附近出来卖的学生怎么约

“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.

The man bowed obsequiously and said, “Praise him.”

One of the feared kingsman, Argrave realized. Did I ever see their like in the castle? I don’t think so…

As the man walked away, Argrave resolved himself to follow this mystery figure. The man headed back to the castle despite 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, he took a deep breath and opened it up. A long ladder awaited him. He headed down.

There was a bittersweet fortune as Argrave climbed down the ladder. The sound of his descent was blocked out 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 looked old, forgotten, and helplessly bloody. Argrave followed distant light and sound, still masked by magic. Ahead, a central room awaited him.

“…can’t be a spy. No one would be foolish enough to send a spy with so distinct a figure,” one of the knights discussed, barely audible over the echoing whimpers of pain. Argrave could barely see the cell where they came from, but it was too dark to see within.

“It doesn’t matter. Once we catch him, he’ll tell us all he—”

Argrave entered through the empty doorway at the same time another entered opposite him. King Norman, resplendent in his black velvet outfit, stepped down a staircase into the room. It would seem the place had more than one entrance. The king rolled up his right sleeve.

“Good King Norman,” the two knights kneeled at once in total deference.

“I’ve deigned to eat with my daughter. I’ll need a hearty appetite if I’m to endure the presence of that fragile thing. But what were you speaking of?” He walked closer to them, having just finished rolling his sleeves.

“Nothing, Good King. Merely a rabble rouser, who we’ve decided to subdue. Extremely tall, black of hair, wearing ornate armor and a coat… we peg him as a wandering noble, asking questions without understanding consequences.”

King Norman leaned down and grabbed their shoulders. Argrave saw that strange power within him surge, strengthening his grip. “Even the tallest trees sprout from the smallest seed sewn. Bring him here. I wish for a relaxing night.”

“Praise the Good King,” the two said, then rose and headed for another room off to the side. Half a thousand red-armored knights swarmed out of what must’ve been a barracks, but King Norman ignored them all as he walked toward the cell in the room where the whimpering came with a smile on his face. Soon enough, all of the knights had left, and only Argrave and the king remained in the room. The king pulled open the creaky iron door and entered slowly. The whimpering within grew louder, and Argrave realized he was mistaken about being alone with the king.

This bastard might as well be King Felipe 2.0. Or… Felipe IV, I suppose. Argrave walked up closely, examining 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 get a good view of the person within. Could it be the prince?

“My, my. You’re moving around so much,” the king said. “And look. You’re bleeding. Have my boys already had their fun with you? No, wait—that was from last night,” he said teasingly. “My memory… how could I forget such a precious night?”

Argrave heard flint and steel, and a torch on the wall slowly gained light. The person inside… 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 information.

“My, such gruesome wounds. We had fun, didn’t we? You might bleed out, should things continue. If you’d like…” the king 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 king lick his teeth behind the first genuine smile he’d seen on the man. He sat on the chair. “If you please me today, your future doesn’t need to end here.”

“What do you… want from me?” the man croaked. “Good King Norman, please…! Mercy!”

“Mercy? Mercy is a gift you’ll never know. I’ll skin your coat and pick your bones, and then your soul shall grace my stroll. And though I shall again be alone, never a greater gift have I known…” the king sang as he rhymed. He had a melodious, yet terrifying, voice. He lunged forth and grabbed the prisoner’s toe, then squeezed hard enough it popped like a grape.

As the man 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 as he allowed the spell to accrue power.

“In this domain, I have perfect reactivity,” Argrave whispered to himself, and the king turned 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 for any movement. “Hello, King Norman. I’m King Argrave. I have a few questions for you.”

There was silence as the king scrutinized him for a moment. “My, my,” said King Norman as he rose, the very 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? A rat who would claim the title of king?” He wiped the blood off on his pant leg, then walked around the cell casually with his eyes fixed ahead. “Are you yet another that hates my golden throne, yet wants it for their own? It seems you’ve mastered this meddlesome maze, and sent my knights away. Very clever.”

“Your throne? No, I’ve 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 the prince? Why forbid everyone from speaking of him?”

King Norman smiled. “You really don’t know anything, do you? My, my. I thought you a spy, but you seem a fly, buzz buzzing so. Are you willfully ignorant, or stupidly so? You must know me, know what I’ve done. The babes wept as Charles bled, yet little did they know they’d safe lives ahead. I have kept Sandelabara peaceful. Why does a king protect his people?”

Argrave stared, trying to decipher his speech. “Protect them? So, you know that people die when they talk about the prince?”

“Hmm.” The king looked 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 out in protest.”

Argrave had more questions, but he knew how to read body language well enough to see the king was preparing to attack. It was time to answer another pressing question—just how strong was King Norman, and what exactly was he? As the king lunged, Argrave released the [Bloodfeud Bows].

