<pfont-weight: 400″>Tiberius held the elf’s gaze unflinchingly. Iladrien waited, his long-fingered hands folded on the fine table before him, and clearly expecting some sort of apology. But that wouldn’t be happening.

The Emperor didn’t apologize. This was something Tiberius knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. It didn’t matter if they really had wronged the elves, and an apology was warranted—doing so here would be a severe showing of weakness. An opening that could and would be pried open at the first opportunity. He wasn’t naive enough to believe otherwise.

And besides, he took issue with the elf’s claims. Significant issue.

He held the elf’s gaze calmly and unflinchingly. After he felt the silence had stretched long enough, he spoke in a calm and measured voice, laced with neither insult nor derision. He simply stated facts.

“So. You left your flocks unguarded, your borders undefended, and your land unwatched.” Tiberius leaned back in his chair. “That does not sound like my problem.”

Iladrien reeled back as if slapped. Clearly, he was not expecting an answer like that.

“On the contrary…” the elf frowned. “It is precisely your problem. As the one who claims to rule our land and the party responsible for these encroachments, it is your responsibility to make things right.”

Tiberius shook his head. “You make assumptions. You stated earlier that you were unaware of our nation’s presence, despite how long we’ve been here. Furthermore, the cutting of your trees was happening long before our arrival. That you mention both in the same breath suggests that this area is even less patrolled than I initially suspected.”

Iladrien took a deep breath. He recovered his equilibrium quickly, but not as fast as Tiberius would have expected, given the poise he’d shown earlier. “Even if that were the case, it does not change the core of the issue. The burning of our forest and the killing of our flock is something that humans must answer for. Just because we allow our wilderness to develop unimpeded—”

Tiberius cut him off before he could go on a tirade. “You called it your flock earlier. If it’s not your flock and instead part of the wilderness, then you have no claim to it.”

Iladrien’s eyes narrowed. “The wilderness is our flock.”

“If you wish to lay claim to it, you must protect it. At the very least, there must be some indication of your ownership—otherwise, the wilderness is just wilderness. You cannot have it both ways.”

“Our ancient customs—”

“—Are not mine.” Tiberius stated simply. He folded his hands. “Now, if you wish to reach an understanding where we will not encroach further into your forest, beyond our current territory, nor kill certain designated monsters… I would be happy to negotiate some sort of deal or treaty. But I do not

acknowledge any wrongdoing, much less any that would require us to pay recompense.”

Tiberius watched the envoy closely, the elf’s expression considerably darker than it had been. From the corner of his eye, he saw the bard sitting silently in his own seat, seemingly content to watch things play out. That was fine by him, although Tiberius didn’t miss the irony of Marcus choosing now to shut his mouth.

“Quite presumptuous of you,” Iladrien said simply. “You speak as though your fledgeling nation is worthy of such treatment, despite its size.”

“As I said, we shall not remain small for long,” Tiberius replied cooly. “But know that we have been underestimated before.”

This kind of approach may have seemed unnecessarily dismissive of the elf’s concerns, but for good reason. Tiberius truly did not think that their complaints held much merit—in fact, if not for the fire, it was entirely possible they never would have noticed anything at all. That was the impression he got, given their complete obliviousness to Habersville’s existence.

Even the fact that they’d sent an envoy rather than immediately resorting to aggression spoke volumes. Either the elves were incredibly cautious or they simply preferred peace over open war. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that this was simply a power play to see what the elves could wring out of him, and he intended to be a stone rather than a sponge.

He’d left the door open for diplomacy if the envoy decided to be reasonable. He would rather avoid having enemies at his back, after all. But if the situation demanded it, he had no problems abandoning Habersville and conquering deeper into human territory.

After a long, thoughtful pause, Iladrien let out a breath. He seemed to weigh his words carefully as he posed another question to Tiberius.

“Your nation is separate from Novara, is it not?”

Tiberius nodded. “We are at war with the Kingdom of Novara.”

“…I see.” Iladrien steepled his fingers. “Then perhaps there may be a way to reach an understanding.”

