Master Isolde bore the Kirins' assorted criticism with grace, simply bowing her head and accepting their scorn.

"Forgive me, but it has little to do with the presence of a healer. Tis merely that the intent behind the trial is already known by Neve, and it wouldn't be much of a test if one possesses the answer before it even begins. I can say no more on this subject. In the meantime, we will have accomodations prepared for you at the finest traveler's lodging available in the city. I will seek you out on the morrow."

A quick trip to the nearby upscale inn confirmed her words, and the Kirins were left to their own devices until the next day once more...

___

@The Otter @Click This

Some time throughout the day, both Esben and Eliane would find a letter each planted in their rooms, written in standard SEED cipher. When decoded, they would read:

We need to talk. I've a room prepared and sanitized at the merchant's inn three streets south of your lodgings. Meet one hour after sundown, second room from the stairs on the third floor.

-K

When Esben and Elly arrived at the proper time, they would find a room barely of anything but a bed and desk, with one Deputy Director Lambert waiting for them, arms folded.

"Close the door behind you." A snap of her fingers and the glow of materia warded the entrance once that was done, and she stayed still, looking at the two expectantly.

"The two of you weren't supposed to link up." She afforded herself the luxury of a frustrated sigh. "I've had to rearrange no few of our deployments to cover the gap in our network. Now, I want a full report since you left Osprey."

___

@VitaVitaAR @vietmyke @HereComesTheSnow

Goug had asked Galahad, Robin, and Rudolf to accompany him in acquiring supplies, given that they had been the only three remaining at the inn when he'd checked. He had promptly, and very confidently, gotten them supremely lost within the winding, gnarled streets of Brightlam.

One wrong turn into a dark corner had them set upon by a half dozen men in tattered cloaks and theater masks, brandishing thrusting swords of various types.

"Stand and deliver!" The highwayman in lead snarled. When no payment was forthcoming, they attacked. As the fight went on, one detail would be clear to all three: most of the men fought just like Robin did. The same rhythm, the same footwork, the same cut-and-thrust. Much like it had been with Izayoi and the Revenant in the desert, the fact was inescapable.

___

@Raineh Daze @Ithradine

Rumors heard out in the streets had led both of them to the same location.

"Did you hear? That healer, out in the wilds. The one going about saving people from Blight? Soriel, they called her. Someone saw her again, closest to Brightlam she's ever been. And she's got a new hanger-on. Some ginger Mystrel, seems to be a mage of some kind too."

"Eh? I don't know anything past that. You know who might, though? There's an information broker called the Gardener, just off the main market."

Further asking around would lead them to the same location, with the two coming across each other just as they were about to enter the ramshackle hut that had been deemed the Gardener's residence.

Eventually, the two would enter. With the instructions they had received through eavesdropping, bribery, or outright threats, they would make their way through several dilapidated, musty corridors until eventually reaching a trapdoor in a storage room. Upon descending, the world changed before them:

Marble and gold leaf coated the floors and walls, while a bronze sculpture took up the centerpiece of the office. Behind a desk of rich, aged mahogany, a corpulently obese man sat, smoking a pipe.

"Well, well. Two travelers have found little old me. You must have questions. I may have answers. For a reasonable price, of course." A cheshire grin.

@VitaVitaAR@vietmyke

"Friends of yours, Fey?"

Blades crashed, painting the heavy shadows of the narrow alleyway in brief showers of orange as the trio of Kirins (nobody reasonably expecting Goug to fight) squared off with twice their number in soon-to-be unlucky highwaymen. Negotiations had quickly fallen through after it became clear that nobody intended to part with their gil so easily— Rudolf had barely the time to raise a smirk and an eyebrow at the thought of robbing people so heavily armed as they were before he was set upon by a pair of masked ne'er-do-wells.

Silver lining was that they'd prove a fair first outing for his new recruits.

The seconds that followed were a cacophony of steel striking steel, as the heavy, curved Crane's Wings at his hip were set to work on their first sortie, turning aside the straighter, thrusting attacks made by his sudden opponents. His eyes narrowed, taking their measure while he had these opening moments of uncertainty. They darted to and fro between the figures, his companions, the narrow space and sturdy walls they'd walked themselves into. Something itched at the back of his mind, feeling like familiarity.

