Jackal Among Snakes

Though Argrave felt greatly emboldened (and somewhat psychotic) after learning that he was indeed looping through time, he wasn’t quite ready to toss his mortality to the wind quite yet in reckless pursuit of answers. On his second run through things, he checked to be sure some things were really restored. The old woman’s life, for instance—and indeed, when Argrave checked, she was alive again. Argrave could see her soul, still persisting anchored in her body.

Argrave attempted to confirm that anyone trying to speak about the prince and his name died. Nearly all citizens in the city, however, coldly rebuffed him and did not engage. They ignored him, walked past him, and one simply pushed him away. After a time, though, Argrave made headway.

“You mustn’t speak of something that Good King Norman forbade us from speaking of,” a kind market-stall owner informed him. “The curious do not last in Sandelabara.”

“But it’s just you and I,” Argrave leaned over her produce and smiled. “I just need to know some of the situation. No one will know.”

“We’re never alone,” the trader whispered. “A man like you, a foreigner, whispered to my brother, once. ‘The king will never know, he’ll never know,’” she imitated. “He’ll never know… unless you tell him. The walls have ears, and the lampposts’ eyes are all watching us.”

After giving that warning, the woman dismissed Argrave. He uneasily checked the lampposts for signs of life, but thought it a metaphor when he failed to find some. The only person that seemed willing to break this rule of silence was the old woman whose name he had not learned. Knowing her survival seemed guaranteed, he asked her the question again: what was the prince’s name? This iteration, he gave special attention to how she died. He felt rather like a hypocrite after rebuffing the Alchemist for casual murder while now doing the same thing himself. Still, he felt it necessary.

The weaving connection binding all things in this distortion to Sophia acted as the old woman’s killer. It was a wave of pure energy passing through the crimson silk-like strand of power entrapping the world. Her death was eerily quick and haunting. Argrave saw her very soul shatter within her body. He followed the attached strand for a long while afterwards, ignoring the distraught son despite the pangs of guilt he felt doing so. As long as I feel guilty, I’m still human, right? Argrave told himself this again and again as he attempted to follow the power to its source.

‘Attempt’ to follow was the operative word, because Argrave miserably failed in said attempt. The command came too fast, the weave of power was too long and entwined, and Argrave simply lacked the pure mental acuity of someone like the Alchemist. He could not divine a pattern from this network of energy—a network he, himself, was now thoroughly involved in.

As Argrave walked through the city, he overheard a conversation while hidden with [Chameleon].

“—tall, black hair, gray eyes, yessir. Really, very tall. Must’ve been up to here, sir.”

Argrave turned his head when he heard himself being described. There, one of the people he had talked to earlier spoke to an ominous-looking figure in faded red armor.

“And he was asking questions?” the knight asked. “Questions the Good King forbade?”

“Yessir, yes indeed,” the man nodded furiously. “I told him nothing. Everyone else I saw pushed him away.”

“Thank you for your time,” the knight said, then pulled out a scroll to write upon.

“Will… will the Flayer Knights come?” the man asked.

The knight looked over at the man. “Praise the Good King Norman.” It seemed a command as much as a declaration.

man bowed obsequiously and said,

ever see

Argrave’s expectations, but did not enter inside. Instead, he walked near a grain silo. There, he opened a well-hidden hatch and headed down inside, closing it behind him. Argrave stared at the hatch a long while afterward, fearing to go inside. In the end,

by constant whimpering deeper within the cellar. When his foot met the ground once again, he turned and watched what was ahead. It looked like a jail of some kind—perhaps oubliette was the better term, considering most of the cells

the knights discussed, barely audible over the echoing whimpers of pain. Argrave could barely see the cell where they came

doesn’t matter. Once we catch him, he’ll tell

outfit, stepped down a staircase into the room. It would seem the place had more than one entrance. The king rolled up his right

two knights kneeled at once in total

presence of that fragile thing.

black of hair, wearing ornate armor and a coat… we peg him as a

their shoulders. Argrave saw that strange power within him surge, strengthening his grip. “Even the tallest trees sprout from

in the room where the whimpering came with a smile on his face. Soon enough, all of the knights had

the cell. Frankly, it was uncanny how much the two kings resembled one another, all the way down to child abuse. To that end, Argrave tried to

without permission from the author.

already had their fun with you? No, wait—that was

it certainly wasn’t the king’s son. The wounds were too gruesome to properly identify things, but Argrave saw neither red eyes nor brown hair. Then again, perhaps the prince took after his mother. He’d have to wait and see. Argrave resigned to listen, seeking

grabbed a chair, slowly scooting it forward as the chained prisoner shrunk away. “I could go to the clock shop, buy you some time. Another day. Another week. We’re born from our history, yet the future’s a mystery.” Argrave could see the

you… want from me?” the man croaked. “Good

my stroll. And though I shall again be alone, never a greater

screamed, Argrave watched uneasily. He’d been hoping for better information just by listening in, but it seemed that he would simply be witness to heinous acts henceforth. No—it was time to become the questioner, it would seem. Argrave positioned himself at the open cell door, then cast [Bloodfeud Bow] by himself and with two echoes. Ten seconds passed

his head in some surprise at his whispered voice. Argrave’s Domain of Law took effect even here, and he faced the king squarely while watching

picture of calm despite the bloodred bow facing him. Fear didn’t seem part of him whatsoever. Argrave was a solid foot taller, yet he felt somewhat small before the man. “You’re that foreigner my boys were describing. King Argrave?

got my own land,” Argrave shook his head, staying calm while remaining unblinking. “But see, I’ve some things I’m dying to know. Who’s

ignorant, or stupidly so? You must know me, know what I’ve done. The babes

So, you know that people die when they

displeased when Argrave said that. “Who fed you such sugary piss? I suppose that’s for me to know. Well then, rat king… prepare, resist, or tear your heart

to read body language well enough to see the king was preparing to attack. It was time to answer

dust stirred. Argrave took a step away and cast [Chameleon]. When Argrave regained vision, he saw the king’s back against the wall. His clothes were partially destroyed where the bolts of blood magic had touched, yet Argrave could barely see

“How darling. You’re a darling, a prize to be, plucked from the tree,