The rest of the day proved more peaceful, with Shigeo not wanting to visit Viscount Flemming without Fleta as backup, under no delusions who was the better negotiator between the two. Damien settled back into another round of tailoring practice. He even managed to make something his skill recognised as a tier seven bracelet, albeit obviously a failed creation, without losing too much blood in the process.

Lana made further batches of rings, becoming far faster at creating the moulds, which were her current limiting factor. Damien thought it a shame that adamantite wouldn't melt at any temperature, or else she could have used exactly the same method for that. Even if the rings were tier one creations, she could make up for it with pure quantity.

Greenhair was the first to run out of materials, neither able to recycle them like Lana, or take steps to minimise the amount consumed per creation, like Damien. If a recipe called for ten petals, you couldn't put in five and make half the dose, for much the same reason that you couldn't drink half a healing potion and expect it to do anything. Neither Lana nor Damien needed his help, but Damien wanted to talk, so Greenhair settled down in his workroom.

"I don't suppose you know anything about demons?" Damien asked.

Greenhair hissed, which was an odd response. "I know enough to not speak of them," he whispered, almost too quietly for Damien to hear. "They come when called."

"Well, I don't have much choice. The priests in Illumis' temple think the voice in my dreams belongs to one."

"You summoned it?"

"Heck no. And I'd quite like to get rid of it."

"Then I fear I can offer you no help. There is a reason we take great care not to attract their attention."

Damien resisted the urge to swear, which led him to wonder if the hissing served a similar purpose for elves. Greenhair's expression had certainly been appropriate for a spot of profanity. "Are there any living elves who survived the war of the rifts, then?"

"Yes, but each of them refuses to speak of it, or of what came before," he answered. "Or possibly, they can't," he added, in a smaller voice.

"Can't?"

"It is but a rumour, but it is said that after the war of the rifts, the Five placed a geas on all survivors, rendering them unable to share their history with the next generation. Or, indeed, to share the existence of the geas itself. The best way to fight demons is to forget their existence; you can't call to that which you do not know."

That made a half-sense to Damien. If a species of monster could only attack people who talked about them, then wiping all knowledge of demons from the world would effectively end the demon threat completely. But obviously, if the thing invading Damien's mind was a demon, then they didn't only come when called, and in that case, forgetting them was a mistake; forgetting they existed also implied forgetting any defences. Besides, if their purpose was to rid the world of the knowledge of demons, then they had objectively failed. Greenhair knew what demons were. Shigeo knew of them, too. The priests of Illumis not only knew of them, but could recognise their names.

Faced with his doubt of the Five, Damien couldn't help but wonder if there was something else they were hiding. He made a mental note to look into any records of the war when he had the chance.

He spent the rest of the time waiting for Fleta to return teaching Greenhair some of what he considered common sense, and learning about elvish culture in turn. Of course, the problem with teaching common sense is that it's, well, common sense. It's not usually the sort of thing you needed to think about, and thus summoning up on demand a set of instructions for teaching was not easy. It was unlikely to matter, though; Greenhair had survived for years on his own, so he obviously knew enough already.

Fleta returned in the early evening with an item bag of equipment, and soon Shigeo was setting up a furnace in Lana's patch of garden. Damien took his adamantite needles, feeling their substantial weight in his hand. With a density around four times that of steel, even something as small as a needle had a noticeable weight. Lana, without any physical boosts, would struggle to lift an adamantite hammer.

It was fortunate, then, that Fleta had also brought back enchanted accessories. Despite Shigeo's complaints, she'd sourced experience boosters for them all, along with enchantments that boosted strength, dexterity, speed and endurance, all in anklet form so as to not get in the way of their hands.

What she hadn't brought back was any further information on Damien's uninvited visitor. She'd uncovered the same information that the name sounded demonic, but no way of dealing with it. The best they could do was leave a few potions within arm's reach of Damien's bed.

Damien was terrified, but he had been after the first and second visits, too. Each time, the memories faded, and took the fear with it. Every time, it felt like it was over, and his dreams were his own again. He knew better, that it would come again and wouldn't shut up until he called it, but back in the real world, with the source-lights shining down on Thale, it felt unreal and unthreatening.

A loud knock on the front door echoed through the house, distracting Damien from his sewing. It was by no means unheard of to have visitors, but they were normally by prior arrangement, so unexpected guests were unusual.

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"Shigeo, it's for you," called out Grace, at which Damien downed his tools and headed for the stairs. Had it been a friend, she'd have let them in. Calling Shigeo from the door like that meant she didn't recognise them, and wasn't willing to leave them alone. An unsolicited visitor that Grace couldn't turn away or deal with herself was bad news.

Letting Shigeo arrive first, Damien moved quietly down the staircase. Surprisingly, he did recognise the visitor. It was the palace representative who had been at the ceremony of paths. Alarming, but Shigeo did kick down an Earl's front door while carrying a severed head in each hand, so some telling off was probably owed.

"And I'm telling you to take your 'offer' and shove it," shouted Shigeo, with Damien having missed the start of the conversation.

"Are you sure you shouldn't discuss this with your family? You might be willing to take responsibility, but are they?" said the... messenger? Butler? Assassin? Damien didn't want to guess what his job title was. So, now it was the palace's turn to try something. That didn't bode well.

