Seven days had passed since our arrival in the capital of the Umbryan family—seven days since we had been served a resounding “no” from their patriarch in response to our proposition to join forces against the patriarch of the Argyrian family. Seven days since disappointment settled in, tempered only slightly by the patriarch’s unexpected gesture of hospitality.

Despite his answer, he had invited us to stay instead of sending us on our way, a move that had initially made me frown at his seemingly contradictory behavior. But I wasn’t one to let an opportunity slip, and if he was willing to host us, I was more than willing to abuse his hospitality.

And here we were, in an estate generously assigned for our stay in the capital. It wasn’t just luxurious; it was excessive, as if the patriarch wanted to make a point.

I sat in my room on an armchair, facing Licht, who was similarly settled across from me. Between us was a table bearing a board game: black and white stones arrayed on a grid. We were playing “Đá Vây”, a local game I’d been introduced to one century and half ago. It wasn’t native to the Umbryan family but had been adopted from an older elven family, one that had been annihilated long ago. The game, reminiscent of chess in its tactical complexity, had been a welcome distraction. After teaching Licht the rules and playing a few practice rounds, this was our first serious match.

I placed a black stone on the upper-right corner of the board, initiating the game. Licht countered with a white stone in the lower-left, mirroring my move.

“So, what exactly do we do now?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp as he analyzed the board.

“What’s that question about?” I replied, adding another black stone near the center, aiming to control more territory.

He set a white stone adjacent to mine, challenging my advance. “I mean, what’s our plan? It’s been a week since he turned us down, and it doesn’t look like he’s changing his mind.”

“Did you really expect him to change his mind?” I chuckled softly.

“Erm, yes?” Licht’s voice held a hint of defensiveness. “Isn’t that why we’re still here? Or was I just being stupid to think that?”

“Not stupid,” I reassured, sliding a black stone along the board’s edge, attempting to flank his position. “Just too hopeful. We’re dealing with a monarch—someone who’s been told by the almighty system that he’s at the apex of his kin. And he’s spent centuries proving that notification right. Pride from something like that isn’t easily swayed.”

Licht mulled over my words, then placed a white stone to block my approach. “So I was stupid to expect it after all.”

I smiled warmly. “To be fair, it’s not impossible to change his mind. It’s just going to take more than what we’ve offered so far.” I tapped a finger thoughtfully before placing another black stone. “We need better arguments—ones that appeal to his perspective.”

Licht opened his mouth as if to ask if I had any such arguments, but he seemed to catch himself, halting mid-thought. So instead, he said, “Your terms didn’t seem like a bad deal to me. Joining forces guarantees the demise of a threat that’ll eventually become his problem too.”

“That’s true… to you,” I said, emphasizing the last two words. “But try looking at it from his perspective.”

Licht fell silent, contemplating my words as he grinned, clearly pleased with his next move. He dropped a white stone, cutting off one of my potential connections. I narrowed my eyes and set a black stone to fortify my position.

“He’s not just a monarch—he’s an elven monarch. Try to see it from his prideful perspective,” I added.

Licht placed another white stone, venturing, “He thinks he can handle the Argyrian patriarch by himself?”

“Not exactly. It’s not just confidence in his ability to win—it’s confidence that he can handle himself. There’s a difference.” I continued, “Currently, in Quel’Thalas, there are four known elven monarchs: the Umbryan patriarch, the Aurian matriarch, the Ferron patriarch, and the Argyrian patriarch. Each of them has reached the pinnacle of their respective affinities.

To become a monarch, an elf must invest 90 affinity points into a single sub-affinity, manifesting a sigil—an ancestral tree. This sigil not only marks their status but also ensures that no other elf can manifest a sigil from the same sub-affinity. Three of the four monarchs—the Umbryan patriarch, the Aurian matriarch, and the Argyrian patriarch—are the undisputed leaders of their affinities having conquered other ancestral trees within their main affinity, solidifying their dominance. The Ferron patriarch, however, is the only one that has yet achieved such dominance.

Licht placed another stone thoughtfully. “So they’re equals?”

“In terms of the potency of their sigils, yes,” I replied. “But judging by the confidence the Umbryan patriarch exuded when he refused our offer, I’d say he believes himself stronger.”