From the jump, it seemed like they at least had a rudimentary idea of how to maximize their advantages within the space— cramped as this back alley was, he couldn't completely open the Wings up the way they demanded. His new recruits were well-suited to casting oneself almost into a dervish, swinging the body through powerful arcs as one blade played off the momentum of the other, each strike lending some of its torque to the next— fine as a lone fighter, but when minding his comrades in such tight environs, he'd suddenly found himself kind of wishing he had brought along Valon's spear instead—

That, at least, would allow him to more than contend with his opponents, who had far less concern for the likelihood of accidentally striking an ally. Theirs were the classical form of cut-and-thrust, in keeping with the highwayman look, all in-and-out movement punctuated by needling tempo. He was penned in by the space, and forced to make his reads on the defensive— they would already be out of the way by the time one of his cuts would pass through where they'd been. Trapped at the edge of their range and with no way in, he most out of the three present would be suspect to a death by a thousand cuts once they wore him down. In basic terms, this was what he intuited to be their gambit.

What they had failed to account for was to be a fatal gap in the theory. One they had no reason to know of, in fairness, but was simultaneously a load-bearing element of the whole idea that had been swiped from beneath them, one that made him probably the worst to encounter, rather than best. He'd figured out what it was about the feeling of each exhange that had been bugging him.

He watched the nearby man step in deep. The rhythm, the form, the openings...

He had seen this before.

A few times with his eyes from afar, but more importantly, once over the span of a moonlit bout behind his swords. The other half of that ill-fated eve was barely two steps to his right. The space was very different, true, he didn't have a whole courtyard to open up and apply pressure through—

As the masked mystrel man tried to retract his spada, he found it off-course and caught between the Crane Wings as they crossed over its length, catching his edge on the "featherlike" quillons on the spines. Behind the thin strip of black cloth, his eyes would go wide for the moment the pressure was relieved after a slight tug forward.

"Either way, if they're holding us up I'm playing rough." a cold voice intoned from directly in front, as a blur swelled through the gloom. Still trying to catch himself, the next instant saw the world explode into a field of white pain as Rudolf's pommel smashed into the bridge of his nose. Blinded, he reared back only to find a boot planting itself into his stomach, sending him crashing into another.

—but with that revelation in hand, these guys were now an open book. Forget responding in time— by the end of sparring the better version, he was confident he knew how to break rhythm and regain initiative at a moment's notice. He could attack stance, wedge his cuts in between theirs, or leverage physicality in tight, just as he had here.

The time to sit and watch on the back foot was over. Now that he knew what he was dealing with, it was time to smash through their game the way he had the best of this archetype. Having bought himself a moment's space, the Sagramori Auxilia decided it was his turn to use the terrain to his advantage.

As though channeling the spirit of the mighty sabertooth whose fang he had pried out four years ago, the young man surged forward and pounced, using the nearby wall as a springboard to launch himself clear over the heads of the highwaymen—

"Heads up, nimrod."

—Only to descend upon their rearmost like a falling buzzsaw, twisting at the hips and trunk into a whirling set of hews as his boot planted upon the wall opposite and launched Wings and Warrior both towards the earth. Now behind their lines, suddenly it was the three Kirins bunching up and entrapping the would-be robbers.

He had no intention of letting up his assault.

Right… well, she couldn't think of much that she had to offer, but this man was the best lead that she had, so… she would just have to see what the cost was and if she could manage it. Or Arton, if he was interested in the answer? Maybe; the swordsman had to have come along for some reason. Maybe he was just super invested in their finding another healer.

And if she didn't have whatever this fatty was asking for, then she would just have to… go and get it. Maybe even from him, if it was generic enough; that way if it was too extortionate, nobody would really suffer. This one could stand to suffer a bit more, even, he might be able to fit onto his chair properly then.

"I w-want to know w-w-where I can find Soriel." Did that sound confident? She hoped it sounded confident, the obvious aside. And she was even looking in the right direction! Mostly. This was much easier than a casual conversation.

---

Esben looked down at the note that had been left in his quarters with a raised eyebrow. Sure enough, when he and Éliane had been hunting down baking supplies in Costa del Sol, he thought he'd seen a familiar face trailing behind them, whenever he'd seen more than just flowing blonde hair poking out from under a dark hood. An obvious standout among most of Drana Asnaeu's darker-complexioned people, and given that she wanted to meet with them, it explained why she hadn't gone to any great lengths to really keep herself from his view.

