Mark's head spun. That the city might send an orichalcum had been a far-fetched dream. The well-known, harsh reality was that the small town of Crestwood might not be important enough to muster up that kind of response.
He couldn't even fully resent the Adventurer's Guild for it. In the past few weeks, Crestwood itself had grown intimate with the concept of triage. What resources could be spared, and where. Besides, the Guild could prioritize Crestwood all it wanted, but it couldn't demand a high-ranking adventurer to go sprinting to the town's defense. In the end, it was the individual's prerogative.
So yeah. He'd hoped, but he'd expected that he, his family, and his neighbors would have to ride out these horrors on their own. Probably to devastating casualties. If not outright eradication, as had been the sinking feeling he'd had these past few days.
Yet here was a Titled.
Most people in the Kingdoms wouldn't set eyes on a Titled in their lives. Even the average adventurer wouldn't. There were three or so dozen across all the human lands, and fewer than six total in the Southern Kingdom. Even if he had lived in the capital city, the only time he might have seen one would be from afar. In a public display, perhaps. Obviously, he wouldn't bump into one at the local Guild. Certainly he wouldn't ever speak with one.
A part of him wondered if he should be suspicious. Doubt the woman's claim. The badge could be fake. He'd never seen starmetal before, and for all he knew, it was either a forgery or an illusion. But, for whatever reason, he didn't doubt her. The tiny demon didn't fit his preconceived notion of 'Titled'—namely, she wasn't seven feet tall and her mana didn't warp the air around her as she walked—but somehow, he wasn't surprised. Something about the woman's placid demeanor, those red eyes that hadn't drifted an inch away from boredom no matter what Mark had said, was proof itself.
"Hello?" the woman prompted, and he realized that while he had followed after her, he'd been staring dumbly at the back of her head and had yet to respond.
"Y-yes, my lady?" he stammered. What had she asked? As he recalled the question, some of his bafflement and awe were replaced with curiosity. An elvish woman in plate armor, leading a team? "No, I… I haven't heard anything about that. But if she showed up after we went into lockdown, it could've flown over my head. I don't know everything that's going on in Crestwood, small as we might be." He was quiet for a moment, then added, "You'll need to ask the bailiff or Leslie—that's the town's healer." A second later than he should have, he hurriedly tacked on another, "My lady."
He should've been adding that term of address from the moment Saffra had given the title. Worse, remembering the curt tone he'd taken earlier struck sudden, icy fear into him. He'd talked to a Titled like that?
The demon just seemed so… well, not approachable. Not anything close. But even the local lord of the manor had made Mark more uncomfortably aware of himself, the one time they'd spoken.
Maybe he'd only felt that way because he'd known of the lord's status beforehand. After all, now that he finally realized who this was, Mark was many times more nervous than back then. He wiped clammy palms on his trousers and tried not to be too obviously alarmed that he was in the presence of one of the most important people in the Kingdoms.
Was she even one of their Titled? Humanity's? Or was she from the demon lands? Likely the second, because he would recognize one of their own. Any citizen of a particular kingdom, at least, knew the full roster of its local Titled.
"I see," Nysari said, sparing him a glance out of the corner of her eye. He picked up on a sense of exasperation radiating from her. "Thank you for the general picture, regardless. I wouldn't have wanted to go in blind."
"I-I'm glad I could be of service to you, Lady Titled."
Lady Nysari gave a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, and Saffra shot him a sympathetic look, which he didn't understand. The conversation stalled there, since both the mage and her apprentice grew focused on Miss Agnes, no doubt deciphering hidden magic. Despite no longer being addressed by the Titled, Mark silently sweat the whole way back. Soon enough, they had stepped onto the main road, and Crestwood came into sight a handful of minutes after that.
He realized belatedly that his nervousness had been what the woman had wanted to avoid. Why she'd worn her old orichalcum badge instead of her proper one. She was just a person, no matter how strange it felt to think of a Titled like that.
He resolved to behave more normally. Not that his time with these two would last much longer. His role in everything, meager as it had been, would soon end.
