Do you think I was too hasty in getting rid of it?"
"Your service, your rules," I cautiously replied.
"So, I was hasty," Larindel nodded to himself and wistfully looked out the open window. Then he elegantly hopped off the table and asked, "More wine?"
"Yes!" I quickly answered before he could change his mind.
The wine from the Defector's stores was truly delicious. Unlike the piss they served in Unudo! At least a gold coin for a bottle - how could I refuse? This thought once again hinted that in this Cycle, I need to avoid Dice. A hundred percent, it's better not to cross paths with him. Otherwise, he'll get me drunk, I'll tell him everything, and after a grand booze-up, we'll find ourselves not in Ain but in Giada, the native world of demons. How would we do that? I don't know. But something like that always happens with Dice! In the "past future," I sometimes felt that Dice was the very personality that Rick Sanchez, one of the central characters in the "Rick and Morty" animated series, was based on. True, Dice is young and not as smart as Rick, but these are trivial details! And what a voice Dice has, how he plays the guitar!! It's indescribable.
My thoughts about the Shards were interrupted by Larindel. Bending over one of the chests, he opened it, pulled out two bottles, and threw one to me. Catching it effortlessly, I took a closer look: just as I thought, the same wine that was served for breakfast, awesome! I haven't tasted anything better, even on Earth.
"I hope Your Highness is not too offended that I am not offering a glass," the half-blood winks at me.
For Ain, this was a trap, an exquisite, unexpected snare, words seemingly said in passing. I smile widely. At first, I want to ask him, "Why Highness, not Majesty?" but then a better idea comes to mind.
Remembering Dice, his favorite gesture, with a sharp palm strike, I knock the cork off the bottle and, taking a leisurely swig straight from the neck, I put the drink on the table and calmly say:
"I'm from Earth."
"What?"
Larindel's eyes cloud over, a shadow crosses his face. But he does not give up; after making a mental shield gesture, the elf turns to me:
"Can you repeat that?"
What? Does he want to break through the questers' Sacred Veil? Ha! Three times. Naive. Even a mithril-ranked mentalist couldn't do it back then. There's no way a Ruby mage could break through such protection. So, trying not to burst out laughing, I repeat:
"I'm from Earth."
"Again!"
"The questers transferred me here."
"Again!"
"Questers are assholes."
"Again!"
Watching the captain suffer is painful. The mental shield is helping him, but not completely; I see sweat pouring down his temples.
"Maestro Larindel," I offer instead of repeating once again, "maybe you should open the bottle?"
The half-blood freezes and casts a glance at his left palm, in which a bottle of wine is still clenched, looking at it as if seeing it for the first time. Then he tries to replicate my move, but his palm just slips off the bottle neck. Another attempt. And again, the cork remains in place. He's about to smash this bottle, which would be a shame. But no, the elf restrains himself, though it seems like he's about to lose it and slam the bottle on the floor. Changing his mind, he throws it to me. I aim properly and strike it as needed. Quite by accident, the cork flies out of the open window. Watching its flight, the captain of the "Defector" clicks his tongue in respect. He's evidently impressed by this bottle-opening technique, and no less so than by my Sacred Veil, which he could not penetrate.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"Clearly a truly Great Family Technique, not a shred of Magic or Spirit spent!" He waves his hand, "Unlike all these Fireballs and Chain Lightning!"
Damn! He's not joking now. Well, let it be; it's even beneficial for me. I would also like to find out which family patronized Larindel before he went "freelancing," as that could be played to my advantage.
Twirling the bottle so that it spins vertically, I nudge it forward, and it slides across the table. Too bad I don't command Ice - with the simplest spell of that school, my gesture would have been much more impressive. Catching the wine, the elf scrutinizes the bottle neck but finds not a single chip on it. Of course, there is none - my "past self" opened dozens of bottles this way.
"To be honest, until the last moment, I thought that your story, Mr. Raven, was nothing more than a ridiculous prank set up by the sheriff of Unudo after he once again indulged too much in worshiping Sino." The half-blood says with a smile after taking a small sip of wine.
How elegantly Larindel hinted that, in his opinion, Ender drank himself into delirium. I couldn't do that, to say such a rude thing so elegantly without resorting to direct insults. I look at the elf and envy; I wish I had his grace! Right now, he's essentially chugging wine from the bottle, but how does he do it?!! It's captivating. He would be a star in commercials on Earth; all the contracts would be his.
