-Five Years Later-
-A Dark Room, Somewhere in Valm-
"Give me a bit of light over here, would you?"
"I can't believe we're going over this one more time." A hand was waved absently, and a ball of fire whirled around it and started floating in the air becoming a magical lantern. The caster, a figure wearing a red hooded cloak, yawned. "I mean, are we going to learn anything else?"
"Of course we will. Now, focus the lantern over there." The ball of fire moved and stopped before a wall with a map of both continents of Valm and Archaneia. Across the map were pins stuck with various scribbled notes, connected with wires. The fire also illuminated the first of the two conspirators, this one in a green hooded cloak, who placed a hand on a pin in east Regna Ferox. "…and, mind you, don't light it on fire. Please."
"I would never do that! … deliberately."
"Just be careful." There was an exasperated sigh. "I don't want to reconstruct this board again. Even if we have doubles of everything."
"So … Regna Ferox? You really think he started there of all places?"
"Started? No." The hand tapped on the pin. "But it's the first guaranteed sighting we have. So that's where we're going to start from."
-Regna Ferox Arena-
In the sandy center of a Regna Ferox arena, two men were circling each other, both wary of their respective opponents. The first fighter was a bare-chested brawler, white strips tied around his fists for makeshift gauntlets, who had been winning his matches with speed and well-placed punches. Aside from a unique X scar across his bare chest, his appearance was unremarkable. His opponent was a giant of a man, easily seven feet tall and wielding a battleax easily just as large. He was wearing light armor, to avoid slowing him down, but that was the one thing which gave the brawler a fighting chance, as it were.
The giant's reach, speed, and power had enabled him to easily defeat all his opponents. By contrast, the brawler had barely won most of his fights and had close to half-a-dozen minor wounds over his body from various cuts. His last match was against a mage that he'd closed the distance and pounded down before she could get a spell off, but that was his quickest and easiest match of the day. The odds were stacked against the brawler. Or, at the least, that's how it looked on the surface.
"Willing to put up a wager, Khan?"
"Always." Flavia drummed the armrest, watching over the fight with a critical eye. She couldn't shake an uneasy feeling that lingered over her ever since she'd and Basilio lost to the Battlemaster. But she was back in Regna Ferox, and the realm was peaceful again.
Well, as peaceful as Regna Ferox ever got.
The combatants traded blows. The brawler got it close land a jab to the giant's jaw, but the giant, in return, swung his axe. With the brawler inside the swing, he took the haft to the stomach instead of the head and was thrown clean from the brawl. He rolled to his feet, and the two kept circling.
Robin. It's his fault. Flavia thought. I don't care about losing the fight, but it's that dastard's words. He's wrong about me. We of the north aren't the kind of useless villains he thinks we are. I'm no bandit queen! We chose to live up here, to strengthen ourselves. And all we want is to be left alone! That's not too much to ask for, is it?
"So, are you willing?"
"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention." Flavia turned to the man next to her. He was a man by the name of Jan and fancied himself to be both a scholar and a warrior. As far as Flavia was concerned, he was neither, but he'd manage to convince enough people that he was to become Basilio's replacement.
Flavia didn't care enough to protest. Queen Olivia was pregnant again. Olivia was Basilio's adopted daughter, which made Chrom's children Basilio's grandchildren, and thus worthy of being the next Khan. And, while she couldn't expect Chrom's firstborn to take up Basilio's position of West Khan, she very well could of any of his other children.
Jan was nothing more than a placeholder, and if he didn't realize it, that wasn't Flavia's problem. She just needed to tolerate the fool until then. But he was enjoyable to mock. Jan coughed and repeated himself. "I'm willing to bet on this match. I was thinking a wage of a thousand gold?"
"And who do you want?" Flavia knew his answer.
"I'll take the axman, myself."
"Hah!" Flavia laughed. "Done."
