Chapter 3

While Druids were well-known as spellcasters, only a small fraction of their work involved spellcasting. The main reason for this was that mana was limited and took time to recover. A related reason was that the rates for divine magic were strictly enforced to strike a balance between the livelihoods of Priests, Druids and other practitioners of divine magic and the needs of the people. If a population’s divine casters couldn’t survive, that was a problem for everyone, after all.

According to the Warden, the scheduled rates for divine magic were some sort of compromise between all of the different religious groups and tribal mystics in the Sorcerous Kingdom. Some sort of complicated process was used to figure out how much people had to pay for the services of divine casters depending on where one was in the country.

First Tier divine magic spells – without any modifiers applied – cost a copper coin each in Warden’s Vale. This was far cheaper than the price of potions, so, as the only divine caster living in the harbour, Glasir had some work to do every day. She had been a Druid for three months and had saved up two gold coins so far…except she had no idea what she wanted to buy with them.

According to Nonna, a rural family of three Humans could live on sixteen gold coins – the Re-Estize kind – for about a year if they were frugal. This figure, however, was no longer accurate in the Sorcerous Kingdom. Things that were now plentiful became cheaper while what Humans deemed as ‘luxuries’ became more expensive. One might think that they would be satisfied with their lives with their survival assured, but the Humans of Warden’s Vale still continually sought to improve their circumstances.

Living expenses for a Dryad were far different from that of Humans or Lizardmen. Her tree absorbed light, drank water and ate dirt, all of which were free. She could buy clothing and accessories, but that felt useless aside from belts and things that helped her carry stuff around. Her only expenditures thus far were the satchels on her belt, some barrels to put dirt in and a spade to move said dirt. Though she didn’t need to, she slept in the Warden’s dwelling and did most of her personal things in and around it.

Additionally, she was a member of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s gentry. Glasir was officially Dame Glasir Gel Gronvidr, whose jurisdiction was wherever her tree was. This didn’t mean she had full authority over wherever she went – it was just a consideration for the future when she would finally put down her roots and grow over the city. She was the Knight of her tree, wherever her tree might be.

Currently, her tree was in a pot and that pot was wandering around the central building of the Lizardman village. After their visit to the administrative office, Fesres had made an impromptu change to their daily lessons and they were now going over the various things that could be done with their surplus of mana.

Their first stop was one of the rooms on the second floor, where a half dozen Lizardman mystics were working on…stuff.

“Fesres?” A Forest-green male Lizardman came up to the door to meet them, “What brings you here? I don’t think we had anything scheduled…”

“Ahaha…well, it’s, you know…”

The older male, who went by the name of Csersch, furrowed his brow ridges. He was the head priest – actually a Druid – of the village: a Third-tier caster of the former Red-Eye Tribe.

“Not even a Seer could figure out what you meant by that,” Csersch said, then looked at the students. “What are you whelps doing here?”

“Economy!” One of the students said in a proud voice.

“Economy?”

“The people at the administrative office said something about ‘Mana Economy’,” Fesres explained. “It’s nice and peaceful here so we have plenty of mana to spare.”

“Ah, that,” the Head Druid nodded. “Well, they’re not wrong about making sure we make good use of our mana. It’s part of the reason why we sent some to see what they could make of what the arcane artisans are doing in the harbour.”

“That didn’t get anywhere, did it?”

Csersch shook his head before gesturing for them to follow her into the room.

“It was arcane magic, after all,” she said. “I mostly sent them to fish around for ideas. By the looks of it, we’re going to have to figure out a lot of things on our own.”

“Is that so…” Fesres looked down at the floor, “if we have to figure out complicated things, then there won’t be much for the students to do.”

“That’s wrong.”

Fesres looked up.

“It is?”

“Magical research takes up a lot of time, resources and mana,” Csersch said, “but we have something those fellows in the harbour don’t.”

The Head Druid led them past the tables where the other mystics were working. In the back of the room was a partitioned-off area of empty floor. Fesres brightened in recognition, her tail sinuously waving back and forth.

“Ah, you’re right! We do have that…wait, the Humans don’t?”

