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After some time to eat of their own, Argrave and Anneliese rejoined with Orion and then met with the patriarch once again. He was with Rowe and Galamon in his tent, dismantling some equipment to pack for their journey back.

“Congratulations,” were Dras’ first words to them as he deconstructed a chair. “The two of you are now husband and wife. Dare I ask what vows you made?”

“Well…” Argrave scratched his ear. “We made a lot of them. Couple hundred, maybe.”

Anneliese laughed quietly in remembrance of last night.

Dras gave confused glances between the two of them, but he prudently shook his head and dismissed it. “Then we’ll be going. The men I promised are yours—the rest will be sailing back to Veiden today.”

“I’m thankful for your support. These men will be well-utilized.” Argrave nodded, then turned his head to Rowe. “And I appreciate your refinement of my A-rank ascension. I think the next time we meet, you’ll be very surprised.”

“Hmm, sure.” Rowe nodded. “I think you’ll still be dragging your feet when next we meet. Or maybe I’ll be looking down at a corpse in a coffin. That would be a little less surprising than your success. Your ascension is an active body reformation—those are the most dangerous kind, you realize. Not many of those are discovered… without incident.”

“I’ve gotten advice from so many people, it’d be embarrassing if I failed,” Argrave shook his head. “And besides, I’ll be doing it in a place that minimizes my risk.”

“Ah, yes. The classic coward’s tactic: take risks only when it’s not risky.” Rowe nodded knowingly. “If you succeed, though…” the old S-rank wizard shook his head, eyes a little wide. “I’ll have to make far fewer jokes at your expense.”

“I question if that day will ever truly come.” Argrave shook his head, and then stepped up to Galamon. “I think it’s time you introduce me to those officers so we can get on the road.”

“Come,” Galamon said, stepping past Argrave.

Along the way, Galamon explained what he’d promised to the day before: namely, the situation in Veiden. It was more or less as Argrave expected it to be. Fear and panic were high, and the problem was exacerbated by occasional assaults of things that fell under the waxing influence of Gerechtigkeit. The same thing prevailed here in Berendar, too, though Veiden was being hit harder—perhaps it was because of their unity, or perhaps there were simply more things for Gerechtigkeit to throw at the Veidimen.

Eventually, they entered into the officer’s tents. The three of them in question knelt on the ground, cleaning up the last of the interior of their tent. When Galamon and Argrave entered, they rose and came to attention. Though uniform in equipment, they all looked a little different.

“This is Bastal.” Galamon gestured towards a white-haired, white-eyed man. He was the smallest of the three and kept his hair long yet bound into a ponytail. “That’s Grimalt.” The next was a shaven man with amber eyes—the largest of the three, standing taller and wider than even Orion. “And then Rasten.” The last was a lithe man with golden eyes and hair. He reminded Argrave of Durran, and not from eye color alone. “Each of these three command a unit of one hundred.”

Galamon looked at the men. “You will call him Your Majesty,” he informed them, then pointed at Anneliese. “And her, Your Highness.”

“Yes, sir,” the men confirmed in bold unison.

Galamon nodded. “In time, I’ll return as knight-commander. For now, you answer to the king and queen first, and this man second.” He looked at Orion.

“They seem like good fighters,” Orion said, voice echoey from behind his golden helmet.

“And spellcasters,” Argrave noted. “Dras went far beyond what I asked.”

“They’re B-rank, all three. They stagnated there,” Galamon nodded. “I may have insisted Dras allow me to choose them in particular.”

Argrave smiled and stepped closer. “I’m going to ask a lot of you. Not just you three, but each and every man beneath you. If you know the prophecy, then you know what comes. And if you know what comes, then you’ll know that what we have is insufficient to fully contest who you know as He Who Would Judge the Gods. You’re going to have a large number of men beneath your command, in time. Not only that, but they’ll all be fresh—you’ll have to bring them from the ground to the skies.”

“We’re prepared, Your Majesty,” answered Bastal, quickest to adapt.

“I hope so,” Argrave nodded. “Tell me—what do you think about fighting Galamon?”

The three of them hesitated, saying nothing. Gradually, Grimalt managed to say, “He’s unbeatable.”

“Even with magic?” Argrave pressed.

“If he has Ebonice, almost definitely unbeatable, Your Majesty,” Rasten confirmed. “The man’s a fish in water compared to a baby in the sea. As a matter of fact, I’d prefer to be a baby against a fish than fight against Galamon.”

Argrave spread his arms out. “Some of that is him. But some of that is this, also.” Argrave tapped Galamon’s armor.

Galamon crossed his arms, nodding.

“We’re going to be heading to a place called the Bloodwoods. But first, we need to make a stop at a city called Relize. Each and every one of you are going to be sized for new armor. It enhances your physical prowess, wards you from lesser attacks. And then… I think you’ll find Galamon a little less unbeatable.”

The three looked at him stoically even despite his uplifting words. Disciplined, professional, stoic—these men exuded the same qualities that Galamon did. It was precisely what he needed to make the sort of force that he wanted.

“Tell the men to gather their things and prepare to march,” Argrave directed them.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” they replied asynchronously, then gathered some things efficiently and stepped outside.

Once they were gone, Orion said cautiously, “I think it will be impossible to find enough large horses to carry these men. Preparing one for you and I and a few others—certainly, it’s manageable, but… three hundred? Few horses are bred stalwartly enough.”

Argrave stepped towards the tent’s flap, parting it. Once outside, his eyes wandered the camp. Grimalt barked out an order. And then… it was like a beehive come alive. Their tents could house five, and each group of five worked with startling efficiency to prepare for travel. In one minute, all the fur lining was gone. In the second, everything within was stowed away. In the next, the wooden constructions were dismantled. By the fourth, they were packing these materials away into backpacks. And before the fifth minute passed, all three hundred stood arrayed. A vast plain lay empty where the camp had been.