In the arena below, the fight was heating up. Unwilling to let the brawler get close again, the giant was swinging his axe wildly, slicing grooves in the arena's sandy floor in the process. The axe came close, but the brawler was proving how athletic he was, dodging the axe swings with acrobatic movements, avoiding it by mere inches. The crowd was constantly on edge, expecting the giant to hit him at any given swing.
Flavia wasn't fooled. The giant was pretty good. He'd come expecting no serious opponents, given that there wasn't really much of a prize for this tournament. But the brawler on the other hand, was a master. Undoubtedly a wandering mercenary of no small skill who'd decided to have some fun playing with the crowd.
"HEY! X MARKS THE SPOT!" Flavia screamed, standing up. "FINISH HIM AND LET US GO HOME AND START DRINKING!"
The brawler turned to her and shrugged apologetically. The giant went for him as he turned around, but the brawler dodged, this time with so much room to spare it seemed the giant was aiming somewhere else entirely. The brawler charged in and rained a relentless combination into the giant's chest, transitioned into a dynamic uppercut and spun in midair to deliver a wicked knee to the giant's jaw. And, like that, the fight was over.
Jan made a strangled sound with mouth as the giant dropped like a stone, as Flavia chuckled. She patted him on the shoulder. "Next time don't judge people on the size of their weapons. I don't need your money, so instead just buy the first round of drinks."
"Whose first round of drinks?" Jan asked weakly.
"Everyone's." Flavia vaulted over the arena's side to land in it. The brawler had extended a hand to the giant and was helping him to his feet, neither one of them having noticed her yet.
"Lucky shot." The giant said. "I'd have split you head to toe with my axe if not for that."
"Win some, lose some." The brawler shrugged and extended his hand. "I go my Mark, you've got a name?"
"Jaeger." Jaeger took Mark's hand. "Nice fighting with you."
"Not bad, you two." Flavia walked up to them, cracking her knuckles. "I didn't expect there to be much more than riffraff today. Attended the tournament out of boredom more than anything else."
"Khan Flavia, what an honor to be recognized by you." Mark said. "Though, you'll have to pardon me, I just arrived. Why wouldn't there be 'much more than riffraff'?"
"It's not one of the big tournaments." Jaeger answered the question first. "The biggest one is the one between Khans, of course, but there are a few other big ones. This one is just a small one. Usually, good fighters won't even bother. Bet they weren't expecting us to wipe them all out."
"Ah. Now I feel bad for participating."
"Don't feel bad." Flavia said. "These are also a good place for proving your worth. And you two are pretty good. Planning to stay in Regna Ferox?"
"…" Mark shook his head. "Just passing through for now."
"I'll stick around for a few tournaments." Jaeger laughed. "Unless someone sticks something in me."
"You really were trying to kill me out there." Mark dryly noted.
"Nah." Flavia shook her head. "He was just trying to win at all costs. He had nothing against you personally."
"I see." Mark said. "So, that would mean no hard feelings about it, right?"
"Eh." Jaeger shrugged. "It's not like I'd care if you had a grudge against me. I'd just tell you to get in line. But if you stick around, we can have a rematch, so you can get out your anger then."
"No, it's fine." Mark said. "You aren't anywhere near the first to try to kill me. No hard feelings."
"Good job!" Flavia clapped. "That's a warrior's spirit I like to see."
"So, the same would apply to you too, right Khan Flavia?" Mark turned to her. "If we were in a tournament, you wouldn't hold anything against me if I was just trying to win?"
"Trying to pick a fight with a Khan, are we?" Flavia growled. "You're good, brawler. But not that good. If you want to beat me, you'll need a weapon, at the very least."
"Would you answer my question?" Mark said, a curious light in one of his eyes.
"If it means so much to you, fine." Flavia rolled her own eyes. "Yeah, I'd have no problem, as long as it wasn't personal. If it was, I'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth, of course. But as long as it's not personal, then it's just between two warriors trying to win. No problem with that."
"I see…"
"What's with the face?" Flavia thumped him hard on the shoulder. "You won, didn't you? Let's go drinking! I could down a barrel or two right now!"
"I don't think I won that much money from the tournament."
