Galamon hefted a giant pack over his shoulder. With both his armor and the pack, he could not weigh less than five hundred pounds presently. The well-built snow elf rolled his shoulders, testing the weight. Argrave wondered if the straps would snap, given time.

“You look somewhat pitiful,” commented Argrave, wearing his own pack. It was mostly full of water and other such essentials, and quite light compared to Galamon’s or even Anneliese’s.

“It would be more pitiful watching you try and lift this pack,” refuted Galamon. He tapped his fingers against his helm. “With that crown from the ruins, this will prove no burden. Even still… low food, low water… for a long trek as you claim this to be, we are woefully unprepared. You should return more books, pack more essentials.”

“It’s like I told you—stop thinking of it as a cave.” Argrave fit his thumb beneath the strap of his backpack, adjusting it. “If you can confidently hunt for food in a forest, we’ll have no trouble staying alive and well-fed in the Low Way. Even you, strange eating habits that you have. This place has a river, and many springs. I even know what foliage is edible. Anneliese and I can munch on mushrooms if need be.”

Galamon turned his head away, unconvinced, and Argrave looked about the quaint village of Ritmont. It was a relatively humble walled town, mostly relying on agriculture for prosperity. Its proximity to a river and its position crammed between the territories of Jast, Elbraille, and Parbon made it a minor hub of trade, and the place was moderately well-developed. The roads were paved, the guards were well-equipped, and the buildings sturdy. That said, it had no lord—the people walking about were under the Duke of Elbraille directly.

Argrave had stopped here because it was the last vestige of civilization that had a connection to the Order of the Gray Owl, and he had some books to leave behind. It was costing him a good deal to have the tomes delivered back to Jast, but he was not lacking in money. There were many books to return on account of the fact that Argrave and Anneliese both had made tremendous strides in magic.

In their time at Jast and in the road to Ritmont, Argrave felt he’d covered all of his bases. He had examined the statistics on his bronze hand mirror for the first time in a while.

Traits: [Tall], [Sickly], [Weak], [Intelligent], [Magic Affinity (High)], [Insomniac], [Blessing of Supersession (MAX)]

Skills: [Elemental Magic (C)], [Blood Magic (C)], [Healing Magic (C)], [Illusion Magic (D)], [Warding Magic(C)], [Druidic Magic (C)], [Inscription (E)], [Imbuing (E)]

He’d learned C-rank healing spells in case of emergencies, C-rank warding spells to deal with lesser attacks, and C-rank elemental spells of some variety to cover all his bases as according to each element’s strengths. Anneliese had done much the same, though her array of spells was already quite diverse as she had been at C-rank longer than Argrave.

Beyond that, Argrave had learned one blood magic spell at C-rank: [Pain’s Thorn], a long-range bolt not dissimilar to the D-rank spell of the same school, [Pierce]. Blood magic was most effective at quick bursts of extreme power, in Argrave’s estimation, and until he was Black Blooded, he did not intend to learn any more blood magic.

“Will you keep with tradition and inform us of our objective only once we have arrived at this Low Way?” Anneliese asked pointedly.

Argrave clicked his tongue, drawn from his thoughts. “Awfully cheeky, but you’re not wrong. I’m tempted to do just that when you paint me as such a monster.” He adjusted the backpack on his shoulder. “Well, I’ve never been a traditionalist, and for this journey, there’s a lot to explain. We’ve got everything packed in our bags. Let’s return to the carriage and discuss things.”

They walked out the gates of Ritmont, and Argrave set his bag inside the carriage, just beside the many satchels full of the black liquid magic created by the Amaranthine Heart. He sat on the side of the carriage, while Anneliese and Galamon both stowed their backpacks in the luggage compartment of the carriage.

“Okay. Before we begin, I’m going to consult you two about this. Frankly, I’ve been torn this entire journey.” Argrave rubbed his hands together, and then eventually conjured a ward to block out their conversation for caution’s sake.

“So… there’s a coven of vampires within the Low Way. They’re mostly reclusive barring the occasional gruesome murder, but they also have something that I need. We have two options.” Argrave raised one finger. “Entreat them for the thing.” Argrave raised the second finger. “Annihilate them.”

Galamon and Anneliese had been with Argrave long enough to follow his train of thought. Galamon was the first to respond, saying, “For vampires, there is only one option. Pull them out by the root. Take no chances.”

Argrave crossed his arms. “You might see why those words are somewhat dubious coming from you, Galamon, if you introspect.”

