At that very table in the middle of the woods, the terms regarding the fate of the sigils in possession of the Argyrian Patriarch upon his demise were ratified: the Ancestral Tree manifested out of the elemental affinity is to be handed over to Aquaflora. As for the other sigil in his possession, it is to be entrusted to the Aurian Matriarch.
Aquaflora desired the ancestral tree, rumored to be the source of the Argyrian Patriarch’s madness. As a manifestation of the nature sub-affinity—something part of the affinity over which she, as a Monarch, wielded almost absolute control—adding this ancestral tree to her collection was her sole demand and likely her primary reason for participating in this endeavor.
It was reasonable for a Monarch to desire more ancestral trees for their collection, but beneath that natural ambition, it was obvious she was driven by something else—something everyone at the table knew she had her greedy eyes set on.
The sigil in question seemed to grant the Argyrian Patriarch the power to control monsters as if they were subjects, akin to how Monarchs ruled their kin. This potential didn’t go unnoticed by the other Monarchs, but none dared speak against her wish to seize it, for while the thought of another Monarch claiming such power was unsettling, no one was foolish—or bold—enough to attempt accommodating an Argyrian ancestral tree from a different affinity. The risks of death or madness, as evidenced by the Patriarch’s fate, were far too great. So no one voiced anything against it, for doing so would make them look unreasonably bitter, worse still it might hinder the advancement of this whole effort when everyone wants this endeavor to come to fruition.
Beyond this, the Aurian Matriarch made no further demands.
As for the Ferron Patriarch and the Umbryan Patriarch, their demands were relatively insubstantial—which, I admit, is a little unsettling. I had expected the Umbryan Patriarch to be more unaccommodating. To be fair, he had a clear motive for joining the coalition.
First, he recognized the threat the maddened Argyrian Patriarch posed to his own safety and that of his subjects. Secondly, he carried a grudge from his prior defeat—a wound to his pride he could not let go.
How ironic. The progenitor of the Noctils Elves, who once mocked me for seeking Cleon’s death out of petty revenge, is now driven by the same base emotion: resentment.
How the table has turned. Or not.
As for the Ferron Patriarch. It would be wrong to say that he had no demands, but his terms paled compared to those of the Aurian Matriarch or myself. His request was minor—at least in my eyes—but not to Aquaflora. She opposed them outright, leaving me no choice but to intervene and defer the negotiations until after the summit.
The summit concluded without further argument. Surprisingly, the Ferron Patriarch, who could have taken offense at a certain person’s reply to his very simple demand, instead proposed an unconventional conclusion to our battle: a moment of amusement before the inevitable battle. On the edge of the forest where the summit was held, an area had been prepared at the Ferron Patriarch’s direction, for a final celebration.
A party awaited us.
As I sipped my drink, I watched the mesmerizing spectacle unfold. At the center of the clearing, dancers adorned in form-fitting dresses performed. The fabrics, embellished with golden beads and sequins, shimmered with each movement. Their designs clung and flowed in equal measure, accentuating the dancers’ grace. Bare-armed, they moved with elegance and daring, their quick, rhythmic steps keeping pace with the staccato beats of tam-tams, while longer, sweeping gestures matched the mournful wails of flutes.
As they spun and dipped, their skirts flared outward, a cascade of colors and light creating a captivating allure. The performance was bold and striking, yet meant to appeal to a very particular audience—an audience Aquaflora evidently didn’t belong to.
While I enjoyed the sight, she stared at me with a pointed intensity that was impossible to ignore. She had been drinking and glaring at me for some time now, making it increasingly difficult to pretend I hadn’t noticed.
"A problem?" I asked, deciding to address the issue directly.
"I’m sorry to interrupt your clearly riveting entertainment," she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "but I want to know what you discussed with the Ferron Patriarch."
I had just left his side after a brief conversation, having come to sit down and enjoy the performance. I finished off what remained in my glass before answering. "Not much. We just discussed the terms of his demand, the one you rejected."
"And?" she pressed, her voice sharp.
"We’ve agreed on a concession."
Her expression darkened, making it clear that my answer was far from satisfactory. "A concession? What kind of concession exactly? If it involves reducing his demand, I’ll still refuse. Be it twenty-five thousand or just one, I’m not giving him any of my people."