"Nah, Jaeger's paying. Loser's privilege." Flavia said, walking off. The two fighters looked at each other, shrugged and followed her.
-Feroxi Tavern-
Jaeger was passed out on the table, which was a common enough sight in the bar. The problem was that he only finished half his barrel of ale, and now there was a staring contest between Flavia and Mark over it. Both their own empty barrels were discarded to the side. This was drawing attention from the rest of the inhabitants. The Khan drinking in a tavern was normal, but someone able to keep up with her wasn't. And Mark didn't even seem the least bit tipsy.
"I'll be honest, kid." Flavia said. "You're good to keep up with me. But that ale's mine. Don't try to pretend that you could finish it all without ending like Jaeger there."
"Khan, your concern does you credit." Mark met her gaze with both his eyes, staring unflinching at her. "But shouldn't you be concerned for yourself? The last thing a ruler needs is to wake up with a splitting hangover."
"Hah! I've emptied entire taverns on a whim! This isn't even going to give me a faint buzz."
"And I've had every alcohol the world has to offer, and I've yet to encounter one that could make me tipsy."
"Well, there's no two ways about it." Flavia slammed her right arm down on the table. "Winner take all, nothing personal."
"Well, I wasn't going to suggest it but if you insist…" Mark slammed his arm down opposite hers. "Barkeep! We need a referee!"
"I could just get another barrel…" The poor man attending the bar offered.
"GET OVER HERE!" The pair chorused.
The bartender walked over as Flavia and Mark clasped hands. The bartender checked to make sure it was level, and then slammed on the table to start the arm wrestle.
"RAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Flavia howled.
"HRRRRRRRRRR!" Mark howled.
Neither side budged as the two firmly established a deadlock straight away. The pair sat there, locked in place as both contestants tried their hardest to move the other's hand, but to no avail. Now a crowd had gathered, and bets were started, the people eager and watching. Most cheered for Flavia, but quite a few cheered for Mark, rooting for the underdog.
"You're strong, Mark."
"Thank you. I've worked hard to become so." Mark said, straining. "But it seems like this is all for nothing, eh?"
"Don't fret it." Flavia said, keeping her hand steady, though not without effort. "There will always be those stronger than you."
"Yeah … but I hate losing…" Mark grit his teeth, but his hand started moving downwards despite his best efforts. "I hate it!"
"Sorry, Mark." Flavia said, now a victorious grin on her face as her arm started inching forward to push her opponent's arm down. "But that's how it works. What goes around comes around. I've lost my share of fights too."
"Seems … unlikely …" Mark winced as his hand crossed the halfway point back to the table. "I mean … who could beat you?"
"The Battlemaster, for one." Flavia said, forcing Mark's hand until it was practically touching the table, though it was stopped there as Mark put in a last effort to stop himself from losing. "That one's in a league of his own. Take it from me, Mark. There's always someone stronger. I'm stronger than you, and the Battlemaster's stronger than me."
"Robin of Valm, eh?" Mark chuckled as his arm tensed, almost vibrating from the strain. "That one. I met him a while ago."
"You what!?" Flavia slammed his arm down with a burst of strength. Mark cried out from the impact. The room burst into cheers, except for those who lost their bets. "You met Robin!?"
"Yeah. He beat me too." Mark winced and looked at the ale. "He takes notice of strong warriors. Now, I don't pay attention much to the stuff that goes around the continent. All I do is just work on getting stronger. Robin didn't like that much."
"Called you out?" Flavia looked at him.
"Something like that." Mark said. "Blah, blah, blah, 'wasted strength'; blah, blah, blah, 'higher calling'. I mean, he had some good points, but its not like a complete stranger can just walk up to someone and judge the situation, you know? I decided to do what I do, and I have good reasons. That's conviction. My strength isn't so shallow that one person telling me otherwise would just stop me. Heck, I'd bet he'd hate this place too, just because he didn't stop to appreciate it."
