CCLXV. | Ch. 265: 'O, slumbering Dragon...' (Patreon)

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Chapter Two Hundred Sixty-Five: 'O, slumbering Dragon...'

The timing of everything couldn't have been more awkward or more uncomfortable. The news that his brethren were being held captive in Vantalay, that there was finally a visible path to freeing them--that was incredible.

But then there was Hector's coma. And the threat of war coming to Atreya, to Warrenhold specifically.

Zeff Elroy was torn. Again.

It seemed like he always was, these days. It felt like he had a thousand reasons to leave, and a thousand reasons to stay. His captive kin. His still-missing children, Francisco and Gema. His best friend, Asad. But also his two youngest, Marcos and Ramira. His sister, Joana, and her children. And yes, even Hector.

He felt like he was needed everywhere and therefore letting someone important down no matter what he chose.

He felt like he was useless.

But he was also tired of agonizing over his decisions. After everything that had happened, maybe it didn't even matter which path he took. He was too old to be getting lost in his angst. One way or another, consequences would follow.

How he dealt with those consequences was what really mattered.

Irritatingly, he was reminded of his time working under Parson Miles. Zeff hated that bastard with every fiber of his being, but he still remembered when that wasn't so, when he actually thought the man to be a surprisingly wise teacher.

"Worry is a double-edged sword, Zeff. It'll help you prepare for the worst, but it'll also drive you crazy. At some point, you have let go and take decisive action, lest decisions be made for you."

And as much as it pained him to admit, he had come to agree with that sentiment. One way or another, he had to do something. Waiting around for news was driving him mad.

The only other decisive action he could think to take... would be to take Marcos and Ramira and leave Warrenhold behind entirely. To go off on their own, far away from all this madness. To abandon the other Houses in order to take care of his own.

And that obviously wasn't going to happen.

But why? That's what he'd been forced to ask himself. Because his fellow Rainlords would hate him? Disown him?

No.

Because his kin were in need. It really was that simple, wasn't it?

So he'd made his decision. Maybe it was the wrong one. Maybe it would cause him no end of misery in the future. But at least he'd made it.

And that was why he was on his way to Vantalay, right now.

Marcos and Ramira were staying back at Warrenhold, where he hoped they would be safer.

He had to be a part of this push to save everyone. He had to. If he'd stayed behind, and then the rescue effort failed? If everyone died in some distant land while he sat on his hands?

He wouldn't know what to do. His soul might just break in half.

Assuming it hadn't already, that was.

As he gazed out the window of the plane, down through the scattered clouds and out across the Gulf of Emerson, he tried to keep his mind clear. To remain calm. And surprisingly, it was working. Maybe he was becoming accustomed to the stakes being this high. And years of meditation had to have had some benefit.

How they'd gotten their hands on this airplane, he still didn't entirely understand, but it wasn't the only one. Somehow, they'd cobbled together a small fleet of variously sized aircraft for this trip. He'd heard something about a group of Sebolts who'd been squirreling them away in isolated locations all across Eloa, but he'd yet to inquire further.

The current plan was to land on an island to the south of Vantalay and then have Dimas Sebolt carry everyone who couldn't carry themselves the rest of the way.

They'd gotten clearance from the Ridgemark Private Military Police to land in the city if they wanted, but they decided to take extra precautions. If the RPMP ended up betraying them, the airplanes would be an easy pressure point. Plus, the city limits were a war zone, which meant the city itself could become one at any moment, too.

This whole endeavor was an enormous risk. Everyone knew that. They'd dispatched almost all of their best warriors now, leaving Warrenhold with barely anyone left to defend it in the event of an attack.

Which was all the more reason why they had to succeed. No matter what.

'Ax,' said Zeff as he continued staring out the window.

'Yes?' The reaper was clinging to his shoulder. There'd been some contention over whether or not Axiolis should accompany him or stay behind to look after the kids, but they'd eventually reached the conclusion that Zeff needed to have access to pan-forma in the battle to come.

'Do you think... that everything that has happened to our family might be... some sort of divine punishment?'

The reaper was quiet for a time.

The question had come out of nowhere, it felt like. His mind had been largely clear until it just popped in there. Moreover, it had been years since he last talked to Axiolis seriously about anything spiritual. He'd been quite comfortable with his secular worldview, and even now, he didn't feel particularly different about it.

But...

Maybe he'd been thinking about it, on and off, for a while now. It would've made a kind of sense to him, he supposed. And perhaps, it would've explained the inexplicable. If only a little.