'One hour after sundown' left him with plenty of time to prepare for whatever it was she'd want to discuss—and given that he had yet to find a safe drop to get his reports back, it suited him just as well.

---

Some hours later, after time spent wandering the city for the short time he had to do so, Esben was unsurprised to find Éliane coming up to the inn just ahead of him. He followed along silently, into the room that they'd been directed to enter, dutifully shutting and locking the door behind himself—

Only to immediately be accosted as soon as Kayliss was sure the door was warded. He nonchalantly walked to the bed, sitting down on it and setting his bag next to him as he began to look through it, though not without a small greeting for Kayliss: "It's nice to see you too, mom!"

Given the nature of their respective deployments, it was obvious that her words were directed more towards him than towards the flamboyant guardswoman in the room with them; he also knew that letting her have her way from the outset would mean he'd have no chance to get any words into the conversation. Better, then, to steer it away for a moment, for all that he might be risking the ire of one of the heads of Skael's intelligence agency. "We've been telling you for years that you need to take a vacation, and you're still working even out here? Shameful."

He handed over his most recent written reports, as well as all the documents gained from Mizutani Tane's mansion. "You've at least been sleeping, yes?"

---

Arton stood behind Miina as she initiated negotiations with the plump man, looming over the proceedings like her personal guard. His features were largely indistinct under the coverage of his plate armor. Everywhere he turned to pointed in the same direction Miina's own investigations pointed. An unorthodox cleric by the name of Soriel that seemed somewhat opposed to the current grove-masters on matters of principle. Rumor had it that she regularly marched through the area of the country most affected by the Blight and would burn down what could not be saved. It was hard to imagine that Miina's brother had ended up with her of all people.

He stepped forward after Miina had spoken. His voice had grown hoarse, as if he was afflicted by a sore throat. "Soriel's a great healer, right? Besides location, what else can you provide?" Arton spoke as few words as he could. The soreness in his throat had deepened his voice which reverberated in the enclosed metal helmet he wore. It had been his own initiative to operate as Miina's personal bodyguard. He only hoped she would forgive him for leaving much of the future talking in her hands.

@Raineh Daze @Ithradine

A chortle came from the man for whom fat was a gross understatement of a descriptor.

"Soriel, Soriel, Soriel. Everyone's talking about her these days, it'd seem. Makes sense, what with all of the Blight nonsense going on. Good for business in the short term. In the long term? Well, I don't much fancy dying should it reach here, regardless of what our illustrious Grovemasters say." The Gardner took a puff of his pipe, blowing smoke out in lazy rings.

"I can provide many things, oh tall, dented, and dinged. Exact location would be a stretch, even for a king's ransom. That woman comes and goes like the wind, with only rumor left in her wake. But I could point you in the right direction. For a...more than reasonable sum, of course." His teeth flashed in a grin. Silver, every last one of them.

"Three hundred thousand gil. Convince me you're not out to kill her, and I might lower it." An absurd price. Not exactly spending change, even for high nobility. One could buy a small plot of land with that high of a sum.

Was… was that even a real amount of money? How could you even go about carrying it? She had only carried a tiny fraction of that before and it had been noticeable, and they obviously hadn't come in here carrying sacks and sacks of gil, so how could you even think that anybody might possibly have that much to spend? Maybe there was some special coin that only rich people had, but that didn't seem useful if you couldn't get change…

Maybe it would be quicker to jump to threatening him? Except then he'd have no reason to give the right answer and it would be trouble to come back after they were sent on a wild goose chase. So… theft was out because it would be impractical, violence was a last resort…

She could be honest, but honesty to someone like this was just going to get her swindled worse for being desperate. She needed something that convinced him and would hopefully lower the price. But they were talking about a healer, so… maybe that would do it. White magic, white magic… a light was pretty simple, she could just light her hand up like this and—

"I w-w-want to learn from her," Miina stated, lifting her hand up as evidence, "I know s-some healing, b-but practice can only t-t-take you so far."

At least, if she seemed suspicious or evasive, it wasn't any more than normal.

---

"Goug. We're lost, aren't we?"

Galahad barely had time to say anything before they had made one too many wrong turns and were now being faced down by a group of bandits. Twice their number, though perhaps only half of their arms and armor, the Kirins nonetheless found themselves waylaid by this group- demanding their- something. Not that Galahad would've given them anything, but the bandits didn't even wait for a response before they begun their attack- it seemed these bandits were content to just loot their corpses instead of attempting any sort of extortion. A vein on Galahad's forehead pulsed, though unseen due to the helmet that covered his face.