Tiberius remained silent, waiting for Iladrien to continue. The elf took another long sip of his tea before setting the cup down. “Our investigation yielded more findings than just those I have discussed with you here. It seems that your people are not the only ones who have forgotten our treaties and seen fit to encroach on our forests. The baron of these lands—and perhaps the king of Novara itself—also need to be held to account.”

“Mmm.” Tiberius settled back once more. “And how do you intend to accomplish this?”

Iladrien shrugged. “It depends on their response to our envoys, though we would prefer not to take actions that would incite war between ourselves and Novara. Not if it can be avoided, of course.”

“Understandable.” Not all nations had the ambition and desire to conquer that Rome did, and the seclusion of the elves suggested that they fell squarely into that camp. “I assume you would have no interest in these towns beyond their unwanted presence in your territory?”

“Not at all.”

“And if some ill fate were to befall them?”

“Oh, that would be tragic,” Iladrien replied, sipping his tea. “But we would have no obligation to respond. Our treaties have already been broken, after all.

The elf and the Emperor held each other’s gazes for a long moment, understanding passing between them. What the elf was asking for was clear. His nation didn’t want to directly attack Novara or its towns. But since Tiberius was already at war… well, there was nothing he’d lose by doing just that. He would dirty his already unclean hands on behalf of the elves, and in exchange earn himself and Rome some goodwill.

This narrative has been purloined without the author’s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Tiberius smiled—more honestly this time. “It would truly be a tragedy. Perhaps some of your people could accompany us to help us identify these towns, so that we may keep an eye on them.”

Iladrien considered the suggestion. “…Perhaps that could be arranged. Although their roles would be strictly observational. And they would expect compensation.”

Tiberius nodded, finding the suggestion acceptable. “I can offer a portion of our spoils.”

Such an agreement would enable Rome to remain independent and friendly to the elves while also making them feel as though the “debt” they owed was being repaid. Even better, it could be an avenue through which they could develop closer ties with the reclusive race, and gain access to their goods and services.

The men sipped their tea quietly for a moment, considering the other’s proposal. The entire time, Marcus’s eyes flicked between the pair as if he were a cat watching mice scurry about the room. It was a strange feeling, considering the man’s relative lack of standing in this situation.

“Well then,” Iladrien said, putting his teacup back on its saucer, “I’m pleased that we’ve come to some sort of agreement. I will need to confirm some details with my liege and the senate, of course, especially regarding any observers we may send to accompany you. But if things go well… perhaps the Great Ruthin Forest may seek to establish more permanent relations with your nation.”

Tiberius inclined his head slightly. That would be a very desirable outcome from where he stood. Still, he wasn’t so naive as to believe things would be so easy. For all he knew, the elves may just decide to turn on him and Rome as soon as he’d done their dirty work.

“I look forward to it,” he answered honestly. “We would value you as a trade partner and ally. But perhaps you would be willing to answer some questions about your culture and practices, as well? So that we may avoid further… misunderstandings.”

The talks went on for some time, hammering out details about their proposed agreement and exchanging other information. Tiberius ensured that he stayed on the receiving end of the information for the most part, keeping his cards close to his chest for the moment. But overall, Tiberius was actually looking forward to diplomatic ties with a potential ally and trading partner.

Of course, such relationships historically had a tendency to break down, usually as Rome subsumed their erstwhile ally. But sometimes, they would last for centuries. So while they were continuing to grow and expand, there was no need to put the cart before the horse.

Eventually, their discussions came to a close. Iladrien excused himself, claiming that he must return to his king and inform him of the developments. Tiberius and his guard joined the elf’s and escorted them toward the front gate, meandering about some of Habersville’s sights along the way. Yet when they reached the temple district, Iladrien stopped in his tracks.

“Is…” His eyes narrowed, then widened in surprise. “Is that a temple to Mars?”

***

Baron von Latimore put his head in his hands, fingers clutching his hair. The ledger in front of him painted a grim picture, though even that paled in comparison to the latest news from his scouts. They were both horrible in their own unique ways.

After the notification that he’d lost Stonewake, he’d naturally sent scouts to investigate, with strict orders not to engage. They’d arrived to find a burned-out husk, smoke still drifting off of the town’s remains. A swarm of soldiers seemed to be running the show, some herding the residents of the former town and others working to rebuild some portion of what had once been there. Best estimates had the soldiers numbered at around a thousand, all level two.