The reaper's slowness to answer surprised him, though. Axiolis had always been quite upfront about how he still believed in the old water god--and about how he didn't care if he ended up being the last one in the entire world who still held onto that faith. He always said that it was a travesty that the modern Rainlords had let go of their roots by allowing such old and cherished beliefs to slip away from them.

So he would've expected Ax to jump at that question, to tell him that yes, of course it was punishment--or whatever else. In a way, it might just vindicate everything that the reaper had been saying for years.

But Ax didn't do that. 'It is the eternal folly--and yet also the eternal responsibility--of man to struggle for an understanding of the divine,' the reaper said.

Zeff didn't avert his gaze from the window. 'What does that mean?'

'I don't know if Lhutwё is punishing us for turning away from Him,' said Ax. 'I doubt it, but I don't know. Either way, I believe there's a reason this is all happening to us. We are His favored people. Whether this was a direct punishment by His will or just one more trial in the long history of our kin, it makes little difference. In the end, He wants what is best for us. For everyone.'

'...That's a convenient way of looking at it, don't you think?' said Zeff. 'If it's punishment, it's for our own good. If it's just rotten luck, then it's a test of our resolve or purity or whatever else.'

'Perhaps. But it is also the correct way of conceptualizing problems. You fix nothing by lamenting your ill fate or cursing the Heavens for doing this to you. The only way forward is to think seriously about what you can change and then go after it like your entire world depends on it. Because sometimes, like right now, it does.'

Zeff made no response, just let the reaper's words stew there in his mind.

'And to that end, it's crucial that we figure out how to improve ourselves as servants of Lhutwё. I've thought our people have been going astray for ages now. So if you're asking whether I think we should turn to the old ways for answers, then I think you already know my response.'

Zeff did. '...What old ways do you have in mind, exactly?'

'Many. Mandatory military service for non-servant subjects. Building newer, stronger fortresses. The protection and nurturing of the madega trees.' The reaper paused for a sigh that sounded partly like a growl. 'We never should have allowed the Vanguard to occupy Rheinhal, where a madega had been transplanted. That was sacrilege.'

Zeff had to think back. The madega at Rheinhal? He recalled seeing it, but only just. It had only been there during his very last visit to the fortress before the fighting broke out, when he and Ax had met with General Lawrence and Dergoz.

When the Vanguard's betrayal had become clear.

'...If I'm remembering correctly, that madega hadn't been at Rheinhal before the Vanguard moved in,' said Zeff.

'Yes, I think you're right. So they transplanted it themselves. Which is even worse. Only Rainlords should handle madegas--and even then, only when necessary.'

Zeff knew what he was getting at. Axiolis had taught him about this when he was younger.

Shortly after the mass slaughter of House Elroy, in fact.

Axiolis told him that, in ancient times, the people of the rain believed the madega trees carried within them the souls of their ancestors. As long as the madegas stood, the noble dead could remain in this world and watch over their children while still enjoying their well-earned eternal rest. Like windows from the afterlife, was how Ax had put it.

It had been a mild comfort at the time, thinking that his family might still be watching over him. He wasn't sure when he'd stopped believing that. Maybe he never really had in the first place.

How did one distinguish genuine belief from wishful thinking? Even all these years later, he couldn't tell.

Now that he was older, though, he felt able to take a longer view of things. He could look at that belief in a different way. Instead of just questioning whether its truth value was determinable, he wondered whether there was any utility in believing such a thing. From a communal perspective.

And he felt... as though there was. Perhaps.

If he were to truly believe that his ancestors were watching over him, that was obviously comforting during difficult times. But also, there was the notion that his ancestors might be judging his actions. What other reason would they have for observing?

They would want their honorable legacy to continue, would they not?

And he, therefore, should do everything in his power not to disappoint them.

He wondered if Mariana was there now, watching him. Would she disapprove with his recent decisions?

Heh.

Perhaps in the opposite manner to what he had previously been thinking. She probably would have wanted him to depart much earlier, to leave the children alone so that they could grow and mature without him smothering them all the time.

She'd been a rather cold woman, hadn't she? But that had also made her moments of warmth all the more special. And she had always shown him respect, especially in front of other people. She'd firmly believed that it was her job as his wife to always try to make him look dignified and respectable, both as a lord and as the father of her children.

God, he missed her. For so many reasons.

He sure could've used her help in maintaining that dignified facade, these days. With each passing day, he felt like he was turning into more of a barbarian. Having the kids around had allowed him to stifle that sentiment, but only sometimes. It was more like putting a lid on a boiling pot, instead of actually turning the heat down.

