Stromwell entered Benjamin’s study once again, closing the door behind him as he did. To his displeasure, his brother still wasn’t present. The bet was still on then.

He strode over to the desk, sitting himself in the simple leather chair beside it. Looking down at the black book, he curled his lip while reading the title. ‘Scaled Down: The Dragon’s New Perspective’. Bleh. Just the first two words would have sufficed.

A cursory look over his brother’s notes was all he needed to make his conclusion. This was to be yet another trite story of unrealistic character growth and redemption. Contrivance after contrivance, all to make some sappy feel-good ending even possible. Stromwell could scarcely imagine who would want their name attached to this. An exaggeration since he knew just who would, but he couldn’t get the appeal. Really, he’d be doing him a favor by showing him how a professional would handle such a premise.

But before he could do any of that, he had to secure his win. It would take even more time out of his busy schedule, but he’d do it with minimal changes. This win had to be absolute, devoid of any accusations of unfair play.

Not only was his dignity on the line here, but the lesson he sought to teach as well. Benjamin, dullard as he is, would only focus on how he was cheated. He’d completely ignore how his loss was brought about by his own decisions and learn nothing. Tough love is always a balancing act; if performed wrong, you do more harm than good.

That didn’t mean he would just stand by and watch. Things were going too slow for comfort, so he decided he would speed up the process a tad bit. In-universe manipulation was fair game as far as he was concerned.

Speaking of, it was high time he read up on the results of his little divulgence to that dragon fellow. Sure, it may not have ended things just yet, but perhaps he had sewn the seeds for later.

He flipped through the pages of the book to where he had left off. Once there, he started reading.

“Flame Arch,” Benjamin said as he mimicked the spell he had been shown. Perfect.

“Well done, well done indeed!” Kinsoriel complimented as he circled around his pupil. Like a dutiful student, he continued keeping his attention on the spell. This flame was now his, or in other words, it was his creation. If it were to harm him, not only would he see if that rule was still working, but he would also be keeping his word. It took him a while to come up with this exact idea, but it would be worth it in a few moments.

Once he was sure that Benjamin couldn’t see him, he raised his claws and pressed them together. Snap.

The effect was immediate. Like a startled prey animal, Benjamin jumped back a bit and produced a high-pitched yelp. It seemed his control over the spell was slightly more than the dragon estimated he would have, staying airborne just long enough for it to miss. Kinsoriel grimaced with disappointment as he looked at his plan sputter out and die.

“What was that for?!” the jumpy little deathbound asked.

“I believe I already told you, didn’t I? Concentration. Magic will be useless to you if your foes can break your focus, and they will certainly try. Along with this, I also wanted-” Kinsoriel paused. How should he say this, both truthfully and not? Hmm… “-to see something from you that I didn’t.” That works.

Seeing his servant-to-be calm down confirmed he had worded it just right. “Okay then. I guess I’m sorry you didn’t see whatever it is you wanted to see?”

Something about getting an undeserved apology didn’t sit right with him. “You needn’t be,” he said, refusing the deathbound’s words.

Oh come on, is that all? Stromwell flipped forward another couple of pages to see if anything else had occurred. He read of the dragon’s late-night encounter.

Looking down on the sleeping form of Benjamin, the dragon felt a compulsion. More than that, a raw need. He had to know whether or not he was still impervious.

He knelt closer. With a ‘shink’, he prepared his index claw. Draw blood, that’s all that was needed. There would be no mark once he finished; not even the gods would be the wiser. And could it even be called harm if it wouldn’t wake him?

The deathbound stirred, halting his hand. Kinsoriel grumbled. This was his fault. A servant should be forthcoming with their master. There shouldn’t be any need for a test like this, especially when he gave his word.

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He stopped again, but the reason this time was an internal one. That’s right, he had given his word. That might not mean much to a mortal, but what did it mean to him? It meant he would uphold what he said at all costs. It was a way of life for all Dragons.

What was he even doing here? Dragons, real ones at least, followed their code. Was his curiosity worth spitting in the face of those who came before him? His parents lived and died by these morals and values; who was he to even consider this? If he were to do this right now, he’d be no better than that orange bastard.

With a huff, he stepped away and returned to his slumber, for real this time. There were bound to be other opportunities, ones that didn’t require him to sully himself. Besides, he should be focusing on bringing that loathsome kobold of a dragon to justice anyway.

Oh for the love of, what was that? Just how much of an idealist did Ben make you?

