Argrave stood at the stables with Anneliese, watching as the people there tended to the horses that had been drawing their carriage. She held a packet in her hand.
“To think your handwriting used to be so much neater,” Anneliese ruminated, biting her lip. “What is this strange script? It used to be so pretty… now I can barely read it, these days.”
Argrave scoffed. “Is that the point?”
“No, no, of course not,” she said, flashing a teasing smile at him. “Infusing blood magic into all spells… you really had your mind set on magic that caused you pain from the get-go, hmm?”
Argrave said nothing in response, looking back to the tower. “Wanted to seek Castro for counsel about [Blood Infusion], but…”
Argrave heard some commotion from the entrance to the Tower of the Gray Owl, and turned his head to see what this was all about. There, Castro walked, someone walking by his side with quite the hunch.
The Tower Master walked toward them, and Argrave moved to meet him halfway. His eyes wandered to the man that was coming with, and he saw Ingo. The Tower Master’s apprentice was in quite the state—his eyes were bloodshot, his pale skin was drawn tight against his bones, and his baby blue hair was thin and wispy. He shivered as though it was cold, but Argrave felt the weather was rather warm here. Ingo looked near death, quite frankly.
“Ingo wishes to meet this Alchemist. But I won’t allow whatever happens until I’ve met him myself, Your Majesty,” Castro said insistently yet respectfully. “I have my own carriage. We shall follow.”
“Are affairs settled at the Order?” Anneliese asked cautiously, her good-natured teasing vanished now that others were here. “This will not be a short journey. We have much to attend to before the matter with the Alchemist.”
“Yes,” Castro confirmed. “The Order is in capable hands.”
Argrave nodded. “Then… let’s get ready to go.”
#####
Their stay at the Tower of the Gray Owl was short, and then the march toward the Low Way of the Rose began again. As Anneliese said, there was much to attend to along the path—before they delved into the Low Way itself, the army, well-trained by Veidimen, cut their teeth against various necromantic abominations plaguing disparate territories. The devastation was not as extreme as Argrave recalled from Heroes of Berendar—but then, this was because he had taken efforts to mitigate the impact of the civil war and further warn people of the coming tumult. This tour served to lessen the burden placed upon the people of Vasquer, raising public safety and the royal image. Sometimes, blessings did come in pairs.
Despite the stemmed impact of Gerechtigkeit’s possession of the necromantic creations, their purge of evil was a good appetizer for what was to come. Argrave watched the army and their disciplined assault of various Order of the Rose strongholds, and he was well-pleased with the results. There were a few injuries, and one extremely unfortunate soul passed away from a collapse due to structural instability. But as was stipulated when they joined, their next of kin would receive generous compensation for his passing. Still, hearing of the first death reminded Argrave of why he was so ill at ease with raising and commanding an army.
As the journey stretched longer than Argrave was comfortable with, he felt the need to visit with Castro. Argrave left his royal carriage and joined with the Tower Master when they had stopped to camp for one night. The Tower Master sat before a fire beneath a tree, wearing plain gray robes as ever.
Before he was seen, Argrave asked, “How is Ingo faring with the journey?”
Castro glanced at Argrave and Orion behind him, and then back at his apprentice. He laid there beneath a tree, covered by blankets and all he needed to be comfortable. Despite this, Ingo shivered intensely, grinding his teeth.
“He, uhh… he looks rather…” Argrave wiped his hands together.
“Bad, yes,” Castro nodded, then looked up at Argrave. “Fret not. The journey did not cause this. It is just his… blessing, as you called it.”
Argrave glanced at Orion, who guarded him diligently and then back at Castro. “Can I sit?”
“Kings shouldn’t ask, no?” Castro smiled genially yet bitterly. “Be my guest.”
Argrave obeyed, sitting down and staring at the fire. “Been a while since we talked. Thoroughly, I mean.”
“For you,” Castro agreed. “For me… time moves dreadfully slow, yet uncomfortably fast.”
“You’ve seen many more years than I have,” Argrave pointed out. “Guess it must feel different.”
“It?” Castro repeated.
“Living,” Argrave clarified as the fire popped.
“Not quite. Life can be alarming in its tedium, no matter how many years pass me by. You start to see cycles. Cycles in people, attitudes, nations, economies… collective memory is rather short.” Castro shrugged. “The people that become S-rank are obsessed with magic. I think… I think without it, not many of us would live as long, even with the lifespan. The obsession keeps us grounded. Not sane, but grounded.”
Hearing of cycles reminded Argrave only of Gerechtigkeit, and so he sighed. Ingo groaned, and when Argrave looked over he was clenching his fists hard enough to draw blood. Castro moved to remedy the man’s pain. It was easy to see Ingo as a child—helpless, innocent-looking, frail… but he was a man grown. And he’d been dealing with this all his life.
In time, Castro rejoined Argrave, sitting without a word of sorrow or complaint. Argrave watched him.
“How do you do it?” Argrave asked. “No—how have you done it? Take care of him, all these years.”
“Because of responsibility,” Castro responded simply.
