"Look at him,” Rowe said, stepping towards Argrave. Elaine and the people with her shifted cautiously beside the shipment of illusion spellbooks. “Goes white as a sheet when he sees me.”

“That’s just my complexion,” Argrave returned.

Argrave wanted to grit his teeth. Rowe being here did not exactly scream peace and prosperity. He was an unpleasant zealot with the power of S-rank magic to back his zeal—it was a wonder Argrave didn’t enter to find that a fight had broken out with Rowe being the obvious winner. It was even more a wonder that Dras would send him here at all.

Argrave dismissed his thoughts as the silence extended between them. “What brings you to sunny Jast? You must’ve missed me—that’s my first guess.”

“Oh, aye, I missed your stupid jokes and vacant stare,” the aged snow elf said harshly, walking stick echoing through the room as it impacted against the stone. “Complete tripe. I came here on order of the Patriarch. Some things to do in this city of vapid morons.”

Elaine stepped forward and crossed her arms. “Are we going to move this—”

“Shut up,” Rowe said coldly, turning his head to Elaine. “Speak when spoken to.”

Elaine’s expression turned to one of wroth, but Argrave held out his hand and grabbed Rowe’s shoulder.

“Be nice,” Argrave said quietly. “Might be you’re the top dog in Veiden, but you’re only one of three S-rank spellcasters in this city. Even if your dragon came with you, I can’t guarantee you’d walk out of this harbor alive if you cause trouble.”

When Argrave mentioned that Rowe was an S-rank spellcaster, Elaine’s rage turned to a steady caution. Rowe turned his head back to Argrave.

“That true?” Rowe grumbled. “Your kind live barely a quarter the time we do, but you’ve more high-ranking spellcasters?”

“Using magic of higher ranking extends one’s life, and we’re far more numerous than the Veidimen,” Argrave shook his head. Argrave knew that Rowe was much stronger than the two S-rank spellcasters in Jast, but he did not care to let him hear that. “This is what you would have gone up against had your invasion continued. What I did for your people was a good thing. I spared you an inevitable retaliatory genocide.”

“I don’t care to hear you praise yourself,” Rowe shook his head. “I’ll cause no trouble. I’m smart enough for that, at least. But that one isn’t S-rank,” he pointed his walking stick to Elaine. “Her magic pool’s only a bit larger than yours. Why should I respect her?”

“I’m an exceptional case. Compared to most her age, Elaine is quite talented,” Argrave shook his head. His magic had been increasing rapidly as he paid his debt to Erlebnis. One’s magic capacity grew when expended, and Argrave expended his consistently to accommodate the Blessing of Supersession. Combined with rapid replenishing from the Amaranthine Heart, it stood to reason he progressed faster.

“On top of that, she coordinates the Order of the Gray Owl here in Jast. She’s the only reason we have these books.” Argrave frowned. “It’s common sense to offer respect when you don’t know who someone is. Why are you so socially incompetent?”

“Socially incompetent?” Rowe repeated. “Few people are worthy of respect. Even fewer are non-Veidimen. For instance,” Rowe stepped past Argrave, coming to stand before Galamon. “Galamon. It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” responded Galamon simply.

“The new warriors lack the steel with you gone,” Rowe said. “Spiritless. No passion. None of the other commanders come to your ankles. Had you been leading at Mateth, the city would have fallen.”

Galamon did not react to the praise, stating, “I wish I had been. Veid decreed elsewise. Such is fate.”

“Hoh?” Rowe glanced at Argrave. “So, you’re tired of this dreg?”

“No,” Galamon shook his head. “He is the second I would serve not because of obligation alone. I believe he deserves your respect.”

Hearing Galamon say that, Rowe closed his mouth and took a deep breath. When next his white eyes fell upon Argrave, there was a subtle difference in his emotion—or so Argrave thought.

Rowe walked to Anneliese next. He sized her up. “Seems you’ve improved your magic, if only just. You’re… a bit skinnier, perhaps. This one cannot feed you well, can he?”

She nodded. “Argrave is a capable leader. The road has not always been easy, but I cannot blame the leader for a rocky path when that is precisely what I expected.”

Rowe nodded, and then turned back. “Alright.” Rowe walked back to the two Veidimen slowly. “So, Elaine,” he said the name harshly as though it was difficult to pronounce. “Argrave is here, as you were waiting for. You’ll give us the illusion books, finally, and end this pointless waste of time.”

“I will.” Elaine snapped, and her two men carried the box over. Once it was set down, Rowe pried the lid open with his walking stick and removed one of the books, perusing it. He checked a few more in silence, grumbling, and then took his stick back. The chest shut.

“It’s sufficient, after what this one pilfered from us,” Rowe said with his lips upturned. He glanced at the two beside him. “You two, do your thing.” The elves with him grabbed the box and moved to leave the room. Argrave and company stood aside for their passage, and they left quickly. Argrave watched them head for a small vessel that did not seem to be Veidimen in make at all. That was fitting, at least. They were trying to move unnoticed.

“You’re satisfied?” Argrave stepped forward, staring down at Rowe.

“I seldom am,” Rowe said. “But I need nothing more from the torch over there,” he referenced Elaine’s red hair. “Hothead, that one. All my pride, tenth of my age, hundredth of my accomplishments.”

“She seemed fine to me,” Argrave disagreed, looking at Elaine. She had her arms crossed, feet tapping quickly against the ground.

“We spoke earlier. I used my restraint.” Rowe rubbed his eyes. “Bah. I’m too tired for indignance.” He looked up at Argrave. “We need to speak again soon regarding the interests of Veiden. Where can I find you?”

