Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 608: High-Functioning Self-Destructive Tendencies

Who the hell really was Argrave?

It was the answer to that question that had led him to avoiding pursuing S-rank ascension in any detail. He didn’t like mirrors; he’d made a point of not checking the bronze one, as a point of fact, to keep him grounded in the here and now. He’d somewhat dodged the bullet of ascension by taking on Erlebnis’ knowledge. He had enough information about S-rank ascensions to spend several days perusing the wiki he’d built, and so didn’t need to confront his inner self to engrain his consciousness itself with magic. He’d reached S-rank without it.

Now, it was coming back double. Karmic retribution. Argrave laid back on the unmoving grass, staring up at the clouds in ponderance as they stayed frozen in the blue sky. If his newfound power was linked to who he was, then he finally needed to figure that question out. Honest introspection; this one simple trick had saved countless people years of therapy. It was Argrave’s turn for it.

Was he like Anneliese? A curious fellow?

Maybe he’d been so once. He did spend all of his time filling out the wiki in years past. Even though things did draw his attention sometime, his unbridled interest, he couldn’t fully relate to what she’d told him. She’d said that she wasn’t interested in the wiki in his head. She said she liked the process of discovery. Argrave, though, wasn’t complaining about his inheritance. He was more than happy to be a nepotistic baby. His power, whatever it was, couldn’t rest on that.

Was he a jokester? A wiseass?

Even as he thought it, Argrave knew it wasn’t fully true. He had mellowed out a great deal. Time was he could hardly hold a serious conversation. Much of that was just about not letting on how terrified he was, about staying in control in the face of danger. Anneliese had helped him come to that conclusion. Maybe he wasn’t as funny as he once was, but that was more a sign that he didn’t need to cope as much.

Was he some tryhard protector? A champion of Law, god of justice?

Argrave didn’t like saying so. But looking at it objectively, Lindon himself had said he’d approached because he’d demonstrated ‘largesse and benevolence.’ Fact is, though, Argrave knew he was only benevolent because he didn’t see the value in excess. If push came to shove, he’d prioritize his well-being over another’s.

Even as he thought it, the gears in Argrave’s head met resistance as past memories arose in conflict with his assertion.

“Then why do you keep doing painful shit?” he asked himself aloud, emphasizing his own confusion.

When losing track of something, it was common advice to retrace one’s steps. Argrave did just that. Upon reflection, he’d always been a pain-seeking gremlin. Fighting the druids, he’d ingested the blood of a Winter Nymph. A painful memory. But thinking of blood led him to a deeper revelation; from the beginning, he’d gravitated toward blood magic. His plan had always been etched with the idea of self-sacrifice. The first thing he’d made in this world had been his thesis for Blood Infusion. And most recently, he had invited Sataistador’s fire of chaos inside his body to get what he wanted.

He felt some deep discomfort confronting this notion. Was he one of those people? The notion of Anneliese whipping him in a gimp suit brought him no pleasure, but he couldn’t deny that there was too much evidence against him to so easily handwave matters. In terms of emotional turmoil, the prospect of Anneliese being hurt alarmed him far more than that of himself. He’d sooner be stabbed twice than see her suffer one.

Argrave couldn’t honestly say he’d prioritize his well-being over another’s, given his damnable track record. If that had been the case, he’d not have put himself as such risk so quickly trying to stop Veiden’s invasion. Furthermore, there were other routes—slower routes, granted, but routes nonetheless—he might’ve taken for sufficient power to overthrow King Felipe, to cure his body, to stop the plague. He’d chosen risk of his own volition. And why?

Well, that was the answer. It was just who Argrave was.

It disturbed Argrave a little, accepting that. He supposed no one would like to realize and confront squarely the fact they have self-destructive tendencies. He found the notion incompatible with another trait he knew he had—greed. He liked fancy clothes, flashy things, good food, and the simple act of gaining something. But in the end, what he’d done wasn’t incompatible with his greed. It was an extension of it.

Argrave operated under the principle that he had to give a little to get a little. He’d given a great deal, but it had all been because he wanted to get something in return. He wanted to keep Anneliese and all of his family. He wanted to keep all the people of his kingdom, and a few others besides, alive. He wanted so damned much—all he ever did was want. And to get what he wanted, he’d given enough to have near the whole damned world at his disposal by this point.