Their findings were practically unbelievable and eerily familiar.

Sure, the army’s numbers were smaller, and they were one level higher than last time. But if anything, that just worried the baron even more. He had no doubt the rest of the men were elsewhere, either back at Habersville or continuing their conquest outward. And this sighting lent additional credence to Sharath’s story, which was not

a good thing.

He absentmindedly reached out for his glass of whiskey, downing it and pouring himself another. The threat from this strange army was getting out of hand—no, it already was out of hand. The most productive mine in his entire barony had just been seized, cutting off a massive source of revenue. Right before he’d been due to send out a huge shipment of ore, too. One that he now would need to reimburse the buyers for or risk their ire by informing them of the delay. Either way, it was costing him coin that he couldn’t afford to spend.

He needed to take care of this fast.

The baron swept his unkempt hair out of his face and looked down at a report by his elbow. One thousand, three hundred and thirty-one conscripts. That’s how many he’d managed to raise. Not a single one were fighters, those had already been sent to the western front. But they could hold a spear, and that was something. Well, most of them.

Looking into the details, however, made him wince. Most of the force consisted of men too young or too old to be of real use in a battle, even if they had possessed combat-related classes. That, and probably more than one girl claiming to be a boy and standing in for someone in her family. It hurt to take them away from their families and force them to fight like this. But what else could he do? If he didn’t act now, there may well be no barony left for them soon enough.

Baron von Latimore’s attention flicked back to the ledger before him. Training, equipment, scouts, all these expenditures were going to take him decades to recover from, if he even could recover in the first place. He’d taken on far too many debts just to keep the barony afloat. If they survived all of this, the interest alone would likely kill him. But it was his only chance. He had to solve this problem, if not for his sake, then for the duke’s.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. The baron ignored it, continuing to pore over reports and ledgers in hopes of squeezing just a little more money out where he could. Maybe he could cut costs at his estate or redirect some of the funds for infrastructure projects, since the situation was deteriorating so rapidly…

The door opened. His head snapped up, eyes narrowing as Sharath stepped inside, seemingly unconcerned about the annoyance written plain on his face.

“I hope you have a good reason for interrupting me,” the baron ground out.

The thief didn’t look much better than when he had seen her last. Her red-rimmed eyes still held a deep anger behind them, and her makeup might as well have been permanently smudged. Evidently, her anger over her sister’s death had yet to cool into something cold and calculating, which was one of the reasons why he hadn’t sent her to scout out Stonewake.

There were certainly uses for her, but they were dwindling. The white-hot brashness of her current state was more likely to get her killed than anything. She was close to becoming a liability rather than a useful tool, and well… any noble knew what to do when a tool outlived its usefulness.

“I do,” she said in a more measured voice than her appearance would suggest. “The Dark Demon Blade party is available for hire. They have made a trip out here upon special request.”

The Baron grimaced. There was no way he could afford more adventurers, especially not of their caliber, and yet he needed their strength. They would be the backbone of his conscripts, and they would make sure that they had less chance of breaking when it came to combat. And, well, the Dark Demon Blade party was famous for a reason.

“Is it true they passed level 20?” he asked. They were rising stars—not exactly the most highly leveled, but one of the fastest-growing parties out there. It had only been formed less than five years ago, and already they were pushing to be gold-ranked adventurers within the next couple of years.

Sharath nodded. “I inspected the leader myself. He was level 23.”

The baron braced himself. “And… how much will they cost?”

“Well, they’re doing a favor for me,” Sharath said. “For my sister’s sake. So they’re only charging a thousand gold a day.”

The baron bit his tongue. That was a steal for a level 20 party. But he didn’t have the money. He would need to take on even more debt.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He couldn’t rule a barony he didn’t own. And at this rate, this strange army would wrest even more of it out of his hands. And if they did… it was better to be in debt than dead.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Tell them I’ll hire them. But I will only pay half up front.”

She smiled. “That should be acceptable.”

As the door shut behind her, the Baron pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began penning a new letter to his father-in-law. Perhaps the duke would lend him some credit.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep