Early in the afternoon, Dain set off from the northern end of town with Anisa and Yasmin in tow. The three of them quickly slipped off the beaten northern road and into the Elderhush Forest. The town’s clatter dulled behind them, and the blue-tinted mist swallowed them, forcing them to stick together lest one of them found themselves separated by the twisted trees and the rugged root-scattered terrain.

  He took point. Yasmin may have the passive-type monster-repelling perfume hooked to her belt—the stuff puffed a clean, bitter-herb scent every minute or so for the small cost of point-one mana regeneration per hour—but he was leading the way with his prosthetic slung over his back in a form-fitting satchel meant for transporting arrows. His Altar was slung over his back, too. He just couldn’t stand the thought of leaving it behind in his room for over twelve hours, so he was probably just going to carry it around everywhere.

  It’s a bit heavy, but nothing a few more levels in might can’t handle.

  Besides, his new cane was quite useful for rugged terrain like this. Since he only had one arm in front of the girls, having a walking aid to stabilize his footholds was better to have than not.

  Yasmin paced behind Anisa with two folded tents and the heavier food-sack slung across her broad shoulders. The steward’s dress moved cleanly with her, and he’d called it right: she was handling the rough ground rather well. Anisa, meanwhile, did her best to pretend she wasn’t struggling with the undergrowth while very obviously struggling with the undergrowth. Though her satchels were empty so they could carry owl heads back to town, her crossbow on her back was weighing her down significantly.

  He made a mental bet with himself that a few hours in, she’d be asking Yasmin to help her carry her empty satchel as well.

  But at least she’s not moaning or whining about it.

  I don’t know if I could take care of a spoiled princess.

  “Step there,” Dain said, pointing with the cane to a dry knob of root as he glanced back for a second. “Not there. That patch is sponge-moss. It pretends it’s solid ground until it wins the bet, so you’ll sink through the moss and get wet to your knees.”

  “Thank you,” Anisa said, making the correction immediately.

  For a while, they worked slightly upslope through birch and ironleaf. They were heading to the part of the forest near the base of one of the Veil-Twins, so they still had a pretty long way to go. He checked back on the girls every thirty steps or so, making sure they were keeping up and not stepping into some natural-grown trap.

  Whatever Title Anisa has, it’s definitely some sort of diplomatic Title that doesn’t give her any might, swiftness, or resilience.

  Something like ‘Envoy’, maybe? Or ‘Heir’?

  Gods only knew, but enough guessing about her Title.

  What about mine?

  He couldn’t help but grin as he daydreamed about his Title. Tags were so stupidly rare and stupidly expensive in this part of the continent that he’d never imagined he’d have four of them so early on in his journey.

  I’ll probably offer three of them and turn them into Skill Tags later down the line for acquired skills, but the first one has gotta turn into a Title Tag.

  Acquired skills aside, he didn’t know what Title he wanted. In this end of the continent, the most favored Titles were definitely ‘Knight’, ‘Sentinel’, and ‘Champion’: the trifecta of One-Titles with title abilities that revolved around strengthening and enhancing the abilities of the people around them. Anyone who had one of those three titles would immediately have the rest of their lives set out for them in a stable, high-ranking position in any king’s court and army.

  But of course, he probably wasn’t going to employ a lot of people to help him hunt down his one-eyed, so those three Titles probably weren’t the best. They were only good Titles for people living the bright path. No, something like ‘Assassin’ would give him Deathmark as his title ability, allowing him to inflict a weak poison with every attack. ‘Scout’ would give him Trueflight as his title ability, boosting his accuracy and dexterity with ranged weapons and tools, which probably included his prosthetic.

  A more self-centered Title that’d benefit him first and foremost should be his priority, and that Title should also have good promotion options.

  Now that I have the Tag as the base offering, I’ll need three main offerings to get a Title Tag.

  Maybe I should pick something with not-impossible-to-get main offerings.

  If he wanted something like ‘Knight’, the main offerings for the most common recipe were very well-known: polished sunsteel, a sword token, and a metal-type beast-hide tempered in daylight. But those weren’t the only three main offerings one needed to get the ‘Knight’ Title. There were plenty of guidebooks containing alternative recipes for the same Title, so even if he couldn’t get a metal-type beast-hide in one part of the continent—because maybe metal-type beasts simply didn’t exist there—he could try to look for a substitute from another part of the continent.

  Truth be told, he didn’t remember much about Titles and the recipes for them, but simply based on the Titles he knew from The Tales of Seeker Orland…

  I probably want either ‘Slayer’ or ‘Mage’… right?