Galamon and Anneliese watched with pride, and Argrave looked at Orion. “Something tells me that won’t matter much.”

Orion looked back. Even the tent they’d just been in moments ago was gone, stripped and packed away. Argrave was very much looking forward to seeing them pitch these tents.

#####

They parted for Relize not too long after the men had finished preparing—funnily enough, it took longer for Argrave’s party to prepare than it did the troops. After saying a final farewell to Galamon, they left at midmorning. Along the way, Anneliese and Argrave discussed how best to utilize these new elven forces to build up the army he envisioned. Having the snow elves’ disciplined coordination permeate his army would be a greater boon than one hundred thousand men.

Their troop was received by Ansgar Dandalan on behalf of his father, Leopold. Once there, a great many of Elenore’s men were ready and waiting to receive the Veidimen. They took their measurements, wrote down names, and then prepared to send those into Dirracha. There, the royal smiths would reforge royal knights’ gear into armor that fit them. For practicality, Argrave requested that the armor not be ridiculous and shiny gold. Orion didn’t like this, but unfortunately for him he’d abdicated to Argrave and so was not king.

Argrave oversaw things for a little while, ensuring that the Veidimen would be taken care of here in Relize in way of food and such. Rather than disturb the citizenry, he commanded that they pitch their tents outside the city. He intended to join them to build the beginnings of camaraderie. But first…

“Elenore sent something for you both, Your Majesty, Your Highness, alongside a report,” Ansgar informed Argrave and Anneliese after a while. “It wasn’t urgent, so I refrained from immediately telling you. Still, I think you should see it.”

After blanking for a few moments, Argrave placed what she might’ve sent and smiled. “Right, right. Let’s see it, then.”

Argrave followed Ansgar into the city with Orion as his escort, heading towards Leopold’s estate by the river. Once there, they were led into a side room.

“Leopold around?” Argrave questioned.

“I believe so, Your Majesty. Shall I get him for you?” Ansgar gestured towards the door.

“No, no,” Argrave waved his hand, looking towards the table as Anneliese walked towards it. She picked up a breastplate and held it up in the air. As she examined it, he pressed, “These are the items?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ansgar confirmed. “Shall I send for someone to help you wear these?”

“I think that Anneliese and I can take care of it,” Argrave said, waving Ansgar away. “Thank you. You can go now. Orion, please wait outside the door.”

The prince nodded, stepping out alongside Ansgar. Once the door was shut, Argrave walked up to stand beside Anneliese.

“They are rather pretty,” she said, looking at them.

“Pretty?” Argrave watched her, then looked to the armor on the table.

Argrave’s leather armor made in Jast had served him very well throughout his journey—served Anneliese, too. Both of them might be dead without it. Even still, it was only made to modern enchanting standards, and thus far inferior to salvaged elven gear that the royals worked with. Elenore was going to remedy this rather simply, but in an unexpected turn of events, Artur, a Magister of the Order, had offered to add his own personal enchantments to the gear atop the elven enchantments of old.

Needless to say, this made Argrave paranoid at first. From what he recalled, Artur had argued vehemently against Vasquer’s equal cooperation with the Order. Measures were taken, however—Castro personally monitored the process of making the gear. Anneliese even verified Artur’s sincerity. With those two assurances, Argrave let it happen.

Artur was the best enchanter in all of Heroes of Berendar, barring an enchantment-focused player. He knew a few old elven methods, even—lore dictated he’d discovered them on his own, entirely independent of their civilization. The man had promised a very appealing piece of armor, and Argrave couldn’t deny him.

This new armor was not too far removed from what Argrave worked with last time. It was two sets of leather—one black, one gray. The gray one was heavier, the black lighter. They both had heavy, fur-lined dusters. Beyond the fact they were fully repaired, Argrave saw much more metal at points—this was to accommodate the new enchantments, no doubt, as leather couldn’t carry magic as well as metal. The most significant addition was a large metal breast plate.

Argrave could see the magic pulsing along the metallic armor’s surface. The front of the plate was indented intricately with his personal heraldry—a sun with eight rays, the four on the cardinal directions ending in snake heads. It was a dark, brassy color. As Anneliese said, the magic made the breast plate look rather beautiful.

“Hmm…” Argrave picked it up.

“Would you help me put it on?” Anneliese looked at him.

Argrave looked at the armor, then at her. “No. I’ll wear it first, test dummy it.”

Anneliese scoffed but listened. He removed his clothes, putting on the new black leathers first and then the breastplate over it. Anneliese had to help him with that part, naturally. Last was the duster. Argrave rolled his arms about once it was all in place—at once, he felt some difference. When he jumped, it was much higher than he remembered.

“Damn. Watch me on the b-ball court,” Argrave noted, kicking his legs outward and inward. “I feel pretty powerful.”

Anneliese threw something at his face. Argrave flinched involuntarily, yet nothing struck him. He saw what she’d thrown rebounded, cast to the ground harmlessly.

“What was that for?” he demanded.

“It seems Artur’s enchantments are in place.” Anneliese picked up what she’d thrown—an acorn of some kind. She threw it again. Argrave didn’t flinch this time—wind manifested, batting the projectile aside. “Amazing. I wonder how it works…” she mused, stepping up and examining her own piece. She looked back at Argrave after a moment. “It seems we are a little better equipped than we were. And Artur’s to thank.”

Argrave looked down at his armor in wonder. “Looks that way,” he agreed. “I wonder what else is on this thing…?”