“All of that work to return without finishing?” Ganbaatar stepped to Argrave, concerned but with anger held tightly at bay. “What was that conversation?”

Argrave watched the ship docked with knights and his cousin aboard, then looked to Ganbaatar. Behind, Moriatran and Artur moved off, speaking to each other as they spoke of the battle they’d just endured. Argrave waited a moment, then conjured a ward around himself and the elf.

“Kirel Qircassia is in league with another god,” Argrave said to Ganbaatar flat out.

It pained him to phrase it in such a way, deflecting blame from himself… but what he needed most was Ganbaatar’s cooperation. He could practically hear Dimocles saying, ‘You know best, Argrave. That’s why you deceive this man.’ But then, shame had never been in Argrave’s repertoire.

“What in the blazes does that mean?” the wood elf stepped closer. “Why are we here? Why are we standing about? And… ships?”

“I’m going to fix this,” Argrave said point-blank. “But I’ll level with you—things are desperate. We’re on the backpedal.”

Ganbaatar took a deep, angry breath through clenched teeth. “The backpedal,” he repeated.

“I need to get to the dryads,” Argrave continued. “And I’m hoping you can help with that.”

“Do you realize what you’re asking?” Ganbaatar gestured towards him. “The dryads are the sole thing kept secret, kept protected. Elves can move, relocate, build new homes… but the dryads are linked to the forest, bound by their roots. To give that up…” he clapped his hands together. “I give up everything, everyone.”

“I don’t need to engage with them so much as the place they’re taking root,” Argrave continued. “You’ve been, haven’t you?”

“I was eight years old. Most everyone that goes there was,” Ganbaatar looked to the side. “Blindfolded, carried miles… no way I remember where it is.”

“But the place you did see—did it remind you of anything?” Argrave gestured.

Ganbaatar didn’t need to think long before answering, “It was like that place we met with the elven gods. Those hanging gardens, that colosseum…”

“Ancient elven ruins,” Argrave told him. “Well… ancient elven style, at least. That’s irrelevant. I need to go there, Ganbaatar. Please, help me.”

“You don’t know how to go there?” the elf stared with his red eyes pointedly.

“I don’t,” Argrave shook his head. It was half-true. He knew where it was on the map, but the place was accessible only by cutscene, even with the game stretched to its limits. He didn’t care to chance risking his life to defy that principle. The dryads had protection in place.

Ganbaatar looked off to the side, debating with himself. Then, with his mind settled, he said idly, “The Supreme Myriarch and his Kheshig know. Contacts among any of them are pointless. The myriarchs know, too. The only contact I have among them is my mentor, Batbayar, but…” he looked at Argrave. “Is it bad? This… this change in the battle, I mean.”

Lies came to mind, but even Argrave wasn’t that boldfaced. Instead he said truthfully, “There’s been betrayals. Chiteng. Myriarch Altan.”

Ganbaatar looked panicked—not normal panic, but a soldier’s panic, as though he’d dealt with this a thousand times before. Argrave was impressed despite the terrible situation. “They they’ll all die,” he said distantly. “Betrayals like that don’t happen without certainty from the opposition. And given the way you had us abandon our journey to Sarikiz…”

Argrave looked at him, feeling the guilt ahead of what he was about to do. “If I could get you to talk to Batbayar… could it be done? Could you persuade him to take me to the dryads?”

“While he’s commanding troops in desperation? Not a chance,” Ganbaatar shook his head.

Argrave looked up, steeling himself to admit he brought this upon everyone, unwittingly or not. Then he looked back down and said, “And if it wasn’t in desperation? If it was a meeting in peace?”

Ganbaatar frowned at Argrave. “How would you make that happen, dire as things are?”

Because I’m on their side, Argrave thought. And no matter how he moved the words around, he couldn’t find a way to put it diplomatically. This man had come to him for help, and now it was his time to admit that he’d ruined it.

#####

“Are you sure you head the right way, Your Majesty?” Orion inquired as Argrave’s gaze wandered the place.

“No. Quite frankly, no, I’m not sure,” Argrave said in slight irritation. “All the landscape’s been turned around, churned by the roots like raw cookie dough, all thanks to Kirel. These trees are big and impressive, but there’s so damn many of them that they all look the same. It’s been two years since I last played the game, and memory isn’t forever.” He looked back at Orion, whose concern leaked past his battered golden helmet. “I’ll get it. Don’t worry.”

“I think I found it,” Anneliese told Argrave, scouting with her eyes instead of her bird in a rare occasion. “Big tree, slightly hollowed stump, cavern hidden by roots… it has been disturbed, but it remains largely intact.”

The three of them moved alone, separated from the rest of the party. Argrave had the others doing as he bid—and ‘as he bid’ mostly meant doing whatever to draw no suspicion from Erlebnis. Though he sent Nikoletta along to Elenore, he didn’t have high hopes that his sister acquired any shamanic magic from the search parties sent to loot valuable locations in Vasquer. Locations that had it were in short supply, and not particularly high priority. It was midgame loot, and so Argrave only intended to acquire it before the midgame began—particularly, the point where spirits became as common as grass.

Ganbaatar had agreed to help with surprisingly little fuss. Maybe Argrave was delusional, but the elven warrior seemed to almost feel some relief when he heard of Argrave’s mistake, like it was some sign he was truly human. Regardless, Argrave hoped Batbayar would be as accommodating toward his apprentice as he had been in Heroes of Berendar. Elsewise… the plan wouldn’t die, but it’d become riskier.

The three of them made it to the place that Anneliese had noticed, and upon looking at it some familiarity dawned. Argrave could say the same about most of the places on this continent, so it wasn’t quite special yet. Nevertheless, they proceeded deeper in. And when they did, Argrave knew he was in the right place.