“Not that any of us have seen,” Csersch replied. “In this place where time and resources are abundant, mana becomes the limiting factor. That is why Baroness Zahradnik has brought up this ‘Mana Economy’. We Lizardmen, however, can conduct rituals to cast magic as a group.”

“Hmm, but what can we do with it? We don’t have much in the way of magic that others can’t find elsewhere…”

“I did say we’d have to figure out a lot of things on our own,” the Head Druid said, then sighed. “We have tales of the past where great feats of magic were performed by our ancestors, but none of us today have the practical knowledge. However, the tales and treasures left to us are proof that it can be done! Our people are safe now, so we can direct our efforts at reclaiming what has been lost.”

“Have they been doing anything like this at the Great Lake?”

“When we left, they were still focusing on building up the new Lizardman Alliance village and sorting everything out. I’m not sure what they’re up to these days.”

Glasir – no, all of the students – looked back and forth as the two adult Druids conversed. She had no idea what they were talking about.

“Um,” she raised her hand, “you said this is something that Lizardmen can do? Can Dryads do it too?”

The two adult Lizardmen exchanged looks.

“I’m not sure,” Csersch said. “We’ve only ever done it with Lizardmen because we’ve only ever had Lizardmen on hand. Nothing stops us from trying with others, I guess.”

“How does it work?”

Csersch walked over to the middle of the empty floor. He gestured for everyone to come closer.

“First, you have a ritual leader: that’s me, in this case. To be a ritual leader, one must at least be capable of Third-tier Magic and trained to lead rituals. After that, we add members to the circle.”

The Head Druid pointed to spots in a circle around him for the others to stand.

“All that ritual members need to do is focus their mana on the ritual leader, who in turn uses the mana to perform a spell.”

“What kind of spell?”

“Any spell,” Csersch shrugged. “Any spell that the circle leader knows, at any rate. Most of the time it isn’t used for anything spectacular – we just get things taken care of faster because everyone combines their mana. For instance, Cure Disease is a Second-tier spell that only a handful of us can cast right now. If a Disease spreads through the village, we can normally only cure as many sick people as our Second-tier casters with Cure Disease have the mana for. If we cast Cure Disease through rituals, however, we can bring in all of our First-tier casters to help.”

That sounded…useful? Why didn’t the Humans have something so useful? They were always looking for every advantage they could get.

“We can easily cast spells that we normally aren’t capable of, either,” Fesres added. “Using Over Magic metamagic in a ritual spreads the mana cost out nicely.”

“That’s assuming everyone has a large mana pool,” the Head Druid told them. “A bunch of First-tier casters like you would get sucked dry pretty quick if I cast a Fourth-tier spell through a ritual. Another problem with higher-tier spells is, well, we don’t know many of them. Even if we could perform the great rituals of legend, we know no spells that require the use of those great rituals. Developing high-tier spells castable through rituals ties up everyone involved in the ritual so it’s not something we can regularly do.”

“W-we’ll get there someday!” Fesres bunched up her claws in a confident expression, “For now, we just need our Merchants to figure out what’s good to sell. Then we can use our surplus mana in rituals to create scrolls or wands or whatever like whoosh whoosh whoosh.”

Their teacher was rapidly becoming incoherent. Glasir looked at Csersch.

“Can you do that?”

“That’s a good question…hey, one of you come over here. Bring an empty scroll.”

One of the mystics working in the room came over with a roll of fish leather. He took his place in the circle as Csersch unfurled the blank scroll in his claws.

“Alright,” he said, “let’s begin.”

The room grew silent. A magic circle formed under Csersch. Fesres and the mystic that had come over held looks of concentration as they folded their claws in front of them. The Lizardman elder cast a spell.

“「Light Cure Wounds」.”

Glowing letters and patterns formed on the fishskin scroll as it floated into the air. After a moment, they flashed as if to sear themselves onto the parchment. The freshly-scribed scroll fell to the ground in front of Csersch.

“…it worked?”

Csersch leaned over and picked up the scroll, examining it in his hands.

“Well, that’s something to keep in mind from now on,” he said, handing the scroll to the mystic, who carried it away. “If it works for scrolls, it might work for other forms of crafting as well.”

