In an instant, the Sun elf's pupils contracted to the size of pinpoints.
A flush rose on his forehead, a sheen of sweat forming across his skin, and his whole body trembled uncontrollably with tension. The mouth that was usually so eloquent could now barely form words: "No... no, that's not true!"
"Who are you? How do you know all of this?!"
He nearly screamed, all his former pride, confidence, and sense of security utterly shattered in that moment. Terror, like mighty hands, clutched at his heart.
Why?
Why does he know everything—my ideals, my dreams, the work I am doing right now...
Why does this guy know it all?
Wait, if even he knows such details, then does the Golden Dragon Bank already...?
At that thought, it was as if a pair of unseen hands gripped his throat—he couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. Darkness fell across his vision, as though countless stars swam before his eyes...
Charles took a deep breath, his expression softening with compassion as he gazed at the Sun elf and said quietly, "Daevyl, the Goddess of Life has been gazing at you."
Daevyl froze, unable to believe what he'd just heard. All his unease and terror suddenly found an explanation, as if a ray of light had pierced the dark forest of his heart.
Then Charles stepped forward—as if a deity parting the sea—and approached him slowly: "Daevyl, you are not alone. The deity has always been with you. She sent me to walk by your side."
With those words, he reached out his right hand, as if in invitation.
Daevyl lowered his head a little, gazing at Charles's hand. He could feel his heart trembling, the overload of information crashing into his mind, his consciousness nearly blank.
He could hardly think anymore—heat rose through his whole body. Years of pressure, frustration, and a sense of being wronged surged up at once, almost overwhelming him with the desire to kneel before Charles and weep.
Before this Goddess, who had always been gazing at him.
His throat worked as he raised his hand, about to touch Charles's fingertips. His voice quivered, but in the end, from deep in his throat, he muttered an incantation: "Dimension Door!"
Buzz—
A blinding flash of white light erupted—Charles narrowed his eyes. In the next instant, Daevyl's body had vanished without a trace.
Unable to face it all, he had chosen to escape.
Conscious that the man had made such a cowardly decision, Charles gave a little shrug, quietly amused.
He did respect Daevyl's ideals and beliefs, but this man had investigated him so thoroughly in secret, hoping to use that to intimidate him—he was simply overthinking it.
Heh, since you like overwhelming your opponents with intelligence, let me give you a little transmigrator's shock in return.
I hope it doesn't leave you stunned for too long~
So thinking, in excellent spirits, Charles hummed a tune, returned to camp, washed up simply, and went to sleep.
He slept soundly, but Daevyl's emotions were another story. He used Dimension Door to teleport straight to his own secret outpost, startling his half-orc bodyguard, Yagra.
By their previous agreement, Daevyl was only to return this way if his plan failed, or something truly serious happened.
Now it seemed his negotiations with Priest Charles had broken down?
Yagra wasn't sure—her heart was full of worry. But worse was yet to come: the always calm, elegant, reliable Daevyl, who so often wore a confident smile, suddenly threw himself at her and sobbed like a deeply wronged child, all composure forgotten.
Between sobs, he muttered that his persistence was right, that the deity had never abandoned him. This left the half-orc woman genuinely shaken.
She had no idea what Daevyl was talking about; he'd never shared his ideals with her, she had just been his steadfast employee, seeing him as someone only concerned with profit.
So now, confronted with this, she could do nothing but fumble through some simple reassurances and wait for him to settle down.
But Daevyl did not; after exhausting his emotions, he fell into a deep sleep in the arms of this rough half-orc woman—without even washing up—much to Yagra's distaste.
But as his bodyguard, she couldn't just leave her Master as he was. She sighed, hoisted him up, stripped his clothes, and tucked him into bed, hoping he could find a good rest.
Morning.
Charles woke from Theresa's embrace and went alone into the woods outside the camp to wash up. Just as he was wiping his face, a flash of white light appeared nearby—last night's uninvited guest, Daevyl Starsong, materialized again with a burly half-orc woman beside him, both of them looking rather conflicted.
Charles put his towel away in his Bag of Holding, turned, and smiled. "So? Have you thought it through?"
Daevyl snorted, turned his head away, and refused to look at him. He felt awkward inside; he didn't really believe the Goddess of Life had been restored, but couldn't make sense of what happened the previous night—so, reflexively, he put on a cold front, hoping Charles couldn't read his thoughts.
As for the talks, he'd let the straightforward, guileless Yagra handle it.
Watching all this, Charles was quite amused, struggling to hold back a smile.
The half-orc woman looked from Daevyl to Charles, her manner reserved. She bowed slightly, then spoke slowly in heavily accented Common, "Honored Priest Charles, greetings. I am Yagra Stonefist. Half a year ago, at the Foggy Fisherman tavern, you once saved my life…"
Charles frowned slightly, then suddenly remembered.
Ah, she was that half-orc woman from before!
He gave a slight nod. "I remember you."
Yagra exhaled with relief, then added, "Thank you for your help that day, and for what you did at Rockseeker's Outpost. If not for you, many of my kin might not have survived."
Charles was momentarily speechless. So his performance at Rockseeker's Outpost had actually caught the shadowy intelligence networks' notice?
Heh, then maybe he was a somewhat famous adventurer now?
He felt a touch of secret pride, but kept his tone humble: "No need to thank me. I was just there, and did what any person of justice ought to do."
Looking at Yagra—nervous but determined to maintain her formality as she stammered through politeness—Charles cut straight to the point: "If you've something to say, speak plainly. Mr. Starsong already gave me the latest version last night."
Daevyl's expression grew more uncomfortable, while Yagra, bracing herself, said, "Very well, I'll get straight to it."
"We've heard that a half-elven ranger named Adelan Starsong is currently with you. Actually, he is Mr. Daevyl Starsong's nephew. We heard he's badly wounded and we would like to see him..."
There are moles of the shadowy intelligence networks even in the dwarven company headquarters! That thought flashed through Charles's mind, but he feigned ignorance: "I can't speak to your family ties. If it's just to visit a patient, won't it be fine to wait until we deliver him to the hospital?"
Yagra was stumped, and Daevyl, frowning, couldn't hold back any longer. He stepped forward and said, "He's involved with vital intel—matters that affect the safety of all Liberl Port."
"Oh, is that so?" Charles replied indifferently. "Then I should hurry him back to the Golden Dragon Bank and let the gold dragonborn make the decision."
Daevyl stared hard at him. "Mr. Charles, we are not foes. In fact, half a year ago, there were rumors in the slums that harmed your reputation…"
This was what he'd meant to say as a mild overture the night before, but at this moment it had lost almost all its effect.
Charles looked up at the sky. "Yes, which is why Blackstaff Tower investigated me, and cleared me of all charges. The rumors were baseless."
He looked once more at Daevyl: "Yes, we're not foes—but we're not friends either. At least, you have yet to treat me as a friend, isn't that so?"
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