The short cave ended quickly with a stone statue that was all too similar to many that Argrave had seen before, be that in Heroes of Berendar or in this life. The stone tablet and the statue itself had been displaced, and Argrave blinked at a loss at how to proceed.

As his mind settled upon an answer, he opened his mouth… speaking to Erlebnis’ emissaries once again.

“You need to set up a meeting with Altan and the myriarchs, set up a conversation. I’m not letting thousands of elven refugees come into my kingdom without a proper plan,” Argrave said decisively, feeling half a madman as he talked to a cave wall. “You said they’re retreating. Let me facilitate that.”

“That can happen,” came the answer at once, from behind.

When Argrave looked back Orion had already pulled back his fist to punch the emissary at the cave’s entrance. The prince paused when he saw it didn’t move, stepping back towards Argrave cautiously.

“It can happen,” Argrave repeated, stepping past them both. “And how does it happen organically?”

“It’ll need to be away from the coast. Away from those boats of yours,” the emissary continued, its thin lips speaking precisely. “Your party could screen the retreat. As I understand, your queen’s A-rank ability revolves around absorbing magic,” the emissary looked to her.

Anneliese crossed her arms, somewhat guarded as she looked at the abominable creature. Though Argrave shared her discomfort the emissary knew of her power, Argrave answered on her behalf, “Yes, that’s the gist of her ability.”

“She arrives. We lessen the intensity of our magic—not enough to draw suspicion, but enough for her to endure. She endures, buying time for Altan to give a convincing retreat. Then, you may reconvene with her wherever you so please.” The emissary waved his hand grandly.

Argrave gave no answer, ill at ease with placing the woman he loved in the line of fire. Practically speaking, that would be the right move. Personally viewing the battlefield gave them the chance to survey the betrayal firsthand, make some evaluations about the fate of the elven gods and the future of this resistance plan of his.

“I can do it,” Anneliese answered.

Argrave looked at her, wanting to argue. Upon seeing the fire in her amber eyes, he surrendered and said, “If she’s fine with it… then I am too. But given you’re volunteering Altan, that would mean the Supreme Myriarch is already dead?”

“And all of his Kheshig, yes,” the emissary nodded.

Argrave took a deep breath and sighed. “If that matter’s settled, can I ask a favor from my newfound friend?” He used Dimocles’ language to see if the collector was a sophist or a messenger.

“You are on our side,” the emissary said, not quite answering the question.

“Part of the reason I came here… other than securing the loyalty of the elves… it was to secure the assistance of the dryads, too,” Argrave looked on unflinchingly. He had never told Chiteng this part, and so he divulged it now to earn trust. “I need that assistance for my long-range planning.”

The emissary stared blankly, giving no response.

“I think I have a way to get the elves to give it up—more specifically, to take me where the dryads live. I understand this might interest Erlebnis,” Argrave said, almost venturing.

“This forest will die, Argrave,” the emissary said plainly. “We have promised it to Kirel Qircassia. Nothing can be spared. This must be his territory, and he must be our ally.”

“But the knowledge needn’t die with the forest,” Argrave shrugged, hoping to draw upon Erlebnis’ emotional compulsion to preserve knowledge. “If I can get a line with the elves… if they can take me to the dryads… I could share that with you. You, meaning Erlebnis.” He took some steps closer. “As a matter of fact, why not have Onychinusa come along?”

“She is in battle,” the emissary said.

“Battles end, don’t they?” Argrave cracked a smile.

“And as escorts go, we emissaries are better suited,” he continued passively.

Argrave raised a brow as if surprised, then bluffed, “You’re welcome, certainly. Didn’t think I’d get the privilege.”

After half a second of silence, it continued, “But a mortal touch would be better suited, given that this mission rests on the elves breaking past the dryads’ barrier. We are not so welcome in mortal societies. Onychinusa can be called away, certainly.”

The question was half a probe, and Argrave almost smiled when the test came back positive. For this plan to work, Onychinusa was vital. She had to come along. As the emissary had said… a mortal touch was necessary.

One last matter remained, however.

“Then I’ll see how it plays with the dryads, and stay in touch,” Argrave held his arms out. “And on that note… another thing.”

“The Lord can be a good and reasonable friend,” the emissary said, caution hidden in the words—Argrave shouldn’t ask for something unreasonable.

“If this does work out, I want to kill Dimocles,” Argrave said, his voice low.

The emissary tilted his head. “Why?”

“Intuition. Knowledge of who he is, what… attracts his attention,” Argrave explained. “I don’t think he can be trusted to be genuine and loyal, and given his unusual tendencies, I’d like to wipe him out.”

The emissary remained silent. Then, it waved its hand, answering neither affirmatively or negatively. “Bring your people to the elven army.”

And just as it had come, so too did it disappear, likely returning to Erlebnis’ realm by way of the nearby shrine. Argrave looked to his companions, and then made for the exit. Argrave didn’t know how thoroughly Dimocles was connected to Erlebnis… but he hoped that this request of his would strengthen the ancient god’s belief he intended to be true in this alliance. And if Dimocles should die—a happy accident.

In his mind, Argrave came to know something. He was in this. No matter how this ended, he was involved. But Argrave… he wasn’t quite content wallowing in self-pity, reflecting on the guilt he felt for bringing this upon everyone. Maybe he’d have crumbled a year ago, back when he had not experienced so much. But times had changed since then.

Argrave was well ready to con a god. Not through using other gods like hands, but through using only that obtained with his wit and knowledge. And secretly, though he wouldn’t tell this to even Anneliese… he did it in part because with this route, the consequences of failure all fell back to him alone. Nikoletta would tell Elenore the situation, and if he died attempting this… his sister would be ready to handle it all.

Whatever the case, he would suffer no gods lording over his people.