Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 527

Tower Master Castro of the Order of the Gray Owl had not been wrong when he told Argrave that he was not famous. He endeavored a great deal to ensure that was not the case, because he much preferred a calm life beneath the shade than one where he was cooked by the scrutiny of the sun. His A-rank ascension was not known even among the upper echelons of the Order. Castro had never needed to—and never dared to—call upon it against his foes. He had considered offering to use it for Mozzahr, but in the end, he knew Argrave would refuse. Now, times were different, and Castro’s conviction was stronger.

After living for well over three hundred years, Castro had left his mark in magic, in his apprentice Ingo, and now hoped to leave his last mark here in defense of a rising sun.

When Argrave’s eyes again fell upon Castro after a long period of silent contemplation, he knew that the decision had been made. He was proud of the young king for making the choice he viewed as most pragmatic, if a bit guilty that his death would weigh on the young man’s conscience. He had tried to impart some lessons of leadership onto Argrave, and there was some irony that those selfsame lessons would lead to his death in this moment. It was for the best.

The plan was made, but Castro didn’t need to pay much attention. His role was exceedingly simple, and so it needed no special attention. He was reminded of a conversation that he’d had with Rowe the Righteous, strangely enough.

Castro remembered sitting in his office in the tower, staring at that arrogant and tall wizard from Veiden. Then, he proposed a game for each to guess the other’s A-rank ascension.

“We’ll play word games, like proper old men. I can give you a one-word riddle. You’ll give me one in turn. We’ll guess.”

“Interesting. Go ahead,” Rowe leaned back in his chair.

Castro thought on it for a long time, then said deliberately, “Age.”

“Hmm…” Rowe tilted his head. “Limits.”

He didn’t think either of them had ever came near discovering the other’s secret, but that didn’t matter overmuch. Neither had the intention to tell the other, anyhow.

off alone through the tunnels that Argrave had explored thoroughly. They headed for the heart of the city, where the Shadowlanders appeared most densely. Argrave showed

no confidence in his tone. “Sophia’s shown to have the power to restore things, to revert them. If we could make the Alchemist turn into the Smiling Raven, and then turn him back with her power… all of

shoulder. “Are you sure it’ll work? And can you bear the consequences if you tamper with things beyond their ken, only for all to go awry?” When Argrave couldn’t answer, Castro took his hand away, his point proven. “To allow the hope of beating Gerechtigkeit forevermore roam free, to save a child that the world itself has deigned to doom… I cannot think of a more fitting end. I will join with my wife and child in the afterlife, if there is one. And if not,

that the young king would not soon forgive himself. Still, Castro felt a little glad to be taking this next step. He knew there was always more to do in life… but at the same time, he felt he had done

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the tunnels beneath the city as fast as he could, fearing that they would cave in on him at any moment. He rejoined the rest of his party just outside of the

her up and looked back toward the city. “We’ll be moving a bit quickly, Sophia, once Castro

intently, then stared at

written as clear as day as she teared up. She was clearly a clever

not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot

didn’t exist, mister Castro wouldn’t have to...” Sophia laid

Argrave to confront his own squarely. He comforted her quietly, but couldn’t muster words that felt like a lie even to himself. Anneliese joined Argrave, hovering close by as silent support. Onychinusa, meanwhile, walked to

certain that the old man can even do it?” the ancient elf asked. “I

done earlier, if only to preserve Sophia’s already battered mind—then nodded at Onychinusa. “Yeah. The

so certain?” Onychinusa looked at

and bright, finally burning out, there’s no other term more fitting than ‘supernova.’ Or… maybe there is a more fitting term. Castro

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son perished from an incurable withering illness, and his wife killed herself not long after. His magical advancement had stalled for a long, long while after this occurrence. Confronting it squarely decades after it

she might’ve had willpower enough to carry on. Perhaps more children would’ve followed, and perhaps Castro’s life would have been more fulfilling. Or perhaps if his son had not been afflicted with the withering disease to

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