/n/jackal-among-snakes-1520/c-115
chapter-114

The ‘Hidden Tryst’ room was, as it turned out, a place with only one massive bed. It was large enough to accommodate ten people easily. The three of them had travelled together long enough that such a thing didn’t really cause a problem—the Low Way had dissolved all boundaries. Argrave set Garm up with a book, and the head used simple E-rank magic to turn pages. The room was well-cleaned, it smelled nice, and the bed was soft. A pleasant place, by all standards.

The room wasn’t why Argrave had difficulty sleeping. His mind twisted and turned every which way, thinking about both what was ahead and behind. Once he’d fallen asleep, he’d been disturbed by a nightmare. He had been crucified inside a hole, and the Guardians of the Low Way shoveled flesh-eating worms at him that burrowed into his flesh. By the time he’d woken up, his body looked like Swiss cheese. It had been impossible to go to sleep after that, so Argrave sat beside Garm, reading.

The bronze hand mirror rested facing upwards on the table to remind Argrave of his duty. Just beside it was another mirror, though it showed Argrave instead of the game’s status interface. It had been a while since he’d studied himself. His obsidian color hair was much longer, nearing the shoulders at this point, yet there was still nary a speck of facial hair. It was difficult to say if he looked more or less healthy—though his skin was more colorful, his eyes looked tired and his cheeks were as sunken as ever.

“Argrave,” Galamon called out quietly.

Argrave looked up. Galamon had his breastplate over his chest, but it wasn’t strapped properly. Galamon pointed to the strap and beckoned Argrave over. With a sigh, he placed a bookmark in his book and moved to help.

“Let me help milady with her dress,” Argrave said with half-hearted mockery.

“Sand is the scourge of steel,” Galamon said. “I have to be diligent with my maintenance.”

“There,” Argrave pulled the strap tight, then locked it in place. “Milady’s corset is tightened, and I tied the lace.”

Galamon turned his head back and stared at Argrave. A snicker drew both of their attention, but Garm quickly quieted down.

Anneliese woke up at that point, sprawled out across the bed beneath its blankets. She blinked for a few moments, taking things in. Deciding to commit to waking up, she stretched out, grunting. She sat up in the bed, her long white hair in disarray and her face slack.

Argrave found himself smiling. “She is risen. Rejoice.” He stepped up to the table, picking up his book and turning around. “We should get ready to go. But before we do… I’d like to check out the production district, get some updates on the revolt that’s happening.”

“What for?” Anneliese questioned, voice different in light of her recent awakening.

“Just bothering me, that’s all,” Argrave answered distantly. “Leave our stuff. If there’s one thing we can count on, it’s that no one will steal here in this place, especially not a Vessel. We saw the fate of those that do.”

“Am I ‘stuff?’” asked Garm.

“That’s up to you,” Argrave answered quickly. “We’ll get ready. Make your choice by then.”

“This is fine by me,” Anneliese rubbed her eyes. “I hope that man, Titus, did not get embroiled in this.”

Argrave looked at her, sharing her worry.

“Something tells me he did,” Anneliese sighed, crawling off the bed before rising to her feet.