“I am aware of the irony. My own existence is an antithesis to my ideals. I should kill myself… but I value my life over my values.” Galamon stared Argrave down. “It is a source of shame and guilt to me. But I know the beast that chains vampires just as they do, and I know also that scant few of them can be trusted to control it. Even I have faltered before the hunger… as you well know, Argrave.”

Argrave pushed his tongue against his cheek, surprised by his companion’s uncompromising answer.

Before he could offer a response, Anneliese questioned, “Do you truly believe you can reason with this coven?”

“There’s forty of them,” Argrave brought his hand to his chin. “Maybe less. Some of them may have died, hunted by the Stonepetal Sentinels. You might think such a size would be difficult to sustain, but a literal river of blood runs through the Low Way. It tastes foul, supposedly, but it sates their hunger.”

“And the answer to my question?” Anneliese pressed.

Argrave laughed. “As I’m sure that you’ve discovered, I can reason with a lot of people that seem difficult to reason with. The infamously unruly Rowe ‘the Righteous’ even confessed his admiration towards my abilities… in between calling me a ‘wormy bastard,’ or something like that.” Argrave spread his hands out. “I can do it, I think.”

“But you won’t,” said Galamon. “You won’t even try.”

Argrave frowned, and Anneliese contributed, “I am inclined to agree with Galamon on this matter. Most vampires… are not worth risking our lives for.”

“Careful. You’ll make Galamon shed tears of blood,” Argrave said, voice distant. “Alright, alright,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “You outnumber me. I submit. In that case, we’ll be working closely with the Stonepetal Sentinels. These guys… aren’t pleasant. It’s why I even considered the option of diplomacy with vampires.”

“Who are these Sentinels?” Anneliese questioned.

“They call themselves ‘the last remnants of the Order of the Rose.’ There’s truth to that, I guess. They’re knights and mages who have pledged themselves to ridding the Low Way of the abominations created by the Order of the Rose. The last sentinels against the tide of abominations. Of late, they’ve been trying to combat this vampire coven.”

Anneliese nodded. “They do not sound so terrible.”

Argrave looked off to the distance. “The Stonepetal Sentinels retained all the unpleasant traits of the Order from which they descend. They don’t like outsiders, who they view as people seeking to steal their wealth and knowledge. They’re arrogant, because even after all the abominations the Order of the Rose has brought to the world, their magic is still pretty potent. Of course, they lost most of the important magic. Faded glory, all that,” Argrave shook his head.

“They’re brash and rough on account of years of patrolling the Low Way, and they view everyone who isn’t descended from the Order of the Rose as lesser.” Argrave gaze jumped between the two of them. “Especially those who aren’t human. Unlike in Jast, where the biggest enemy was the common man, the Stonepetal Sentinels have many mages in their number, so a simple Circlet of Disguise will not be sufficient to disguise your elven heritage.”

“I see.” Anneliese nodded. “After what occurred at Mateth, they may not be especially welcoming to us.”

“True enough, if news of it has even reached them. Let’s hope not.” Argrave directed his attention to Galamon. “I hope you’ll rein yourself in, Galamon. No matter what they say, just ignore it. Just because we’re going on the Low Way doesn’t mean you can’t take the high road.”

Galamon frowned in confusion, Argrave’s idiom lost on him. He said nothing to Argrave’s warning.

Anneliese followed up, asking, “Once we retrieve this item, we will proceed into the Burnt Desert?”

“Nope,” Argrave shook his head. “Well, yes, technically, when you consider that the item we need is on the path. Along the way, we’ll fetch the Crimson Wellspring. This object is what creates the rivers of blood flowing throughout the Low Way, and is yet another ingredient to make me Black Blooded. Coupled with the item the vampires have, it’ll be three out of four. The last is in the Burnt Desert.”

Anneliese processed what Argrave had said. “One item to draw magic from life… another to create ceaseless blood—ceaseless vitality,” she connected the dots. “And this item from the vampire coven—what exactly does it do?”

“It’s a scalpel to be used for the surgery to make me Black Blooded. I’m not sure of the specifics… but it doesn’t actually cut. It modifies and morphs flesh, and even bends the spirit…” Argrave thought about it and had a spontaneous shudder. “The vampires call it the Unsullied Knife. They tried to use it to cure their vampirism—excise the beast out of them. After failing, they hoard it. I suppose there’s nothing else they could have done with it, but it is still unfortunate.”

“What foes will we face beyond the vampires?” Galamon questioned.

“Now that’s the important question,” Argrave pointed his finger at Galamon. “It’s important to know how to deal with the Guardians in the Low Way. This’ll be a long one, folks, so let me wet my throat and get comfortable…”