The Greatest Archmage To Have Ever Lived [OP MC, LitRPG]

The woman behind the counter didn't look up.

She was a gnome. Short enough that she'd had to stand on a raised platform behind the desk to bring her head level with the counter's edge. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, graying at the temples, and she wore a uniform jacket.

She was also chewing gum. Very aggressively at that.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Rude.

"Destination," she said flatly, still not looking up from whatever paperwork occupied her attention.

"Orlys," Ilsa repeated, her jaw tightening slightly.

"Class."

"First class. Three passengers."

The gnome woman's eyes flicked up for half a second—the briefest acknowledgment that someone had actually ordered the expensive tickets—before returning to her paperwork.

Smack. Smack.

"Duration of stay."

"We're returning home," Ilsa said. "No set departure date."

The gnome woman made a noise that might have been disapproval or might have been her sinuses. Hard to tell. She finally looked up, eyes flat and unimpressed, and slid a form across the counter.

"Fill this out. All three passengers. Names, identification numbers, purpose of travel."

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Ilsa reached into her coat and pulled out a small metal plaque. She set it on the counter, sliding it across instead of the form.

The gnome woman picked it up.

Her entire posture changed.

She straightened. Stopped chewing. The gum disappeared somewhere into her cheek as her expression went from "aggressively bored civil servant" to "oh no" in the span of a single second.

"Lady Eryndor," she said. Her voice was different now. Still flat, but with a new layer of careful respect underneath. "I wasn't informed—"

"You weren't meant to be," Ilsa said quietly. "Confidential travel. I'm sure you understand."

The gnome woman nodded quickly. Too quickly. "Of course. Absolutely. I'll—just a moment."

She ducked below the counter. There was the sound of shuffling papers, a drawer opening and closing, and then she reappeared with three tickets already filled out.

"Platform Five," she said, setting them on the counter. "Departure in twenty minutes. Private cabin, no additional charge. Complimentary meal service. And my sincere apologies for the—for any inconvenience."

"Thank you," Ilsa said.

She took the tickets and turned away from the counter, Orion following immediately.

Sael didn't move yet.

He was looking at the gnome woman, who had frozen under his gaze like a rabbit that had just noticed a wolf.

"The chewing," he said.

The gnome woman blinked. "I—what?"

"The gum," Sael said, as he gestured to his own face, tapping the hinge of his jaw with two fingers. "The way you chew it. I'm a healer mage, you see, so I notice these things. You're working your jaw side to side, over and over."

He demonstrated the motion, moving his jaw laterally in an exaggerated chewing motion. "Repetitive motion like that, sustained over years—and I suppose you've been doing this for years—will cause premature degradation of the joint." He tapped the spot again, more firmly this time. "Right here. It'll click when you open your mouth wide. Then it'll hurt. Then you'll get headaches that won't go away."

The gnome woman stared at him, completely at lost for word.

"Also," Sael added, as he thought this was quite important, "it's extraordinarily irritating to listen to."

He took a pull from his pipe.

"Just something to consider," he said.

Then he turned and walked after Ilsa and Orion.

They were both standing a few feet away, frozen in identical expressions of shock.

Sael wondered briefly if that had been too much. Socially inappropriate, probably. Most people didn't offer unsolicited medical advice to strangers, especially strangers who'd just done them a favor.

But sometimes social norms had to be ignored for the greater good. The woman's jaw health was one thing—genuine concern, that—but more importantly, she needed to know how unpleasant that chewing was. Someone had to tell her.

He gestured toward the platforms.

"Shall we?" he said.

Ilsa had explained it to him earlier, House Eryndor's forty percent stake in the company that built and operated the lightning rail system, the financing that had enabled the initial expansion twenty years ago when the company was struggling to establish routes beyond the capital cities. The investments in station infrastructure across the continent. Maintenance facilities, cargo warehouses, all of it.

The lightning rail system wouldn't exist in its current form without Eryndor money. Which meant that plaque carried weight. Literal, bureaucratic weight.

Money talking when magic didn't, as Ilsa had put it.

Sael took another pull from his pipe and glanced back at the terminal. The gnome woman was still standing behind her counter, hand raised to her jaw, pressing gently at the hinge with a look of dawning concern on her face.

"Platform Five," Ilsa said finally, her voice carefully controlled. "This way."