Crestwood had a single guard posted at the gate of the wooden palisade walls. Ben stood stiff-backed and alert well in advance of them arriving, no doubt because he'd spotted an old lady floating along without any visible support, meaning a foreign mage. Then the man had seen the green badge—and her demon heritage—and really begun sweating.
Mark strode ahead of the party to pull Ben aside.
"What the hells is going on here?" he hissed at Mark. "I thought you were just heading out to check on them!"
"Long story." It wasn't, he supposed, but he didn't want to retell it anyway. "That's Lady Nysari. Orichalcum, as you can see," he added dryly. "I ran into her by chance—she's here to help."
"From the city?"
"Not… exactly."
Hope and relief warred with the annoyance on the man's face, the latter of which was warranted. Ben had gone out on a limb for Mark, and the newcomers' arrival complicated their arrangement. "The bailiff will have my ass if he finds out I let you through," he said. His eyes flicked to the demon. "Yet you came back with friends."
"I'll ask her to not mention me," Mark said, wincing.
Ben didn't appear reassured, and certainly not pleased, but then again, getting chewed out for not enforcing lockdown was something that seemed far less important with the horrors the town had faced the past two months. He eventually grunted. "Got Agnes too, did it?"
It was a question that didn't need answering. "I think she'll be fine. I think we're all going to be fine. She's… pretty strong, Ben."
Ben seemed doubtful, but he hadn't seen the starmetal badge. To him, while an orichalcum appearing was a miracle, a miracle was the least of what Crestwood needed.
"Just don't go blabbing and getting me in trouble," Ben muttered, patting him on the shoulder and walking up to the newcomers.
After going through the appropriate formalities with the high-ranking adventurer, Ben waved them through. The streets of Crestwood were empty—eerily so. Mark broke the silence as much because he couldn't stand it as because he needed to broach a few things with the demon.
"I'm, ah, not supposed to have left, and Ben did me a solid to let me go check on everyone," he said. "If you could avoid mentioning me to the bailiff or anyone else, I'd really appreciate that."
"You snuck out?" Saffra asked, for some reason sounding impressed.
He shrugged. "I understand the point of lockdown, and that maybe I shouldn't have. Maybe it just risks everyone else. But I couldn't not." He glanced at Miss Agnes, then away just as fast. Still didn't like seeing her like that. "Good thing I did, too."
"I won't mention you," Nysari said. "I'll say I spotted her myself while flying over."
He paused. 'Flying over'? Then he realized that yes, Titled mages could fly around, and that was probably how she had found Mark scuffling with Miss Agnes in the first place. A mystery he hadn't given much thought to, now solved. Another wave of disorientation washed over him as he remembered just how powerful this small woman was. She could literally soar about in the sky like a bird. But he had resolved to stop acting so nervous around her—she clearly didn't enjoy the treatment.
"Perfect," he said. "Thanks again. I can show you the way to the old town hall. That's where we've put the sick, and the bailiff and Leslie are probably there too."
"If you're supposed to be in lockdown, you can just give me directions."
Mark grimaced. "We can say we met on the street as I was headed to the healers—I have to go there myself, so I might as well lead."
"Why do you have to go there?"
"Miss Agnes got me." He squeezed his forearm, a habitual tic at this point. "So, should check myself in."
She looked at him with those apathetic red eyes. He picked up the smallest hint of amusement in them. "You're not infected, Mark."
He shifted. "Not to contradict you, my lady, but nobody really knows how it works, right? And a cut from someone as far gone as Miss Agnes seems like a guarantee."
"Well, yes. You would have gotten sick. But I healed you."
"I know you healed me, but—" He cut off, suddenly dumbfounded. This was a Titled mage. Somehow he hadn't worked that realization into his previous concerns. "…but mages don't normally heal as well as proper healers, right?" he finished, still mentally trying to catch up to the announcement.
