“Must you always?” Sir Leonard asked in a long-suffering tone, significantly lowering the tension.
Oliver looked around, confused. He thought they were making good time when suddenly, the forest went eerily quiet, and he could no longer recognize the path.
“Don’t ruin my fun.” A light, sensual voice echoed around them. At his side, Neer slightly lowered her cleaver.
“You know I have something to do. I can’t spend as much time on niceties as usual.” Leonard replied, still seeming unconcerned.
Ah. I think I might get it. Is it her?
Two nearby trees groaned, branches twisting downward until they created an arch. Through it walked the most beautiful creature Oliver had ever seen.
Luminous, cat-like green eyes pinned him down like a butterfly in a spider’s net. Her dark skin seemed to swallow the light, only to reflect it and show hints of dark brown and deep emerald. A cascade of leaves framed the unnaturally perfect face in such a way that Oliver was forced to reconsider all he had known about his preferences.
Lady Amelia was the kind of beauty that felt impossible to compare to anything else. Too unique. Too dangerous. But any other person Oliver had met—even the rare elven trader or ranger that enjoyed spending a few years of their long lives in faraway places—was like a bad copy.
His mentor had warned him of the Darkwood’s guardian’s charm and beauty. He had also spoken of her many attempts to trick travelers and steal their names.
Oliver had made the mistake of thinking himself immune to such a weakness. Why would anyone give up their name to a creature so obviously inhuman? Everyone, from the most innocent child to the oldest crone, knew that fae toyed with mortals and were not to be trusted.
And yet, here he was, on the verge of introducing himself to hear her reply.
The dryad’s smile widened as she noticed the dazed look on Oliver’s face, eyes twinkling with mischievous delight. She took a graceful step closer, sounding like the rustling of leaves in a gentle breeze.
“Such an amusing look,” she teased, her voice like honey. “Has my beauty stolen your voice, young one? You could be quite amusing to keep around.”
Oliver’s mouth opened, the words forming in his throat before his mind could catch up. He was entranced, caught in the dryad’s spell. Just as he was about to speak, a heavy hand came down on the back of his head, jolting him back to reality.
“Snap out of it,” Neer growled, cutting through the haze in Oliver’s mind. The half-orc’s slap wasn’t particularly gentle, and Oliver winced as the dull thud echoed in his skull.
“Ow!” he exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head. He glanced at Neer, who shot him a look that clearly said don’t be an idiot.
“Thank you, Neer,” Sir Leonard said dryly, his gaze still on the dryad. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t charm my squire, Nemas. I still need him.”
The dryad—Nemas, as Leonard had called her—pouted in mock disappointment. “You’re no fun, dear. I was merely testing his resolve. It’s been a while since I’ve had visitors who aren’t running through my forest in a panic.”
Oliver blinked, trying to shake off the lingering fog in his mind. He knew better than to be caught off guard like that, yet he had fallen for the dryad’s charm so easily. He could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he glanced back at her, and she winked at him playfully, clearly enjoying his discomfort.
“What brings you to my domain?” Nemas asked, now more serious but still carrying an undertone of amusement. She crossed her arms, pushing up her bust, her leaves rustling slightly as she tilted her head, studying the group with interest. “I don’t recall inviting another army to march through my forest.”
Leonard calmly stepped forward, coming to a stop before Oliver to prevent any other blunder. “We’re here to negotiate with the orcs. After taking Treon, we’ve proven our strength and hope to gain their support in the coming campaign.”
Nemas raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “So you’ve taken an actual city. Congratulations.” Her tone was laced with sarcasm as she eyed Leonard with an amused smirk. “And why should that feat make me allow you to march your forces through my forest? I’ve seen empires come and go, Leonard. You know how little their fate matters to me.”
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Oliver noticed Leonard’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his voice remained steady. “I’m not asking permission to march an army through the Darkwood. Not yet, at least. We need the orcs’ support to stand a chance against Pollus and all that will come after him. They’ll only listen to us if we show them we’re capable of more than just words. Taking Treon was the first step.”
Nemas looked unimpressed, tapping her chin thoughtfully as she considered his words. “The orcs are not easily swayed by outsiders. Even if they know of your might, that doesn’t mean they’ll follow you in a new war. They like fighting, but they are surprisingly hard to rouse.”
Before Leonard could reply, Neer stepped forward, eyes narrowing as she addressed the dryad directly. “Does that mean Pollus has already got through the forest?”
Nemas scoffed in annoyance. “The Count and his forces learned their lesson quickly. After losing the first hundred men who tried to cut through my trees, they decided to circumnavigate the Darkwood. Cowards.”
Oliver’s gaze flicked between the three adults. The tension in the air was palpable, though the dryad seemed more amused than genuinely angry. Still, there was an edge to her words that made Oliver wary.
“We aren’t the nobles,” Leonard said calmly. “We respect the forest and those who protect it. Our goal is to ensure that the people living on its borders remain safe from those who would harm them. If we can gain the orcs’ support, we stand a better chance of stopping the Royal Army before he does any more damage to your domain.”
Nemas studied him with great focus. It was so intense that Oliver almost had to look away, but his mentor didn’t seem to care. “You know I like you, dear. I’m also aware I cannot stand in your way directly, but that doesn’t mean I cannot make your life difficult. Whatever deal you have worked out with the orcs, you still have to convince me to let you through.”
