Peace Talks

“The vowel system of Ancient Elvish has three more phonemes than modern Elvish, corresponding to the evolution of the northern accent at the end of the First Era...” Oliver wrote a few symbols quickly on a wooden block with a piece of charcoal. “Let’s start with pronunciation.”

Leopold sat back in his chair, leaning closer to look closely at the squiggly symbols.

“This symbol is pronounced ‘ael.’ When pronouncing it, place the tip of your tongue against the back of your lower teeth, and let the air flow through both sides of your tongue... Why don't you try it?”

“Ael,” Leopold tried to read it.

“A bit shorter. Don't use force in your throat.”

“Ael.”

“Much better!” Oliver's eyes lit up, and he pointed to the next symbol. “This one is pronounced ‘thorn.’ It is an interdental sound preserved in Ancient Elvish.”

The firelight in the fireplace flickered between the two of them. The charcoal marks on the wooden block multiplied, and Oliver's voice gradually became smooth and natural, shedding its initial constraint.

Isabella sat on a chair by the window, quietly flipping through an old book she had taken from the castle's bookshelf, occasionally looking up at Leopold's back.

“That is already very good.” Oliver put down the charcoal and rubbed his sore fingers. “You are the most diligent student I have ever taught. Although your pronunciation is not quite standard yet, your memory and focus are outstanding.”

“Taught?” Leopold raised an eyebrow. “Have you taught others before?”

Oliver smiled faintly and scratched the back of his head. “My father used to run a small private school in our village. I helped him teach a few children to read... but the village was burned down later, and the school was destroyed.”

“...I'm sorry,” Leopold said.

“It's fine, it happened a long time ago.” Oliver shook his head. “That will be all for today, Mr. Leo. I will return to my room now.”

“Wait,” Leopold looked up.

Oliver had already reached the door. Hearing this, he stopped and turned around. “Is there anything else, Mr. Leo?”

Leopold fell silent for a few seconds, seemingly weighing his words. “Your father's school... who burned it down?”

Oliver stood by the door, one hand resting on the frame. His back was turned to the two of them, and Isabella could not see his expression.

“The Fallen Demon Race, Mr. Leopold, because of my weakness.” Oliver bowed to Leopold. “I shall take my leave now...”

Oliver's figure disappeared down the hallway outside the door. Isabella closed the book in her hands, stood up from the chair by the window, and walked over to Leopold's side.

“...The Fallen Demon Race,” Leopold sighed, flipping the wooden block over. “Bella, should I not have asked about that just now?”

“You only asked for the truth. How much he is willing to tell you is his own business.”

“But there are some fragments in my inherited memories.” Isabella sat down on the stool beside him. “They were originally a branch of the First Race, the Primordial Demon Race. For some reason, they were exiled and became the Fourth Race.”

“They are trouble,” Leopold stood up and patted the dust off his clothes. “In the process of our return to the surface, conflict with them will be inevitable.”

“...I'm going back to my room first,” he said. “I have a whole day of learning tomorrow.”

Isabella also stood up from her chair and walked over to him, reaching out to help him tidy up a turned-up corner of his collar.

“Get some good rest and don't think too much, Leo.”

“Yeah, you too, Bella.”

Early the next morning, the streets of the royal capital were still shrouded in a dim, dark-blue glow.

Gorn put on his dark brown leather armor, hung his short sword from his belt, and carefully checked the transmission talisman hidden in his sleeve.

Mia stood at the door holding a scroll of official documents, her face carrying a trace of worry. “Patriarch, why don't we just let the diplomatic mission go instead?”

“No.” Gorn drew the short sword from his waist and pushed it back into its scabbard, repeatedly checking the fit. “If the diplomatic mission goes to negotiate, those elders will only see it as the Bronzebeard Tribe showing weakness. If I go in person, at least they will listen to me finish what I have to say.”

Mia opened her mouth, wanting to persuade him further, but seeing Gorn's expression, she swallowed the words back down.

“Mia, after I leave, the affairs of the royal capital will be temporarily left to you and Lord Blake to discuss.” Gorn turned around. “If there is any sudden change on the Greystone Alliance's side... have the legion prioritize protecting Mr. Leopold and the others!”

“Are you saying they might detain you as a hostage?”

“I am just preparing for the worst.” Gorn mounted his already prepared rock lizard mount and tugged at the reins. “Before I return, if there is any news about the Dragon Slayers, send it to Mr. Leopold immediately.”

Mia nodded.

Gorn said no more. With a shake of the reins, the rock lizard moved its thick hind legs and trotted along the main road on the west side of the royal capital toward the exit of the mine shaft. Ten elite cavalrymen followed behind him as they headed toward the outskirts of the royal capital.

The exit of the mine shaft on the west side of the royal capital led to the outskirts of the mountain range, where there were numerous cave systems. The Greystone Alliance's main city, Bratak, was located at the end of a canyon.

The rock lizard's steps were steady and swift. As the subterranean wind blew against his face, Gorn unconsciously tightened his grip on the hilt of the short sword at his waist.

“I hope it doesn't come to that...”

At this moment, by the gates of Bratak's main city, several gorgeously dressed goblins were waiting to welcome them.

“The Dragon Slayers should have delivered the threat by now, right?” one of the goblins, dressed in white royal robes, spoke up.

“Of course. Those guys never disappoint us,” another goblin in a yellow formal suit replied.

“Defense Minister, are you really putting all your hopes on those few Dragon Slayers?”

The Defense Minister's eyes narrowed slightly, his thin fingers twisting the collar of his suit.

“Your Majesty John, your words carry a double meaning.”

The goblin called John smiled. “I just feel that betting everything on those lunatics who call themselves ‘Dragon Slayers’ is a bit too risky.”

“Risky?” The Defense Minister stopped twisting his collar. “Your Majesty, tell me, do we have any other choice? Relying on those two dragons, the Bronzebeard Tribe has expanded to this point in just over a decade.”

“If we give them another five years, will we even have a say in the entire Eisenberg Mountain Range?”

John shook his head and did not continue to argue. He simply turned around and looked toward the entrance of the canyon, where a small cloud of dust had already kicked up.

“They're here,” John said.

The dust kicked up at the canyon entrance in the distance drew closer and closer. Gradually, the figure sitting on the back of the leading rock lizard became clear—a short sword hanging at his waist, standing straight and tall.

Gorn Grimm.

He pulled the reins about twenty paces from the city gates. The rock lizard stopped, its thick tail sweeping across the ground. The ten elite cavalrymen behind him stopped neatly in the rear, their movements crisp.

Standing right in the middle of the city gates, John narrowed his eyes slightly, sizing up Gorn from a distance of twenty paces.

“The patriarch of the Bronzebeard Tribe coming to negotiate in person is quite a surprise to me,” John spoke first, his tone carrying a hint of speculation. “I thought you would send a diplomatic mission.”

Gorn flipped down from the rock lizard's back. “If I sent a diplomatic mission, would you actually listen to them?”

John did not answer immediately. He sized Gorn up and down for a few moments, then stepped aside to clear a path, raising his hand in a gesturing motion. “Since you have come in person, let us have a proper talk.”

Gorn did not hesitate and walked through the gates with his accompanying officials. The ten cavalrymen behind him tried to follow, but they were blocked by the goblin guards at the gate with their spears.

“Guards!” Gorn paused in his tracks, glanced back, and then turned back to look at John. “What is the meaning of this?”

“A negotiation, of course, should be conducted in a quiet environment,” John's voice was calm but brooked no argument. “Your guards can wait at the city gates. Inside the city of Bratak, no one will lay a finger on you...