"Not as well as an equal-level specialist, yes," Nysari said. "But that doesn't matter in this case. I healed you. The magic is complex and will be difficult to tear out when it's taken root"—she nodded at Granny Shroom—"but you were scratched only a minute before. You're safe. I guarantee it."
He didn't know what to say. He didn't doubt her, obviously; he was just reeling from yet another swift change in his fate. "I… okay. Well. Looks like I owe you even more than I thought."
"You owe me nothing." Her tone was firm on that. "But I should get going. No time to waste. Which way am I headed?"
Mark shook off his shock, pointed, and gave directions. "Bailiff's name is Myer, he's a big guy, wears a black hat." He made a gesture around his stomach to indicate what sort of 'big' he meant—not that the bailiff was a soft man by any means; he'd just built up a gut over the years. "Leslie will be the mouselike woman in her thirties, short brown hair." He winced before he continued the description, but it would be effective for helping recognize her at a glance. "The one that always looks like she's about ready to cry," he said. "Tougher than you'd think, though. She's keeping the city afloat as much as the bailiff himself. Not easy being the only real healer in this mess."
"I'll keep that in mind." Nysari turned to leave, then paused. "Actually—you are an adventurer yourself, aren't you?"
"Er." The question caught him off guard. "Yes, I am, my lady."
"What rank?"
"Silver."
"Silver." For some bizarre reason, the woman sounded disappointed. It could hardly be because she'd thought him higher. His struggle against Granny Shroom had demonstrated that he'd only recently squeaked into silver; he wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been mistaken for a bronze in that embarrassing show.
But why would she have wanted him to answer with a lower rank of 'bronze'? That made no sense. Curiosity itched at him, but he wasn't going to waste a Titled's time by asking. Especially when she was right: she shouldn't be idling. Things were getting worse in Crestwood with every passing moment, or so it felt.
"I see. Never mind, then," the woman said. "Thank you again for the help."
***
Vivi and Saffra headed for the old town hall after saying their goodbyes to the earnest young man. Vivi continued studying the dense magic burrowed into the old lady's skin even as they walked through empty streets. Her confidence was growing that she could rip out the foreign presence without harming the host, but she wanted to heal less severe cases first. Better to be cautious.
"Why'd you ask him about his rank?"
Vivi paused at the question that came from her apprentice. The tone of Saffra's voice suggested she had a suspicion, if not outright knew the answer already. Saffra confirmed the theory a moment later.
"You wanted to invite him to Vanguard, didn't you?" she asked.
"I was considering it," Vivi admitted. "I hadn't made a decision one way or another, though."
"You just met him."
Vivi didn't hear any accusation in the sentence, only curiosity. She considered her response. "The Quest needs to be finished, and I hardly know any bronze ranks myself. Anyone willing to risk themselves for others like he did would be a candidate. I know it might seem like a hasty decision, but again." She shrugged, though Vivisari's reluctant body made the gesture nearly imperceptible. "The Quest needs to be completed sooner, not later. I suspect Rafael already thinks I'm being too…" She dug around for the right word. "Emotional," she said sardonically, "about the whole thing. Technically we could've finished it that same day, if we had wanted to."
Vivi half expected Saffra to snort or find amusement in the answer, but surprisingly, she only looked thoughtful.
"He did seem all right," the girl finally said. "It's a shame."
High praise, even if others might not assume it. Vivi wondered if she should point out that the girl had treated him with plain suspicion for most of the trip. The young man definitely didn't believe Saffra thought well of him. But Saffra treated all strangers like that. Vivi hadn't been totally spared from the narrow-eyed looks either, and she'd had the shortcut to trust of saving Saffra's life right after meeting her.
"He did seem alright," Vivi repeated in agreement.
She couldn't always expect solutions to her problems to fall into her lap, like Ulden had earlier. Getting both a bronze-rank and Eshara out of this expedition had been too much to hope for.
Following the young man's directions, they wound through the streets of the small settlement and found the old, once-abandoned town hall in short order.
Vivi's contemplative mood evaporated, and her senses sharpened in alarm.
Because there was panicked shouting coming from inside.