"Huh." Flavia stared at him. Guess that's why Robin shook me up. He made me question my convictions, but Mark's no wrong. This is the Feroxi way of doing things. One Battlemaster from Valm that doesn't care to learn our ways holds no purpose for me. "Not a bad thought, Mark…"
"Yeah, I prefer to be judged by people who understand me first. Say, you going to drink that?" Mark asked her, gesturing to the barrel.
"Hands off!" Flavia snapped, going for the barrel and pouring it into her stein.
"Barkeep, more ale!" Mark snapped and flipped a coin at the bartender. "I need consolation booze!"
"I could have just done that to begin with…"
-Valm-
"He had two eyes! All the reports say he had two eyes!"
"So? This is Robin we're talking about. Illusion magic, glass eye, maybe he even managed to regenerate it. Would any of that surprise you at this point?"
"…No." The red one sighed. "So, he started in Regna Ferox and decided to fight in the tournament for a while, going by the moniker 'Mark'. He decided to conceal his missing eye but didn't care to conceal his chest scar."
"…And why do you think that is?"
"…Because the chest scar's not well known?"
"Bzzt. Wrong." A soft tsk was heard from the face concealed behind the green cloak. "No, Robin was fighting bare chested deliberately. He could just have put on a shirt to conceal it."
"You think he wants to be found?"
"I think that we're going to find a pattern here if we look hard enough. If Robin wanted to be noticed, then there's going to be reason. Figure out that reason, and we'll figure out where to find him next."
"Fair enough. So, where'd he show up next?"
-Southeast Valm-
"Can I get you anything to drink today, sir?"
"Sake, if you have it." The samurai's voice was barely over a whisper. He had dusty gray hair, tied in a loose warrior's bun. His armor was Chon'sin in nature, a lacquered leather armor, but it had seen better days, much like the samurai. But it wasn't like the samurai could see anymore – his eyes were covered by white strips. Obviously, a war veteran. His blade was in its sheath, leaning against the table. "As for food, I'll take the special of the day. Whatever it is. I don't care."
"All righty, then!" The waitress, a Rosannean named L'arachel, smiled and made her way back to the kitchen. The inn was busy that day, and the cook, a blue haired man named Ephraim, was hard at work, grim and determined. "One order for the samurai! Do we have any sake?"
"Sake? The Chon'sin stuff?" Ephraim frowned and nodded his head towards the back room. "I think we got a jug or two in the last shipment. Just don't give him too much."
"Please, who do you take me for?" L'arachel rolled her eyes and went to retrieve it. She picked up the jug, took a cup to go with it, and gracefully took the order of food as well on her way back, somehow managing to keep all of them balanced. Ephraim just rolled his eyes. L'arachel walked through the inn and set everything in front of the samurai and finished by pouring him a cup of sake.
"Thank you." The samurai nodded. "Could I trouble you to leave the bottle here? I'll pay for it, I assure you."
"Just don't drink too much of it, okay?" L'arachel smiled at him, despite knowing he couldn't see her. "Drink isn't going to be the right answer to your problem."
"Yes. So my friends have told me." The samurai replied. He gave a wry smile. "Your concern is noted and appreciated. But don't worry, I'll be fine."
L'arachel smiled and shrugged, then moved back to take care of the rest of the inn. It was the dinner hour, and the inn was busy, almost full. Lucky for the samurai, because that meant he had a table to himself. If everywhere else was full, L'arachel would have to sit people with him, but she wanted to give him space.
As she busied herself working, the samurai ate. The day's special was just a rabbit stew which was light on the rabbit but heavy on the vegetables. The samurai didn't seem to care, nor did he seem to enjoy the meal. He ate at a steady rate, finished, and only then did he start on the sake, slowly sipping it clean.
And that was when the trouble started.
The door to the inn slammed open with a loud bang as three men entered. L'arachel sighed. The town's troublemakers, who enjoyed nothing more than making other people miserable. That, and drinking. And they typically didn't pay for their drink, but it wasn't like L'arachel could do anything about it. All she did was serve them and hope they didn't wreck the inn too much.
"You can sit over there." L'arachel gestured to an empty table, sighing again. "I'll bring you your booze shortly."