“Moral responsibility? I can understand that. But I never hear you complain,” Argrave pressed.
“Not moral,” Castro shook his head. “It may be moral, but that isn’t why I do it.”
Argrave waited for the Tower Master to elaborate. Castro eventually caught onto his burning gaze, and sighed.
“Your father wanted to exploit Ingo’s abilities to their fullest, even at the young boy’s detriment—well, Ingo was young at the time,” the Tower Master began reluctantly. “It wasn’t possible, necessarily, but… that’s what the king wanted. Opposition arose from many parties. I found myself in the center of this political storm—and yes, it was political. It began as moral, but it ended political,” Castro declared. “And as conclusion… I saved him.”
“Noble,” Argrave commented.
“Untrue,” Castro disagreed. “Ingo was… a tool. Everybody wanted him—the ability to see whatever one wished of this reality was a gift unlike any other. That was why it drew attention. But after more details came out, he was forgotten. He was another part of another cycle, and his time came and went.” Castro looked to Argrave. “Even if I let Ingo go, no one would bother him, necessarily. But I had to keep him safe and healthy.”
“Why?” Argrave pressed.
“Leadership… it wears you down,” Castro said slowly. “Everything and everyone is a constant pressure bearing down on you. At the start, you’re young, vital, youthful—you can meet the tests. Maybe you get confident after handling the first blows ably. Still, every time your balance gets a little worse. But as I said—it’s constant.” The tower master looked at him. “What happened in the Bloodwoods, what happened at your parliament; these tests never end until you do. Trial after trial, just waiting for you to stumble, to succumb. People know what’s prudent, by and large. Most don’t do it. These cycles people fall into—they spin like whirlpools, drawing people in. Then they’re caught. Maybe you swim out, but probably not. Your struggles make the cycle stronger, drawing others into it. And then… you all sink.”
Argrave digested the words in silence, then asked, “How does that connect?”
“Ingo… I viewed him as a reminder of this constancy. A rock to cling to as the tides of life bear against me. That time where I saved him was stressful. I made emotional, and political, decisions. And as a result, everything changed for that boy. I needed to be reminded of that.” Castro looked at Ingo firmly. “The things you do make ripples enough to overturn the greatest vessels in this lake of life—and leaders must take care not to forget their actions echo quite far. So I believe, at least.”
“But you said he’s like a son,” Argrave reminded him.
“My son died much like Ingo at the age of eight,” Castro said with a calmness unbefitting what he said. “His mother killed herself shortly after.”
Argrave slowly turned his head to Castro as the old man searched the flames for something. He didn’t seem an all-powerful spellcaster, then. He was an old man who’d seen enough of life to be where he was.
All Argrave could say was, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re very kind, but it was hundreds of years ago. Though I suppose it still sticks with me, given that I care so much for that boy.” Castro said, then looked at Argrave. “I apologize. Old men tend to ramble. I sought to impart a lesson about leadership, but it went a little beyond that.”
“Don’t apologize,” Argrave said flatly. “Though… if you care to make it up to me…”
Castro laughed quietly. Even after sharing such a sad story, he seemed as even-mannered as ever. “Is there something more you need?”
“I need more guidance,” Argrave said. “I shot up to A-rank, but I don’t feel I’m rounded. You’ve fought thousands of battles and even more wars. I mostly just throw powerful spells around until they break things. And I need guidance on how to achieve [Blood Infusion],” he summarized quickly. “I’d volunteer Anneliese, too, but she’s honestly so far beyond me it’s embarrassing. Bottom line: please, teach me all you can. I’ve been doing this all alone, but I’m not sure I can anymore.”
Argrave had thought to ask this of Rowe, but decided that the old snow elf would be quite possibly the worst teacher. He didn’t care to have some overbearing taskmaster lording over him like some tyrant. He much preferred the old man who could destroy cities, but was also gentle. Hence, Castro.
Argrave knew that Castro had some magic traits, separate from A-rank ascension or anything else. They were small, constant modifiers that optimized magic somewhat. Argrave hadn’t experimented much with getting traits: he recalled both gaining and losing [Insomnia], and quite obviously obtained [Black Blooded], but beyond that things were either too incremental to be worth considering or too difficult to obtain with all he’d taken on.
Now, though, with Mozzahr coming… Argrave needed both practical training and whatever margins he could squeeze out of his ability. Perhaps Castro was the key to that—perhaps not, as well. Regardless, Argrave sorely felt he needed guidance. He had bought a sports car without fully understanding how to drive it, and didn’t care to crash. He had raw power in abundance, but he didn’t have finer manipulation.
“You hope to inherit three hundred years of dedicated study during this short journey?” Castro raised a bushy brow.
“…maybe the highlights,” Argrave said optimistically.
Castro laughed once more, and then looked to Ingo. “Long ago… Ingo thought you might be joining him as an apprentice. It seems he turned out right. It is a shame he cannot be present enough to appreciate it.” He looked back. “Alright, Your Majesty. I can… educate you. And your wife, if she is similarly willing. But if you sought encouragement… you’ll find none here. Instead, it’s my hope you feel very discouraged.”
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