  The title ability for ‘Slayer’ was Bloodhound, which would let him see the mana trails left behind by everything that had mana, including magic beasts. That’d let him track down the exact magic beasts he wanted to kill for their parts, thus allowing him to get stronger relics faster.

  However, the title ability for ‘Mage’ was Manaform, which would let him release his own mana as condensed, physical blasts of light. ‘Mage’ was interesting as well in that Manaform was a rather weak base title ability, but it had very powerful promotions that’d enhance Manaform significantly, allowing him to manipulate his own mana in more creative ways.

  A ‘Mage’ could be promoted into a Two-Title like ‘Fire Mage’ or ‘Ice Mage’, and if he were to pick ‘Fire Mage’, he could then try to promote it into a Three-Title like ‘Frigid Flame Mage’. At Four-Title, a ‘Mage’ would essentially be able to ditch relics and rely solely on their title ability like a magicborn. If he specialized in wind as a Four-Titled ‘Mage’, he probably wouldn’t need his prosthetic anymore to summon whirlwinds.

  He hummed under his breath, chewing over those choices like bones he couldn’t crack. ‘Slayer’ for utility, or ‘Mage’ for long-term versatility?

  Then he looked up, caught the dimming amber light spilling through the canopy, and realized the sun was about to slip. The forest was already sharpening its teeth for the night.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the girls. “Lanterns on. Don’t blind the trees, just keep the ground honest.”

  The two of them did as they were told, willing their hip mana-lanterns to light up. They really weren’t far from where the silverplume owls were last spotted, though. Ten more minutes later, they reached a small clearing, and he decided this was as best as they were going to get.

  “Set up camp,” he said. “We’ll rest for a bit before taking a look around for the owls.”

  So the three of them wasted no time. First things first, he pointed at the three corners of the clearing with his cane. “Put your lanterns there,” he said. “Flat ground’s better for balance. The more light we pile together, the more monsters will be dissuaded from trying anything.”

  Once their lanterns were all set up around the clearing, he launched into his next lesson.

  “Tents first,” he said, gesturing at Yasmin’s satchel. “If we don’t peg them down right, we’ll wake up with the flap caving on our faces. Then we’ll panic, stumble out, and some wolfbeast will think it’s breakfast time.”

  He showed them Sorowyn Carpentry’s way to erect a tent: drive the stakes straight down into the ground, then run the ridgepole through the sleeve in the tarp. Tighten every knot twice, make thoroughly sure the stakes were really deep into the ground, and… well, the girls were fast learners. Before long, they had a long tent fit for three erected. The tent Yasmin had bought from some local traveler’s shop even had ventilator flaps on top once they closed the opening.

  It’s a fancy tent for sure. We’ll have no problems staying warm overnight.

  Then, he crouched in the middle of the tent—right under the ventilator flaps—and started scraping out a small firepit in the ground.

  “Now for fire.” He produced the wrapped heating stone relic, unrolled it, and placed it in the pit under a shallow bed of tinder he’d brought from the town. “This is an active-type heating stone, which means all you have to do is feed it a little bit of mana just once, and…”

  Anisa crouched next to the stone, eyes bright. “May I?”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Go ahead.”

  She hovered one hand over the stone. A soft flush of heat immediately spread outward, searing the tinder until orange licks of fire curled up. Anisa’s delight was obvious in the way she clapped lightly once the flames caught.

  “Huh. That was easier than I thought.”

  “Everything’s easier when you have relics,” he said, stretching his legs out. “The trick is not dying when they break. Now, can you ladies cook?”

  Anisa looked a bit embarrassed, but Yasmin, at least, nodded curtly. He left them with the cooking duties—“season what you want, poison what you don’t”—and left the tent for a moment, eyeing the closest tree.

  … That one.

  He jammed his cane into the bark like a second arm, heaving himself up branch by branch, and after a dozen graceless grunts—he only had one arm, after all—he finally perched high enough on a thick branch to look out at the forest.

  The forest ahead of him was already darkening quickly, but even then, he immediately spied faint silver motes winking in the distance. About six, seven hundred meters away, near the base of the mountain.

  Silverplume owls, no question.

  He smiled, wiped sweat off his jaw, and clambered back down with considerably less grace than he went up.

  By the time he returned to the tent, Yasmin had dinner simmering in a small iron pot balanced over the fire. Anisa sat close, stirring with more enthusiasm than technique.

  “Good news,” he said, dusting bark off his cloak as he sat down by the fire as well. “I spotted our quarry already. They’re roosting out near the mountain base, so once we finish eating, we’ll go poke them in the eye.”