"Nah, we'll sit there." The leader, an ugly-faced mercenary named Bazba pointed to the table where the blind samurai sat. "Looks like he's already got booze, and plenty to share with friends."
L'arachel blinked but halted her protest before her lips.
"It's fine." The samurai spoke up, interrupting her wordless protest. "I don't mind sharing a drink with friends. They're welcome at my table. And it seems to me that you should bring another jug of sake. Along with some more cups."
"Listen to the blind man!" Bazba chortled along with his cronies as they sat around the table.
L'arachel hurried and got the second bottle along with cups as fast as she could. The samurai seemed to be perfectly willing to keep them occupied, and L'arachel wasn't about to let it go to waste. Quick as flash, she was back out, setting the cups, pouring them full.
"Bazba's crew again?" Ephraim sighed as L'arachel ducked back into the kitchen. "What are they up to this time?"
"Nothing too bad, hopefully." L'arachel bit her lip as she carefully opened the door a crack to take a look. Now, they were very animatedly talking to the samurai, who seemed to not be giving any response. If she knew anything about them, they were mocking him. "The samurai distracted them and seems to be fine about it."
"Well, I hold nothing against him, so let's hope it stays that way."
L'arachel just stared at him and sighed.
"I just jinxed us, didn't I?"
"You most certainly did just jinx us. If anything bad happens, that's on your head."
-a few hours later-
"Are you finished drinking?" L'arachel asked.
"Yes, thank you very much." The samurai was sitting by his chair. Bazba and his goons had stayed and drank for a few hours with the samurai and had then left as the night fell, no doubt looking for other company to spend the remainder of the night with. The samurai, by contrast, hadn't bothered to refill his cup once and remained sitting after they left. "Your service was impeccable, though I wish I could say the same for your clientele."
"I'm really sorry about that." L'arachel winced. "But we can't do anything to them. I hope they didn't bother you too much."
"They drank all my booze and I had to suffer through two hours of stale, tasteless mockery. Not to mention that I seem to be the sponsor of their activities for the next few days, as my purse is considerably lighter than when I walked in and their purses are much heavier." The samurai said. He gave another wry smile and gestured to the bandages covering his eyes. "No. They didn't bother me much. Especially not when you compare what I've been through."
"I'm really sorry!"
"Don't be." The samurai looked at her oddly. "What do you have to be sorry for? You couldn't do anything, could you? If anything, I should be sorry. It would have been easy for me to kill them all in a matter of moments, or at the very least cripple them to the point of being beggars, yet I didn't and let them roam free."
"Eh…" L'arachel's eyes widened as she slowly stepped back.
"Please don't be scared of me. I said that I could have done that. But I'm afraid that my ability for violence isn't what it once was. If you'd care for a demonstration…" The samurai unsheathed his sword. The blade was old and dull. There weren't any notable chips in the blade, but it was clearly in need of a good polish and had seen better days. "They wanted to take my blade too but decided against it after seeing the state of it."
"Well, I guess I'm glad that was the worse it got."
"As am I. Violence is only one way among many to solve the problems of the world, and not necessarily the correct one. Seems a lesson that I took too long to learn." The samurai said. "I dealt with them in my own way. The silver they took from me – well, perhaps they'll find a few issues with spending it. Most people don't enjoy being paid in adulterated silver, after all."
"Oh my gosh."
"I imagine their reactions will be a bit stronger than that." The samurai chuckled as he stood up and sheathed his blade. "Fools. All they saw was a blind man with a dull weapon. But they never asked themselves how the man became blind nor how the weapon became dull. And the Wolfguard are the one in charge of taking care of counterfeiters."
"If you don't mind my asking…" L'arachel chose her words carefully. "Who are you? Are you a member of the Wolfguard?"
"Not exactly. I was part of what you might know as the Dire Wolves. Part of the founding group itself, at that. I don't have cause to remain, but I still wanted to check up on how the Wolfguard is doing in m… ahem, in his absence." The samurai tossed a few coins on the table, alongside a curious emblem which bore the device of a wolf's head. He turned his head to her and smiled. "Allow me to give you a tip. That last one buys you a single favor from the Wolfguard. Spend it wisely."