Which made him feel even worse.

Marcos and Ramira should have had more of a calming effect than that. He loved them with all his heart, didn't he? Was that not enough?

How many more ways could be fail as a father?

He wondered what he was becoming. He felt like an entirely different man from even just six months ago. It was frightening to think about.

But it didn't feel wrong.

Which was perhaps the most terrifying thing about it. A strong part of him didn't want to remain the same. He'd obviously been too weak before. Change was much needed.

He just hoped he wasn't deluding himself. Was this what it felt like when all those other servants he'd heard about over the years suddenly snapped and went on their killing sprees? They probably thought their actions were well-justified all the way up until their reapers were forced to release their souls, didn't they?

He was on a thin rope. It used to be a narrow road. It had always been difficult to stay on the correct path, but now it felt like any slight misstep might just be the end.

And yet.

If this was all according to Lhutwё's will, then perhaps there was a certain amount of relief to be found. Somewhere.

Truthfully, he'd never much cared for his title as the Water Dragon of Sair. The thought that he was somehow Lhutwё's "chosen one" among all his kin--that had just never sat right with him. And it still didn't. The more he thought about it, the more he saw candidates who were far more worthy than he of such prestige. If his power was the result of divine intervention and not that of a random genetic lottery, then why him? Why not someone more competent? More stable? More...?

Fitting.

He supposed that was where the whole "faith" side of things came into the equation. Having faith that Lhutwё had put him on this path for good reason--that one day, in this life or the next, everything would make sense.

He wished he could believe as Axiolis did. That would make things simpler--or it seemed like it would, at least.

Increasingly, he'd been wondering if he could just choose to start to believing in Lhutwё. At times, he thought yeah, maybe. At others, he thought no, he'd just be pretending. Belief had to be genuine, didn't it? It seemed to him that "belief" was often the thing that gripped the person, not the other way around. If he didn't feel such a grip, then was it even possible for him to genuinely choose belief?

Or was that perception of it the illusion? Were his assessments wrong from the ground up?

Questions for philosophers, he supposed. And he certainly wasn't one of those.

Lakefire. Maybe he'd figure everything out one day, if he lived long enough.

But probably not.

Axiolis had more to say regarding traditions that he thought should return. The reaper had quite a list. Zeff was only half-listening by the end it, but among them, he noted arranged marriages.

That tradition had not entirely left the Rainlords yet, but it had certainly been on its way out. Before everything. Zeff had even harbored quite strong feelings about it. He hadn't wanted to push Emiliana into a marriage at such a young age. Or at all, really.

She'd always been a rather obedient child. She probably would have gone along with it and never voiced her true feelings until it was far too late.

Or maybe that was just his own rationalization for not wanting to give up his little girl.

Thinking about her now was particularly painful. The thought that she was in the clutches of the Monster of the East... that he'd allowed her to be taken...

Ugh.

According to Hector, the Monster was treating her well and even teaching her to control her mutations. He had to wonder if that was really the truth, though. Perhaps Emiliana had cooked up a comforting lie in order to prevent him from going out of his mind with worry.

His mind drifted between each of his children for the full length of the flight.

Gema. Where in the world was she during all this? Could Parson have been telling the truth about her when he said that she was working for him? Zeff found it hard to believe anything that had come out of that man's mouth. But maybe it didn't even matter. Truthfully, he had no idea what he would say to her when he saw her again.

When he saw her again. Yes. Not if. When. As for Francisco, well... at least Zeff would be able to recover him during this trip. Cisco had been taken away by the Vanguard, so he should theoretically still be with the other captives. Unless those Vanguardian bastards had separated them for some reason. Zeff was trying to temper his expectations, but it was difficult.

Marcos and Ramira might've been "safe" at Warrenhold, but that wasn't reason enough to stop worrying about them. He just had to keep reminding himself that as long as Hahl Saqqaf was so close by, they would be fine.

Hahl Saqqaf and also... Hector, he supposed.

Honestly, Zeff still couldn't really believe it. Even a month later. The news that Hector had not only rescued the Sunsmith's entire Hahl but also been the one to slay the Man of Crows...

And then he'd fallen into a damn coma while activating some kind of powerful forge for Abbas? What in lakefire was going on with that boy?

Zeff had gotten to talk to him briefly before leaving. The kid seemed in perfectly good health again, which wasn't so surprising for a servant, but still. It was confusing. Was there a term for being both proud of and worried about someone at the same time? If so, Zeff needed to learn it.