“Perhaps it would be best if I led you through Jast,” Argrave said delicately. “I can’t well leave an old man to wander through these dangerous streets alone. Someone might try and mug you, and you might immolate him in honor of Veid. This place isn’t like that winter wonderland you call home.”

“I’m not some animal that mauls things that come near me, boy,” Rowe shook his head. “I can be discreet. I’m no lackwit. Just tell me where you live.”

Argrave sighed. “The Knight’s Pawn. It’s an inn.” Argrave gave him its rough location. He reached into his satchel and pulled out an iron circlet—it was what Argrave had been using to disguise his appearance. “You should take this.”

Rowe eyed it. “What is it?”

Argrave put it on to demonstrate. “Muddles the features. Very common thing in this city. Snow elves are not well-liked here. It would be best if you did not stand out.”

“Even hunched over and old, I tower above most,” Rowe rebutted. “Not worth it.”

“Take it,” interjected Galamon quietly.

Rowe glanced at Galamon, and then begrudgingly put the Circlet of Disguise over his bald head. “It’s cold. Unpleasant.” The aged elf shook his head. “Whatever. I’ll be waiting,” Rowe said, moving to leave.

“I haven’t slept. Even if you’re waiting in my room, I’ll do that first,” Argrave shook his head.

“So lazy,” the aged elf muttered loudly as he walked out the door.

Those words ignited a fire of anger in Argrave’s chest and his vision narrowed, but then he acknowledged the absurdity of the claim. Argrave shook his head and laughed heartily. “Watch your step, old man!” he shouted after Rowe. “Don’t forget your dentures!”

Elaine stepped closer to their party, arms still crossed. She let out a sigh, staring at the doorway Rowe had left. “You antagonize everyone,” she noted. “Why?”

“Antagonize? It’s just banter. I like making people laugh.” Argrave paused for a moment, then added, “Mostly myself, granted.”

“I think…” she paused. “I think that I was unduly predisposed against you. I apologize if I was brusque or dismissive in the past.”

“Fancy words.” Argrave commented, then shook his head. “You weren’t, not especially. Even had you been, I don’t care. I’m used to abuse. If there’s one thing I can take, it’s a tongue-lashing. Not that you did, of course,” Argrave added.

Being a wiki editor was a very thankless job. Argrave would spend thousands of hours working on writing some obscure details for a game, and the only time people would ever reach out was to correct some minute mistake he might’ve made—and oftentimes, they weren’t even right. Argrave sighed, wondering why’d he’d done it at all.

“Used to abuse, huh. Childhood memories?” Elaine inquired.

“Something like that,” Argrave replied vaguely.

“I’ve heard tell of King Felipe,” she said. “His trueborn sons are treated harsh enough. I can’t imagine what a basebo—” she trailed off, hesitant to finish the word. “Well, Rivien and I were street orphans. Some parents… sometimes I’m glad I had none rather than terrible ones.” She stared off into the distance. “It made us value independence early, at least. Left the both of us with paranoia—you can’t trust anyone on the streets here. Rivien likes to mock people, and he never fully trusts any besides me. I… hold grudges.”

Argrave glanced over. Glad to see my swaying turned out to be worth the effort. She’s opening up. I think this’ll be useful.

“So your nobility comes from your own efforts? You two don’t hail from some ruined house restored to its former glory?” Argrave asked despite knowing the answer.

“Yes,” she said pridefully. “Rivien and I earned our surnames with our own two hands. We can’t claim a storied lineage dating hundreds of years back.”

“Very admirable,” Argrave flattered.

“Few other nobles in Jast agree,” Elaine said. “To them, we’re upstarts.”

“Upstarts… until you’re standing above them and they need something from you. That’s how it always is.”

She laughed. “True enough.” She looked to Anneliese. “Something I should mention. I sent a letter to the council in the Tower of the Gray Owl recommending your… friend, Anneliese for membership. With both me and Castro contributing, I suspect the council will name her an honorary Wizard of the Order. A full member is a bit far-fetched.”

“Really now?” Argrave’s eyes widened. “That’s… thank you very much.”

“Why are you thanking me?” she said. “It should be her that does,” she pointed at Anneliese.

“It was my idea to begin with,” Argrave said before Anneliese could speak. “And it’s mostly so I won’t be expelled for teaching her spells.”

“I see. You do much for the people you call your friends.” She nodded. “Consider it a favor for the business you’ve thrown my way. Those enchanted things from that elven tomb you gave me—I’ve got them in the right hands. In time, their worth will be evaluated. I can’t promise it’ll be quick. You said you were here for three weeks? So, two more left? I don’t think they’ll be done by then, feasibly.”

Argrave nodded. “That’s fine. If they’re not done appraising by that time, I’ll leave them in your hands. In time, I’ll come back and get them. Might be months. I’m a busy man.”

Argrave was not particularly concerned about the result. The majority of the items he knew could be found in those ruins were not especially jaw-dropping—the king’s crown was the most notable item, and Argrave planned to hold onto that for a very long time. This venture was merely squeezing the most wealth he could out of what he did in the elven tomb.

Elaine’s green eyes gazed at him unwaveringly, and she spoke seriously, “That’s a lot of trust to show to the sister of a smuggler.”

“Oh, you’re right. On second thought, let’s cancel all of our plans and never speak again,” Argrave said sternly, then broke into a chuckle. “Joking, naturally. Unless you plan to steal them all, I think it should be fine.”

Elaine pursed her lips, and then finally smiled. “You’re a very strange person.”

“So I am often told,” Argrave nodded. “Now, I have a temperamental old elf to wrangle in the morning, and I need my beauty sleep to retain my razor wit. I bid you goodbye,” Argrave waved, walking towards the door.