"If you want, we have room for you to spend the night." L'arachel stammered. "Free of charge."
"How generous." The samurai said. "Your hospitality does you credit, but I'm afraid that I'll have to be going. Those thugs might get arrested this very night, and then I'll have the Wolfguard tracking me down, asking me annoying questions or demanding to become my apprentice."
-Valm-
"The only Chon'sin samurai that could be called a founding member of the Wolfguard was Say'ri, and, well, she's a woman. The crest was accurate for a Dire Wolf to be holding, so that's definitely Robin."
"Mmm, mostly right again."
"…Seriously, what's with you?"
"Oh, you'll actually enjoy this. Say'ri has successfully crossdressed before, during an infiltration mission in Plegia." The one in the green cloak snickered. "I wouldn't put it past her, acting on Robin's order to be doing this, except I know she was somewhere else at this point in time."
"So, Robin?"
"Yeah. Moving back on track. So, the next confirmed sighting we have is … Ylisse?"
"Now I get to correct you." The red cloak gestured to various points on the map. "I think he stopped here, here, and, at some point, here. There are large amounts of certain ingredients needed for tomecrafting that were purchased from all three locations, and not even Morgaine can track down who bought them."
"Well, that certainly meshes with the next visit."
"You think that was him? I'm not certain…"
"It's not treason. Technically…"
-Ylisse, Grand Library-
Ricken flailed uselessly, trying in vain to reach for the book he wanted. The one in question was a large and detailed treatise on the forgotten lore of ice magic, something that had piqued his curiosity of late. He was spending more and more time with Tharja learning hexes, but anima magic was his first love, and he couldn't pass by the tome and not be intrigued.
Unfortunately, the Grand Library of Ylisse didn't keep stools lying around for scholars of his short stature and dragging over one of the massive ladders used for taking books from the top of the shelves would be just plain embarrassing to reach a book a mere five and a half feet off the ground.
I will go through my growth spurt one of these days! The mage stretched, finally managing to get a finger on the spine of the book. I can reach it! I can reach it! I can-
Ricken pulled the back of the spine too much, and sent the book sliding off the shelf, right at the would-be master sage. Ricken opened his mouth to cry out as the book fell towards him.
A figure in black with bright red hair stepped in front of him and grabbed the book while simultaneously placing a hand on Ricken's mouth.
"Hush, kid, this is a library."
"Sorry." Ricken said softly as the man took away his hand. He looked up. The man was wearing a black cloak reminiscent of mercenaries and dark-tinted glasses over his eyes so they couldn't be seen. His hair was, as Ricken previously noted, bright red to nearly the point of almost appearing on fire. "Thanks for the save."
"No problem." The figure checked the tome. "Ooh, ice magic. Talk about ancient. I was reading up on the Valentian variety last year but couldn't make it work. Want to swap notes about it?"
"Actually, I was just about to read it."
"That's cool. I'll say no more." The man handed him the book. "Wouldn't want to give any spoilers, yeah? It's a good read."
"…It's an analytical textbook, not some tawdry novel."
"I know that. Just checking to see if you did." The man grinned. "It's cool meeting you, Ricken. I'll see you around."
"Wait." Ricken called after the man as he turned around. "How do you know my name?"
"Read your paper on wind magic. The calculations were pretty neat and flowed easily, but you don't give Wilderwinds the credit it deserves." The man smiled. "My name's Shock, by the way."
"You read that!?" Ricken blinked. "But I thought no one reads my research…"
"Ahem!" The pair turned to see Miriel staring at them. "Ricken, and company, this is a library. I believe there's a tea shop in the front for lively conversation, so please be quite here."
"I'm game for tea." The man said. "We can discuss the paper there?"
"Absolutely!" Ricken was thrilled.