"Is this really what you want to do?" Galahad asked them plainly, with a faint shrug as he unslung his pack and dropped it onto the cart, removing his halberd from its place on his shoulder. Rudolf was already getting stuck into the fight. On another day, Galahad might've been concerned with Rudi's apparent tonal shift, but honestly, Galahad's frustrations from the past few days had finally gotten the better of him- a part of him actually looked forward to the fight. He needed to blow off some steam, and these bandits provided the perfect excuse. "Fine then. Your funeral."

With Rudolf having gotten behind them, that opened up the narrow alleyway at least a little bit for Galahad and Robin- though Galahad still wouldn't be able to make the wide sweeps he was used to with his halberd. To make matters worse, these bandits, while still just highwaymen, were no slouches- their footwork was fast and precise, their blades quick and nimble, an almost familiar feeling. They fought like professionals, they fought like Robin. Had they come across some poor band of travelers, or common guards, they'd likely make quick work of them. But unfortunately for them, the Kirins were no common sellswords. They were surrounded in a narrow pass, and the Dragoon had the only polearm around.

Galahad immediately put the reach of his weapon to good use, holding it at the end, and stabbing forward at the front of the group. Rapid, quick stabs and lunges with his massive halberd's spearpoint, and narrow swipes with the axe blade. Its weight alone was enough that these flimsy blades would've had difficulty guarding against it. The intent was simple- the bandits would either stand there and be stabbed, or be pushed backward into the cutting wheel that was Rudolf. Galahad shifted to the side, to allow Robin the ability to slip in where needed, but instead of doing his usual thing of jumping around the field, like a dragoon, Galahad seemed more than happy to stand where he was and tear into their lines.

Perhaps a bit desperate, one of the ruffians attempted to slink in past Galahad's reach, narrowly deflecting a stab as he tried to close the distance and run Galahad through with his blade. A quick twist and twirl of Galahad's polearm was enough to knock the man off balance, enough for Galahad to step forward and twist, using a pushing kick to send the bandit flying into the wall. A moment later, the heavy axe of the halberd crashed into the wall, crushing and cleaving body and stonework alike.

"Lets wrap this up quickly." Galahad growled, the blade of his axe rasping against stone as he yanked it out of the wall.

---It didn't make any sense.

These were highwaymen. Robbers.

Certainly they weren't as elegant. Certainly they weren't as lethal. Robin, who had spent so much of her life practicing her skills, honing both her theatrics and her talent for defeating enemies to the sharpest point she could manage, was able to recognize as such at the sight of a single swing, as her blade met the blade of one of the bandits with the scraping sound of metal against metal.

They weren't honed to the same point that she was, for one reason or another.

But she recognized every motion, every block, every thrust and slash.

This was the very same style she had been trained it. Her first reaction, when she drew her blade and immediately parried one of their opening strikes in the very same motion, had been disbelief. Or perhaps that it may have been a mere coincidence. There was no way that these highwaymen had learned the very same style of swordplay as she had.

And yet---

Undeniable truth had come to stare the girl directly in the face.

No matter how much less they focused on theatrics, these men fought with the same method as she did.

That didn't make any sense.

She'd learned from the old man. He'd taught her. She'd never seen him teach anyone else. And she certainly had never seen him teach the sort of people who would rob from others.

He wouldn't. Of course he wouldn't.

So who could these men have possibly learned this from?

The sound of blade on blade rang out once again. This time, Robin caught her opponent's blade and guided it upwards, striking again as she brought her weapon low and putting it through the man's sword-arm.

These men robbed from the weak on threat of death.

But she had to know. She had to know where they learned to fight.

In the very moment she rammed her elbow into the man's face and sent him to the ground, clutching his injured arm and knocked senseless, she was caught by the attack of another of their number, attempting to take her while she was preoccupied.

---Even if you fight just like me, I'm still better!

Steel rang out through the alley as she forced the attacker's blade aside, and this time swiftly pierced his throat with a thrust. While he'd hoped that his angle and the opportunity he'd seen would take her off guard, instead she'd responded quickly as to turn the situation around on him.