Argrave’s maroon bolt travelled faster, and things blurred as 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 any blood. The king’s hand was bleeding where he’d caught the strongest bolt—Argrave’s own—but elsewise, there was none.

“My…” the king rubbed his hand. “How darling. You’re a darling, a prize to be, plucked from the tree, and bitten by me.”

Argrave quietly retreated while invisible, and the king brushed his clothes off like nothing had even happened. Only a few had withstood Argrave’s [Bloodfeud Bow]. Mozzahr was among them. But none had withstood it was well as King Norman had, suffering only a slight cut to the hand and a minor push. The wall behind him was undamaged, even. He’d been caught off guard, yet all King Norman had suffered was a small cut.

“Darling…” King Norman walked to the edge of the cell, where he peered out into the open room. The energy inside him pulsed inside his body frantically, yet even with [Minor Truesight], Argrave could spot no connection between it and the network of power throughout the place. The king left behind the chained prisoner as he proceeded. “I can hear your breathing, darling. I can taste the scent of the air you left behind. Fear… and desire. You want this as much as I do. Darling, oh darling… find you, I will.” The king walked around the room, listening intently. He inhaled deeply through his nose and called out, “Darling. Darling, oh darling…”

Argrave considered using [Worldstrider] to get away, but he feared to call upon spirits in this strange distortion. Meanwhile, the king seemed to come ever closer to Argrave, perhaps by dumb luck, or perhaps by genuine ability. In the end, Argrave decided to use an illusion to get free. It seemed the king could not resist them.

The moment Argrave cast the spell [Unfathomable Perception], King Norman leapt at him with unnatural speed and reactivity. Argrave tried to reel away, but he felt something hard slam into his chest. The Inerrant Cloak Argrave wore immediately drained him of all magic. The enchantments Artur had spent so much time on barely saved his life as the metal dug into his chest, piercing his lungs. Argrave’s vision whited out and his ears rung, but as he regained sight, he looked up at King Norman standing there, turning his head about in confusion.

“Dahling…?” the king said, muttering in a daze. “Dahling, dahling… find you, I will. Keep you, I must…”

[Unfathomable Perception] robbed the target of all sensations, but Argrave seldom had the opportunity to use such spells given illusion magic didn’t affect spellcasters of sufficient rank. Argrave grabbed at his breastplate, content in the knowledge the king was dazed. He pulled hard, and only when he pried it from his chest did new air enter his lungs. He had to cut a strap free and wrench the breastplate away, then used one of his blood echoes to cast a healing spell.

“Lesson learned… cast that first, you damned idiot,” Argrave muttered as he came to his feet.

He looked at King Norman in his total daze, and felt a need to strike the man. Still, he feared reprisal. He left his breastplate behind and headed for one of the exits, scouting ahead briefly before leaving. He felt he’d sufficiently mucked this timeline up, and doubted he’d be able to gather much more information. That dungeon beneath the silo was a place to revisit, perhaps without the king present. That prisoner had to know something.

In the end, Argrave returned to Sophia’s room. Lacking magic outside his blood echoes, he had to use lower-ranked illusion spells instead of [Chameleon] to sneak by, but he managed all the same. He hoped to confirm his hypothesis—that at the end of each cycle, both sides of the distortion were briefly merged. Sophia was absent, fortunately, and the castle was in turmoil now that the Flayer Knights had been mobilized.

When Argrave began to grow bored waiting…

Anneliese, the Alchemist, Orion, Onychinusa, Melanie, and Castro suddenly appeared, approximately where Argrave remembered them. He was crouching in the corner, and rose, raving, “Sweet baby Jesus, you’re actually here! You guys have no idea the day I—"

Next thing he knew, Argrave stared at a wall, all of his aching gone and his magic restored. Even his breastplate was returned around his body.

“Who are you?”

Argrave slowly turned around, where Sophia sat playing with Mr. Knight once again. He sighed deeply as he accepted that he’d gone back once again. “Hello again, Princess Sophia. I’m rather miffed, thank you for asking. You’re always so nice and polite—it warms my heart. But your dad is insane, and I’m still as lost as a chicken without a head.” He sat on the carpet, while she stared at him in abject confusion. “This time… I’m going to turn things around. I’m at the cusp, I just know it. The prisoner, the king… I’ll figure it all out this time, I’m sure of it.”

“Umm…” she blinked at him. “It… it’s okay?”

Argrave wasn’t sure if she was asking him a question or encouraging him. He just smiled in response.

“Say, princess… you seem to like that doll. It’s very... neat. Why do you hide it from people?” Argrave studied her, trying to appear friendly. He couldn’t forget that this girl was the crux of things. And perhaps his answers still rested here.