-Grand Library, Tea Room-
"So, you've neglected to mention that the Wilderwinds base could potentially make for the most destructive of all magics." Shock said. "The formula is variable, true, which lends for it occasionally having exceptional destructive bursts of magic. But, if you manage to stabilize the root of the formula at a slightly higher constant, you can raise the power to the levels which are standard across the battlefields-"
"-and if you do that, you'll make the rest of the formula so unstable that you'll be lucky to get one use." Ricken countered, rapidly scrawling a calculation. "See? Unstable."
"Wow. That's pretty fast."
"This stuff is my specialty."
"You're almost as good as that Rojo kid."
"…What?"
"Vermillion Rojo Rubrum." Shock said, grinning. His eyes were concealed by the dark glasses, but light glinted off them to complete his smirk. "You know, the whiz kid who developed the Flare spell?"
"Why do people keep comparing me to him? I'm a practical mage, and I dabble in hexes in my spare time." Ricken sighed. "I do a bit of work in the theoretical fields, sure. But I wouldn't even have a clue of how to do it."
"Don't tell me the thought of reverse engineering that spell hasn't crossed your mind."
"And how exactly am I supposed to do that?" Ricken said. "All I have are the readings that I've manage to take of places it was used, and it's basically chaos magic. Honestly, I have a hard time figuring out how the caster isn't killed during the casting process. Not to mention that it'd be difficult enough if I had the tome, but since I don't, it's entirely impossible."
"So what you're saying is, if you had the tome, you could do it."
"Maybe." Ricken's brow furrowed. "But it'd be a lot of work. Why are you so concerned?"
"Hmm? I took a crack at it a few years back and failed." Shock laughed. "You might only do a bit of work in theoretical fields, but I've barely gotten my finger wet myself. I'm more of what you might consider to be a combat mage."
Ricken looked over the man, with bright red hair, dark-tinted glasses, and black cloak. "You certainly look the part."
"Thanks, I try." Shock said. "In the mercenary business, rep is the name of the game. So you do a few things to up your ante."
"That's why your name is 'Shock'?" Ricken asked. "And the glasses?"
"That's actually a nickname my commanding officer gave me when I was storming a castle in Valm a few years ago. It stuck. Helps that my element is thunder magic." Shock said. "Glasses are a more morbid story, you might say."
"Oh?"
"I experimented with a thunder spell, trying to increase the light given off and reduce the damage produced. Y'know, kind of like the brilliant flash given by lightning."
"And it failed."
"No, it worked!" Shock grinned. "Much to my chagrin. Almost fried my retinas from the flash. As is, they're very over-sensitive now, so if I see anything through more than dark glass, I get a horrible headache and my eyes start hurting."
Part of Ricken felt sorry that it happened. But the other part was curious about the spell. "A tactical application spell…?"
"Yeah, want to see my notes?" Shock reached inside his coat and withdrew a roll up sheet of paper, handing it to Ricken. "Hold that."
The paper unfurled almost immediately as Ricken took it. His curiosity got the better of him, and he started looking over the paper as Shock kept searching in his coat. Ricken's eyes widened. "This is-!"
"I could have sworn I had it in this coat." Shock sighed. He stood up, which Ricken barely noticed, eyes affixed to the paper. Shock grinned at him and walked off saluting. "Tell you what, kid, you seem interested in that one, so just keep it and we'll call us even."
Ricken looked up as Shock disappeared into a crowd exiting the library. He rolled up the paper, thrust it into his satchel and chased after the mage. He burst through the crowd, but no one was there.
"You did say you could figure it out if you had the tome, didn't you?" A voice whispered in his ear. "Consider this a gift from a friend who wants to even the odds."
-Valm-
"We have no proof-!"
"Shock was the alias that Robin used during the Fort Beskagar operation. Admit it, it's something he'd do in a hearbeat."
"Fine. I'll admit that was him. The thing is that I don't understand why Robin would do that."
"Haven't you seen the pattern yet?" The one with the green hood tossed it back to reveal Ravena's piercing eyes. "You'll never make archsage at this rate, if you don't learn how to think outside your books."