---

Ultimately, Éliane was a bit conflicted to see Kayliss, especially here in Costa del Sol as a surprise. On one hand, it was partially her influence that had gotten Éliane out of the Garden and onto the track that had gotten her into the prestigious Household Guards and she tended to get along with the deputy director in that capacity. On the other hand, she had been annoyingly ripped right back and temporarily seconded to being back under the Garden—in other words, directly under the command of Kayliss, however temporary.

There was a reason she had left SEED, after all.

She sat right on the bed next to Esben and made herself comfortable. Glancing between the older woman and Esben as he made his greeting, she looked back at Kayliss. “It’s been a while, mom!” Stone faced as her delivery was, Éliane was clearly amused.

“At the very least, you should be having more coffee if you aren’t relaxing. The beans I picked up in Edren are fantastic.” She rummaged through her own bag, producing her ever-present thermos of coffee and holding it out. “Would you like some?”

It was obvious that most this arrangement was for Esben and his reports, but being a diplomatic envoy of sorts, as hawkish as she tended to be, Éliane had been writing her own reports that were generally for the Overseer’s eyes. She produced them now from her bag.

“No, we weren’t, but I was also supposed to be reporting directly to Overseer Baramoux,” she countered. She much enjoyed the freedom of that assignment and was still somewhat annoyed by the change, even if it mattered little in reality. “These reports are supposed to be for him, so I must protest.”

@The Otter @Click This

"Neither of you have nearly enough parental issues in your profiles to get away with that." Kayliss groused, taking the reports she was given and starting to read through them. The thermos of coffee was taken without a word and drank through in record time. After several minutes of reading, the veteran SEED set the reports down and tucked them away.

"Well," She began, taking a moment to massage her temples. "No one can say you haven't been busy. Dame-Commander, and congratulations on the promotion, I'll make sure yours makes it to the Overseer."

Kayliss sat in the room's only chair, one leg crossed over the other.

"You two do realize, by the way, that this information is more than enough to net you King Leonhart's ten million gil? Food for thought. In any case, you've done well. Ordinarily, this is where I'd call for at least Mathiassen to return to Skael with me for redeployment. Though something tells me you two would protest that at this point."

She pulled an antique-looking timepiece out of her tunic, taking a moment to set it.

"Five minutes. Convince me."

___

@VitaVitaAR @vietmyke @HereComesTheSnow

"Gah!" The highwaymen's attempt at robbery failed to pan out, the three remaining of the group that hadn't been slain looking at each other helplessly for a moment before unaninmously deciding to throw down their weapons.

"Enough, enough! We lay down our arms!" Cut-and-thrust swords clattered to the stones, the masked men putting their hands up, palms open. "Himstus be damned, you people fight like demons!"

"That's a Dragoon, you dolt! How in the hells did we even run into one out here?! I thought we left all that shite behind with Edren!"

"Forget him, why's the boy in the stupid uniform fight like a godsdamn copy of the Cap'n?"

Somehow, the goons managed to forget they were being held at sword and spearpoint as they started to bicker among themselves, though not without inadvertently revealing some choice information...

___



Izayoi sat on the patio of a local bistro with Ciradyl, enjoying dinner. Nothing else happened.

@VitaVitaAR@vietmyke

Three blades clattered to the ground, the percussion kick of surrender echoing off the walls on either side of the melee. In time with the hastily rising hands, the blur of black and white that had suddenly accosted them from the rear restrained himself, fading back into Rudolf's low-hunched form, his wings mere inches away from the next throat that would have stained them yet redder. In the gloom between Brightlam's domiciles, that crimson essence had of course looked closer to spilt ink than anything else.

"Lucky you saw sense."

Fitting that they invoked Himstus the way they did— blood was red because it carried his fire through the body. That was why you went cold when you had lost too much, so the legends went. Why when blood was spilled, fight too left the heart.

They weren't smart enough to leave the three of you alone to begin with. They couldn't recognize Galahad as a dragoon until he kicked one of them through a wall. They argue among themselves like they're not on the wrong end of swordpoint from every angle. Do you think they're smart enough to honor their surrender, once our two friends here take them at their word? Smart enough to remember this happened, the next time they've swords in their hands and somebody takes a wrong turn?

Red stained black... unfortunately familiar idea. The fight had nearly left him more than once— and the last time, it hadn't even needed a drop of his blood to start seeing itself out. His brow furrowed as he sheathed one blade, and kept the other interposed between him and the throats of their would-be muggers.

