The Moon

Gorn's negotiations in Bratak lasted for three full days.

The other party had clearly caught wind of the disappearance of their weapons, making their probing queries even more cautious and guarded.

During these three days, he had barely closed his eyes. The debates in the council hall ranged from ore prices to military deployments, and from military deployments to bloodline purity and historical grudges.

The twelve elders of the Greystone Alliance took turns asking questions, each inquiry laced with probing and wariness. Sitting at the head of the table, John mostly listened in silence.

But Gorn did not back down. He repeatedly emphasized the same core proposal—establishing a Joint Price-Negotiation Committee, with each tribe rotating as chairman, to conduct unified external negotiations.

On the evening of the third day, John finally stood up from his seat and raised his hand to signal the elders, who had been arguing all afternoon, to quiet down.

“Patriarch Gorn,” John said, rubbing his eyes as he tilted his head back, his voice carrying a trace of exhaustion. “Your proposal... I am sorry, but we cannot accept it.”

Gorn sat on his side of the long table, falling silent for a long time.

He had anticipated this outcome. However, he had not walked away completely empty-handed from these three days of negotiations—at least a few elders had privately expressed a limited degree of agreement with his proposal.

“I understand,” Gorn finally spoke, his voice calm. “But I hope you all remember one thing: what you rejected today is not just a proposal, but an opportunity for every goblin to break free from the exploitation of the dwarfs.”

He stood up and gave a slight nod to the twelve elders present. “I will not give up on this goal. If you change your minds, the doors of the Bronzebeard Tribe will always be open to you.”

Gorn turned and walked toward the council hall doors. One of the civil officials behind him quickly followed, while the other bowed his head and gathered the scattered documents from the table.

By the time he returned to the Bronzebeard royal capital from Bratak, it was already late at night.

“Patriarch,” Mia quickly came forward to greet him. Her eyes swept over Gorn's expression, and she let out a sigh of relief only after confirming he was unharmed.

“How are things?” Gorn asked in a low voice as he walked toward the castle.

“Everything is normal here in the royal capital, but as for the Council of Elders, there seem to be more and more voices expressing dissatisfaction with you...”

“And what about the dragon clan?” Gorn sighed.

“Lord Blake's injuries have mostly healed. He has stayed inside the castle these past few days and hasn't gone out much. Lady Isabella has spent most of her time by Mr. Leopold's side.”

“And Mr. Leopold?”

“He has been studying intensely for three consecutive days.” Mia paused. “Oliver says his progress is astonishing, and he can already read and understand most of the magic book. However, he has slept for less than four hours a day over the past two days...”

“...Four hours? For three days straight?”

“Yes, Patriarch. Oliver tried to persuade him several times, but he refused to stop.”

“Then please make sure he gets some proper rest today. Tomorrow is the day the Dragon Slayers' 'Seven-Day Gift' is due to be delivered. No matter what, we cannot let our guard down!”

Meanwhile, inside the castle.

Leopold nodded, pushing the wooden tablets and charcoal pencil to the corner of the desk, and massaged his throbbing temples.

“Tomorrow is the seventh day.”

Isabella walked over from the window, holding a cup of warm herbal tea, and gently set it down in front of him.

“You must rest today.” Her tone carried an uncompromising firmness. “Oliver said your progress has already far exceeded expectations. You need time to digest it all.”

Leopold picked up the teacup and took a sip. The warm liquid slid down his throat, easing his tense nerves slightly.

“...You are right. Excessive fatigue will only impair my judgment.” He stood up and walked to the window.

The light of that massive fluorite had already shifted to a dark blue, enveloping the entire royal capital in a tranquil night.

“Leo, do you think there will be any surprises tomorrow?” Isabella softly walked up behind him.

Leopold turned around and looked down at her.

“Don't worry, Bella. No matter what comes tomorrow, I will stand in front of you and protect you well.”

Isabella shook her head gently. She raised her head, meeting his gaze directly.

“No, Leo, you should stand by my side.”

“Why?” Leopold smiled.

Isabella looked up at Leopold's face. The faint dark blue glow from outside the window cast over her profile, making her icy blue eyes look exceptionally beautiful.

“Because—” Isabella paused, her lips curving upward slightly, “if you stand in front of me, I can only see your back. But if you stand by my side, we can see the road ahead together.”

Leopold opened his mouth, wanting to say something. Looking into Isabella's earnest eyes, perhaps no one could bring themselves to utter any smooth, placating words...

“...Alright,” he heard himself say. “I, Leopold, will stand by your side, right beside Isabella.”

Isabella did not respond immediately. She stood in front of Leopold, less than half a step away. Those icy blue eyes quietly gazed at him in the dim, dark blue light.

“Thank you, Bella.” Leopold turned around, gazing at the “moon” outside the window. “You have been by my side all these days...”

“...Leo.”

Isabella gently rested her forehead against his back, her white hair falling forward and concealing her expression.

Leopold's body instantly froze.

“Bella?”

“Don't move,” her muffled voice came from behind him. “...Just for a little while.”

He did not know where to put his hands. He clenched them into fists and then relaxed them, ultimately leaving them hovering in midair, not daring to let them fall.

The “moon” on the ceiling of the cavern was beautiful, truly lovely. Perhaps the light it cast carried a genuine tenderness, but how Leopold wished that it were a real “moon” at this moment.

“Are...” Leopold swallowed. “Are you tired? How about I walk you back to—”

“Blake was right. You really are a blockhead.”

Leopold choked on his words. His hovering hands finally dropped, resting lightly at his sides.

“...I'm not a blockhead. I just... don't know what to do.”

Leopold's heart was a tangled mess. At the end of the day, he was not Leopold. He was just an imposter. The one Isabella loved was the real Leopold, not someone who had even forgotten his own original name.

Indeed, what difference was there between himself and that fake moon hanging overhead? He could not even remember his own name, so what right did he have to let her rely on him like this?

“Bella... get some rest early.” Leopold turned around and took Isabella's hand.

Isabella's fingertips curled slightly in his palm, but she did not pull away.

“...What is wrong, Leo?”

“I'm just... too tired.” Leopold lowered his head. He did not dare, nor could he bring himself, to face those sincere eyes.

Isabella watched him quietly for a few seconds, then let go of his hand and took half a step back.

“Mhm! Then goodnight, Leo!”

Leopold stood in place, watching Isabella's figure recede down the corridor. He lowered his head to look at the hand that had just held her fingertips, slowly clenching it into a fist before releasing it again.

“...Imposter.”

He tiredly turned around, walked into his room, and closed the door.