附近出来卖的学生怎么约

“…and that’s about it,” Argrave finished his summary, petting one of the black Brumesingers in his lap. Anneliese had finished her report some time ago—ladies first, Argrave insisted. The breadth of her knowledge was impressive, and Argrave felt his own achievements were merely satisfactory by comparison. It had taken some time, but Castro sat there with few words, simply nodding as they explained.

Castro looked at Argrave. “So, to summarize, you have absolutely no training on conservation of magic. You’ve never experimented with your own spells, not even slightly. Everything you’ve achieved has been from learning premade spells. Your strategy is mainly to overwhelm opponents with massive amounts of magic, loaned by an ancient god.”

“Or my blood echoes,” Argrave added.

“Or those,” Castro nodded. “You understand enchanting somewhat, but you can only replicate a few spells. You’ve never seriously fought an opponent on an even level where you had to rely on skill to win. In instances where you were inferior in terms of raw power, you used tricks like alchemy to enhance your prowess or things like shamanic magic to turn the opponent’s magic against them.”

“There were a few fights,” Argrave added half-heartedly. “Like… like on the beach, against the Veidimen party. One man was C-rank, just as I was. I think.”

“Anything else?” Castro looked between the two of them.

“…those vampires in the Low Way,” Argrave managed.

“They were trapped at D-rank. Talentless, apparently, and they had nothing to study from given as the library we head to recover now was blocked off to them,” Anneliese reminded him.

A few other examples came to mind… but each and every one wasn’t a true fight. He had never squared off with someone on equal footing. And given the existence of someone like Dimocles… even Argrave’s bulk of magic power might not be able to keep up with that. The man had the same near-infinite well that Argrave did, but bona fide skill to back it up.

“So, you’re utterly inexperienced at combatting an equal. Equal in terms of power at least,” Castro continued, nodding. “I understand you know how to take a blow, and I understand you’ve got the mettle for battle, but that’s about the only positive thing I can think of. It is important, granted, but with greater skill you can avoid damage entirely. There’s never a reason to get hit as a spellcaster. You prefer lightning and blood magic… and you try your best to end fights quickly. You catch them by surprise, use overwhelming power, and take them out this way.” Castro rubbed the bridge of his nose. “There are many issues here.”

“I never thought I was some kind of battle master, but still…” he scratched the back of his neck. “To play devil’s advocate: spellcasters aren’t meant to duel,” Argrave posited. “They’re meant to do just what you described—hit the enemy hard at vital points in the battle to turn things around. They’re quick bursts of power, not sustained juggernauts.” He gestured to Orion, who seemed out of sorts. “He’s the endurance man. And hell—I’ve got more endurance than most.”

“I will admit that is true,” Castro nodded. “And you are right in spellcaster’s role in the battlefield. But duels do happen. And this Castellan of the Empty you so continuously warn of—you seem determined to fight him.”

“When did I say that?” Argrave raised his brows.

“Just my hunch, as an old man who’s seen too much,” Castro smiled genially. “But I don’t think you’ll reach S-rank this century, Argrave. Not like this.”

Argrave scoffed. “Didn’t you say you were proud of me earlier? I feel betrayed.”

“What is S-rank? It is the pinnacle,” Castro said, holding his hands together to form a pyramid. “It is a culmination of all that came before it. It employs all the buildings blocks of the previous ranks to coalesce at a point which no spellcaster has ever ascended beyond.” The tower master lowered his hands and shrugged. “People have tried. Traugott was obsessed with the barrier. He always thought there was something beyond S-rank. Before he went rogue and summoned that Shadowlander upon Dirracha, it was his sole focus.”

“You told me the same thing back when we first spoke,” Argrave reminded him. “You said B-rank would be hard, I think. But I’m A-rank now. Exceeded your expectations before, no?”

Castro nodded. “Do you know the youngest A-rank spellcaster I know of? She was one of Queens of Quadreign before it was conquered by Felipe. She became A-rank at fourteen due to their special flame, as I recall. Then, one hundred and seventy-two years later, she reached S-rank.” He waved his hand. “Many such cases. Sad.”

Truth be told, Argrave had only barely glimpsed the bottom of the monumental task that was S-rank, and hearing Castro speak sent a jolt through him. He spared a glance at Ingo in the carriage with them, who was unconscious in a rare moment of respite.

“And you, Your Highness,” Castro looked at Anneliese. “I think you would be well-served listening along with what I’ll teach Argrave. You have been very diligent, and I believe that shines through. You’re more rounded. Still, as with him, some combat experience is in order. Your A-rank ascension practically was built for duels.”