There's one way to be sure, kid. They considered your life forfeit. The only thing that saved you was that you're stronger than they are. Suppose they're even half as good as the 'boy in the stupid uniform' that they fight like. How many people are still on the wrong end of the equation? Most of the same ones your questing to save, I'd wager.

He held his gaze, drawing closer, closer...

And without taking his eyes off them, plucked the first of the three swords from the ground in his free hand, pinching the ricasso between his first two fingers.

You know how easy swords are to buy.

"'Captain', huh? This sure as hell didn't seem like such an organized setup as needing a chain of command." he mentioned, cutting into their squabbling and taking the second sword between his middle and ring finger. He moved quickly between them, always keeping that bloodied sword at the ready, and in short order the third had joined its peers between ring and pinky, all three held in that odd, reversed grip and pulled well out of reach.

"'Left Edren behind', too." he noted, as though spying a worm crawling at the bottom of his barrel of apples. "What's the story here? You conscripts that deserted during the war or something? You fight too much like duelists for that to be the start and end of it."

He knew Robin wasn't going to let that lie unaddressed, and he admittedly had his own curiosity regarding the elephant in the room of how their 'Captain' and her adoptive old man might have been related— but if her previous tendency not to think things through told him anything, the thought that dear old dad may have had a more checkered past than she knew could well have thrown her off course and compromised her ability to ask the right questions.

Hell, if she immediately assumed this school of swordsmanship was strictly limited to her father's tutelage, then it wasn't at all hard to imagine where a hasty mind could take this setup. She could have the lion's share of the interrogation once they'd established these key points, but he didn't have the inherent biases that'd color how they broke the ice.

---

Arton grimaced under the protection of his helm, his eyes narrowing at the sparse information thrown their way free of charge. Their mark was seeming more and more like some new myth constructed to soothe the worried citizens. Honestly, he didn't like the feeling he was getting from this country. Everything here seemed like kindling for a civil war that just needed the right spark. A valiant hero doing their best to protect the people from disaster while the traditional heads of government did little. It made sense now why their arrival was met with less than open arms. Assistance from a foreign power may erode what remained of the grovemasters' authority. Arton went to rub his temple with his hand and was met with the disappointing clink of metal against metal. He uttered a silent sigh. Better to leave that kind of thinking to Ciradyl and Esben.

The amount was utterly ridiculous and his gaze turned down to Miina. No way she would be carrying that kind of funds even if she did have it. His companion seemed to share his view on the price. Arton admitted it was an almost believe lie as it might actually be true, though he knew it was not her reason for being here. He shifted anxiously in place as it was clear he would be expected to speak next.

This man had to be at least an ally of Soriel. There was no reason to charge such an exorbitant fee for a vague area that might already be out of date. Arton undid some of the clasps that held his gauntlet to his arm and slide all the way off, leather under glove included. A faint, but pungent, odor wafted from the unveiled flesh. Dark lines replaced veins and the skin took on a sickly gray color. It was a huge gamble, but one they couldn't afford not to make if he was to get better and Miina reunite with her brother.

"Sir, I heard about Soriel from our dear friend Neve Shadesbough. I don't know how much time I have left and she might be the only one capable of healing me. Please...if it means I can be cured and Miina can learn under her, I'll do anything you ask." He pleaded, bowing his head and crossing one arm over his chest. As he relaxed from his position, he slide the gauntlet back on and fastened the straps tightly once more.

@Raineh Daze @Ithradine

Miina's statement had the Gardener chuckle, shaking his head.

"All the healers you could have picked in the continent's capital of white magic, and you pick her? Sounds like a waste of the poor woman's time, when she could be doing real work out there. And how about you, tin man? Anything to add to that-"

Arton's revelation had the rotund bastard flinch, recoiling in revulsion.

"Ye gods, man! Get some damned bandages on that, at least!" It took a second or two for him to calm down enough to continue further, awkwardly clearing his throat.

"Ahem. Well. That's more like it, at least. Some literal skin in the game. Thirty thousand, and I'll tell you exactly what you need if it gets you out of my humble abode before you turn into some shambling Blight horror."

A far more reasonable sum. Still not exactly money to be throwing away, but they could at least more than afford this one.