He had to put the book down and take a moment to himself. With a flick of the wrist, he took out his treasured wood panel pen and started flipping it around his hand. It had taken longer than he would ever admit becoming proficient, but it showed its worth in times like these. A little pen trick here and there was usually just what he needed to keep his wits about him.

It shouldn’t be any surprise that the dragon barely budged to his temptation. If anything, Stromwell should have expected this from one of his brother’s main characters. That’s where he had miscalculated. Getting him to consider it was victory enough anyway; he could work on that angle further down the road if needed.

But he needed something for the here and now. If he were Benjamin, how would he build someone up to be so stubbornly moralistic? First of all, he’d give them some dime-a-dozen ‘sad’ backstory. Can’t alter anything that’s already happened though, so what else. Well, there always seemed to be an ensemble surrounding his focus character.

Speaking of, didn’t he see one such group in his brother’s notes? He flipped back over to that section. A satisfied look found itself on Stromwell’s distinguished face. That’s it. The tower topples when the supports fail.

After putting his pen back in its rightful place, he flipped the book to the back. He touched both of his palms upon the ever-changing index.

“Immerse.” He said with authority. In the blink of an eye, he vanished from the Infinite Library and delved into the world his brother had made. The city that he found himself in was your standard fantasy tripe. Cobblestone this, brick that, vendors here, guilds there, and so on. While he could harp on the lack of creativity on display, he had neither the time nor the audience.

No matter, he had something more important at hand anyway. With the book as his guide, he made his way over to the heroes guild.

After going through the double doors, he looked around. All these background nobodies that populated this city filtered about as he looked. He paid them no mind, eyes peeled for a very particular character.

There. Sitting alone in a corner booth was his first target, Alister Gethrold. He had a long beard whose color had started fading, and purple-hued eyes, reading from a tome with laser focus. And of course, a big pointy hat. Stromwell couldn’t for the life of him get why his brother insisted on the things, but it certainly made finding him that much easier.

Having found who he was looking for, Stromwell went over to the bathroom stalls. Not the most pleasant place to manifest, but it was without any nearby eyes. With a quick thought, he would now be visible to any others. He appropriated the tasteless style of those around him, now wearing the colorful gear of a messenger, complete with a stupid hat. He also gave himself a little increase to his musculature; just to sell the look of course.

Once done, he exited the stalls and leisurely walked over to his target. Upon casting a shadow over him, he glanced up at Stromwell. “Can I help you?” he asked with a slight edge to his voice.

“Request for you sir,” Stromwell said with false enthusiasm. He put a hand into his bag, creating said request from nothing. Smiling as he pulled it out, he handed it to the man. With an annoyed expression, he broke the wax seal and began reading the letter within.

“Alright, let’s see here. ‘Mr. Gethrold’ yada yada yada, ‘services requested’, ‘bountiful rewards’, ‘sign on bonus’.” He looked back up to Stromwell with a raised eyebrow as he read the last part. “Sign on bonus eh?”

Fishing his hand back into the bag, he produced a pouch full of incentive. It was filled to the brim with gold that had not existed just seconds before. The pouch produced an audible thunk as it was dropped to the table. The man, Alister Gethrold as Ben had named him, stared at the pouch with bulging eyes.

“That’s… quite something isn’t it?” he said as he hefted the pouch in his hand, inspecting its contents carefully.

“Will you be accepting then?” Stromwell asked with his arms held behind his back.

After another few moments of ogling his newfound wealth, Alister nodded. “I’d be stark raving mad to turn something like this down.”

Giving a light bow, Stromwell asked one last question. “Will you be needing transport? I was told that you would be needed post haste.”

Alister waved his hand and grabbed his belongings. “Not today sonny. I’ve been there before if you’d believe it. Once I finish my arrangements here, I’ll be there faster than you can say ‘farewell’. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He started to walk off, before turning around and pulling something from one of his many pockets. “Oh, and this is for you, my boy.”

He flipped a shiny copper coin over to Stromwell, who barely managed to catch it. The professional was slightly offended at the unimpressive gesture, but still bid the character goodbye.

Once nobody was looking, he made himself unperceivable once more, taking on his preferred appearance. He watched with amusement as the aging wizard hurried over to a guild mistress with an energetic stride. Now this was more like it. Greed and ambition made for far more realistic motivators than some corny ideals.

Opening the book back to the index, he began the next step in his meddling. One down, three to go.