“I lost well over one thousand good people, Your Majesty,” Count Castille said to Argrave. “Good families relocated, leaving entire fields untended. When my father purchased the land well over eighty years ago, he bought it with the expectation that these serf families came with the land. For all intents and purposes… and meaning no disrespect, of course… recruiting people for Blackgard is tantamount to theft, Your Majesty. In the short term, we may have to abandon entire fields. There will be less taxes, which means less funds to utilize for other projects—road repairs, fortifications, or even the crown taxes. I cannot maintain my territory if there are no people within it. That, on top of the crippling debt to those patricians in Relize, with the land as collateral…!”

Argrave stared at the stocky man, nodding along as if he sympathized. His mind worked to translate it in real time: Your Majesty, please! It was really fun sewing, but this reaping business is no fun! I treated people poorly, but they weren’t supposed to do something about it! Only poor people face consequences for their actions!

“I have spoken to the other nobles in Atrus,” Castille continued. “And frankly… they’re in agreement. These immigration acts that the crown has been putting out have the potential to upend entire households. The knights under us are expecting wages that we have difficulty paying, and already many houses have abandoned keeping spellcasters in their service altogether. Our vassals were granted land made useless by people migrating away, and so they clamor to be made whole.”

Argrave’s translation worked again, rephrasing the count’s words. We are incapable of adapting to difficult circumstances, Your Majesty. This systemic exploitation business was booming, but times are tougher now. We need a little bit of economic stimulation in the form of live people, boxed and shipped back to untilled fields.

As Castille continued to explain why times were tough, it was quite tempting to leave them to their fate. Being born where he was, and having lived the life he lived, Argrave could muster no sympathy for a noble ‘down on his luck.’ To trade serfs along with land, to feel entitled for the profits of another’s labor… he would feel nothing if they did lose everything.

But then, the reason why these people came here and made these brazen requests was precisely because they had no sympathy for those who left their territory. And it was because of this their people emigrated in the first place. In a way, his lack of sympathy would end in the same result. Just as their serfs departed to Blackgard, so too would these nobles depart from Argrave’s camp.

And why? Because they were selfish? Perhaps that was the answer. But life can only exist by extinguishing other life. Selfishness was a practiced instinct drilled into all animals so thoroughly as to be inextricable.

Argrave focused on Castille calmly. The man seemed to be winding down his speech somewhat, and so Argrave raised his hand and said, “I understand, count. I think you’ve raised some very valid points. I think I’ll have an answer for you shortly, but I’d also like to speak to those representing the Magisters before I make a concrete decision.”

“Well… then, thank you, Your Majesty, Your Highness, for your time. But… your thoughts…”

“I think we’ll all walk away satisfied,” Argrave assured him with a plastic smile.

At that, the count dipped his head and left the room. Galamon followed behind, heading to retrieve the next participant in this meeting. Orion shut the door behind him, staring at Argrave and Anneliese on their couch.

“I dislike this,” the prince stated plainly.

Argrave leaned back into his couch, feeling rather philosophical. “That man was born into his life the same as the serfs were. He was told that he should do what he’s doing by his father, by all of his family, and by all those who raised him. He can barely conceive of a different way to live, of a different system of life.” He looked at Orion. “I’m not saying he’s a victim. I’m saying he’s typical. Average. People do things they know are wrong constantly. Monkey see, monkey do; it’s a tale as old as time.”

Anneliese watched Argrave in curiosity, almost trying to peer into his head. Then the door opened once more, and a gray-robed woman with an owl sewn on his robe walked in. She wore a cowl over her head, casting shadows over most of her face. Galamon stepped in after her, closing the door.

“Have a seat, Magister Tilina,” Argrave gestured.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Your Majesty,” Tilina said, sitting where he directed.

“I’m told you represent several others sitting in at parliament,” Argrave began at once. “I’m rather curious to hear what they have to say.”

Though Argrave studied where her face was, most of it was hidden in her cowl. He saw only her chin as she said, “Certainly. I know you have other concerns, so I shall spare you the preamble and get to our first issue. Bluntly put, many of the Magisters are discontent that their research is being disseminated among the new recruits of your army.”

“As I recall, the agreement was that I would provide valuable things from Order of the Rose ruins, or other such sources of higher magic, in return for this surrender of knowledge. Has that not been the case?” Argrave tapped the armrest of the couch patiently.

“We believe it was not clear that Your Majesty intended to be so… liberal, with the knowledge. We thought there would be more efforts to conceal magic from the general public. Magic is an immeasurably dangerous thing. To have it proliferate society absolutely unchecked will result in… well, chaos,” the woman shook her head in dismay.

Argrave raised a brow—he thought this was an argument that had some merit. “What would you suggest be done?”

“Naturally, that restrictions be placed,” Tilina continued, raising her head up until her two blue eyes were barely visible in the light. “Only the Order has the knowledge and experience necessary to accurately discern who should learn magic and who should not. We request Your Majesty reconsider the legalization of magic practice outside the Order. Elsewise, many of our number would no longer feel comfortable supplying merchants with alchemical supplies, enchantments, and other such Order mercantile activities.”

Change the law, or we’ll go on strike, Argrave translated in his head once more.

“That would put thousands out of business. Jast’s entire economy would crumble,” Anneliese said cautiously.

Tilina dipped her head. “If Your Highness believes that to be the case, then it must be so. We cannot say as much for certain. But given the danger of magic, many believe it necessary.”

“How does Castro feel about this?” Argrave asked.

“We are acting as a union of individuals, not as officials of the Order, Your Majesty,” Tilina dipped her head respectfully.

