“You’ve got it wrong, Honey. I’m not racist.”

Licht raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with skepticism. “If you’re not racist, what are you then?”

Goblin sighed, leaning back in his seat. “Do you even know what being racist means? It’s when you hate someone for their physical characteristics—like long ears, silver hair, or Asian features. Look at me, I have all those features myself. I don’t hate Argyrian elves for that. I hate them because they’re related to an inbred motherfucker I despise.”

Licht and Bortz exchanged a glance and shook their heads in defeat.

“Dude...”

Bortz, who had been quietly listening, chimed in, “A hater.”

“Yes, Bortz. A hater... I’m a hater,” Goblin acclaimed. “I’m not racist. I don’t hate anybody because of the way they look—that’s unfair and goes against everything I stand by. I hate them because they’re related to a guy I hate.”

“And why do you think that makes you sound any better?” Licht turned toward me with eyes that clearly reprimanded me for endorsing any of this nonsense. But, pretending not to notice, I focused on the board game I was playing with Bortz.

The four of us—Licht, Goblin, Bortz, and I—were gathered in one of the fortress rooms, a space that served as a living room with a distinctly Middle Eastern aesthetic. Vibrant colors and ornate patterns decorated the walls, and we sat on two L-shaped sofas that formed a half-rectangle around a low central table.

Goblin smirked. “Trying to get her to go against me, aren’t we? Too bad, Honey. She thinks the same as me.”

I frowned, glancing up. “Excuse me? I might love you and all, but are you trying to ruin my reputation?”

“Sigh, it’s a waste of time trying to reason with a maniac like you. And stop calling me Honey,” Licht barked. “Where is that nickname even coming from?”

“Really?” Goblin asked, glancing at Licht’s hair.

The look Licht gave him made it clear he didn’t believe the excuse. “Don’t take me for an idiot. I know that isn’t the reason.”

“Then why are you asking, Honey?” Goblin said, deliberately leaning closer to taunt him.

“Don’t cling to me!” Licht recoiled, a reaction that only fueled Goblin’s amusement. Goblin took joy in people’s turmoil. For friends, it came as teasing; for enemies, it was far crueler.

While pretending not to notice their tussle, I focused on the game against Bortz. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief seeing Goblin like this—the teasing, loud Goblin who loved riling people up. That serious and silent version of him from before wasn’t it. This was the Goblin I liked, even if I did feel a little bad for Licht.

Deciding to intervene, I said, “Spare Li—no, what am I saying? Spare Honey, Goblin.”

“Eh...”

“What? You too?” Licht exclaimed.

I shrugged helplessly. “Sorry. Once a nickname is assigned, you can’t strip yourself of it. Look at everyone around you.”

Licht looked ready to argue but hesitated when Bortz and I nodded in agreement. Instead, he asked, “Who gave everyone these ridiculous nicknames in the first place? Though I suppose it’s fitting in this guy’s case,” he said, pointing at the barely 1.3-meter-tall Goblin.

“We gave each other nicknames. I gave Lucy and Goblin theirs. Goblin gave Blondie hers and Charlie his. Lucy gave Bortz his.”

“I see,” Licht muttered, processing the information. Then he asked, “Who gave White his?”

I chuckled at the question. “Guess.”

After a moment’s thought, Licht surmised, “Dungeon Master 00?”

I nodded. “Yep. That’s where he got that nickname, though it didn’t start as one. Now that I think about it, this nickname business all started with him.”

“Except his came the other way around,” Goblin added.

“What do you mean?” Licht asked curious.

“He got the nickname first. The proposition of giving him a proper name came later.”

“Just like Frank, who was nicknamed Pink before getting the name Frank from me,” Goblin explained with a proud yet melancholic smile.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

After Dungeon Master 09’s death as Damian, his soul was brought to the Voidborne Catacomb, where I joined him. There, we spent time catching up with Dungeon Master 00 and conducting experiments—one of which led to the discovery of an alternative method of reincarnation. During these experiments, we began referring to Dungeon Master 09 as "White," much like how Frank was nicknamed "Pink." Initially, these were simple labels based on their respective colors. However, while Frank later accepted a proper name, White embraced his label as a true name—one that stuck and became how we refer to him to this day.

“I see...” Licht trailed off, noticing the silence that had settled over the room. Only the sound of the board game between Bortz and me filled the air.

Before either of us could break the tension, Goblin declared, “I’m bored! Is there anything interesting to do? I’m done staying cooped up in this fortress.”

I pretended to muse for a moment before announcing, “None, unfortunately, that you’d find interesting.”

It had been 19 days since we executed the remaining clan leaders and crowned Aquaflora as the Argyrian Elven Queen. Since then, we hadn’t left the fortress. We holed ourselves up here, letting Aquaflora bring peace to her nation on her own. Well, not entirely on her own—Blondie was with her, assisting her.

