Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 417

Argrave felt a brief sense of the totality of Vasquer’s perception extending deep into the mountains and the depths below. He could see the cavern which Anneliese had retrieved her A-rank ascension, and could see the marble city below that. Nothing stirred in their streets, and beyond a certain point, the sense of vision ended. Even as he viewed this for a few moments, his head began to throb.

Argrave pulled his hand away from Vasquer and brought it to his head to tame the pain. This had been his primary purpose in coming here—ensuring that the depths were watched even without active management. Now, if anything were to arise, Vasquer could bring the issue before Elenore and the army mounting outside the city. He intended for Blackgard to be the most well-defended portion of the kingdom.

Beyond that, Argrave had come here with many questions—large questions—but they were questions that no one would truly have the answer to save Gerechtigkeit himself. Just because Vasquer had endured one of the cycles of judgment did not mean that she knew all of the answers. Even Argrave himself only knew so much even with the complete access and repeatability granted by Heroes of Berendar.

Whether he asked where divinity might manifest, or whether Gerechtigkeit himself might manifest where Argrave remembered, Vasquer offered no answer beyond guesswork. Argrave knew where certain gods would appear on the continent… but that had been in Heroes of Berendar, of course. Experience had proven that this logic might be tossed to the wind. Still, the ancient snake’s insights did solidify some of the things Argrave thought to be true.

He was certain that Gerechtigkeit would manifest here. But beyond that, all else of what he knew about the coming troubles could be tossed to the wayside, to be recreated against from the ground up.

Argrave looked at Orion. “Do you want some more time?”

The prince lowered his hand from the snake’s scales and shook his head. “I can move when you wish, Your Majesty.”

Argrave was about to walk away, but he stopped. Some of the things that he’d been grappling with surfaced in his head—the constant drive forward, the confidence, the strange and active person he’d become. Anneliese had been discussing this with him in length, but… he found he sought another’s opinion. One who could see all of what lay inside his head, not some.

With this in mind, Argrave touched Vasquer once again, baring himself utterly. Instead of reassurance and comfort—the constant from this matriarch of theirs—what came to him was amusement. A memory came to him. It was a time in the distant past, when a man with a marked resemblance to Argrave faltered because he felt unfamiliar confidence. Finally, when he embraced it, his failings turned to success. There was a large difference between earned confidence and unearned confidence.

With the comparison made between himself and a hero of legend, Argrave felt strange. He pulled his hand away and turned around.

“I guess it’s time to get going.”

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was the power of shamanic magic—a power undoubtedly to be unleashed on the surface in short order,

he answered his own question as he

trailed off, her eyes falling

of Veiden, and the whole of it had been shielded by a wall of blue ice that never melted. Far from evoking déjà vu, it evoked shock; half of this seemingly

shouted at them, even when they had been halting for a solid minute by

arrows of Ebonice took aim at them, but neither moved to strike. There had been a

Argrave said with a small smile, looking upon this force of Veidimen. “A

or so Veidimen was the greatest threat he’d endured. Now he felt calm even as one of them raised a horn up to call for reinforcements. He waited for tensions to calm somewhat before speaking… but when his plans were

blue eyes, clung to the wall, peering down at them.

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it made Argrave’s heart beat uncomfortably fast, proved to be a good thing. They were taken inside the city in short order, ignoring most ceremony or security. They

after the time that passed. He looked as old as ever—tall, bony, and bald, the S-rank spellcaster was much

where tribal chiefs once met. Now, it was the home to Patriarch Dras. They’d asked, but he wasn’t here—the man liked to travel frequently, touring his vast

settled upon Rowe. “Your dragon seemed

Rowe narrowed his eyes.

that wall?”

groaned in displeasure.

thinking he’d misheard. “Galamon? As in, my good friend Galamon? Last I

they seemed colder than ice. “Do you think an S-rank mage

did break. And Galamon broke it?” Anneliese stepped

ended up on the wall. Galamon’s

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