If nothing else, though, Zeff did have to give credit where credit was due. If the young Lord of Warrenhold was actually able to contribute in a fight between warriors as powerful as Bloodeye, the Man of Crows, and the Sunsmith, then perhaps... well, perhaps he could worry about Marcos and Ramira just a tiny bit less.

Hector had certainly proved that he would go above and beyond to protect not just them, but all Rainlords.

Which was another odd matter unto itself.

The way Zeff's brethren had been treating Hector. They'd grown so attached to him so quickly. Perhaps to an unhealthy degree, even.

When the Saqqafs came with news that Hector had fallen into some kind of strange coma, the others had not taken that news well.

In fairness, though, Zeff hadn't taken it so great, himself. He just wasn't accustomed to being one of the least angry people in the room. He'd certainly understood them being upset, but the last thing anyone needed right now was a fight between allies.

The Blackburns and Delagunas had gotten particularly riled up, which was especially surprising considering that those two Houses had largely been avoiding one another so as not to provoke a fight of their own. To see them actually finding common ground on something...

Well. It was its own kind of progress, Zeff supposed. Still strange, though.

He couldn't help wondering how the captive Rainlords were going to view their young Lord Darksteel once they were free. Zeff had a disquieting feeling that they wouldn't be well-pleased at the way everyone else fawned over the boy.

Historically, Rainlords didn't appreciate being told that they had to follow some foreigner. If they came to see him that way...

Bah.

A problem for a future day, Zeff supposed. Getting everyone out of Vantalay safely was the only thing he should've been worrying about now.

By the time they landed, Zeff was more than ready to go. Being alone with his thoughts was becoming something that he greatly disliked. Too much sitting around and contemplating was liable to drive him crazy.

Well. Crazier, he supposed.

The tropical climate on this island wasn't exactly what he was accustomed to. The thick, muggy air and blindingly bright sun didn't suit Rainlords at all. Frankly, he'd never understood the appeal of such places as tourist destinations. People thought this was beautiful and not just obnoxious? To his mind, the ideal weather was that of a bright but still overcast sky accompanied by a very faint drizzle, gentle enough that it felt more like a cool and pleasing mist against one's skin.

He'd learned that about himself as a young man during his travels with the Vanguard. He'd seen much of the world in that span of time, but nowhere had he ever found more desirable weather than at home. He'd quickly grown to miss it back then, and judging from this place here now, he soon would again.

The little island that they'd chosen to use was barely even capable of receiving their small fleet of aircraft. The tiny airfield was already over capacity before the last of them touched ground. Dimas Sebolt used his gravity manipulation in order safely move a few planes out of the way, parking them outside the simple chainlink fence that encircled the compound.

It was inconvenient, but the seclusion of this place was the important thing. If they'd chosen a large airport as their landing destination, then it would have complicated matters significantly with Vantalayan authorities.

At least, that was Zeff's understanding of it. He was no pilot.

The short trip to the mainland took a few more hours. It was hard not to be impressed by Dimas' ability to carry so many people through the air like this. The man was noticeably slower than when flying alone, but the sheer utility of his power was undeniable. He'd not been neglecting his training, it seemed.

Zeff could've carried himself--and been much faster, to boot--but the point here was stealth, and a giant jet stream of water soaring through the sky was perhaps not the best example of that.

Hector had apparently been developing a method of flying using materialized armor--which did admittedly pique Zeff's interest--but now wasn't the time to be experimenting, he felt. He'd have to poke the kid's brain the next time they saw each other.

So he let himself be just another of the young Lord Sebolt's passengers.

Only two others within their group elected not to do the same. There were various materializers and transfigurers who could achieve flight, but it almost always required great effort, risk, or bodily sacrifice. By and large, it was better to just let Dimas handle it, so those two exceptions were all the more notable.

Mario Delaguna and Isela Sebolt were among their younger warriors--not much older than Hector, in truth--but that didn't stop them from making a show of their abilities. In fact, perhaps that was why they were so clearly full of energy and ambition.

Mario was one of the few well-known integrators among the Rainlords, but his mild fame was generally due more to his eccentricity than his inventions. He'd apparently taken inspiration from Abbas Saqqaf's mechanized armor, because he'd created a flight suit for himself. It wasn't anywhere near as advanced, of course, and looked rather haphazard--more like a gliding wingsuit than a true, self-propelling machine--but to the lad's credit, he was at least managing to keep up with everyone.