What? You’re saying that’s not nearly enough help? Maybe, but only if you misunderstand what we’re doing. We didn’t overthrow a dictatorship or take over a headless state. The system the Argyrian elves worked under wasn’t broken—it simply needed a shift. Our goal was to cripple their patriarch’s hold, severing their ties to him and transforming them into elves of Argyrian descent, free of his influence.

The severing of those ties would mean breaking vows, but the consequences were minimal: the loss of heightened elemental affinity. It was a small price to pay considering our goal which is ultimately the unification of the Argyrian population them under a new ancestral tree—Aquaflora soon to be manifested Ancestral Tree.

“None? Really? But I’m really bored. When do you think she’ll be done with what she’s doing down there?”

“Give her some time. She must proceed with patience when dealing with all the Argyrian clans,” I replied.

Goblin rolled his eyes, clearly impatient.

“You sound very impatient already,” Bortz, engrossed in the board game we were playing, commented. “You do realize we still have to help her manifest her ancestral tree, right?”

“Raaagh!” Goblin let out a frustrated growl, barely restraining his annoyance.

That’s right. An essential part of my plan to secure the Argyrians as an asset involved uniting them under an ancestral tree. Without one, they would be essentially useless to us. Luckily, we were close to achieving this. Aquaflora, a former elder of the Argyrian Patriarch, had bargained her freedom to live outside the capital for the promise of one day manifesting her own tree. Since gaining her freedom, she had been steadily leveling her affinity points to manifest the ancestral tree the Patriarch had yet to claim.

“How many affinity points is she short?” Goblin asked.

“Six,” I replied.

“Tch. That’s at least the equivalent of two level-ups. That’s going to take too long,” Goblin clicked his tongue.

“Hm.” I smirked. “Why does it sound like you regret this?”

“Because I do,” he admitted.

“Yet you chose it. What was it you said? That you were going to have fun with this? Something about unleashing yourself against any Argyrian dissident?”

“I...” He trailed off, clearly reluctant to admit it.

“Those were your words, weren't they?” I pressed.

Begrudgingly, he nodded.

As I moved my piece and ended the game with a hard-won victory against Bortz, I added, “Then bear with it. You chose the fun option; now deal with the long, agonizing consequences. Not that it will be particularly long or agonizing. Aquaflora isn’t that high-level. It’s still relatively easy for her to level up. Give her at most a month, after she’s done with her current tasks.”

“A month?” someone echoed apprehensively. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Goblin—it was Licht, or rather, Honey.

“A problem?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“If it’ll take at least a month, plus the time it takes for her current tasks, and not to mention the time needed for all the Argyrians of the capital to take their vow to her... would I be wrong in thinking it’ll take over two months?”

“That’s a reasonable prediction,” I nodded. “What of it?”

He seemed hesitant, so I prompted, “You think that’s too much time?”

“Missing the Land of Men already?” Goblin teased.

“No. I mean—yes, but not to you, Goblin. I was talking to...” Licht stumbled over his words.

“Don’t worry,” I cut in. “I get what you mean. You were sent here to retrieve the authority, and all you’ve seen lately is us doing one side quest after another." Taking a deliberate pause, I added, "it might feel like securing the authority isn’t our utmost focus. It must be frustrating.”

“I wouldn’t say frustrating exactly...”

“But still, I get it. And I think you’ll understand better if you see the big picture.”

“..And what is the big picture?” he asked.

I glanced at Goblin and Bortz with a smile. “I suppose it’s the perfect opportunity to fill you in. Let’s start at the beginning. You understand why we need the help of the other Patriarchs, right?”

He nodded. “Of course. Because we can’t defeat the Argyrian Patriarch on our own.”

“Exactly. And you understand that while all the Elven Monarchs of Quel’thalas agreed to lend us their strength, they wouldn’t do so without ensuring their subjects—their greatest assets—are secure.”

He nodded again. “Then that’s it. What we’re doing here is exactly what the other Monarchs are doing. We’re not wasting our time. Each Monarch who agreed to join our coalition is currently ensuring the safety of their subjects in their imminent absence. This is especially true for the Umbryan Patriarch, whose entire capital fell victim to a vicious and unpredictable attack by the Argyrian Patriarch’s stampede. They’ll need time to strengthen their capitals. The same goes for us. The difference is that we’re building everything from scratch. We have no Monarch yet at our side, and even when we do, she’ll be subpar monarch. But it will be worth it. Do you know why?”

“Because once we’re through with the Argyrian Patriarch, Aquaflora will inherit his ancestral tree,” Licht answered.

“Exactly. Once this battle is over, we won’t just retrieve an authority—we’ll leave this place with one of the four strongest ancestral trees of the world.” I paused for emphasis. “Now here’s something new for you. What if I told you we could leave Quel’thalas with even more? What if we left this place with something that could solve a problem that’s been hindering you, me, and every other human Dungeon Master for centuries?”