Chapter 6

Lord Mitten stood at the entrance to Brent Forest and took a deep breath.

It was a clear spring night.

There were only a few clouds in the sky, which occasionally moved in front of the full moon, only to be blown away again by the next wind. Everything around him was dark, but the stars twinkled all the brighter above the forest.

The temperature had cooled noticeably, but warmth and cold had long since ceased to have any real meaning for him. He existed detached from the typical needs of most of Amanth's inhabitants. In addition to the outside temperature, hunger and sleep no longer had any power over him - which of course did not mean that he renounced them. Of course not!

How much better it was to enjoy something you no longer needed! And why tirelessly strive for more power and knowledge when you are young only to become ascetic in old age?

The faces of some supposedly highly respected personalities materialized in his mind.

Purists, he thought contemptuously and wrinkled his nose.

There were always those who had to overdo it. The idea of contaminating one's own body by ingesting food was simply absurd. And how had they come to the conclusion that sleep would dilute their meditation experience?

If aspiring magicians only succeeded in cultivating their own bodies and expanding their minds by completely abstaining from fun and pleasure, in other words, if any distraction posed a threat to further progress –,

he shook his head pityingly,

– then perhaps they should have taken a different path. As craftsmen, for example, they were also in great demand.

In any case, I'll enjoy my nap, Lord Mitten thought contentedly. Let others mortify themselves so that there are more delicacies left for me.

He felt like strolling through the forest for a while instead of sprinting back across the canopy of the gron trees. At a leisurely pace, he strolled along a well-trodden path through the forest towards Anaholm, lost in thought. To the left and right of the path, there were only trees and bushes that seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance. The imposing canopy of leaves only allowed the starlight to flash through the foliage from time to time.

Lord Mitten was lost in his thoughts and thought back to his visit to Glacial Doom. A nice visit that had made him think. The last 3 years as a village cat with a good connection to the fisherman and his daughter had been tranquil and peaceful.

Perhaps too peaceful.

Lord Mitten had to admit to himself that he had indeed become a little bored, otherwise the thought of continuing to work as a Guardian in the future would probably not have crept into his mind at Glacial Dooms lair.

The emergence of this supposedly harmless thought had shaken him awake. 300 years of hazardous waste removal didn't seem to have as lasting an effect as he had thought.

"Tsk". He frowned.

This time he didn't seem to be able to postpone the solution to the problem into the undefined future - unfortunately.

He had been vigilant and had recognized the thought and plucked it out of his head like a weed. But apparently the ground was sufficiently fertile that further precursors of a relapse into old savior ambitions could spread in him in the future. And what if he didn't recognize and crush them as quickly as he did today?

He quickly shook off the threatening vision of the future that had wrapped itself around him like a cloak.

Something had to happen.

And now, as Lord Mitten had to admit to himself with little enthusiasm.

Otherwise he would wake up one day and find himself at the center of the next catastrophe. And it would come, as reliably as the inhabitants of this continent had tried to kill themselves so far.

He looked to the west. Of the main races still in existence, the dwarves, humans and dragons had so far stood out as the perpetrators of a catastrophe. The elves were an exception; he hoped that they would continue to show restraint and behave in an exemplary manner.

I need something to do, Lord Mitten mused.

Not serious work, of course, but some kind of project.

"Mhm."

He sat down on a mighty tree stump at the edge of the path and licked his white paw. It was simply easier to think from an elevated position.

"Mhm."

A project then, Lord Mitten thought.

He would have to leave Anaholm, it seemed. 150 villagers whose only hobby consisted of stopping off at the pub after work and betting on the next harvest over a glass of beer didn't lend themselves too well to a project of any kind.

It would be best —, he thought further, if I could earn money without too much attention and turn it into delicacies alongside a little invigorating activity. I wouldn't have to go hunting myself or invite myself to friends' houses for dinner.

They were still happy to invite him, but sooner or later it would become indecent and he wasn't a freeloader after all!

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of a new source of income.

Wealth in itself was not a problem for him, he was a rich cat. The golden ball on his collar served him as a repository, containing a pocket dimension filled to bursting with treasures.

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His supply of coins was limited, however, for the simple reason that it was too common for his pocket dimension. A few coins slipped into it from time to time, but he had nowhere near the amount of money needed to live comfortably in one of the cities. And he could hardly pay for the week's shopping with a gold bar.

Or could he? An intrusive thought spread through his mind and gleefully imagined what a commotion that would cause.

“Tsk.” Lord Mitten quickly pushed the sabotaging idea aside.

A reputable source of money by human standards that would provide him with a regular supply of coin and a comfortable life sounded like a good plan. He would fulfill this dream of inconspicuous mediocrity, he decided.

But how?

Lord Mitten frowned.

If he went to the nearest big city and signed up for an auction, he would have enough money to live in luxury for years.

And with it, fame. He shuddered at the thought.

Mages were like bloodhounds when it came to artifacts, potions and ancient writings. Once they had picked up the trail, they followed it regardless of the secrecy granted by the auction house.

Of course, he had the means to throw them off his trail - but that meant work. Without question, he could also confront them once they had found him. But then the rumor mill would be set in motion.

Lord Mitten screwed up his face. He could already see it in his mind's eye.

'Have you heard yet? A powerful mage has entered the city these days. And you won't believe it, he looks like a cat!’