“And then it’ll be whoosh whoosh whoosh.”

The Head Druid shot the excited Druid teacher a look. She only beamed back at him in return.

“While it would be nice,” he said, “I doubt it would be so simple. We’ll have to ask Chief Esess if we can perform a thorough investigation. It might get a bit expensive…”

“Can we teach the students how to participate in rituals?” Fesres asked, “Even making scrolls is better than nothing.”

“I don’t see why not…give me until the end of the month to prepare what we need for that.”

Fesres led them out of the mystic’s workshop, taking them down to the main floor to resume their regular lessons in the village courtyard. These lessons were divided into two broad categories: the first was what would be considered ‘Druid’ topics by most, which included studying the elements of nature and land management as they pertained to both wilderness and developed areas. As a bonafide nature spirit, this part was just a bit strange to her as she understood what was being taught instinctively.

The second category had to do with the role that Druids played in Lizardman communities. This included managing public health and sanitation, learning how magic could be integrated with village life and learning how to apply their Druidic knowledge as advisors and consultants to the leadership. There was also a ‘religious’ aspect of this category that she felt had nothing to do with her: she didn’t have any ancestors, nor did she revere the Sorcerer King as a god or force of nature or whatever. Additionally, her problems empathising with Lizardmen made her a horrible counsellor.

Two hours past sunset, Druid classes ended and the students were dismissed to their respective homes. Lord Cocytus and his entourage were gone and so was the barge that brought them there from the harbour. Instead, Glasir boarded one of the dugouts fashioned by the Lizardmen and they slowly paddled their way back. It took nearly an hour before they arrived at the pier and made their way through the buildings of the village.

In terms of its Human population, the harbour had grown to slightly over two hundred individuals. There were over eight times as many Undead, so rather than a Human settlement Glasir thought it better to describe it as an Undead one. Not only were there Skeleton Warriors assigned to each household and teams of Undead labourers in each workshop, but the ‘citadel’ in the northern part of the island hosted Death-series servitors, Elder Liches and Soul Eaters which numbered over a thousand combined.

The Royal Army of the Sorcerous Kingdom trained constantly: drilling, sparring, patrolling and attending ‘lessons’ conducted by Elder Lich sergeants and the Linum sisters. They were no exception to Lady Zahradnik’s rules for her residents and were urged to do everything in their power to be the best soldiers they could be. Not that they required any urging. The Undead almost seemed happy that they always had something to do.

“Ah, there you are.”

Upon returning to the shophouse that served as the Warden’s temporary manor, Glasir found that they had two additional guests.

The first was Lady Shalltear, the Warden’s Vampire liege, who was dressed in her usual black ballroom gown. The second was a Human woman with tied-up blonde hair whom Glasir had never seen before. Her garments were strange, consisting of a light cloth outfit with a black metal breastplate. She seemed entirely at ease, but the weapons about her person seemed ever-ready to be drawn. The Linum sisters stood near the table with three Vampire Brides and Nonna the Elder Lich.

Stolen story; please report.

“You really did move those leaves of yours around,” Lady Shalltear’s eyes seemed to lick her as she spoke. “You’re as bushy down there as Albedo now…”

...who?

Glasir recalled that there was an important person by the name of Albedo in the Sorcerous Kingdom…was she a Dryad, too? Why was being bushy something of note? The blonde-haired woman rose from her seat at the kitchen table, casting her gaze past Glasir.

“You must be Ilwé,” she said. “I’ve heard about you, but...well, we have a new mission now. You’re coming back with us.”

She was talking to the crazy Elf woman? Glasir turned around.

A quiet breath filled the air of the room and the feeling that Ilwé Linum gave off transformed.

“It’s about damn time,” the Elf’s voice held none of its previous timidity. “I thought I was going to be stuck here for another hundred years.”

Ilwé Linum shed her harmless expression, her face turning sharper and harder. Despite Glasir knowing her since the day she was born from her tree, the Elf woman was no longer the person that Glasir knew. More accurately, Glasir felt that she was never that person in the first place.

“You…you’ve been tricking us all this time!” Lluluvien cried out, “Why?!”