Right, that… that could be afforded. Even if she'd had to go scrounge it up herself… well, maybe not here, out in woods, but if she was back in Costa del Sol… of course, that wasn't a problem for once; the funding they'd liberated from Mizutani meant that they'd been able to bring along enough to fund this particular excursion. That was surprising, moving goods was generally the hard part and she hadn't thought they had all that long…

Although, they did have a major criminal contact and various more reputable ones, so maybe it wasn't terribly surprising. Had they been ripped off…? That was a separate question, when it came to it. For now, they had all the money they really needed, and this was definitely worth spending it on. She had a brother to catch, and Arton's arm was all… ew. That was bad.

"F-F-Fine…" the mystrel said, digging into her coat and steadily counting out the required funding. Now she saw why it was her job to carry the money on this trip, aside from the obvious "you have lots of pockets inside there, right?" aspect; if Arton was paying, he might just reject it out of concern for the Blight or something.

If her expectant stare was a bit too sharp and unblinking, that was only fair.

---

Éliane merely gave Kayliss a pleasant smile at that challenge, allowing her temporary superior to leaf through their combined reports. To her growing horror, the older woman burned right through the entire thermos of expensive coffee… although the pink-haired officer probably should have expected as much. She didn’t know any Skaelan bureaucrat that didn’t consume copious amounts of caffeine, which was a thing that she could heartily relate with.

She nodded once Kayliss was done, and acknowledged the congratulations offered her way with another, but shrugged when the SEED deputy director mentioned the reward money. Officer pay in the Household Guards was quite generous, and there was little that she used her money for aside from coffee and sending some of her pay to her family. However… “Ten million gil could go a long way towards fully equipping this expedition with better and heavier weapons…”

She would have continued to make a point here if it wasn’t for what Kayliss mentioned next. Frowning at the timepiece she had taken out, she schooled her face.

“Esben is an important asset to this team. He is popular and works well with the rest of Kirin, and his contributions in planning and on the battlefield have been essential,” she immediately responded, falling back into the old routine she was familiar with when convincing superior officers about personnel assignments. “If you refer back to the report on the jailbreak assault, without Esben’s direct planning that mission would have likely failed.” She then cited a few more excerpts from the reports.

“Most importantly though, the more Skaelans that remain with the team, the better we can pursue our agenda and maneuver for positions more favorably for us.”

---

Esben sat as silently as Éliane while Kayliss reviewed their reports. It was only expected that she would receive comment long before he did; after all, Kayliss herself knew that she'd be stepping on toes that she probably shouldn't if she was to claim any greater authority over the pink-haired woman's actions, and keeping her somewhat mollified would help avoid any troubles in that regard. He, meanwhile, was her actual direct subordinate. So he continued to remain silent as Éliane mused about how to spend the reward money, before the actual point that their boss was getting at came to the fore.

Éliane's reasoning went nearly unheard as he stared at Kayliss, his face as blank as the woman had taught him to make it years prior. He'd been expecting more of an argument to even get to the point of being allowed to argue to remain, not getting there immediately. At least he'd prepared his own reasoning well ahead of time.

"My assignment was left very open ended, and I was given the freedom to pursue it as I saw fit," he replied once he had a chance to cut in. "Running into the Kirins was a happy accident. Both despite the entanglement with them and because of it, you'll see that I got information that I wouldn't have easily accessed otherwise—information that I doubt Commander Laruelle would have entirely picked up herself, given the differing goals and scopes of what we're doing."

He leaned back, crossing his arms as his shoulder blades hit the wall behind him. "On top of that, as you've just read, what we're doing now goes beyond a simple matter of intelligence, and as long as we're still involved, you'll have very good intelligence about just where Valheim is sending some of their own clandestine operatives and special forces. Lastly..."

He glanced once over at Éliane, wondering just what her reaction would be to his final argument, before turning promptly back to Kayliss. "If you try to order me back, I'll tell you faen ta deg and resign."

The rest of the world had faded away.

The sliver of starlight pointed at the tender flesh of the man's throat, her eyes fixed upon him as her fingers wrapped tight on the hilt of her blade.

Robin's heart, long since having adjusted to combat, was hammering.

Edren.

Captain.

She fought like their captain.

These were robbers, highwaymen, and yet they claimed that she fought just like their captain.

Her hand wavered only slightly, and yet the tip of her blade was nearly piercing the foremost of the robbers' throats.

What did it mean?

That question repeated itself in her mind over and over again, bouncing back and forth against the confines of her skull. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that their fighting style was the very same as her own, however degraded it may be in their hands. And they, too, had recognized it.

There wasn't a thought of theatrics in her mind.

Her Old Man couldn't have taught these people, so who? There was no way such a thing could happen.

