They're all pretty mediocre, Horus thought to himself as he studied the floating screen in front of him.
The first one is the most standard, gives out the most information and the best alibi. He could even see it being slightly true. A parent that was an assassin would also fit his demeanor and attitude towards death and violence.
The second was more guarded and included a half truth that couldn't be verified. It was the answer Horus would choose most of the time. It was safe and straight to the point.
The third was too obvious a lie or at least a feeble attempt to shroud the truth. If a follow-up question was asked, like which squadmate is this? He would have no answer unless the system brought him new options for dialogue.
It would provide him multiple routes to approach this, but he was the only one that could decide which was best and would make his quest easier.
Option A might gain him some points with the commander for truthfulness, but it would also put them on guard against him. And Horus had a feeling they didn't know who his parents were, just the crime he committed, which was likely murder.
So he could hold onto the assassin bit and use it later if he was pressed for more.
Option B seemed like the smartest. It would call into question how he knew of such a potent poison, but it could be waved off as something he learnt. The only problem with it was if he was asked to bring people to the tree where he sourced the poison.
That would be troublesome, unless the system directed him to some Gloomwillow in this world. But, according to what he learnt in school, it could trigger a side quest that would slow him down and not provide much rewards.
So he would avoid it.
And he would just ignore Option C, so he chose D, and time continued. The commander's hand continued its wave, the serf and Lieutenants on the edges of the tent eyed Horus carefully, and he answered.
"I learnt to fight from my father, and the poison was something I was given by an alchemist from my village. All of this combined with my eagerness to prove my worth led me to face the Berserker."
The Commander eyed him for a moment and Horus feared he might have some truth-sensing skill. But it wouldn't work since Horus himself didn't know the truth of his background in this world.
After a curt nod, the commander asked. "Where are you from?"
There was an imperceptible pause before Horus answered as the system provided him options. "Noraka."
Humming and nodding once more, the commander relaxed into his seat. "Well, my honor demands I reward you for rendering such services. But you have such polished armor and a fine sword, which if you don't mind me asking, where did you find such a piece?"
Another pause, Horus' placid expression didn't shift a single inch. His unshakeable demeanor in front of such a legendary being was starting to unsettle the servants.
"I came across the ruins of a town once, guarded by an Heroic-tier creature from the stars that had been badly injured in a battle just before I arrived. I stabbed the beast just before it died and my attack registered as the killing blow. The system gave me this sword."
Even Gestill couldn't keep the flash of recognition from his eyes. Horus held back a smile. He had picked the right dialogue option.
He had two good options from the system. The star beast option and the one where he picked the sword from a dead enemy.
But he suspected that Gestill, like him, valued to a degree honor and bravery. Any normal person that saw a dying beast of the Heroic-tier and still approached it had to be mad or ambitious.
And it seemed Gestill had seen something similar.
The commander reached under his table and raised a sword that was well over 2 metres. One Horus suspected only demigods would wield. Then he unsheathed it.
Horus' breath froze in his chest. It was made from Celestial steel, although poorly purified and the grain quality wasn't the best. The black steel of the blade was dotted with minuscule white stars. It reminded him somewhat of a Zweihander.
"I also gained this sword after a battle with a celestial beast, but rather it was forged from a quest I was given by the system." Gestill said with a wistful smile. "I guess you are fated by the stars for great things."
Despite his shock Horus managed to compose himself, bowing deeply. "I can only hope so, sir."
With a satisfied look on his face, Gestill waved his hand. "Now for your reward. We have some slaves taken from the Native heretics, you can take any one you please to serve you. But what else would you like?"
Horus got to business, fixing a determined gaze on the demigod. "I would like to make more contributions to serve. I heard of a High Priest within these lands, sir."
"The High Priest of the Hollow Horn," Gestill murmured with a distant glint in his electric blue eyes. "I, and my Lieutenants, have hunted him for many years and given up, but if you would like to continue my work I will approve. I was considering putting together a team to find him once more."
Gestill turned to Carrison, but she kept her gaze neutral.
"I don't need many men," Horus promised, still bowing. "Just those who are trustworthy and follow orders, sir."
His words made Gestill's eyes narrow, but only briefly. "Unfortunately, we won't have enough men to assign to you. Especially with today's losses… but you may pick out a couple slaves and a high-quality mount to assist you if you are willing to go at it alone."
"I am willing, sir."
Gestill wrote something down quickly then handed it to a servant who brought it to Horus. "Then go. I wish you luck on your journeys, fated one."
Horus bowed once more and left without another word. The tent grew silent as Gestill watched where the promising young man had just stood, wondering what fate had written into his future.
Lieutenant Carrison asked a moment after, "Do you trust him, sir? Should I send someone to tail him?"
He didn't answer for a while, still lost in thought. Carrison wasn't someone he trusted much either, but at least that boy had a pedigree to him. An unmistakable aura of silence and focus. Gestill tended to keep those he didn't trust close and let those with potential flourish outside.
If he died on his journey that was his fate, but Gestill had a premonition that the boy would succeed and bring a great change to his campaign that had lasted almost two hundred years now.
How wonderful that would be, he thought bitterly.
"Leave the boy to himself, but find out what slaves he takes for me." Gestill had an inkling of the boy's internal weakness, which he could use to control and guide his growth.
Carrison bowed and exited the tent. Gestill's eyes were still fixed on the spot. Those eyes, grey like a storm cloud, seemed to flicker with hidden colors. What a peculiar child.