Argrave looked at her, lost in thought. A strike only worked so long as there was no other labor willing and able to fill the void left behind. Elenore would probably see it as an opportunity to expand her business massively if indeed the Magisters did exit the market… but both quality and quantity of magic goods in circulation would plummet. Argrave wouldn’t suffer—frankly, he’d benefit. Everyone else would suffer, though.

“Then… you’ve been heard,” Argrave nodded. “I’d like a moment to confer. I’d like you to wait outside—I trust this is no issue?”

“Of course not,” Tilina said as she rose. “Thank you once again, Your Majesty.”

Argrave looked out the window as she walked away, and only when the door was shut did he look back.

“I’ve been thinking about S-rank spells, lately,” Argrave began, voice distant. “Mozzahr is an S-rank spellcaster. That’s not even half of what gives him his strength, but it is something. Seems like a confrontation with him is inevitable. It would be good to be on the same level, I think. Is that even possible?”

Everyone in the room looked at him, puzzled.

“I also haven’t really been able to look into [Blood Infusion] at all,” Argrave scratched at his chin. “That would be a good thing to get, if I even can… I think I need to have a conversation with Castro about that. Such a shame that an A-rank blood magic ascension is so rare, elsewise I might have someone else do it for me. You know, make them do the hard part so that I can just copy their work… always been my style.”

Everyone save Anneliese continued to stare at him. She sunk back into the couch, catching onto the fact he was just showing off.

“What’s the matter?” Argrave asked. “Are you concerned about the conversations that we just had? Well, I don’t think you should be. And I don’t know why Elenore was freaking out.”

He rose from the couch, walking to the window. “I don’t think I’m so different from most people. If I had a big, happy family with Anneliese living as king, all my friends around me, and some revolutionary threatened to upend that by freeing serfs… well, I can understand why they would. I like to think I wouldn’t do what they’re doing in that situation, but we’ll never know.” Argrave looked back. “Fact is… the average person would tolerate another burning to death to keep their happy lifestyle, so long as they didn’t have to see the mess or smell the stink.”

Galamon lowered his head in quiet agreement, but Orion looked quite concerned.

“People can die of obesity in one side of the world while the other dies of starvation.” Argrave shook his head. “Says a lot about human nature, doesn’t it? Not that elves would do it differently…”

Even Galamon had to look at him in concern over the bleak cynicism, and Argrave couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m saying very depressing things, but I’m actually feeling quite optimistic right now. Fact is, I’m in a position to change that. And those people out there… they’ve got no idea how to keep a labor union cohesive. They’re nobles or scholars trapped in a little bubble of their own making.”

Argrave walked to the couch. “Galamon… if you could visit Elenore, tell her that I need a list of names of who’s supporting Castille.”

“At once,” Galamon nodded, then exited the room.

Argrave sat back down, and Anneliese looked at him expectantly. She asked, “What will you do?”

“For the Magisters…” Argrave grunted as he settled into the couch. “They feel their security as spellcasters is threatened. Some of them live hundreds of years, and security is valuable for the elderly. Well… why not give them some? Security offered not by the Order, but by our government.” Argrave put his feet up. “My idea… let them register spells as patents and give them some control over the spells we appropriated, at the very least. They give away some rights to the government, but in return, they get a little trickle of cash for inventing new spells and selling their rights to any comers.

“I mean, it’s only right, isn’t it?” Argrave shrugged, closing his eyes. “Credit where credit is due: some of these people have invented great spells. And long term… their inventions serve for the betterment of society. I’m positive once the Magisters hear about piles and piles of cash coming their way, the concerns about spreading magic to society will wither away. Maybe some will hold strong, but not all. And a strike is only effective if everyone gets involved.”

Argrave focused on Anneliese. “As for the nobles, I just need to change the direction of their ire. If I promise two or three of them a promotion, maybe give one non-hereditary governorship over Atrus… they’ll cannibalize. So long as someone else is getting punked, they don’t care. Whoever we raise, if anyone at all… they’ll take the blame, take the hate. I just need to make sure it’s someone calm and non-violent, but suitably ambitious. Ultimately, it’s just about delaying things. Like I said, a strike is only effective if everyone is involved.”

Anneliese looked baffled. “How are you so certain this will work?”

“Because if I were them, I’d take it,” Argrave responded simply. “Money for work I’ve already done? I’d jump for joy at that if I were a Magister. A promotion to Governor of Atrus? If I don’t take it, one of those greedy bastards definitely will.” He laughed. “No trust, no unity, there. They came sloppily. This is a new thing for them.”

Anneliese exhaled and placed her head back on the couch. “Your confidence… I cannot understand it.”

“You’ll see,” Argrave said simply, putting his arm around her shoulders. “I think Elenore was a little wrong. She understands a lot of things way better than I do… but this isn’t about respect or fear.”

“What, then?” Anneliese pressed.

“It’s just about people.” Argrave pulled her closer to him, then said, “They’re born. They get exposed to ideas. They foster ambitions and expectations about life. If you think about all that… well, it just makes sense, and then you know what makes them tick. Emotions, memories, and logic, all bound together in a meat pie called a mortal.”

Anneliese and Orion both looked at him with wonder. Argrave felt a little bashful, then strongly considered how foolish he’d look if he was wrong.

Argrave looked up at the stone ceiling. “Whatever the case… I’m not stopping this train, no matter what they demand. Fact is, I'm going to stay focused on the bigger picture. I'm going to stay focused on Mozzahr, and on Gerechtigkeit, no matter what petty distractions like this one surface. One good thing about taking the high road is that it’s not very crowded.”