I was tempted to call it arrogance but held back. This patriarch had lived many lifetimes over, far longer than I had, and his confidence likely stemmed from experience. If I had to guess, it was due to a certain detail we’d uncovered—one involving not just us but also the unexpected guests from the Argyrian family. The current state of their patriarch was… less than stable. So it’s very likely that he believes that would be a disadvantage for the Argyrian patriarch.

I made a bold move, placing a black stone deep in Licht’s territory. “Now then, another question. If you were in his shoes, what other reason might he have for refusing our offer?”

Licht raised an eyebrow, his next move deftly surrounding my intruding stone with white. “Does it have to do with his sigil?”

“Bingo.” I chuckled, placing a black stone elsewhere, shifting my strategy. “In fact, I’d say that’s the main reason he refused. For him, there’s simply nothing to gain from going after the Argyrian patriarch.”

To stand where he currently stands, one has to possess a natural leniency for conquest—a bloodthirst, in fact. It can even be said that such a trait is a necessity. A battle should ignite that hunger, awaken the instinct to dominate. But here’s the thing: when a patriarch doesn’t belong to the same affinity branch, battles become pointless. For elven monarchs, the primary motive for fighting lies in the acquisition of a sigil from another monarch. Yet, a sigil spawned from a sub-affinity cannot be merged with another from a different main affinity.

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Well, it’s not entirely impossible, but the consequences are so disastrous that any sane elf wouldn’t entertain the thought. This is why elven monarchs belonging to different branches of affinity exist in a sort of harmony. Not the friendliest of relations, certainly, but far more peaceful compared to the bloody feuds that occur within the same branch.

“Sure, there’s experience to be gained from defeating a powerful patriarch,” I said, placing a black stone on the board, “but at the end of the day, the most valuable reward—the sigil—wouldn’t even end up in his hands. So, what’s the point?” I gestured towards the luxurious surroundings of the Umbryan domain. “Elven monarchs aren’t particularly interested in territory. Look at this place. It’s already excessive. I suppose you could argue that the Argyrian population itself is a resource worth seizing, but compared to the pain in the ass that is defeating an elven monarch standing at the apex of their specialized affinity? It’s a miserable loot.”

Licht winced as I laid out the logic, either because he finally understood or because he realized I’d just put him in a miserable spot on the board. He made a resigned move, placing a white stone with a sigh. “I now think, in his shoes, I would’ve refused too.”

“You sure would’ve,” I replied, smiling as I moved my piece, bringing about the game’s equivalent of checkmate. “Especially when you ask the one inviting you to battle why she wants to defeat a monarch you have no motive to fight, and she responds with some random personal reason. Perhaps I should’ve come up with a more pragmatic answer.”

Leaning back in his seat, Licht sighed deeply before asking, “How was he?”

“Who?”

“Him. Charlie. What was he like?”

“What was he like, huh…” I trailed off, my mind slipping into a nostalgic haze. My gaze drifted to the small bird perched silently in the room. It had been there the entire conversation, watching us like an uninvited guest. “He was adorable. Ridiculously adorable. You should’ve seen him as a child. Born with a full head of black hair, hazel eyes, and the kind of mischief that made you want to spoil him rotten.”

Licht sat quietly, listening, so I continued. “He was the youngest of the group. Goblin, Luci, Bortz, Blondie—they were already there when Charlie, or as I first named him, Daemon, came along. That name didn’t last long, though. The others preferred ‘Charlie,’ and it stuck. As the cadet of the group, he was the most spoiled, and he was the kind of child you couldn’t help but pamper.”

“Sounds like you really loved him,” Licht commented softly.

I chuckled at the sentiment. “Not any more than I loved any of us.”

Licht frowned, tilting his head. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I responded, but the look on Licht’s face told me he didn’t believe me.

“I've seen how you're looking at Goblin.“

So, with a sigh, I admitted, “Okay, maybe I love Goblin more than the rest, but only by a reasonable margin. You should have seen him as a child.”