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But that wasn’t enough. Argrave wanted much more than what he had, even now.

He wanted the Heralds and Traugott done and gone. He wanted the cycle of judgment to end, forevermore. He wanted to make anyone with even the slightest intention of meddling with what was his reduced to ash. He wanted more than a good ending—he wanted the best ending. Elsewise, from the beginning, he would’ve contented himself with what he knew and never acted in a way that might throw things off.

If he needed to bleed a little more to make his best ending come true, what’s the damned harm?

As the words rose to Argrave’s mind, he took a deep breath and let out a sigh tinged with despair. He hoped that he wasn’t on the money. He certainly wasn’t eager to bleed for his cause, but time had proven that he generally needed to. He was just too damned greedy. If he wanted everything, he’d have to give enough to get it.

Argrave turned his head, where the snake remained and watched him passively. “If I eat two fruits, do I get a new power? I want a reroll,” he complained.

“You’ve yet to discover the first,” Lindon reminded him.

“It’d be a blessing if I was wrong. Maybe my power is stand-up comedy. I say some jokes, and people’s heads explode.” Argrave held his hand up toward the sky, hiding the suns with his fingers.

“Given how little impact that joke had, it would seem that’s not the case,” Lindon poured ice over Argrave’s fire immediately.

“I wasn’t standing,” Argrave protested, sitting up. “In hindsight, I should’ve gained an obsession over the passage of time. Or spatial distortions. Those would be prime powers. Man, if I had Raccomen’s ability…”

“If we could choose our obsessions, every mortal man would rise to where you have. I would say you have been blessed sufficiently as it is. What more could you want?” He added, playing off Argrave’s thoughts.

“What more could I want? Everything.” Argrave rose to his feet, then started walking over to where Lindon remained waiting passively. “I won’t hurt you, will I? Breaking free, I mean. There’s a lot I want for you to do for me, still.”

Once again, Argrave felt the glow of amusement radiating outward from Lindon. For a serpent, he had a rather strong sense of humor. Perhaps Argrave had inherited his funny bone from this fellow. But then perhaps not; their relationship was bloodline alone, and Argrave had spent most of his life in another body.

After the glow faded, Lindon goaded, “Try your damnedest to hurt me, I implore you. I daresay you couldn’t even if you wanted to.”

“Clench your teeth, then. Because I’ll be going home on foot, while you’ll be leaving in an ambulance.”

Argrave held up his hand, then conjured a greatsword of his own blood. He felt the pain despite the mindscape he inhabited. He took the thing firmly in hand and swung it at Lindon. It cleaved through the snake, dissipating it into nothingness.

“Seems that theory failed,” Lindon’s disembodied voice continued to taunt.

Argrave looked around, then studied the greatsword in his hand. “Nah,” he disagreed. “I just wasn’t thinking large-scale enough.”

Argrave hefted the weapon on high, craning his whole body… and swinging it in a great arc, he cut the entire world in twain. Like a deluge brought by a god, it tore through the ground and sky with such ease it felt as though he wasn’t swinging at all. He swung it in a great circle, and after, all that remained was darkness.

And in darkness, Argrave again found light.

#####

Argrave, back in Berendar, stopped midstride. His people walked ahead of him, looking back in confusion. Just as the time before, it seemed no more than a moment had passed.

“Why’d you stop? Are you unwell?” Elenore asked in concern, then looked to Anneliese to gauge if there was need to be worried.

Anneliese only watched Argrave in confusion. He looked between everyone—his siblings, his queen, Raven… though a lot of his people were missing, he felt it needed to be said.

“All of you…” his fingers pointed to them generally. “You’re my people. Mine.” He tapped his chest.

“What are you saying?” Elenore walked forward.

“And I’m keeping you. So I don’t want to hear any complaining about what needs to be done to do that. It’s just who I am, and I don’t think I can change that.” Argrave looked around, where his city of Blackgard stretched, growing more every day. “Those people over there? They’re mine, too. I’m a greedy bastard, but it just so happens I’m also a good person, too. The two aren’t exclusive. I figured all that out.”

Everyone waited for Argrave to continue, questions written on their face.

“I know how to use my new power,” Argrave explained with a sigh. “I know what changed. You can thank Lindon for all of that.”

“What, then?” Raven indulged, the least surprised of everyone.

“My blood magic’s evolved.”

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