"Discuss what?" asked Damien.

"Nothing," grumbled Shigeo.

"I was sent to point out that you're too tempting a target here, and offer shelter in the capital. You've already had issues with two Marquess, and while the fault is obviously their own, the fallout has resulted in some amount of unrest. To protect the stability of Earl Gretton's territory, the palace feels it would be safer for you to settle somewhere where ambitious nobles don't feel they can pull rank."

"So, the palace is choosing to side with Marquess Langhyme over Viscount Flemming? Not a surprise, I suppose, given the difference in rank, but with the Grand Western Trading Company supplying most of the palace's exotic goods, and presumably a sizeable amount of tax, I'd expect them to show Lord Flemming at least some respect."

""Huh?"" Went both Shigeo and the nameless guy in perfect synchronisation.

Meanwhile, Damien's mind was spinning at a hundred miles an hour, leaving him wishing his new enchanted accessories did something for his mental prowess as well as physical. Alas, there were no enchantments that boosted thinking speed. There weren't even any perks. The closest available were classes with feats that could boost memory, or some very high tier war-mage classes that supposedly had multitasking feats. Damien needed to come up with the best way to spin events to make it look like the palace was attacking a Viscount, while not sounding like he was making everything up on the spot, and he needed to do so with his own brain.

"Well, saying anything about unrest is obviously a complete farce. Lords Langhyme and Dwilerp have mini wars with each other on an annual basis, and I've never heard of the palace expressing displeasure. I'll admit that the temple of Gaia declaring an inquisition on Lord Dwilerp is likely to cause issues with his population, but there was no reaction from the palace at the time. On the other hand, I don't see the deaths of a few of Lord Langhyme's thugs stirring up trouble, yet you arrive on the very next day after he ordered an attack. An attack that took place as I was leaving a personal meeting with Lord Flemming, and in which they attempted to steal a valuable item bag containing samples of textiles we were hoping to trade. A trade deal that was premised on our house being a ten-minute walk from his warehouse. And now that the attack failed, you turn up telling us to move to a place that would put Lord Langhyme's territory directly between us and the port, giving him free rein to tax our goods. And do I need to mention that one of the primary products of his territory is cotton?"

Damien fought against the urge to fist-pump the air, having managed to get that lengthy speech out seamlessly. Yes, saying it was to avoid 'unrest' was obviously a farce, but what they really wanted was Shigeo in the capital. Particularly if the palace was offering to pay for their 'shelter'. Shigeo could hardly turn down an occasional favour after being granted that much aid.

He'd caught both the palace's stooge and Shigeo out by taking that route, although the way Shigeo had started grinning suggested he approved of the strategy. The stooge was left floundering, though. "I'm sorry. We weren't aware of any trade deals. I assume the supply of fabric was to level your class? That's hardly an issue. We can arrange supplies in the capital, and arrange compensation for Viscount Flemming for the loss of trade."

"You have another dragon?"

"Sorry?"

"That's what we were paying him—dragon materials. Did you think Viscount Flemming would get personally involved for a few bolts of cotton? No—we wanted high tier stuff, and we were giving him dragon for them. I suppose he might accept other tier nine materials, if you don't have more dragon. And if you're offering a replacement for me, the deal was a constant supply of tier five materials, with higher tier when he could source them. That all okay?"

"I... can't make that sort of decision on my own. But I see no reason why you would need to cancel your arrangement. Grand Western already makes extensive deliveries to the capital, and we could stamp down on any attempted interference from Lord Langhyme easily enough."

"Then you wouldn't mind joining an early morning meeting in two days' time, and signing a contract to that effect, on the palace's behalf?"

"Again, that's not something I have the authority to do on my own."

"Then there's a large difference between saying that you can prevent Lord Langhyme interfering, and that you will. Unless you want to offer an alternative explanation for trying to talk us into moving, aside from the obviously false claim that it's to avoid unrest."

Damien and the palace's representative stared at each other, both knowing the real reason full well, but neither having any intention of voicing it out loud. The representative blinked first.

"It's disappointing that you have so little trust in us, but I'm sure I can get that guarantee for you," he said, before turning to Shigeo. "It's equally disappointing that you're letting your son put himself in danger like this."

"Hey, I'm protecting myself from danger!" disagreed Damien. "Dad's next move, if I didn't interrupt, would likely have been to punch you in the face, which would just cause problems for everyone."

The palace representative tutted and turned around, which Grace took as the signal to close the door. "What a disagreeable man," she muttered.

"I've never met anyone so polite, yet so irritating," agreed Shigeo. "Why did you tell him we had a meeting in two days, though? I thought we were going tomorrow?"

"I didn't. I asked if he would mind joining a meeting in two days' time, not that we were planning one."

Shigeo failed to respond, being too busy laughing.

"He was right about one thing, though. I shouldn't be doing your diplomacy for you; you have Mum for that. Where is she?"

"Fleta left the house ten minutes ago," answered Grace. "She wanted to stop by the guild to check for new requests that needed her attention."

"Great... That's either one hell of a coincidence, or we're still being watched."