In the last Cycle, I saw many elves but hardly communicated with them. It just didn't happen. Most half-bloods who have lived past their youth reach the precious ranks of the Spiral quickly; it's easier for them than for humans. But above Diamond, the Path becomes much harder for them. As far as I remember, there is only one half-blood of mithril rank in Ain; the rest are stuck somewhere between Opal and Diamond. Here, in the archipelago, deep in the backwater, Larindel, with his Ruby rank, is the strongest mage. But even in the kingdoms neighboring Pentapolis, there are not many like him.
"My mentor worships Sino," I reply somewhat angrily. "But his mind always remains clear, and he takes his word very seriously, as he is more of a follower of Kamo than Sino."
Kamo was considered the deity of oaths and kept words. At the same time, this god, according to legends, could also lie and deceive, but only when it didn't concern oaths and promises. Additionally, in Ain's pantheon, Kamo held the position of the Divine Executioner. He was also the second deity who stood shoulder to shoulder with Eyrat and his sons during the Retaliation. That battle in which Eyrat's warriors made a sortie into the demon's home world and held the inter-world Gates from the other side while The Five sacrificed themselves, forming the Protective Seals. It is believed that Kamo perished in that battle, as did Jegur and Evelan, and Eyrat himself was captured and still languishes in the dungeon of the Demon Lord. However, despite Kamo's demise, oaths sworn in his name in Ain continue to work.
"Please forgive me." Larindel gave a slight bow. "I did not mean to insult your mentor."
Well, yeah, he didn't mean to, yet he did - as if I'd believe that. Anyway, I'm not in the position to demand an elaborate apology from him. So, I return his smile, indicating that the incident is resolved.
"Your Story." Detaching himself from the wall he had been leaning against, the elf sat back in the chair. "Did I understand it correctly?" He looked me in the eyes and continued. "You recently, just less than a week ago, raised your rank from Copper to Iron?"
"That's correct."
"And you must undergo a new Elevation within three weeks, or you will die?"
"A small correction: it's slightly less than three weeks now."
"Accepted," the elf nods. "I must admit, even for families that are not lacking resources, three weeks is a short time for the Elevation of heirs. However, if your family or school is wealthy, rising from Iron to Bronze in three weeks is not a Story worthy of being called a feat."
"You're right," I respond calmly.
"But!" His smile is pure charm. "As I understand, you are currently limited in resources?"
"Correct, I don't even have a single gold coin."
"And that, in turn, is not enough to buy even one dungeon. Or to purchase enough combat alchemy to compete in the Arenas of the coastal cities with any hope of success." He wet his throat, not taking his eyes off me, and continued. "In a few weeks, the Pure Tournament will begin in Tries, under the auspices of the Alchemists' Guild, and the winner will be awarded a set of Metal Elevation Pills." I didn't know this and began to listen even more attentively. "However, the award ceremony is scheduled for a date later than three weeks from now. You won't make it in time."
The half-elf got up from the chair and, walking around the table, stood very close to me. His eyes radiated inquisitiveness.
"I am curious," he began, drawing out his words. "How you will achieve Elevation in such a short time, given your resource constraints. Honestly, I consider your situation hopeless."
"That's your prerogative." My calmness is genuine.
"How intriguing!" He put his palms together against his chest in a childlike manner as he said this; quite charming. "Your Story promises to be thrilling." And after a short pause, he added. "Or sad."
"And both outcomes suit you because either way, it's a Story. But in one case, it's an epic, and tragedy in the other."
"Oh! How astonishing! You understand!" He laughed and then suddenly turned sad. "Few people understand me."
"You are wealthy; buy me a dozen Iron dungeons, and there will be no tragedy," I suggest.
"No." Genuine disgust flickered on his handsome face. "Are you suggesting we spoil a Story?!!"
"That would be sacrilege, yes." I can't keep my composure due to the tension, and my laughter breaks through.
Unexpectedly, it is joined by the far more melodic mirth of Larindel.
"Do I understand correctly," I ask after regaining my composure. "You intend to be just an observer?"
"Observer – that's the wrong word," the Sidhe half-blood corrects me, "rather a grateful spectator."
One might question whether there is a real difference, but it seems there is for him.
"So, just a spectator? Don't you want to be a part of a Story?" I can't help but try.
"That would be vulgar," the elf grimaces in response. "The 'Defector' will transport you anywhere within the Bastarga Archipelago; that is the extent of my intervention."
"Well, that suits me!" I nod. It's not a free ride, but what he is offering is already much more than I had.
"And for every additional Story, every time you surprise me, I will reward you," the elf assumes a proud stance. "I will reward you generously!"
"Reward with what?" I decide to be audacious. "I would like specifics."