Twenty-five thousand lunor elves—that was the Ferron Patriarch’s demand. He wanted Aquaflora to surrender 25,000 of the Argyrian people in the capital. It was his only request, and it was met with a firm no from Aquaflora.
Considering how little it was compared to the assistance he offered and his previous demands, her refusal could have been seen as unreasonable if not outright insulting. But luckily for us, the Ferron Patriarch was someone you could bargain with—and that was exactly what I did after the summit talks concluded.
Looking Aquaflora in the eyes, I smiled and reassured her, "I bargained. I bargained well. Don’t worry; you won’t have to surrender any of your people, dear Matriarch of the Argyrian family," I said, emphasizing the last phrase.
"There you go again," she replied with a sigh.
"What? You’re not going to say I’m teasing you, are you? You really are the current Matriarch of the Argyrian family."
At my words, Aquaflora sank into contemplative silence before softly saying, "It didn’t feel like it back there."
"During the summit?" I asked.
She nodded.
"Well," I said, poking her cheek playfully, "that would be your fault."
"What?"
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
"Come on, you were expecting me to reassure you, weren’t you?"
"I—" she began, but I cut her off with a playful jab to her side.
"Unfortunately for you, my sweet Matriarch, I’m not going to," I told her. Then I continued, my tone more serious. "If there’s something I’ve learned early in this life, it’s that to protect what matters to me, to achieve my dreams, and to become as strong as possible, I needed strength. Not because it was my goal to be the strongest, but because strength is the only thing the world respects. Not names, not titles—just strength. That’s why the voices of the weak go unheard, and those of the strong make the laws."
I let my words sink in before continuing. "Today, I stood up for 25,000 of your people. Not because I cared about them—they’re irrelevant to me—but because you cared about them. That’s why you stood up for them. But while you bear the title of Matriarch, you’re no different than when you were just a producer of ancestral trees for the Argyrian Patriarch. That’s why no one at the table took your refusal seriously. Now repeat it to me. Why do you think no one at the table took your refusal seriously?"
"Because I didn’t have the strength to back it up," she admitted softly.
I nodded. "That’s right. You didn’t. A weakling standing up for weaklings—that’s how they saw you," I explained sternly. "You’ve probably guessed my point: I want to get stronger. But strength isn’t an instantaneous process—it takes time. The people and things we care about can inspire us, but they can also weigh us down. That’s why it’s vital to know when to hold on and when to let go. Learn to protect what truly matters and accept that sacrifices are sometimes necessary. You can’t protect everyone, and true strength comes with the ability to accept that."
Aquaflora was silent for a moment, like a child digesting a lecture. But then, as a frown appeared on her face, she asked with clear distrust, "Don’t tell me you—"
"I told you already, didn’t I? No one is touching your people. Not one Argyrian, or 25,000 as he demanded," I reassured her immediately.
"You swear?"
"I swear."
But as Aquaflora stared at me for what felt like over a minute, I finally protested. "You still don’t trust me? Have I ever lied to you?"
She hesitated for a moment. "You may have never explicitly lied, but you’ve often not told me everything."
"See? You agree that while I don’t always tell you everything, I have never lied. So, right now, I’m telling you that your people are fine because I came to a concession with the Ferron Patriarch, and you still think I’m lying."
"Okay, alright, I believe you," she relented. "Now tell me—what concession did you two come to?"
"Ah… that’s a secret."
"And you’re not going to tell me about it?"
"That’s the concept."
She pouted at my answer, but seeing—and foreseeing—that I wouldn’t budge, she conceded. "Alright, fine, keep your secrets to yourself. I don’t care, so long as it doesn’t concern the Argyrian people anymore. It doesn’t, does it? Tell me it’s not some terrible agreement that’ll come back to bite me later—"
"I’m telling you they’re fine, so quit it already," I replied just as the music changed. Unlike the alluring tones meant to enhance the dancers’ performance earlier, this tune was more festive, inviting the bystanders to join in the merriment. Bortz and Blondie, already deep into the festivities, were among the first to take the floor.
After a moment’s hesitation, Aquaflora changed the subject. "So… mind telling me how exactly you got to know the Ferron Patriarch?"
"What else do you want me to tell you? I think I’ve already told everyone at the table how he and I got to know each other. We were once neighbors, and I once needed his help—mainly through the purchase of artifacts that he and his people produce."