The Half-Elf Maid leaned heavily on the kitchen counter, shock and betrayal painted all over her features.

“Mrs Linum’s one of our best sleeper agents,” the blonde-haired Human grinned. “That’s why. She’s been with us since, well, the beginning. For nearly two hundred years she’s been feeding us information on the E-Rantel region and helping our agents move around. I gotta say she’s gotten even better considering all the important stuff she’s managed to get herself close to.”

“It’s about the only thing about your organisation that has managed to impress us.”

The Human’s grin faltered at Lady Shalltear’s remark. Wiluvien came forward on weak steps.

“You’re…you are our mother, right?” Wiluvien asked.

“Sure am,” Ilwé answered. “That kind of experience is hard to forget.”

“Then why did you fool us this whole time?” Wiluvien’s voice rose, “We came to save you – everyone was worried about you! Lady Zahradnik took you in and gave you a home! She promised you her protection and said that you could take as long as you needed to recover. How could you do this to us?!”

“You just answered that question pretty well yourself,” Ilwé was nonchalant. “Everything you came up with was something that you decided on your own.”

Ilwé brought her hands together as if in supplication, tilting her head and closing her eyes.

“Ah, the poor, abused, traumatised Elf woman!” she said in mournful tones, “Surely she deserves our pity and is entirely harmless. People just love to arbitrarily dump their sympathy on others and Elves live for so long that we pretty much become a fixture in Human communities.”

Humans were weird in many ways. Glasir could never understand why everyone felt sorry for Ilwé Linum, and now it seemed that they realised how baseless their pity was.

“That’s enough chit-chat,” Lady Shalltear said. “We need to get going.”

“W-wait,” Wiluvien said. “Do…do you at least have names for the babies? We kept them because you could have gotten rid of us too…”

“I ‘kept’ the two of you because it’d be weird to not have some brats after being a ‘Maid’ for those pricks for over a century.”

Wiluvien’s chest heaved as a pained sob escaped her lips.

“So we were just tools?”

“More like props.” Ilwé turned away from her daughters, “There’s nothing I want to keep from here, so let’s go, boss.”

“Lady Shalltear,” Lluluvien said quietly, “are you alright with this? This woman has spit into the face of your vassal’s goodwill.”

The Vampire seemed to pause in thought, gaze crossing over the Linum sisters before settling on their mother. Her crimson gaze seemed to grow more intense as her lips turned up in a slight smile.

“Mmh…I suppose a brief detour is in order, all things considered…”

The dark portal of a Gate spell opened in the air before Lady Shalltear. It dissipated after the Vampire followed Ilwé and the blonde Human through. Silence filled the air as the Linum sisters levelled dead stares at the emptiness left in the wake of their mother.

Hours had passed since Ilwé’s departure and Wiluvien had long since gone to bed in an equally despondent condition. Lluluvien usually divided her time between seeing to the household chores, checking on the babies and working with the Elder Liches in the war room, but she only wandered about listlessly that night. After listening to Lluluvien’s sniffles punctuate the air all evening, Glasir grew curious enough to talk to her.

“Why are you crying?”

Another sniff punctuated the air. Lluluvien wiped her face with a handkerchief before sending a raw-eyed look at Glasir.

“…why? That was our mother, and she just…she just…”

The Half-Elf Maid flopped onto a seat at the kitchen table, burying her face in her hands. Glasir wasn’t sure what any of that meant.

With Lluluvien seemingly incapable of conveying things in a way that Glasir could understand, she turned her attention back to the plants in the Warden’s magical solarium. Where rows of tables and stands displaying wares in a shophouse might otherwise be, a variety of plants were placed. Everything was growing steadily but the out-of-season greenery had attracted all sorts of crawling things. She picked up a Ladybug and put it on a flower being attacked by aphids. The stupid thing flew away instead.

Fine, be that way…

“「Summon Beast I」.”

Four Ladybugs materialised in front of her. She sent them to devour the plant-sucking invaders.

The Lizardmen learned this particular line of conjuration magic to provide an expendable ally in combat. Once upon a time, many sunrises before Glasir was born, the Lizardman tribes lived in conditions that exposed them to the dangers of the land and rival tribes – which included those of their own race – so their traditions included ensuring that their precious priests had various methods to defend themselves with.

