Headed by a Snake

There were plenty of reasons for Tycondrius to prevent Krysaos from dying.

Due to his nautical expertise, the gentleman-Captain remained Tycon's most reliable resource in reaching Archangel safely and in good time.

On a personal level, Krysaos was a pleasure to converse and interact with.

...And admittedly, Tycon was still somewhat annoyed that his fool companion, the Lone Shadowdark, was so-affected by the domination spell-effect of the Swords of the Forgotten King.

Grabbing hold of the Elven sovereign's wrist, he redirected the piercing strike away from Krysaos' chest.

It was enough to keep the man alive but not to keep him unharmed. King's hand grazed the Captain's shoulder, cleaving through the thick material and drawing blood.

Tycon's body surged with mana as the second-half of his Skill began to activate. As he was in an awkward position to launch a knee-strike, he was forced to improvise. Lowering his body, he circulated his mana to his right arm and powered his elbow towards King's solar plexus.

"(So fast,)" The elf sneered as he held out his opposite hand.

King blocked it... far too easily. He redirected the momentum downward, forcing Tycon to fall to a single knee.

Reacting quickly, Tycon rolled backward and got to his feet. Though he did not use his left arm for any major movements... it ached terribly.

...It was greatly inconvenient to have a broken arm.

King rejected the attack with minimal effort... yet he did not make a subsequent attack when Tycon was caught in a disadvantageous position.

That fellow was either a fool... or had done so purposefully.

Which... was it?

Standing straight while remaining vigilant, Tycon narrowed his eyes at the elf... who returned a nod with a stern stare.

Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, was once one of his greatest allies. Besides his physical form and personality being nigh unrecognizable, so was his ability as a martial combatant.

King's reaction speed was fast... faster than Lone ever was.

Upon first touching the swords, Lone performed the movements of the Blade Dance on the deck of the Marlin Monroe. There, he displayed confidence bordering on arrogance, technical skill at martial combat, and a baffling mastery of Circle magic.

Though Tycon suspected as much, earlier... he was not a match for the Elven sovereign in his injured state.

If the elf had not shown even half of his potential in the short combat against the Black Crow pirates... then even at full strength, Tycon feared he could not defeat the current Lone.

"These blades..." King whirled his blades about in a graceful flourish... "were a gift."

Tycon swiped his hand, "Master elf, though you may be sovereign elsewhere... on the Neptune's Revenge, you are a guest. Here, Captain Krysaos' rule is law."

"Tch," The elf clicked his tongue, releasing his swords and allowing them to levitate behind his back. "Regardless, do *not* dare lay thy hands on what is *mine*. I pray thou art gracious for the Maedar's intervention, Captain... Krysaos."

"Yeah. Sure thing, guy," Krysaos whispered through clenched teeth.

Sweat rolled down the Captain's brow, his body still quivering. He had come closer to death than when he had fought against the lizardolich and against the Nemayans.

King straightened his back, standing tall and proud, "Dost thou know of the origins of these blades?"

"Obviously not," Krysaos groaned.

Though the Captain's tone and body language clearly conveyed his disinterest, the elf did not seem to notice.

"Ten thousand years ago, I was the most powerful Elven hero of my generation... nay, since time immemorial," The elf recalled with a fond smirk... "The most feared dragon in all the Realm, Zaer Nar, was to be my opponent."

...Tycon's mouth soured upon hearing the fellow speak of that which did not exist. However, if the elf was a lizardslayer-- or believed himself to be, that was not something he could hate.

Elves do not record their histories as dwarves and humans do, nor are specifics imprinted in their bloodlines like in each and all minotaur and medusae.

Instead, elves pass on the tales of their ancestors by words of mouth. Over the course of ten thousand years, such tales were... unreliable, at best.

Whatever happened, elves were taught to hate lizards, similar, but to a lesser extent, to how medusae and their allies were born to do so.

"I stared into the magnificent creature's eyes..." King took a deep breath, "and into his soul. And there... we did battle."

He did... what?

Tycon was... vaguely familiar with the concept. Though a slight stretch, he believed King was describing a phenomena referred to as a Reality Marble. Powerful Circle Mages could create self-contained planes of existence, where they could manipulate the Laws therein as their skill dictated.

