“There's this apothecary a few streets down... A real prodigy, I tell ya ! The man's a top-notch alchemist, gets orders from the Palace's physicist and all that. He even found some remedy against petrification ! They could have driven off the grey dragons from the western mountains with the help of this stuff, no doubt. Hm ? Why didn't they, you ask... Yerr' slow in the head or somethin' ? They couldn't make the petrified guys drink the stuff, so it was useless. I wonder why no one thought about that beforehand... Idiots, the bunch of 'em. Err, where did they get the idea that it would work if they drank it in the first place, you say... How would I know !? It's just what everyone's sayin' !

-apothecary”

* * *

Azcheron

“I wonder why Anton was so grumpy.”

Erin looked at him with large, exaggeratedly opened eyes, reeking of disbelief and fake shock. Damn it, he realized, she probably caught on my act this time. He sighed, thinking that he now had to be more careful and tactical in his acting.

It was a weapon that required a calculated usage. As were finely crafted and enchanted arrow heads – of a devastating effect, but limited in number. To be wielded with caution.

An archer should never shoot too often from the same position, else he'd risk becoming predictable and getting caught.

They had departed for the western mountains after biding farewell to Anton. He managed to get them fresh horses for the trip, and so overall the old scholar was helpful despite his bad mood.

“I'm actually surprised he wasn't much more annoyed by your mess,” Erin said seriously. “I expected him to be angry.”

“He was fairly angry, though. And rude. He did grab me by the collar and shake me like a bandit stealing from an innocent traveller.”

“...Bandits don't do that, do they ?”

“I don't know.”

“I'm fairly sure they don't. They just stab you and take what they want.”

“You can't be sure.” He furrowed his brows in an offended frown. “What's with this accusatory 'you' anyway ? No bandit ever stabs me. I always behead them before we come to that point.”

Erin cleared her throat. “Hrm... Okay. I don't believe Anton was in the wrong, you know ? Because you threw the capital in panic, not mentioning the plotting and assassinations you brought on him.”

“I didn't force him to look into my clan's past ! That's his own fault.”

Azcheron couldn't believe it. Would he be used forever as a scapegoat every single time a scheme or a war occurred ? Even though earlier he was bragging about how he was the cause of all these shady events... Revelling in his own hypocrisy was something Azcheron didn't mind doing.

“Yeah... Because you don't understand why he'd involve himself in all this in the first place.”

He snorted. “Oh, I'm curious, please enlighten this idiot Azcheron.”

Erin stared at him, probably evaluating the degree of sarcasm in the Saint's request, then simply shrugged as if she decided he was being an ass on purpose. He wasn't though, but he didn't care so much that he'd insist. He'd look like an idiot, for real.

Better let her think that I'm smart and snarky than revealing that there are things I do not know. Appearances are mightier than the truth ! I'll take glory and style over honesty and a guilt-ridden conscience any time !

“The truth is overrated...” he muttered. Would that be the same for his clan ? Only the future would tell.

“What ?”

“Nothing. How are the winters in the west, by the way ?”

She seemed to think for a bit. “Bad, I guess ?” she eventually answered.

Azcheron could only blame himself. They'd arrive at the western mountains right on time for the early hints of winter. If they stayed there too long, the snow, the ice, the cold, everything would make the return trip harder and more dangerous. If they were lucky enough not to be trapped in the mountain...

The smart thing would have been to stay at the capital and spend the winter there, as they did the previous year, but that would have required of Azcheron to wait calmly for his answers in the middle if a city full of people who'd sell their own mother to kill him. The Saint himself knew he was in no disposition to keep a low profile in such an interesting environment, and while he was a bastard, he wasn't vicious enough to drag Erin in that sort of challenging situation. The risk that they'd both end up dying was very present.

Maybe I'd have done it if it was someone else. But Erin ? Can't bring myself to do that, somehow.

“You'd die with me, if it came to that ?” he said suddenly.

“Wha-...” Erin looked genuinely confused, this time. “Err... Are you planning to commit suicide, or something ?” she eventually asked, unsure.

He smiled to himself. So that's what it takes now to mess with you ? Rather extreme.

“Clearly not. I enjoy life far too much to do something as idiotic as abandoning it.”

“Yet you're a master when it comes to idiotic and suicidal ventures,” she muttered before raising her voice. “The hell you're saying, then ?”

“Well...” he paused. “You remember when we were fleeing from Oscar and the golems, back then ?”

“I said I wouldn't leave without you.”

“Just wondering if you still felt the same.”

“Let me think.” Erin put her finger on her lip. “There were assassins, bandits, Karia's army, a siege... Now we have half the country praying for our demises and we're going to the west once again, except it'll be winter this time. And I'm still here, am I not ? Though I don't want to die, mind you.”