'My cousin told me that he was just throwing rare artifacts around at the auction!”

'Do you think he takes in students? A friend saw him going to the White Crane Inn, maybe we can catch him before he leaves town!’

"Mehhh!" Lord Mitten shook himself vigorously. Definitely not inconspicuous mediocrity!

When he had taken up the job as Guardian, he had first presented himself publicly and made himself known as the protector of the welfare of all the inhabitants of this continent. And then he had learned what the saying 'You made your bed, now lie in it' meant.

His expectant fantasy of how he would be admired from an awe-inspiring distance by thousands soon gave way to the nerve-wracking reality. Yes, he was admired. But up close and full of desire. It turned out that all beings strive for simple solutions to their problems. And what simpler solution could there be than a powerful tomcat who was officially responsible for solving the continent's problems!

The humans came in droves with the desire for quick fame and fortune and the dwarves with the request to gain a comprehensive insight into the connections between matter and energy. Queues formed in front of his estate and an undisturbed stroll through the city was out of the question!

Worse still, he had a reputation to uphold and could not simply chase the noisy crowd away. So he had no choice but to put up with them and encourage them to use their own brainpower to reach their goal.

A truly thankless task!

Thankfully, the dragons already considered themselves omniscient and the elves were extremely reluctant to leave their native forests.

After these experiences at the beginning of his career as a Guardian, his need for admiration was drastically reduced. Lord Mitten recalled his naive self at the time and sighed.

Truly, think carefully about what you wish for.

He had learned his lesson quickly and kept a low profile for the next few millennia. In this case, the comparatively short lifespan of the dwarves and humans played into his hands. Over the generations, the knowledge about him was lost and where it had not yet been completely forgotten, the Guardian of Amanth was now relegated to the realm of legends and myths.

Yes, he was still known as a powerful being in the relevant mage circles, but fortunately there was no official talk of him saving the world anymore. Fortunately, ordinary mages were allowed to live in seclusion and choose their own visitors.

Of course, he hadn't stopped observing world events and, where there was a threat of trouble, he shared his opinion. Over time, he had come to see himself more as an advisor and hoped to dissuade the inhabitants of Amanth from going astray. With both the humans and the dragons, however, he had failed spectacularly in his newly understood role as an advisor and had ultimately been forced to intervene.

“Tsk.” Lord Mitten wrinkled his nose.

As a result, he had come to the painful realization: The inhabitants did not want him as an advisor and he did not want to be available to them as an official Guardian. So he was only left with anonymity as an alternative. And that had to be preserved. Once the cat was out of the bag, it would take centuries to reach the current state.

So, inconspicuous mediocrity, he reaffirmed his decision once again.

But what could he do?

Lord Mitten continued to clean his paw extensively in search of a suitable project that would keep him away from Guardian work.

"Hmhm..., maybe the hotel business? No, no - far too many people who expect hospitality, no matter how badly they behave. In his mind's eye, he saw his hotel, which had to close again after a short time because the landlord regularly threw guests out.

In his mind, he went back over the last few days, months, decades, millennia in search of a better idea than the hospitality industry.

He recalled his last encounter with Olf, the art philistine who didn't appreciate the melodies of the Sirens.

"Hm," pondered Lord Mitten.

Of all the works of art, whether written, painted or musical, the sung songs of the sirens were particularly close to his heart. After all, they were very similar to the songs of his own ancestors and revived memories of times long past.

I could combine the pleasant with the meaningful and ensure that the works of art of the past, be they poems, melodies, educational texts or small trinkets and treasures, are not forgotten.

And earn money from it at the same time.

"Hmmm."

The longer Lord Mitten thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

A kind of store for writings and antiques, perhaps.

Inwardly, he imagined how he would have large and small businesses run from the back room of his store and throw out whoever he wanted to throw out.

A splendid idea!

Satisfied, Lord Mitten stroked his whiskers with his black paw.

To make the dream of inconspicuous mediocrity in the back room come true, he would have to hire a few creatures. Preferably humans, he decided. The most mediocre beings in this part of the continent.

He would have to find someone who could scout the real estate market of the next largest city for him and start looking for a suitable "store owner".

Because his role in this project was obvious. He would remain incognito as the true owner and contribute the material. And enjoy himself in the back room and have a good time. Others would do the work.

"One or two henchmen, then," he muttered to himself.

An excellent idea.

Satisfied, he stroked his whiskers with his black paw.

But where would he get them from? The villagers of Anaholm were a tight-knit community and would not willingly trade their tranquil village for city life. No, he needed an alternative.

"Heeelllppp........ Ahh!!!!!"

Lord Mitten looked to his left.

A young man came out of the bushes and ran past him, breathing heavily, only to stumble over a bump in the ground a few meters later and fall down. He quickly picked himself up again and stumbled forward, his face contorted with pain. He seemed to have hurt his ankle.

Lord Mitten looked after the man with delight. He hadn't even tried for a piece of luck yet!

His gaze wandered back in search of the reason for his hasty disappearance. Some distance away, two frost wolves had come to a halt and were looking at him calculatingly. They seemed to be assessing his potential danger and wondering if carelessly running past would cost them more than a meal.

Lord Mitten let out a small portion of his carefully controlled power.

Grrwooooohh!!!

The wolves turned around and hurriedly disappeared into the thicket.

Lord Mitten jumped off the tree stump and walked in the opposite direction.

On to my new underling.