A lizard certainly wouldn't craft a Reality Marble for mere combat-- so arrogant in the destructive power of their bodies.

For King to do so, however... would mark him as a specialized Fourth-Circle Caster or higher.

The thought was... not credible.

The elf breathed a nostalgic sigh, "For suns and moons and years we fought... without rest... our only sustenance, honorable battle. And when the noble Zaer Nar so judged that he could not best me without incurring great, nigh-mortal injury... we settled upon a mutual agreement."

Tycon narrowed his eyes, anger creeping into his voice, "You did... what?"

The elf continued, ignorant of Tycon's displeasure.

"I granted the dragon my love for beauty. For grace, found in the stalking lion and in the swiftest swallow. For art, found in the steadfast trees and in blood spilled in the snow by the wounded stag.

"In exchange, Zaer Nar gifted me with war and battle.

"He gifted me an untrodden heart, to stand tall-- to never accept being treated as an equal where I should stand supreme.

"He gifted me righteous rage... fury upon those who dare doubt my words... my kin... my... own undeniable honor, ten thousand years of just deeds."

The elf clapped his hands together, his two swords levitating to his sides. Grabbing their hilts, he whirled them about before crossing his arms, the flat of his blades resting on his shoulders.

"And the dragon so gifted me... two of his fangs, fashioned into blades... sturdier than any forged metal known to the lesser races."

Tycon squinted his eyes in incredulity... in bemusement... and in teeth-gnashing irritation...

The swords were made of lizardbone.

They were not... taken from its corpse... but gifted... peaceably?

Tycon was beginning to doubt the elf's story.

Even if it were true, the mere thought of it made his blood run hot.

In theory, Elven Ancients were unable to lie. They were masters of sowing discord, twisting words and meanings, omitting important truths, and nigh weaponizing implications.

If such things were true... how much of it could be trusted?

From what Tycon understood, the Lone Shadowdark was possessed by the spirit in the Blades of the Forgotten King.

On the surface... it appeared that the swords held an Ancient Elven spirit...

Was the spirit's memory degraded by so many thousands of years of age?

Was it not an elf at all, but sentience achieved by the weapons, its memories a best-guess replication?

...Were things so different in the age the Elven sovereign reigned?

Tycon crossed his arms-- trying not to show his discomfort from moving his left.

It was also possible... that the spirit may be lying.

If it wasn't Elven... perhaps it was a different type of spirit-- a trickster spirit, perhaps?

The source could even be a geas cast by a mad wizard. In such a case, Lone might only strongly believe that was an Elven king, allowing his human rationale to fill in the logical gaps.

Whatever it was, Tycon understood in his heart that King's words had absolutely no credibility to them. What truth existed-- it was meaningless, so mired in exaggerant diction.

Krysaos covered his mouth.

The action was... disconcerting, but Tycon's worries were quickly abated.

The Captain was... stifling... laughter.

"Psh... Hah... Hahaha! HAH!" Krysaos slapped his thigh, coughing and wheezing as he cackled.

The elf lowered his swords and raised his eyebrows quizzically, "You... laugh?"

"Yeah, man," Krysaos snickered. "CooOool story, bro."

"It is *not* a story," King grimaced. "'Tis a recounting of events that happened in truth."

Tycon averted his gaze. That still qualified as a story.

"Yeahhhhh, wellllll~" The Captain hummed-- "Dragons don't exist."

At first, the elf was taken aback, gritting his teeth in anger.

Then... he realized that Krysaos' face showed no sign of deceit... which was admittedly somewhat rare.

It was also possible he realized that Tycon was nodding in agreement.

King's furious gaze cooled-- and was frozen in disbelief.

"You... you lie," He whispered, his earlier arrogance fully replaced by uncertainty.

"Nope!" Krysaos grinned. "It's the truth! Haven't existed for centuries, tough guy!"

King swaggered over to the cabin's chair, sitting down with a confused look on his face... "I... I refuse to believe this."

"Believe what you want," Krysaos spun on his heel and began towards the door. "I'm outta here."

As Tycon turned to follow him out, he heard King whisper to himself in Lone's voice... the words in the Ancient Elven tongue.

"(How much has changed in this Realm...? Have I truly been gone for so long?)"