Isela was less surprising to see. From the moment Zeff had heard that a young Sebolt girl had manifested an alteration ability over density, he'd expected her to one day make quite a name for herself.

From the look of it, though, she wasn't quite there yet. She was keeping pace with the group well enough, but Zeff could see her wobbling to and fro quite often. From what he'd heard of the girl, she'd experienced much difficulty learning to control her power in its nascent form--a common problem for servants but especially for alteration users.

But if they could keep her alive along enough, Isela might just become one of their strongest warriors.

That was nine-tenths of his job, Zeff knew. Buying time for the next generation.

A year ago, Zeff would've argued adamantly against bringing such promising youths with them on such a dangerous mission like this. Now, though? It pained him to admit, but... shielding them too greatly from these battles would not do them any favor in the long-term. They needed their opportunities to grow. And not just from emergence, either. The experience was just as important, if not more so.

He felt like he'd forgotten that, at some point. Perhaps because it was so easy to. As an immortal servant, the feeling that he would always be around to help and protect the young ones was quite strong. Servants never really expected to die, after all. And this centuries-long stalemate between Sermung, Dozer, Morgunov, and Sai-hee was probably also a contributing factor.

But he was a Rainlord. That type of thinking was particularly foolish for his kin. Their blood-soaked history was one of generational change. Even their most triumphant tales were often accompanied by the death of one or more of their greatest warriors from that era.

Sacrifice was what it meant to serve, after all.

Soon, the enormous towers of Ridgemark came into view, and Zeff could all but sense the tension heightening among his kin. Dimas took them higher, and as they drew closer, they began to see the battleground at the city limits in the distance. The RPMP vs the VMP and Abolish.

The individual combatants on the field weren't visible from this far away, but Zeff could make out the shapes of organized battalions on the hills there, along with the odd spark or explosion.

Zeff had heard that, in terms of sheer numbers, the RPMP was at a rather enormous disadvantage, with only about four thousand total members, the vast majority of which were not even servants. Plus, it was keeping many of said members away from the fight in order to maintain peace within the city.

Compared to the ten thousand or so that the VMP had reportedly brought, it was impressive how well the RPMP was managing the situation. Warfare wasn't all about numbers, of course, especially when servants were involved, but still. That was no trivial difference.

Dimas led the group to their rendezvous point, which happened to be one of the tallest buildings in Ridgemark, the Ruby 88 Hotel & Casino. The tower's owner was a man named Vino Vance, and as one of the primary benefactors of the RPMP, it had been he who brokered the deal with the Rainlords.

In exchange for aiding in the defense of Ridgemark, the RPMP agreed to help the Rainlords protect the Miroan refugees.

The RPMP had already held up their end of their bargain, at least in part. From what Zeff had heard, just getting the refugees to Ridgemark had been quite the undertaking. Thaddeus Croll, the Killer of Krohin, had ambushed their convoy along the way. Melchor's team had already been skirmishing with him for weeks, and they'd managed to keep him subdued even if they couldn't finish him off, but this time, Croll had reinforcements with him. Powerful ones.

Raga Marda and Jan Cross, a.k.a. the Demon's Tiger and the Whitehand, respectively.

Fortunately, the RPMP's own Kristof Raynor, the so-called Jailer of Ridgemark, had been there to back them up. Zeff had not heard of this Jailer before, but from the way the battle had been described to him, most of the Miroans would have perished if not for that man's presence.

And even though Zeff was not familiar with him, several of their reapers were. Iziol, Dimas Sebolt's reaper, made sure to lead the charge in informing everyone about what an asset Raynor would be as an ally.

Apparently, the "Jailer of Ridgemark" was still a relatively new moniker, and Iziol had instead been more familiar with the man's exploits as an aberration hunter for the Vanguard. Raynor had supposedly been the first person to fight and survive against the most powerful aberration ever recorded, Abraham Maximilian--or Max the Merciless, as he had come to be known.

Octavia Redwater had used a sword made from his bones during the Siege of Rheinhal.

Where that weapon was now was anyone's guess. The Gargoyle of Korgum had no doubt taken possession of it, but there was no telling what she might've done with it. Zeff highly doubted that it would be with Octavia here in Vantalay.

Regarding Raynor, however, Iziol claimed that the man's efforts against Max had been instrumental in bringing to light just how dangerous the aberration was. Ultimately, of course, it had been Sermung who slew him, but without Raynor, Iziol said, the casualties could have climbed into the millions before Sermung ever even heard Max's name.