  “Lovely,” Yasmin replied flatly, not looking up as she ladled food into bowls.

  When he saw Anisa receiving a fragrant mix of seasoned vegetables and stewed meat, he grinned at the bowls, eager for his meal. Yasmin wasn’t half as kind to him, though. She gave him a slab of bread slapped with a smear of beans and a shred of jerky.

  He stared at the bread. “This is… minimalist.”

  Yasmin’s expression didn’t flicker. “You’ll live.”

  Yeah, she was still pissed at him.

  Still, food was food, and he was hungry. He tore into the bread as he laid out the plan.

  “Just to remind you again, here’s how we’ll do it: Yasmin, you’ll take the ground approach. Make yourself as obnoxious as possible and keep their eyes on you. When they start flicking feathers at you, raise an earth wall with that staff of yours and hold your position.”

  Yasmin gave a curt nod.

  “Anisa,” Dain continued, pointing with half a crust of bread, “you’ll tuck into a bush with your crossbow. Wait for my cue. Once you see me dropping the first owl, you start loosing bolts as well. Don’t hesitate to take your shots. The faster they thin out, the less chance they have to retaliate.”

  “And what about you?”

  “As I said. I’ll flank around and find myself at a sweet angle,” he said. “Between the two of us, we should be able to kill six or seven before they even realize they’re under real fire. Once they start running, we’ll chase down the rest over the course of the night until we have ten heads. Simple enough, right?”

  Yasmin’s lips pressed thin. “It’s a reckless plan.”

  He flashed teeth. “Trust me—simple is best.”

  The fire crackled. Silence fell in the tent save for the faint crackles of the fire as they continued eating. It didn’t really bother him or Yasmin—he’d rather not talk too much about himself, anyways—but Anisa couldn’t read the room and broke the silence with a warm smile.

  “So this is what it feels like to be an adventurer,” she said, thoroughly amused as she chowed down her stew. “The dark pressing in, danger whispering beyond the trees, but still—confidence and companionship. It is quite… exhilarating.” She raised her bowl in a dainty gesture. “Thank you, Mister Sorowyn, for the experience. I am glad you are here to guide us.”

  He ducked his head, muttering around another bite, “No problem.”

  “Might I ask, though: where do you come from? You said you were a traveling relic merchant, yes, but where is your hometown?”

  “Havers Pike,” he said without hesitation.

  Her brow lifted. “Really? That is strange. Yasmin and I were there just a week ago. I conversed quite extensively with the locals as well, and I do not seem to recall a single soul who spoke about a Dain Sorowyn.”

  He didn’t miss a beat, chewing as he waved the accusation aside. “You’re a poor liar. You weren’t there a week ago. You can barely slog through flat forest ground, and Havers Pike’s all the way up in the mountains with no caravan roads. Unless Yasmin hauled you up and back over her shoulder, I’d wager you’ve never even seen the place.”

  Anisa shrugged guiltily, lips quirking. “Fine, perhaps not a week ago. But I have certainly heard of it, and you are rather short for an Obric man.”

  “Aw, don’t judge me for that. It’s a sensitive topic.” Then he leveled his bread at her. It was best to deflect. “Enough about me. Why are you two playing adventurers? Why risk owl feathers and broken ankles just to poke around Corvalenne?”

  Anisa’s cheer cooled, and she watched the flames crackle a moment before speaking again.

  “Because I do not want another war between Obric and Auraline,” she whispered. “Do you remember the war, Mister Sorowyn?”

  Dain tilted his head. “As well as any boy who lived through the end of it, sure.”

  “Then, do you know why Obric and Auraline cannot stop glaring at each other across the border?”

  He was about to bluff that he knew, but the longer he tried to dig something out of his head, the clearer it became: his skull was only stuffed full of relic trivia and not much else.

  Huh.

  Actually… why do they hate each other?

  Wars, crowns, and border disputes—if it didn’t involve an Altar or some shiny bauble that drank mana in some way, it’d slipped straight past him. The particulars of politics didn’t interest him, either, but for the sake of conversation, he simply shrugged.

  “... Before the hundred-year Black Exhibit War, Auraline was one kingdom. One land.” Anisa raised a finger, so seeing as Yasmin immediately sat up straight to listen, Dain entertained her as well. “Auraline shared its northern borders with Molkhara, the Enlightened Empire, so Molkhara was their enemy when the flames were fanned and the war first started.”

