As Daevyl finished speaking, his brow twitched. He drew out a Sending Stone, channeling magic into it to retrieve the latest information.
Moments later, a flicker of surprise crossed his face—but then, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"You see, sometimes it pays off to be prepared." With that, he downed his coffee in a single gulp, rose to his feet, and made for the door. "Come, Yagra, let's go. This time, you might finally get the chance to thank that priest Charles."
The half-orc woman stood as well, falling in beside him. "Where to? What are we doing?"
"To Rubble District," said Daevyl. "A nephew of mine has been badly wounded—he's in the care of our priest Charles right now. There's bound to be crucial intel on him, and we can't let that slip by."
The reach of the shadowy intelligence networks was almost limitless. Within every power—whether Golden Dragon Bank, Blue Dragon Bank, Amazon Fisheries, Mountain Dwarf Mining, or even the Alliance of the Mountain Purifiers—some of their partners could be found.
This allowed them to always acquire the latest intel at the first possible moment.
...
Although Charles and Anno weren't too fond of Adelan, they brought him along in the end. For Anno, it was a matter of solidarity—when one's allies can be helped, they should be. Besides, if the man returned to the Golden Dragon Bank sooner, perhaps those gold dragonborn would more quickly release their intel.
She still held a few idealistic hopes about the gold dragonborn, while Charles's thinking was much more pragmatic: he resolved to try again, to see if he could work his way past Adelan's guard during the journey.
Unfortunately, as it turned out, that idea was wishful thinking. The reason was simple: he had neither the opportunity nor the energy to break Adelan's silence.
Why? They ran into an earthquake.
Even though Shudde M'ell was dead, numerous Chthonians still roamed the region. The high mages of Blackstaff Tower were fully occupied handling these beings, which was why they hadn't had time to directly take care of the Demon Lords.
As fate would have it, the group ran into a Chthonian while on the road. While they ultimately made it through safely, the encounter left several injured and Charles physically and mentally exhausted—with no strength left to pry open Adelan's mouth.
So much for plans—they never survive contact with reality.
By the time Charles had a spare moment, they'd already returned to the Rubble District. It was nighttime, much too late to try anything further.
By noon the next day, they would part ways, each taking a carriage to their respective region. Where things would develop from here depended on the will of the gold dragonborn.
Charles felt some regret about this, but he also realized that such things can't be forced; he let time do as it would.
But tonight, something unexpected was destined to happen.
That evening, with a half day's travel left to reach the tram stops out of Rubble District, they camped in a sheltered grove for the night.
After dinner and cleaning up camp, Charles kept a bucket of slop and slipped into the woods to find a quiet spot to dispose of it.
Just giving something back to the land.
As he dumped the bucket and rinsed it out with Create Water, a white light flashed behind him and a gentle male voice sounded unexpectedly at his back: "Tossing your garbage in the woods isn't the best habit, you know."
Charles spun around and immediately saw, leaning against a tree not far away, a most unexpected guest.
It was a quintessential Sun elf male: tall and striking, with golden hair like spun sunlight and blue eyes like stars, his expression gentle and warm as he watched Charles.
Charles stared at him, wary. Somewhere in the fog of memory he recognized the face, but the details escaped him.
"Who are you?" Charles asked. Sensing no hostility in the elf, he wasn't afraid, only cautious.
The Sun elf did not answer directly, but began to speak of his own accord.
"Nigel Charles," he said. "Fifteen years old—oh, in another month, you'll be sixteen.
"Born in East Harbor District. Father a retired soldier. Mother a laundress. After your mother's death and your father sold your sister, you left in anger, surviving through scavenging in South Harbor District.
"Your life should've ended there, dying sick and forgotten behind some sewage ditch, your bones scoured clean by wild dogs. Yet six months ago, your fate changed.
"Theresa, the senior nun from the South Harbor District's Goddess of Life monastery, found you—took you in, discovered your hidden potential. During that time, your bloodline's deep well of magic awakened. Your strength soared, and not a month ago you became a hero in the battle to defend Rockseeker's Outpost."
His smile only brightened as he spoke: "Tell me, am I correct?"
The beginning was true; the rest, all wrong.
Charles, inwardly sarcastic, glanced at the elf's smug, superior demeanor and quickly surmised who he must be.
One of the Zhentarim's top agents in the shadowy intelligence networks; a "Plunderer of Misfortune"; a tenth-level enchanter tment: Daevyl Starsong.
A man whose "xp system" was odd, but who overall held to his principles—and someone you could do business with, if careful.
Charles began reviewing all intel related to Daevyl, already preparing his verbal riposte.
As Charles stayed silent, Daevyl grew all the more pleased with himself. He looked down at Charles, his tone almost patronizing: "Who would have thought—the Wenblade Empire fell thousands of years ago, yet here stands a true descendant still carrying the Charles family's blood.
"I wonder, whose power have you awakened? Antisek? Leitt? Or Tsop? And what flaws in their bloodline have surfaced through you?"
The "Wenblade Empire," strictly speaking, was the Wenblade Dynasty—a segment of the Empire of Sein, a powerful eight-century-reign empire from three thousand years ago. The three he named were legendary champions or infamous leaders—figures whose bloodlines still carried strength centuries later.
This was classic Daevyl: his method of choice was always an overwhelming half-truth barrage, designed to shatter the confidence and security of the young, drown them in uncertainty, and tilt their world off-axis.
Then, once a target was destabilized, came the friendly offer: "We're actually on the same side; I'm here to help both you and myself."
The assault never stopped: hit them with more intel until their brain just shut down, until their ability to think for themselves drained away—leaving only a marionette for him to guide.
To Daevyl, someone as young as Charles simply couldn't have the depth or preparation to handle the real truth of his ancestral power.
He scorned the need for magic here. He believed just using these tricks would have Charles both awed and dependent, respectful and obedient.
The stupefied look Charles wore now seemed the perfect proof that he had succeeded.
Daevyl smiled, already composing his next speech: "Actually, I helped you once, long ago. Remember the massacre on Twin Moons Night? Someone saw you on site—well, it was my agents who stirred the waters, giving you an escape…"
There, that was enough. The thunder had shaken him; now, a little gentleness to comfort the injured soul.
Just as Daevyl was about to continue, Charles unexpectedly raised his head and looked him square in the eye.
"Daevyl Starsong," Charles said. "Born into the Starsong family of the Golden Empire. Exceptionally gifted, with grand ideals: that all people should be free and masters of their destinies.
"As an adult, you rose quickly within Golden Dragon Bank. But by chance, you discovered that, under the pretense of free trading, your motherland was supplying arms and support to a tyrant on the Blacksoil Continent—a ruler who enslaved, devoured his own people.
"Enraged, you tried to expose the truth and cut off the weapons trade. The tyrant, with no more arms, would be overthrown. But you failed, dismissed from the bank for leaking top-secret data, while those you fought remain comfortable in power.
"Afterward, with your spellcasting, you joined a band of adventurers, the 'Plunderers of Misfortune,' making your living robbing liches' nests and soon gaining fame.
"It was then that the shadowy intelligence networks approached you. Realizing they believed all information should flow freely, you joined them, believing only unrestricted transparency could force the world's sins into the light.
"Now you use the networks to trouble Golden Dragon Bank. Here in Liberl Port, you're laying foundations for your own group to tear away the Bank's mask for good."
Through all this, Charles's gaze was solemn, unwavering. "Daevyl Starsong—was I correct?"