Knowledgeable

Isolde's explanation hangs in the air between them, drawing a hearty laugh from Argon. "Ha! I knew there was more than just beauty to you, Isolde," he commends, a broad grin spreading across his face. Her words, her wit, and the information she provided all of it confirmed his belief that she would be a beneficial partner, not just a pretty trophy.

Intrigued by the political labyrinth of Seric, Argon found himself eager to learn more. He turned to Isolde, seeking answers to his probing questions. "Tell me, my dear, how does one ascend the ranks in the noble hierarchy of Seric?"

Isolde's eyes seemed to gleam with certain wisdom as she pondered his question. "Rising in ranks," she started, her voice bearing the weight of centuries-old traditions and practices. "It is a challenging task indeed. Primarily, you would need to accomplish something of significant worth for Seric. This worth is usually gauged in terms of military victories or economic contributions."

She continued, her tone dipping into a more solemn timbre, "In times of war, leading a successful campaign or demonstrating exceptional bravery can elevate one's station. A decisive victory can change the course of the war, making you an invaluable asset to the kingdom."

"On the other hand," Isolde shifted, her gaze drifting off into the distance, "economically, large donations to the kingdom or lucrative trade deals can pave the way to nobility. Investments that significantly boost the kingdom's treasury are highly valued."

The room fell silent as Argon processed her words, his mind racing with the possibilities they presented. Rising through the ranks was a daunting task yet within his reach. It was a game of power and prestige, and he was eager to make his move.

A mischievous smile curled up on Argon's lips as he broached his next question, "So, assuming I make it to the rank of an Earl, how does one get their hands on a medium-grade artefact?"

Isolde laughed lightly at his ambitious query, the sound bouncing off the stone walls of the room. "You are a dreamer, aren't you?" she teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Becoming more serious, she continued, "Truth be told, that information is a closely guarded secret, accessible only to the high-ranking nobility. However, I've heard whispers that one may be permitted to purchase such an artefact from the king's own merchants."

She paused, taking a moment to let the gravity of her words sink in. "But be warned, the price is astronomical. It would cost as much as a small city, I reckon. The question then becomes, are you willing to pay the price for power?"

Argon took in her words silently, his mind turning over the new information. It was a hefty price, but for the power a medium-grade artefact promised, it could be worth it.

A crease of curiosity deepened on Argon's forehead as he asked, "Where are these artefacts originating from then?"

Isolde's eyes seemed to glint with a certain mystique as she explained, "Haven't you noticed we are just living in the remnants of a once great civilization? Ancient ruins dot the entire landscape."

"I'm aware," Argon admitted, his tone marked by frustration, "but I've never found an artefact in a ruin, just bits of junk and the occasional armour or weapon."

"Yes," Isolde nodded, "You hail from Duskhaven, right? Both Horntide and Duskhaven are in the north of Serin, where ruins are sparse. But if you venture south, you'd find more. The area around Lake Serendis, for example, has the highest concentration of ruins, and consequently, the most artefact discoveries."

Argon looked surprised at her revelation. "How come the area hasn't been stripped of all its valuables?"

"Firstly," Isolde began, her gaze steady on him, "the region is vast, and finding an artefact is like finding a needle in a haystack. Also, it's a dangerous place. The ancients must have met a terrible end there. There are dormant diseases lurking that could potentially wipe out an entire village." The chilling reality of her words hung heavy in the air between them.

Argon's eyes narrowed with curiosity, "Then how do people manage to extract artefacts out of there?"

Isolde sighed deeply, her face hardened by the harsh realities she was about to reveal, "Most peasants gamble their lives trying to find one. Almost all of them die. And even if they do get lucky and find one, they'll eventually die from exposure to the lurking dangers there. Some daredevils venture in with their own artefacts. Having a medium grade one makes you practically untouchable. A low-grade offers a small bit of protection."

"And high grade?" Argon asked, his interest piqued.

Isolde chuckled mirthlessly, "High grade? I've only heard of those being in possession of King Aelfric and the two High Lords. They are a rarity even amongst high nobility."

She levels him with a meaningful look. "Enogh questions, now I've agreed to your proposal where is my ring?" she asks, her voice holding a teasing note.

Argon finds himself smiling, clearly pleased by Isolde's assertiveness. "You're absolutely right," he responds, his voice rich with amusement. "A bride does need a ring, doesn't she?"

