After receiving Aquaflora's answer, Blondie and I, having found no better reason to linger, took our leave from her place as we'd come, on Veilleuse-19. We pondered what to do next and settled on visiting the village, something we hadn't yet found the time to do since my arrival. Blondie mentioned she had things to take care of there, so we headed toward the village.

After flying for about ten minutes, we approached Mistwood Arbor. This time, I was careful not to make the same mistake I had before with Veilleuse-19; I didn't want to cause the same frenzy as the first time. A couple of kilometers away, we dismounted the red wyvern and proceeded toward the village without causing much of a stir.

As always, the first thing that caught my eye when entering Mistwood Arbor was the intricate network of treehouses perched high among the colossal trunks of ancient trees. The houses were built directly into the living wood, with branches and leaves intertwining with the structures in a seamless blend.

The village's houses boasted two types of designs. The most common ones featured steeply pitched roofs covered in blue, green, or clay-colored shingles. Then there were other, less pleasant-looking ones with thatched roofs. Looking up, I could see walkways made of wood connecting these treehouses, forming a dizzying maze of paths above. Some walkways were fitted with railings, while others were mere planks of wood.

Below these elevated abodes, the lower tier of the village spread out across the forest floor. Here, the homes were more grounded, built with entirely thatched roofs that curved upwards at the edges. These ground houses were smaller and less intricate than their aerial counterparts, dotting the landscape sparingly. Most of the land below was used for activities like agriculture. Small patches of cultivated land showed neat rows of crops and enclosures to restrain cattle of all sorts.

At the sight of the village, I was tempted to think it was the same as when I last visited, but an image conjured from memory immediately dispelled that nostalgic yet inaccurate thought—the village had changed.

The last time I was here, there were fewer bridges, fewer thatched-roof houses hanging in the trees—in fact, there were none.

Mistwood Arbor was a strange place, in the middle of nowhere. It wasn't particularly close to any of the prominent elven "capitals". Even if it had been, the relationship between an elven village like this and the rest of the "kingdom" was complicated. Villages like this didn't belong to any elven family but were cut off from the world. Despite that, Mistwood Arbor had partly taken strong architectural inspiration from the elves of the Umbryan Family—thus, the steeply pitched roofs covered in colorful shingles—while also borrowing elements from the Aurian Family for their houses built alongside the tree trunks.

The new thatched-roof houses weren't typical. Previously, they could only be found on the ground floor. Now, not only were there more of them, but they were also found among the colored-shingled houses in the trees. I also noticed a significant change in the population. The village's creators and inhabitants were mostly descendants of the Aurian and Umbryan Families, making the villagers predominantly Solvan or Noctils elves. In other words, they were either golden-haired or black-haired elves. Occasionally, there were a few half-elven---"Charlies" among them, but for the most part, villagers fell into the latter or former category, which is why Goblin, with his silver hair, had always stood out. It seems he won't anymore. A large portion of the elves now had silver hair, making it impossible to miss.

"Are those the elves Bortz mentioned saving?" I asked Blondie. She nodded.

Just as I thought. The silver hair was a dead giveaway that these elves were of Argyrian descent—the ones Dungeon Master 13 had saved along with Goblin after escaping for their lives. They had initially lived in a village very much like this one, but their village had been caught in the path of the current authority wielder's maddened rampage. Aquaflora had lived near that village, which was why she helped relocate them here when she also moved to this corner of the world.

Stolen story; please report.

"Those are most of them," Blondie explained. "Over the past month, some of the native villagers have expressed annoyance over the influx of Lunor Elves refugees... You know how elves are with each other, even among the excommunicated."

"Oh... How's that going?"

"Well, the complaints were quelled—partly because of Miss Aquaflora, who acted as a mediator, and partly because of... Lee."

"What did he do?" I asked, though I had a good guess. "Did he threaten them into silence?"

She chuckled. "You know him well. He threatened both sides into silence. Though I have to admit, I had the feeling that deep down, he would've preferred to side with the native villagers in this case."

Hearing this, it almost sounded like a confession—or maybe a rat-out. Blondie wasn't one to do that unless she was really concerned, especially about Goblin.

Goblin had spent most of his elven existence in this corner of the world, and he was very familiar with this village. He had seen it grow and even taken part in helping it thrive, even though he'd removed himself from it in the recent century. It wasn't unreasonable to expect him to have some degree of fondness for this place. Hearing what Blondie said, it was easy to think that concern stemmed from Goblin's attachment to the village. But what she'd hinted at was that his desire to side against the refugees had deeper roots—most likely the bitterness he held toward them, or rather their family's patriarch, who had a direct hand in causing the deaths of Charlie and Frank his beloved bonded creature.

I looked at Blondie and asked, "How's he holding up after everything that happened?"

Blondie hesitated but then confessed, "He's fine, especially since you've been back. He was really down after everything, but since you've returned, he's recovered his spirit. Though when it comes to elves of Argyrian descent, he's still a bit..."

"Hateful?" I proposed.

"Bitter at the sight of them, but he's holding it together," Blondie reassured.

"I see," I nodded before adding, "I'll keep that in mind."

At these words, Blondie's expression morphed into one of distress, audible in her voice as she asked, "I didn't bring trouble on him by saying that, did I?"

I chuckled, then reassured her, "Don't worry, you didn't. What you said will likely help me figure out a way to soothe his heart. You may have actually helped him, so no need to worry," I said, patting her on the head. Hearing this, she exhaled and relaxed.

Despite hosting over hundreds native elves and even more inhabitants when including the refugees, the village wasn't all that large. It was small, with the houses hanging from the tree trunks distributing the village's living space vertically rather than horizontally. Unsurprisingly, we soon stumbled upon Licht and Goblin, who immediately rushed over upon noticing us.

"How did it go?" Goblin asked, apprehension on his face.

"We have a new person on board," I announced teasingly.

Hearing this, Goblin let out an exaggerated sigh of annoyance.

"Tch, I'm going to go drown my disappointment in some disgusting mead," he declared, pointing toward a corner of the village before promptly leaving.

He clearly didn't want Aquaflora joining us.

Blondie and I exchanged glances before she declared, "I'm going to get him. We'll go find some lunch and gather what we need for the journey ahead."

"And Licht and I will do a little bit of tourism," I said.

As Goblin and Blondie disappeared around a corner, Dungeon Master 05 asked, "What's the deal with him?"

"With Goblin?" I asked, curious as to what prompted the question.

"Yes. Is he... is he racist toward elves?" He asked with concern.

Well, you two really got to know each other.

Chuckling, I replied, "I wouldn't say he's racist. He just hates a certain kind of elf."

"How is that not racism?"

"He doesn't discriminate... yet," I said, though given what I'd just heard from Blondie, he might be a few steps away from it—if he wasn't there already.

"I see..."

After a moment of silence, he suddenly asked, "Are they... Are those two together?"

It took me a couple of seconds to register what he'd just said. Once I did, I promptly answered, "No."

"But they're always snuggling each other."

"I like snuggling, too—that doesn't mean anything," I said teasingly, pulling him into a bear hug.

"That's not what I meant," he whined, wrestling to break free, which he did only after I let him go.

"Well," I said, "even if that's not what you meant, my point still stands. They're not together, not like that." Then, with a teasing grin, I added, "Even though Blondie is everything he could dream of. She's not an elf, she's strong, and she's blonde—and we all know that we Dungeon Masters once dreamed of that perfect blonde girlfriend."

He eyed me with a reprimanding look but simply replied, "I see," which made me wonder what was going through his head. Whatever it was, I hoped he didn't think that just because she and Goblin weren't together, he had a shot—because he'd be in for a big disappointment.