Azcheron simply shrugged. I suppose it's an answer like any other.

Why would he ask her that kind of thing, to begin with ? If felt out of character. That, and the fact that she was starting to see right through him... He had to get himself together. And he had all the time he wanted to do that. The trip wouldn't be as long as the first time, since their horses were faster than Jormas' caravan, but it'd still take a week, at least.

Speaking of mounts, Azcheron was beginning to really enjoy travelling by horse. This past half-year had been filled with days and days of riding, and though it had been hard and tiring at first, he could greatly appreciate the gain of time allowed by a horse.

Jormas' caravan is fine and everything, but it would have been unbearable to do the round trip to the Free Cities. We would have taken at least a whole year, I bet.

The next step would be finding something like a teleportation spell, or a self-summoning magic.

Efficiency at its best ! When heroes are busy questing around and slaying dark mages, they should not have to deal with poor roads and tired horses. The Empire is really behind on these matters. Do they not care about their heroes' working conditions ?

Or he could simply tame a flying beast. A dragon, for example ! Now, wasn't that a smart idea ? He'd have the advantage over the other heroes. Yes, he'd crush the competition if he had a dragon of his own to make his travels easier. Surely Azcheron could ask such favours from the draconic creatures, were they to become friends.

“We'll have to befriend dragons,” he said to Erin, turning his head toward her.

She stopped and blinked slowly. “Could you... stop that ? You've been doing nothing but suddenly spouting nonsense and inept things.”

“Alas ! Tis the anxiety getting to me. Will you forgive me ? I'm so afraid of what we may discover there, that I cannot help but search for topics of conversation...”

“Right.”

They kept riding in silence for some time. Only the sound of the hoofs against the muddy road, and the usual jingling of Erin's plates and weaponry. Around them, the leafs had already left the trees, the green summer plants had been replaced by the grey, wet grass.

“Seriously though,” Azcheron said, “I wonder. What will it be ? What do you think ? Hm ?” Barely waiting for her answer, he continued. “Well I-”

“Yeah,” she interrupted, “I kinda got the feeling you were more interested in telling your own opinion rather than hearing mine.”

“Bah, you don't really mind, do you ? I'm not even sure you care about what we're about to learn.”

“I do, actually.” Erin shook her head and sighed. “I care about the potential dangerousness of this truth you're so eagerly seeking.”

“Oh, are you perhaps worried about me ?”

“No,” she said while giving him what was, no doubt, her kindest smile – therefore a fake one. “I'm thinking about innocent bystanders, friends, family and so on. I'm thinking hard about them, because apparently I have to do it for the both of us. “

“You make me sound like an indifferent person.”

“My point. Don't you care about Anton's safety, for instance ? Who knows in what mess we'll be dragging him – again – once this alleged 'dirty secret' is out.”

“I wonder about that,” Azcheron said, raising a brow. “Ever read these cat and mouse novels Anton had in his house ?”

“Of course not,” she growled. “Who do you take me for...”

“Ah, right. Well, among the bad ones, there's this trend I've noticed. First, the hero has to be taught the sword or the mage arts by his grand father or some elder, senile fellow.”

“Is this your stealthy way of saying that Anton is an elder, senile fellow ?”

“Hm ? No, he's not that senile. I think. Anyway, as always, the hero antagonizes a bad guy, often a dark sorcerer or a corrupt noble. They hunt each other down, run around the continent or the country, something of the sort.”

“What then ?”

“At some point, the hero takes refuge in his old teacher's house, to receive mighty advice or a convenient artefact. Then he leaves, but soon enough, the villain comes and fights the old man !”

“And ?”

Azcheron shrugged. “And the gramps dies, of course. For melodramatic purposes. It gives the hero a reason to get angry and go on a revenge rampage. People love these things, apparently.”

“Ha ! Rather, I think you love these things,” she scoffed. “You know too much about those so-called mediocre novels. I find you less and less credible when you claim that you find them awful. Admit it, you enjoy them.”

“You're simply jealous because you don't read as much as I do. You're illiterate. You prefer to swing that huge sword around like a brute.”

“Piss off. Why were you talking about that ?”

“I was just thinking about all the bad guys that would attack Anton in order to hurt me.”

Erin sighed. “I don't think they do that, in real life.”

“Still, my very own grand-fatherly figure, Anton, could easily whack the crap out of anyone coming at him.”

In fact, it already happened with the assassins...

“Hey, Erin. Instead of having an epic duel with me at the end of my tale, wouldn't that be funny if the evil overlord happened to die in a fight against Anton ?”

She stared at him. “Evil overlord, huh... You mean you, patron god of irresponsibility and chaos,” she finally grumbled.