Argon's calculating gaze fell upon Isolde, his newly declared betrothed. Given their precarious circumstances, he couldn't afford any doubts creeping into her mind. The impromptu proposal and subsequent consummation had been driven by necessity rather than traditional courtship. In his experience, uncertainty was a dangerous enemy, one he intended to strike down with swift certainty.

Argon rose from the dishevelled bed with a firm resolution burning in his eyes, discarding the furs that had blanketed their entwined bodies. Isolde's eyes followed him with a hint of surprise and curiosity, her flushed face resting on a cushion, starkly contrasting the harsh reality they were navigating outside these chamber walls.

"Wait here," Argon instructed, his voice a low rumble resonating in the quiet room. He put on his tunic, leaving his armour aside for the moment, its foreboding presence casting long shadows on the wooden floor. With a last glance at Isolde, he strode out of the room, leaving her in a cocoon of silence.

Isolde's heart fluttered in her chest, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she traced the fabric where he had lain moments ago. Uncertainty lingered in her heart, but Argon's assertive words had sown a seed of hope. He was a formidable man, and she had no choice but to trust his words.

Descending the wooden staircase, he enters the basement where the treasure chests lay. As he strides past stacks of weapons and shields, the glint of gold from the chest catches his eye. He unlocks the chest, spilling coins until around 500 pieces remain. He shuffles through another chest of precious gemstones.

Argon sifts through the collection until his fingers wrap around a large diamond, the largest he can find. The gemstone is cold to the touch, its flawless cut catching the dim light of the basement. It's perfect, he muses, picturing the diamond gracing Isolde's hand. With a satisfied nod, he heads back upstairs, the precious stone firmly clasped in his hand.

Argon returned to the room with a confident stride, his arms labouring under the weight of a large chest. Its worn wooden surface was banded with iron, hinting at its significant contents. He gently placed the chest on the ground, the thud resonating through the room, instantly drawing Isolde's attention.

As he knelt to open the chest, the hinges creaked in protest, breaking the heavy silence. As the lid swung open, the room was suddenly filled with the radiant gleam of gold. Piles of gold coins glittered under the dim candlelight, their warm hues bouncing off the chest's inner walls. The sight was as breathtaking as it was staggering, a tangible testament to Argon's resources and influence.

The flicker of surprise in Isolde's eyes didn't go unnoticed by Argon. A smug smile spread as he reached into his purse, withdrawing a large, perfectly cut diamond. The gemstone twinkled in his hand, its sharp facets scattering the light in a dazzling dance.

With a swift motion, Argon tossed the diamond towards Isolde, who instinctively caught it with a gasp. "There's more where that came from, my dear," he declared, his tone laced with casual indifference. But the gesture wasn't lost on Isolde. The diamond in her hand wasn't just a show of wealth but a promise. A promise of a future filled with riches, power, and the prospect of a secured position in this brutal world. A promise, she could only hope, that Argon intended to keep.

"Isolde, it's late," Argon suddenly declared, his gaze flickering to the lone window in the room, the dark shadows outside signalling the night's firm grip. "You'll stay the night here in the manor. I can't have my fiancée travelling at such a time."

Isolde turned to him, a glint of amusement dancing in her eyes as she let out a chuckle, "Ah, so attentive of you," she teased, her voice layered with a hint of playful accusation. She levelled her gaze at him, the corner of her mouth curving upwards into a knowing smile. "I'm sure that's your only reason for making me stay, right?"

Argon feigned innocence, a brow arching in a silent question as he countered, "What do you mean?" But the twinkle in his eyes told a different story, and the playful exchange added another layer to the complex game they were both part of.

Isolde leaned in, not missing a beat, her voice dropping to a murmur, "You want a round two, I'm sure." The statement hung in the air, a coy challenge that only added to the layers of anticipation and intrigue that defined their relationship.

"A perceptive wife, that's for sure," Argon smirked, his tone echoing his pleasure at her astuteness. As the room descended into an intimate silence, he was acutely aware of the escalating tension that coursed through the space between them. The last embers of daylight had faded, leaving only the flickering candlelight to paint the room with warm hues.

"Getting late indeed," he continued, but a certain hunger in his voice betrayed his intentions. While their bodies may not need rest, the concept of 'night' retained its human connotations of privacy and intimacy.

In the seclusion of the manor, away from prying eyes and free of societal constraints, Argon spent the remainder of the night making good on his claim. He took his time, indulging in the pleasures his new betrothed had to offer. The hours seemed to blur, punctuated by shared gasps and whispers, as Argon spent the entire night 'ploughing Isolde's field', their new union bringing a newfound level of intimacy and trust.