"I'm not as smart as you, Ravena." Vermil sighed. "I mean, I am, just not in the way you're smart. Give me a board of arcane formulas any day."
"How powerful is the Flare spell?"
"Fairly strong." Vermil said. "It is the second spell with a concrete siege-level application, after the Mire tome. It has area-of-effect damage which is hard to counter and has far higher strength than the Mire tome. The limiting factor is the number of mages who are able to cast it."
"What's the number?"
"Hmm. Myself, Empress Pheros, Robin, for certain." Vermil said. "Add that to three Dire Wolves who've mastered the spell, and I'll throw in another one for Morgaine or Dant – last I asked, they both denied knowing it, but that was a while ago. You can't cast it."
"Yet."
"So, seven." Vermil said.
"And the number of mages in the Valm army that can use B-Class magic?"
"Of the 1,000,000 soldiers under Valm's command, only about ten percent of them are dedicated casters, excluding healers in that count. About one mage in a hundred can cast B-Class." Vermil said. "So, about a thousand? Does that make sense?"
"Almost. The number's closer to 1,200." Ravena said. "Now imagine the tactical application if they could all cast Flare."
"That…" Vermil's eye widened. "That would be incredible."
"A one-sided massacre, exactly." Ravena said. "The Flare spell tips the balance too far in one direction, understand?"
"But that's not a problem, is it?" Vermil said, slowly. "I mean, we have it."
"It's not a problem now." Ravena said. "But give or take a hundred years, if someone manages to train an army of Flare casters, they have the ability to annihilate regular armies at that point. And with none of us alive, it's curtains for all that oppose them. And we have no guarantee that they'll be good."
"…So the solution is to give Flare to our enemies?"
"I know you're smarter than that."
"The solution is to distribute it to level the playing field." Vermil said. "Or, to put it into your words, rebalance the scales. But won't that just lead to more destructive wars?"
"Yeah. But they won't be one-sided." Ravena said, clenching her hand. "A tactician's job is to calculate lives like this, Vermil."
"Why are you…?"
"This is my fault!" Ravena lashed out and caught the mage on the chest with her fist. Luckily, she was just flailing and didn't put any power behind the blow. "I'm the tactician of Valm now. I should have realized this on my own, Vermillion!"
"Calm down." Vermil wrapped his hands around her arm. "Breathe in, Ravena. You can't keep blaming yourself for things like this."
"Don't you get it? If I had given Flare to Ylisse, then Robin wouldn't have needed to do that. And that's not an easy decision to make." Ravena bit her lip. "Robin disappeared because of the toll those decisions took on him."
"It's not your fault, Ravena." Vermil repeated himself and wrapped the younger girl in his arms, as Ravena began sobbing softly. "That's what he's doing, isn't he? He keeps showing up at odd places to settle old scores."
"And he's sending us a message." Ravena said, softly. "Whenever he shows up to tie up a loose end; like the Flare tome, squaring away with the East Khan, checking up to make sure the Wolfguard are up to their job, he leaves behind just enough to be noticed. He's announcing that he's cleaning up his messes"
"So … won't he be back once he finishes?"
"Vermillion, how many mistakes has my father made?" Ravena said. "He's gone on a quest so that he can become who he once was – the man who adopted me. But if all he does is go around, staring at the mistakes he made, how is he supposed to become a better person?"
"Don't be like that." Vermillion said. "I look up to him to, you know. Ravena, I don't know what he's been doing in between the times we've seen him, but I'm sure he knows that as well as you do. Robin will return. I believe that wholeheartedly."
A/N: I know I said that I'd resume in summer and now it's spring, but thanks to, shall we say, certain events, I have more time to write. That said, don't expect weekly updates. For now, it's going to be roughly bi-week updates for half the fourth arc, and switch to weekly updates on the second half of the arc. This really shouldn't pose much of a problem when it comes to cliffhangers and the like, because the fourth arc will start out slow on the action but heavy on the foreshadowing. Remember to leave comments and reviews!