The elf reaches for his wide silk belt, and his fingers grope for something; a second later, a crystal bead rolls across the table toward me. I catch it and raise it to my eyes. A single-use spell. If I break the ball, it will be inscribed on my Core's shell. And it will vanish after a single use. I peer into the mist that fills the bead.
"Wow!". This artifact contains the spell "Fire Tornado." An itildine-colored inscription. Eleventh circle. Single-use. But once is enough to burn the 'Defector' or any ship on the archipelago to hell!
You can't use this in a dungeon; it's a weapon of mass destruction. The question is, do I need it?
On the one hand, this is a truly powerful spell. I don't think even Larindel himself could deflect it, as it's two ranks higher than him. A "Fire Tornado," only one step above this one, effortlessly turned the Blood Legion's frontline manipula to ash right before my eyes. True, that squad consisted of lesser demons, but still. On the other hand, why do I need it right now?
I asked myself this question and realized it was stupid. What do I mean by "why"? It won't be useful now or in the foreseeable future? So what? Besides, I have something to surprise Larindel with right here and now.
Moreover, the elf is looking at me so haughtily at the moment, confident that apart from the "Pure Palm of Five Empty Fingers," I have nothing to show. Otherwise, he wouldn't have offered a spell capable of destroying his beloved ship as a reward. So why not catch the half-blood off guard with this?
"So, if I surprise you, it's mine?" I clarify.
"Yes!" He smirks. He doesn't believe I have something.
"In the name of Kamo?" I corner him like a dachshund chasing a cunning fox.
"In the name of Kamo!" he eagerly falls into the trap headfirst.
"Maestro Larindel, could you please sit in the chair."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
"Alright." The elf answers a bit nervously but still takes a seat.
I approach the half-blood. "Achievement Visualization!"
"Oh! O-oh!! O-oh-oh!!!"
The elf's fingers reach for the adamantium inscription of the Sign. But I don't let him touch it and remove the visualization.
"Monster Slayer!" Larindel's lips whisper.
And his astonishment is understandable: this achievement in Ain can only be obtained by defeating a boss or monster at least an entire Spiral circle above you. Not just killing with someone's help, but actually "defeating" it personally, by oneself. In all of Ain's history, there wouldn't even be ten heroes who achieved this!
While the elf is in a state of shock, I squeeze the crystal ball in my hand. A light chime. And I feel how an invisible brush, seemingly held by the experienced hands of a divine calligrapher, draws the spell inscription on my Core's shell. At the same time, the elf opens his eyes and sees the crystal dust on my palm. There is a whole spectrum of emotions on his face. And rage prevails.
Without taking a step back, I withstand his gaze. "Fire Tornado" is ready for activation. It's mine, in the name of Kamo! And if he dares to object, we will die in a fiery whirlwind.
Both of us will perish.
I'm ready. And he sees it.
Larindel's shoulders relax.
"Bravo!" His mood changes again. His eyes radiate admiration and genuine joy. "You are astonishing, Mr. Raven. And it's not just your truly great achievements. Not only them. You yourself are incredible!"
Without letting my guard down, I take a step back, then another. No, I understood correctly; there won't be an attack. Trying not to show my relief, I walk around the table and sip my wine.
"Mr. Raven." The elf's voice is filled with light mirth. "I beg you, have mercy! If you have anything else so astonishing, save it for tomorrow. I won't be able to handle another shock like that in such a short time."
"And do you think I have something else?" I innocently ask.
"Oh! Now... Now I am not sure of anything when it comes to you, Mr. Raven," the elf jumps up from the chair like a twelve-year-old boy. "And that's MAGNIFICENT!" He shouts at the top of his lungs, causing the windows in his cabin to tremble.
No, enough. It's not worth showing my other achievements that could genuinely surprise him. And I'm not sure that a non-earthling is even capable of seeing the Signs of "Understanding the Unsaid" and "Moving Against." Most likely, they will be hidden from the locals by the Sacred Veil. And to surprise the elf with the "Shadow Leader" Sign, something tells me that's not the best idea. Definitely not the best, yes.
I want to ask a new question, but I am interrupted by a knock on the captain's cabin door.
"Yes!" Larindel answers irritably.
"Captain!" Comes from the other side of the door. "We will anchor at Quad in an hour. You asked to be informed!"
"Well," the half-blood gets up and turns to me, "you want to disembark on the island immediately, right?"
"Yes."
"Then I won't distract you from preparing."
Actually, it doesn't take me long to prepare, but his company has already worn me out considerably, so I nod in gratitude.