"There has to be more than that. You two seem like such good friends."
"Good friends, huh," I mused, glancing at the Ferron Patriarch, who had risen from his seat to invite the Aurian Matriarch to dance. His invitation was tragically declined, as the Matriarch was enjoying the company of her all-female escort, who clung to her as though to keep her warm. He had chosen the worst possible person to ask for a dance, but the rejection didn’t deter the rust-haired Patriarch. Noticing our judging gazes, he strode toward us with a large smile on his face.
"Despite what you think of him after that demand, the Ferron Patriarch is the most reasonable of the elven monarchs. Be courteous with him, and you’ll be good friends," I whispered to Aquaflora just as the Patriarch arrived before us.
"Hello. I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves," he said warmly.
"We are, Patriarch," I responded. "It’s a very entertaining party," I added, glancing at Bortz and Blondie, who were fully immersed in the festivities, joined by both Honey and Goblin on the dance floor.
"That’s high praise," the Patriarch said dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. Then, turning to Aquaflora, he asked with a gentlemanly bow, "Would you honor me with a dance, Matriarch?" He extended his hand toward her.
The unexpected request left Aquaflora visibly flustered. I did my best to suppress the laughter threatening to escape.
"I…" she stammered, glancing in my direction. To avoid bursting into laughter, I looked away. Suddenly, I felt her hand grab mine.
"Sorry, Patriarch, but Arianna just invited me to dance," she said before dragging me onto the dance floor.
As we began to move to the rhythm of the flute and tam-tam, I told her, "The elf whose invitation you just declined could have been the start of a solid alliance. He’s the Patriarch of one of the most unique elven families—one that deeply values culture and knowledge. Peaceful by nature, their craftsmanship is their greatest pride. They yearn for trade but struggle due to problematic neighbors who hinder their access to markets. This makes them the perfect allies for a newly declared elven monarch seeking something different for their subjects than what their previous monarchs offered."
With a sigh, Aquaflora admitted, "I get it. I shouldn’t have refused his dance. I should’ve used the opportunity to build a good relationship."
Then, after making a twirl in our dance, she drew closer and whispered with an unapologetic smile, "But you know what? Right now, I don’t regret refusing your friend’s invitation."
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A few days went by.
"Everyone remembers exactly what’s expected of them, right?" I asked, glancing at Honey and Goblin seated to my left and Bortz and Blondie on my right.
Each of them nodded in response, prompting a contented smile from me. "Good. Then I won’t have to worry about anything."
I was seated in the conference room of “the” flying fortress, giving everyone a last-minute pregame speech before the big event. It had been nearly two days since the summit and the party that followed.
Since then, we had been traveling toward the location where our trusted source claimed the infamous white serpent, responsible for destroying part of the Umbryan and Argyrian territories, had last been spotted. This, by extension, meant that this was also where we expected to find the Argyrian Patriarch and his stampede. We were closing in on our destination, and as per our plan with the elven monarchs, hostilities would begin immediately upon arrival. There was no better time for a final pep talk than now.
Looking at each of them individually, I declared, "We’re finally here ladies and gentlemen. After over nine long months of waiting and preparation, it’s finally within reach. It took a lot of patience, effort, and self-control, but we’ve made it. In less than a day, everything will change. We’ll have [Rule and Overrule] back. We’ll get justice for our fallen friends—Charlie, Frank, and even “him”.”
My thoughts turned to that little boy, the one who had apparently wielded [Rule and Overrule]. Normally, I have a strict kill-on-sight policy for fellow reincarnates who hold an authority and fail to use it as they should for whatever personal reason. But after hearing about the child's situation from Goblin and the others, I couldn’t help but feel pity—maybe even compassion. He didn’t deserve the fate he got. So, we’ll get justice for him, too.
“In less than a day, we’ll reclaim Goblin’s ancestral tree and perhaps will get what will allow us all to break the oppressive status quo in the Land of Men. Tomorrow will be a glorious day. So whatever challenges you face out there today, endure them by thinking about what tomorrow holds."
Lifting my glass, I wished upon them, "So, on these words, ladies and gentlemen, I wish you all the best of luck."
No less than three hours after that final pep talk, we arrived at the location where the battle against the Argyrian Patriarch and his stampede would take place.