Naturally, though, learning about the man's past ties to the Vanguard had been some cause for concern--especially because Raynor wasn't even the only one. But Vance had given the Rainlords assurances that not only did the RPMP have no affiliation with the Vanguard but that several of their members, Raynor included, "despise that organization with the passion of a thousand burning public school teachers."

Zeff had to wonder if that passion had anything to do with why Field Marshal Graves had decided to pull out of the Ridgemark.

That whole decision was still bothering him. It had worked out in the Rainlords' favor, of course, but did the Vanguard really think that abandoning Vantalay was a strategically wise course of action? If Abolish sunk its claws fully into Ridgemark and seized control over all its resources, that would spell disaster for this entire region. Vantalay would almost certainly succeed in its invasion of Czacoa, and the other neighboring countries would likely fall soon thereafter.

Abandoning Ridgemark meant abandoning this entire warfront.

Unless, that was, the Vanguard actually believed that the RPMP could handle it. Which Zeff very much doubted. The Vanguard wasn't exactly known for having faith in other groups.

More likely, Zeff thought, the decision was just an indication of how desperate the Vanguard was becoming. It was no secret that the war wasn't going their way. Perhaps they were thinking that they needed to take bold action in order to turn the tide before it was too late. A few of the reapers had theorized as much during their analyses back at Warrenhold.

But if that was really the logic behind the Vanguard's strategy, then Zeff was even more concerned. "Bold action" was basically just a euphemism for doing something incredibly risky and probably stupid. Moreover, it wasn't even necessary.

There was a lot more to winning a war than just "turning the tide" with a "decisive battle." Typically, when the scale of things grew this large, it wasn't at all clear whether or not a battle had truly been decisive until long after the fact--perhaps even after the war itself was over. Such terms were a luxury of historians, who had the benefit of hindsight.

No, if the Vanguard was going to win this war or "turn the tide," it would most likely be through logistical adaptation. Proper, intelligent planning and reorganizing. And despite how much he hated the Vanguard, Zeff hoped those bastards still at least understood that much.

If the cowboys were running the show after the loss of so many top officers at Uego, then they were already doomed. The Vanguard itself might've been ancient, and Zeff was sure that it would endure no matter what kind of idiots took over, but that didn't mean it couldn't still lose the war and be sent into hiding for the next century.

Not to mention the millions upon millions of lives that would be lost all over Eloa.

Agh.

The fact that, even now after everything they'd put him and his kin through, he still had to root for the sons of bitches to win... that just made Zeff hate them even more.

The rooftop of the Ruby 88 was as luxurious as Zeff had ever seen. A kempt garden lined a gazebo, stone footpath, and hot tub. Palm trees and tall bushes shielded the area from the wind, as did a tall fence. If not for the military personnel standing around, armed to the teeth, Zeff might have thought they'd come to the wrong place.

There was plenty of space for them to land, but Dimas decided to set everyone down in a tight cluster regardless. With so many strangers around, it was probably for the best.

From the wall of black-clad soldiers arrived one larger than all the others, a man that could rival even Salvador Delaguna in terms of height and weight. A few of the Rainlords glanced over at Salvador, as if wondering if someone unspoken challenge was about to be made between them.

Salvador, for his part, looked entirely unfazed.

"Welcome to Ridgemark," said the giant stranger in a soft voice that didn't quite match his bulk. "Mr. Vance has been awaiting your arrival. If you like, you can follow me to meet with him right now, or you can take a few hours to rest from your trip first. Personally, I recommend the latter. I think you'll find the Ruby 88 to your liking, if you do."

The Rainlords exchanged looks with one another. They hadn't come here for generosity or pleasantries, and the offer seemed doubly strange considering the fact that there was a battle raging only a few kilometers away, if that.

Zeff stepped forward to speak for everyone. "We'll meet with Mr. Vance first, thank you."

"Alright, then. Follow me, please." The giant turned, and the wall of soldiers behind him parted again, this time staying open for the Rainlords to proceed through as well.

They soon reached a staircase flanked by an elevator and chose the prior, since there was no way an elevator would be able to carry all of them in a single trip.

As they were descending, Mevox, the reaper of Salavador, decided to speak up. 'You're the Linebreaker, aren't you?'

The large man kept descending until he reached the next intermediate landing, then turned around to look up at all of them again. "I am. Heard of me, have you?"

'Only your moniker,' said Mevox. 'What's your real name, if you don't mind me asking?'

The giant waited a moment, perhaps wondering if he should answer that. "...My name is Linus Maximilian."

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