Headed by a Snake

Petty Officer Bob, the largest and... heaviest Coral Boy, was first to act. He launched himself off of two supporting crewmen's shoulders, soaring over Tycondrius with a mighty leap.

"Oh," Imperia frowned. "That can't be good for Wonderboy."

"You don't say..." Tycon muttered.

Bob landed on the unarmored 'mutinous git' and immediately began showering the back of the fellow's head with dozens of punches-- every one filled with murderous intent.

In the span of several seconds, Wonderboy was... covered in a pile of several of his peers. Those near the bottom were punching and biting. Those higher were... redundant, but admirable all the same.

The pained cries for mercy fell upon deaf ears... Tycon's ears included.

The Elven Ancient, still in his corner, got to his feet... saying nothing.

Imperia looked at Tycon, pouting to show her concern.

Tycon furrowed his brows, then waved to dismiss her. It was odd, as the willful girl rarely asked for permission for anything... nor did she need to, from him or anyone.

The dark elf gingerly hurried to King's side... "My sovereign... you've won."

"You are mistaken, Sapling." King's eye twitched in displeasure, "That... was not a fight to determine a winner. It was... a display of conviction."

Taking a breath, the Ancient addressed Imperia's troops, "(Hear me, children of earth and sky. I respect that man.) Any who dares otherwise... I will not forgive."

Though shocked, the elves stood up one by one, each rendering salutes.

'(I hear you, sovereign,)' They said...

From the disdain that remained in their expressions, those words may have been heard... but perhaps not taken to heart.

Tycon walked over to where the elf-controlled Wonderboy's swords had fallen, no longer hidden by water... He quietly stored the shattered remnants in his spatial ring, so not to cause undue attention.

The fight was over.

As the Ancient had said, Krysaos had shown his conviction... and his declaration to Imperia's elves was proof of his acceptance.

None needed to know that King had channeled Gold-Rank mana into his weapons to guard against Krysaos and Mina's final attack.

...Just as none needed to know that Mina's mana reserves were greatly diminished without her enchanted tiara. Tycon made a mental note to have Petty Officer Bob recover it from Stickyfingers at his earliest convenience.

"Ishmael, assist me in seeing to Lieutenant Mina and the Captain."

...

Krysaos' injuries were light enough that he'd recover within the sun with the help of Tycondrius' healing Skill, ⌈Inspirational Surge⌋. Both suffered from mana exhaustion-- Mina far worse than that of her summoner.

They were both fools for having recklessly wasted their resources.

Thankfully, Tycon was planning on shifting the responsibility of the Elven Ancient and his cursed blades onto Whitehearth's leadership. The task of properly removing the curse would likely be an adventure unnecessarily fraught with danger... one that he and the crew had no business in dealing with.

Tycon installed the master and servant pair in a private inn room-- the cheapest he could find in one of Whitehearth's lower districts. There was coin enough from fencing spoils pilfered from the bottom of the ocean.

To keep them safe, he also ordered Petty Officer Bob to remain in the area until further notice.

...He did not buy inn rooms for the Coral Boy crewmen, but they had the coin to do so themselves if they so wished. Most likely, they'd mill about the district... undoubtedly attracting trouble.

They would likely prove problematic for the city at large. However, in such a case, it was more effective for Tycon to seek the Arcanite Princess' forgiveness rather than her permission.

It also made it appropriate for him to see her immediately.

Tycon made his way to the largest and oldest tree-building in Whitehearth, sky-blue and purplish banners adorning the entrance. The symbol of House Moonwell was a depiction of a stone water well covered in stylistic thorned vines.

Brambles, perhaps.

It looked familiar... but the symbology used by elves were commonly shared amongst their houses.

Bows and arrows. Animals. A bladed weapon of some kind.

Variable-petaled flowers.

They were  all rather droll... neither memorable nor important enough to commit to memory.

As a welcome surprise, Tycon's reception from House Moonwell was substantially better than at House Highblade's Green Corn Tower.

In the span of several minutes he was greeted... politely. He was ushered into the structure, offered a drink, and a comfortable seat to wait upon. A half-elf even offered him fried dough-bread glazed with sugar, spoke to him affably about the weather, and inquired about his impression of the city.

All that and without Tycon needing to de-fang a single guard.

Soon enough, a messenger-construct delivered word that the Arcanite Princess had been kind enough to take time out of her busy schedule to meet with him.

He was escorted to the meeting place. It wasn't quite an office-- more of a semi-private study, filled with a half-dozen tables, open books on magical theory, and reasonably ordered stacks of papers in various places.

Ophelia Moonwell was a young female elf around Tycon's physical and mental age. She was of average height amongst her kin-- slightly shorter than he was, and had brilliant green hair comprising thin vines, which also sprouted aesthetically-pleasing tiny leaves and flower buds.

"Where the f*ck is he, Tycon?"

She was also the fiancee of Sol Invictus member Tarquin Wroe, actual name Prince Landris Wyndham of Whitehearth.

Tycon felt the end of his mouth twitch as he forced a smile.

"Good afternoon, Princess Ophelia. It's... nice to see you, too."

Despite the elf girl's obvious fury, he remained calm and nonchalant. Within the past year or so he'd solidified his abilities as a Gold-Rank adventurer and had even handled multiple Adamantine-Rank threats with cunning and ingenuity.

The probability that Ophelia could reasonably threaten him was low.

« System analysis: Class and power level. »

⟬ System response: Class and rank hidden by magical effect. ⟭

Correction: the probability that Ophelia could reasonably threaten him was... considerable.

Empty night.

",