Goblin was technically the first Dungeon Master I had to raise as my own, if we didn’t count Dungeon Master 09—his circumstances being vastly different from the others. That might be what clouds my judgment. Back then, I was fumbling through how to do things properly, but looking back on those days, I can only smile. Those memories of the four of us together—me, White, Goblin, and his beloved serpentine companion Frank—are some of my fondest.

Smiling, I added, “As a child, he was a hunk—a compressed hunk of cuteness. And he stayed that way until he reached the elven equivalent of twelves years old. Then, the chubby little one turned into a slim and short teenager. Sigh, I miss those days.”

Listening, Licht frowned. “Slim? Short? Him?”

“Yeah, he’s lanky. If you think otherwise, you’re being fooled by the effect of a skill.”

That’s right. Goblin’s current appearance—the one that looks as though he’s lived half a lifetime—is nothing more than the effect of a skill. When I asked why he used it, he said it was “time for a change.” While I wasn’t particularly fond of his slim teenager look, I can’t say I’m a fan of his current one either. Sure, it brings back some of the hunk he had as a child, but it’s not the same.

“I see,” Licht said. “I didn’t even notice.”

“That’s normal,” I reassured him. “The skill is one he was born with, and one of the first he managed to level up. It’s not something easily discernible.”

“What does he look like without it?” Licht asked, curiosity evident.

“A little younger than you look,” I replied. “That’s why I thought the two of you would get along. But, well, it seems I expected too much.”

Licht remained silent for a moment before saying, “It’s not like he and I don’t get along. I just think he’s a little weird… and unfriendly.”

Glancing at the bird perched in the corner of the room, I chuckled. “I won’t pretend he’s not both. Goblin is the kind you have to learn to love—imperfections and all.”

After another game—which ended in my win, much to Licht’s frustration—I asked, “Wanna come with me later this evening?”

“Where to?”

“Tourism. I invited Aquaflora yesterday to see the capital’s streets. You want to tag along?”

Without much pause, he agreed. I couldn’t pretend not to understand his quick response; the current stalemate we were stuck in was slowly getting boring.

After a final game that ended like the previous ones, Licht stood up, announcing, clearly annoyed, with the game, “I’m going to get changed for our outing.”

“Alright.”

As he reached the door, he stopped, taking a few deep breaths before turning back with a serene expression. “From what you explained earlier, is it safe to assume we’re not just wasting time?”

“We’re not,” I assured him. “What’s to be done, I can’t say yet. But we’re definitely not wasting time. If I had to call it something, I’d say we’re taking time to contemplate the problem.”

Licht sneered. "Contemplating problems, huh?"

"What?"

"I didn't take you to be the kind to take time to contemplate anything."

“How rude,” I responded, feigning offense. “Did you think I was the type to punch my way through every problem?”

“I admit, that’s exactly how I thought of you. And to be fair, I'm not to be blamed, your reputation is.”

I burst into laughter. “Well, then you’ve got me wrong, friend. I’m a very calm, thoughtful, and peace-loving person. Despite everything you’ve heard. Sure, I have solved most of my issues through violence, but I also know how to appreciate the peace that follows or precedes it.”

Like nothing, my time as Queen of my little kingdom came to mind. Having servants cater to my every whim while I relaxed had its appeal. The responsibilities and appearances of royalty were a bore, but the peace and comforts? I absolutely loved them.

“I see,” Licht said before finally leaving. As the door closed behind him, I stared at it for a moment before looking at the bird in the room—the one Licht had been carrying when we left the mansion. Goblin had given them to us. It was one of his bonded companions, our first means of communication.

The bird flew to perch on the finger I extended. Despite being effective as a communication tool, it wasn’t as seamless as a phone. At the skill’s current level, it allowed only one-sided discussions, and my lack of skill related to monster communication’s transcription was to be blamed for that. “You heard everything I just said, Goblin. I want you to know I meant every word, and none of it was spoken just because I knew you’d hear it. Though, me saying that probably isn’t helping either. I’ll leave it to you to guess.”

Switching to a language only Dungeon Masters and perhaps a reincarnate from my original world would understand, I added, “Now, onto a more serious matter. It’s about the developments here. You’re no doubt already aware of our progress. Most likely, you understand why I’m calling you.”