  “Molkhara’s the empire with all the automaton relics,” he chimed in, suddenly recalling some details. “Did you know they reportedly suffered zero casualties during the war because they don’t consider their golems and automatons—”

  “Sixty years into the war, however, the Auraline region of Obric struck out as an autonomous region,” Anisa ignored him, “for our rich metal mines and our giant people were bled the hardest by the crowns of Auraline. We were worked to exhaustion, taxed to nothing, and given little protection from Molkhara in return. So, the Four Minemasters and the Grand Minelord who owned the largest metal veins in the region decided ‘no more’. They drew our land’s borders with pick and ore, and fifty-two years ago, the Autonomous Region of Obric was formed.”

  Yep. Never heard of that before.

  “Auraline was already distracted enough with Molkhara during the war. They could not afford to crush us instantly, so for the rest of the war, this part of the Brastel Continent became a three-way struggle between Auraline, Molkhara, and Obric,” she said. “So even though the war ended twelve years ago, the crowns of Auraline have never forgiven us. They still dream of taking Obric and its rich metal veins back, while Obric insists on its independence. That is why tensions smolder the way they do.”

  Dain let out a low whistle. “But you’re a Minemaster’s daughter, right? Doesn’t that mean you want a war between Auraline and Obric?”

  “Why would I want that?”

  “Because I assume the only reason why Obric even managed to strike out as an autonomous region is its rich metal veins. Magic metal veins, fit as offerings for relics. Obric isn’t called the land of metal for no reason, and without its wealth and power in metals, it couldn’t have survived for as long as it has, right?” he said. “Right now, while Auraline is still reeling from the aftermath of the war, Obric could put up a fair fight against the weakened kingdom. Wouldn’t you want a war now?”

  Anisa’s expression tightened as she stared into the fire. “That is precisely what I do not want.” Her voice dipped quieter. “I was only a child when the war ended, but I remember, from the balcony of Fortress Ozkaran… the black sky. Auraline’s lightning cracking through our soldiers. Obric’s stones crushing their children. And once, my father brought me to a battlefield in the north the day after the fighting faded. He thought the bloody soil would teach me something about duty and leadership—to see the men who bleed and die for our independence. ‘A king works in mud and blood’, after all. He thought I must get my hands bloody at least once.”

  “Did it teach you that?”

  “It taught me…”

  She stopped suddenly, a hand pressed against her stomach.

  Dain frowned, but Yasmin leaned in at once. “My lady—”

  “I am… fine.” Anisa smiled weakly, though her skin looked pale in the fireglow. “These flames… are not half as fierce as the ones that remained on that battlefield.”

  Then she exhaled coolly, steadied herself, and stared at Dain.

  “I know Borik Hallowmortar—the Three-Titled ‘Knight of Bastion’, the Grand General of the Obric Border Army himself—and I know he shares my view. He does not want war either,” she said. “He will make the earth rumble now and again, yes, to remind Auraline we still protect our borders, but he would never give the command to sink a town like Corvalenne. Never.”

  And he could tell she wasn’t lying. She’d said as much last night in the tavern while she was shit-faced, but now, he did believe she meant what she said.

  At the very least, she believed the Obric Border Army had nothing to do with the destruction of Corvalenne.

  “... And that is why I must see Corvalenne myself,” she finished, putting a hand over her chest. “I must know what truly happened there, and who was responsible for its destruction. Even if nothing can be learned, then at least I will stand with our border army and try to mediate with Auraline before our crowns decide blood is easier than words. We cannot. Have. Another. War.”

  When she finally quieted, chewing the last of her meal with all the grace of someone who’d just recited an Obric chronicle, Dain watched her across the fire.

  It hit him now that maybe he’d bitten off a little more than he could swallow here. He really didn’t know much about crowns or borders, but he could tell ‘Anisa’ was no ordinary Minemaster’s daughter on a rebellious streak.

  Her sights were set on Corvalenne, while his were set far, far away.

  … But if I tell her who I really am and where I came from, would she help me, or would she condemn me for my Altar?

  There was a chance—no matter how slight—that she’d be an ally if he told her the truth. Honest to god, she seemed like a decent enough girl, but right now, trust was rarer than Celestial-Class relics. He hadn’t earned enough of hers yet, nor she of his.

  Best to wait and see how she handled herself when owls started shrieking silver feathers. She could just be all talk and no action. If that were the case, then she’d definitely be unable to help him.

  So once he finished his bread as well, he brushed crumbs from his lap and pushed to his feet.

  “Alright.” He tapped his cane against the ground, a grin flickering across his face. “Time to go. Gear up and stick to the plan. With any luck, we’ll be back here by midnight with ten owl heads.”