Anneliese smiled, and Argrave patted her leg to celebrate the fact she had not received such a brutal dressing down. “And, uh… what do you intend to teach me?”

“Much. Much and more. Fundamentals, finer manipulation… and once we get through all of that?” Castro looked at Argrave. “Magic isn’t solely combat, but there’s nothing quite like active application to refine things until they become instinctual. We’ll fight, you and I.”

#####

Argrave sat in Castro’s carriage, staring at the empty seat across. Castro definitely said some more things after, but he’d barely heard them. Now they had stopped only a few days away from their final stop: the Low Way of the Rose. Castro was out of the carriage, talking with Anneliese some, but Orion and Ingo remained inside.

“Maybe Rowe would have been better…” Argrave muttered into his hand. “Rowe wouldn’t bother with something this detailed. He’d never get his hands dirty...”

“…is he gone?” someone whispered faintly.

Argrave looked to Orion, but the man shook his head and pointed out Ingo. When Argrave next looked at the sickly man, he was looking about the carriage. He nearly fell off the seat, and so Argrave lurched off his and steadied him with one hand.

“Woah, hey,” Argrave said in surprise. “Take it easy. You talking about Castro? Need me to get him?”

“No…!” Ingo insisted. “No. Don’t get him. Please.”

“Why not?” Argrave narrowed his eyes. “Is he doing that Munchausen by proxy thing? Have you been being poisoned the whole time? What’s up? Talk to me.”

“I see it,” Ingo’s bloodshot eyes focused on him. “The bottomless vat. And… and me. And I see you. You are the sun.”

Argrave stared quietly, then helped Ingo lie more comfortably. “Just try and rest up, Ingo.”

“Listen, please,” Ingo insisted. “The Alchemist. I see him. But my blessing—he’ll want it for himself if I stay alive. I know it. But you… because you know, you win. You need vision. It’s carried you everywhere. You are the sun with a great eye in the center. But you need another eye, Argrave. Mine. Because the foulest evil…! The foulest shadow approaches from behind, where your eye is blind. And it will extinguish you,” Ingo insisted in a low hiss.

Argrave felt his blood run cold. “You don’t see the future. What are you talking about?”

“But I see what is. And this empty shadow… it sees you. It watches you. It knows every ray you have, and it is coming. Without sight, even the sun will die. It is all you are and more. It has your power tenfold, and now… a traitor gives it knowledge of the kingdom.” Ingo reached out of his blanket and gripped Argrave’s hand. “Surrender my life to the Alchemist. He must accept my life, but you must keep my blessing. Let the bottomless vat manipulate it, perfect it, and then take it for your own. He will be satisfied with the experiment alone, just as he gave you your heart. Only with my sight will you have true vision, true knowledge, of all that is. And only with that can you face what comes.”

“I know what Mozzahr is,” Argrave guessed, feeling that could be all Ingo could be talking about. “And I’m making preparations. But I promised Castro—”

“Your friend. The desert king. The dead man walking,” Ingo gripped his hand a little tighter. “The secrets to the cycle of judgment. With my power, you could tear it all open. You could free him, and the whole world, of Gerechtigkeit. All the world would be a book made open to you.”

Argrave’s cold blood pumped quickly, and he insisted, “You don’t know that. You’re guessing. Speculating.”

“Everyone…” Ingo insisted, his voice tight and weak. “The shadow is bigger than everyone, Argrave. I can’t let them die. Castro taught me that—save them, save them, no matter what. He saved me. Let me do the same. Let me die so that they may live. Leave me to the Alchemist, stripped bare. Let him experiment on me, test me, prod me… but take the only thing I’m worth. Take my true sight. Please. Please,” he whimpered.

Argrave’s eyes shook as Ingo pleaded. He pulled free his hand, and a few seconds later the carriage door opened.

“Ingo, are you all right?” Castro asked at once, stepping up onto the carriage. He brushed past Argrave and surveyed the man’s body, looking for sources of pain. “Thought he was crying out, but…” he looked to Argrave. “Did he say anything?”

Argrave sat back on his carriage seat, then looked at Castro with a smooth face. Silence stretched, and Castro narrowed his eyes in worry.

“Not a thing,” Argrave said.

Castro looked relieved. But Anneliese, who’d arrived at the door… she saw Argrave’s turmoil. He slowly clenched his hands together.