So who?

Who was tainting the style her Old Man had taught her by teaching it to the sort of people who would rob, and steal, and hurt innocents?

Who would do such a thing?

"Who is your captain?" she asked.

"where is he? When did he teach you?"

The edge on Robin's voice was practically enough to slice the man's throat on its own.

@Psyker Landshark@vietmyke@HereComesTheSnow

---

"Deserters sounds about right." Galahad nodded, hardly winded after the fight- more like a light warmup compared to the scraps they had been getting into recently. Neither Robin nor Rudolf looked any worse for wear either, not a wound on either of them- not that Galahad had expected any to begin with. On another day, these cutthroats might have found themselves a few Gil richer, but the Kirins were made of stouter stuff than what mere deserters and bandits would be able to throw at them. He looked down at his armor, and tapped the helmet on his head to make sure it was in fact on his head. Blue dragon scales, dragon motifs. "You'd think they'd notice a dragoon before they decided to rob us. Subtlety isn't necessarily a strong suit of mine."

The fact that the men fought like Robin wasn't lost on the bandits either, as they questioned why she fought like their leader? Boss? Former unit commander? Robin was quick to pounce on this as well, obviously upset that her old man's techniques were being used to do harm to innocents- in direct opposite to what looked to be every fiber of her being.

Perhaps notably, Galahad made no attempt to keep the peace this time, he neither attempted to lower Rudolf or Robin's weapons nor did he verbally accept their surrender, stepping forward with weapon in hand. His gruesome halberd remained out, though not at a guarded stance anymore, the spear tip almost lazily pointing at the nearest bandit as he approached. He used the proximity of Rudolf and his spear point to begin backing the men well out of reach of their weapons in case they tried anything funny.

"You'll answer my comrade's questions." Galahad's tone was amicable, but didn't really sound like a suggestion or request. "Quickly and truthfully, if you know what's good for you."

For some reason, Galahad felt some mild satisfaction at the thought of strongarming these weaker foes into following their will. Perhaps Galahad might've been shocked or worried by his own realization, but his patience for bullshit was well on its way towards beginning to run out. "You all were so chatty earlier. Please, do continue."

@The Otter @Click This

"And you used to be such a good boy." Kayliss remarked dryly at Esben's last words, her expression unflappable. "Ordinarily, I'd call your bluff. But I doubt you've suddenly learned to lie after Dhinas knows how long of refusing to."

She left them with their own thoughts for a moment, taking the time to build pressure silently before continuing on.

"Fine. Mind you, I was going to allow you to stay regardless. I just wanted to hear if you had any reasoning first. In any case, continue with your current mission. But with one caveat: once you're finished with the crystal here in Drana, do whatever it takes to convince your party to pivot southward for Skael next. Overseer's orders. Your nation has need of the services of you and your fellows past the Wind Crystal."

Kayliss rose from her seat, tucking her timepiece away.

"By the time you reach Skael, the Overseer's authority will ensure the border guards recognize you. You'll have no problems entering. Once you do, find me in Solitude. Mathiassen, you know how to. If you happen to die before then, reporting to Baramoux's office will be fine as an alternative. Further orders will come once you're in-country. Am I understood?"

___

@VitaVitaAR @vietmyke @HereComesTheSnow

"Where is he? Well, that's a great question, innit?" The highwayman Robin had her sword to resisted the urge to gulp, a bead of sweat dripping down his neck from the threat of imminent death. "Because, see, we rightly don't know that."

"Probably be doing a damn sight better if we were." Another to his side chimed in helpfully, trying to bail his friend out of this situation he'd found himself in. "Just up and disappeared on us one night after a raid, nigh on fifteen...twenty years ago? Been too long fer us to remember proper, you see."

"Think it might've been seventeen or eighteenish." The last bandit piped up. "Went by Ardor Fey. Hard man, worse than th' rest of us. Taught most of us his sword skills back in the day. Used to be part of the Shilage expeditionary corps, we all were. But eh, man in charge, Lord Istvan, didn't exactly like that our unit captain deserted. Blamed us fer it. So we might've did a spot of desertion before he could think up any inventive punishment or throw us into a meatgrinder first. Been going about this cross the continent since then, really."

A beat.

"So...ye happy wit' that? Cause I'll be honest here, my arse is halfway to clenching as it is. Kill me, an' I'll probably be shittin' meself all over yer boots."