It was a pretty intimidating sight, but Oliver was more struck by the fact that this otherworldly beauty was basically asking for a bribe. The realization was so jarring that it shook him out of the daze he had fallen into. Nemas gave him a slightly surprised look but soon returned to staring down Leonard, who stood his ground, silently engaging in a battle of wills.
The air hummed with tension, and Oliver could feel his pulse quickening, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. The way Nemas’s gaze bore into Leonard and the way his mentor held it unflinchingly made it clear that something crucial was happening—something beyond the words being exchanged. This was a make-it-or-break-it moment.
“I’m not here to make your life difficult, Nemas,” Leonard said, his tone measured but resolute. “I’m here to propose an agreement that benefits us both.”
The dryad raised a leafy eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, would that be?”
“I offer you something no mortal ruler has ever offered you before. In exchange for allowing the Revolution safe passage and acknowledgment of our claim through the Darkwood, I will recognize you as the lawful governor of this land.”
The silence that followed his words was deafening. Both Neer and Nemas gasped, and even Oliver, who didn’t fully understand the gravity of the offer, could feel that it was something big. Neer’s hand instinctively tightened around her cleaver while Nemas’s expression shifted from amusement to shock.
“You would... recognize me as the governor?” Nemas echoed, her voice softer now, almost incredulous. “Do you realize what you’re offering, Leonard? No king in the centuries I’ve protected the forest has ever dared to do such a thing, even though they never controlled this land.”
Oliver blinked in confusion. Why was this such a big deal? He had seen plenty of nobles and knights recognize local leaders or officials to get their loyalty. What was so shocking about this? He glanced at Neer, hoping for some kind of explanation, but the half-orc’s eyes were locked on Leonard with unease.
The Hero, however, remained calm. “I’m fully aware of what I’m offering. Recognizing your authority over the Darkwood means acknowledging that this land belongs to you and that it will always belong to you. No mortal can claim it after that.”
Oliver’s breath caught in his throat as the realization hit him. Always. If Leonard recognized Nemas as the lawful governor, it meant that the land would never change hands again—not in a lifetime, not in a thousand years. The Darkwood would belong to her forever.
“That’s why no one’s ever done it,” Leonard explained, as if sensing Oliver’s confusion. “Mortals are always thinking about the future. They want to pass their lands down to their children, their children’s children. They know that as long they prosper, they will need to expand. And Haylich doesn’t have many other options left beyond what’s already technically within our borders. Giving Nemas official rulership of the Darkwood means locking up a good third of Hetnia’s land. Even if our agreement allows for the exploitation of resources, we’ll never be able to cut it down and build new cities. Nemas is not mortal. She won’t grow old and die.”
The dryad’s emerald lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. “No, I won’t. But Leonard… you’re no longer mortal either, are you?”
Oliver’s heart skipped a beat. He glanced at Leonard in alarm, but his mentor’s expression didn’t change. The words hung in the air, heavy with implication, and suddenly, Oliver felt as if the ground beneath him had shifted.
Leonard didn’t deny it. “The same concerns as other men do not bind me. A deal with me cannot be twisted, nor can it be broken.” It was a non-answer, but also all they were going to get.
The dryad studied him for a long moment as she weighed his words. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Very well, Leonard. I accept your offer. I will allow your forces to pass through my domain unhindered for the moment, and we’ll work out a proper deal later.”
Fae do not care about anything but what they’ve agreed upon. The words of his village’s elder echoed in Oliver’s ears, and he could only hope they weren’t making a big mistake.
----------------------------------------
After resuming their march, Oliver could feel the difference immediately. The forest, which had felt oppressive and labyrinthine, now seemed to part before them, revealing hidden paths and guiding their way forward. The trees shifted subtly as they walked, opening clearings and moving aside thorny undergrowth that would have slowed their progress. Even the sounds of the forest had changed; where before there had been eerie silence, now there was a sense of companionship and calm as songbirds accompanied them.
Oliver glanced around in awe, his earlier fears fading into wonder. “The forest is helping us,” he murmured.
Neer grunted in agreement, her eyes scanning the surroundings with caution and respect. “The dryad keeps her word. For now.”
Leonard remained silent, staring ahead. Oliver couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between his mentor and the dryad during their negotiation, something beyond the simple exchange of words. He wanted to ask, to understand what Nemas had meant when she said that Leonard was no longer mortal, but the words stuck in his throat. Now didn’t feel like the right time.
They traveled for hours, though crossing the distance should have taken them days. Finally, they reached a violent stream, whose waters crashed against sharp rocks with deafening force. Standing on the opposite bank was a figure that made a shiver run down Oliver’s spine despite having expected it.
The orc warchief was massive, towering over even the shorter trees nearby. He was clad in bone armor, each piece intricately carved and stained with age. His skin was a deep, earthy green, and his eyes burned fiercely. A gigantic cleaver rested on his shoulder, its blade as wide as Oliver’s torso. The sheer presence of the orc was overwhelming, and Oliver instinctively stepped back.
The warchief’s voice boomed across the stream, demanding their attention. “State your business, trespassers! You stand before Grakkor, chief of the Darkwood’s tribes. Speak, or be cut down where you stand!”