While their applications of summoned creatures revolved around combat, Lady Shalltear showed Glasir that they could also be used as helpers. The Vampire Cleric summoned Undead to help with menial labour, Water Elementals to help scour away messes and all sorts of other things with useful traits and abilities to do whatever she wanted to be done. The creatures conjured by Summon Beast I were much weaker than Glasir and wouldn’t be of any help against anything that could threaten her, so she felt that Lady Shalltear’s applications of the spell held more value.

Since conjuration spells could summon multiple creatures of a lower tier, Glasir found that she could summon four ladybugs, which were effectively harmless ‘Tier Zero’ creatures. Those harmless creatures, however, were effectively monsters when it came to exterminating pests.

The administration’s emphasis on ‘mana economy’ put several more conjuration spells in their queue of things to learn. The next spell that they were being taught summoned a variety of simple staple foods. As far as the residents of the Vale went, it could summon bread for Human consumption, some sort of mystery meat for carnivorous races and equally mysterious plant matter for herbivorous races.

Whatever it was, the product appeared to be universally unappetising, but there were still uses. The Lizardmen shredded the conjured meat and added it to the processed chaff that they imported from the Human farms, which then went to feed their schools of fish. Though Glasir did not ‘eat’ as many races did, she thought that she could still break up the stuff and add it to her soil. Would it make the soil unappetizing? No one seemed to have the answer for that.

After that would come Summon Spices, as salt always seemed to be in demand, and Summon Paper I. Paper had become a minor export of the territory due to the farming villages’ efforts to turn all of their excess straw into a more valuable commodity, so conjured paper could use the same ‘trade route’ that had been established.

As her summoned Ladybugs continued to forage through the plants of the solarium, Glasir picked up a broom and dustpan to clean up all of the fallen leaves and other debris off of the floor. The dirt was especially valuable. Lord Mare came by once or twice a week to check on Glasir and the Warden’s solarium, casting spells that encouraged plant growth and revitalised the soil. He also tried changing the weather inside the house once, but that, unfortunately, didn’t work.

These spells were on Glasir’s must-have list as they created delicious soil and desirable conditions. According to Lord Mare, she would be able to learn the Plant Growth spell when she became a Level 15 Druid. Plant Growth had two functions: the first was enriching the soil and encouraging the growth of all vegetation within a kilometre of the caster. Lord Mare used Widen Magic to double the radius, but it still took a lot of work to get all of the fields in the Sorcerous Kingdom done.

Fortunately, the magic lasted for a full year. Unfortunately, it affected the growth of everything, including what the Farmers referred to as ‘weeds’. The robust agriculture of the Sorcerous Kingdom was a never-ending battle for its Farmers.

Plant Growth’s second function was to create a much smaller area of overgrowth, which caused the local plants to grow wild all over the place. How and where they grew were at the caster’s discretion, allowing one to create impassable tangles of brush, fashion intricate mazes, cover buildings or create shaded enclosures. Glasir hoped to make good use of this in the future, but it wasn’t used much in the Sorcerous Kingdom because the magically-induced overgrowth did not affect agricultural crop yields.

The spell that altered weather conditions was Sixth-tier magic called Control Weather, which Glasir did not expect to be able to grasp anytime soon. Lord Mare had high hopes that she would eventually be able to, however, as she was born from one of his Divine Ash cuttings.

Since Glasir’s tree had done so well in Warden's Vale, Lord Mare had brought in more of his plants to see how they would fare. They were all species that the Warden said were entirely unfamiliar to her, yet they seemed strangely familiar to Glasir. Considering the relationship between the Warden, Lord Mare and Glasir, she decided that the plants – which made up three-quarters of the solarium – were something like her siblings.

When she shared that thought with Lord Mare, however, his eyes grew wide and he said that he wasn’t old enough to be a father yet. It seemed that she would have to wait until he grew up so he could be a father for her to be able to call him hers. As she continued to struggle to grasp the behaviour of other races, Glasir hoped that it would help her understand the value that other races placed on ‘family’.

Thoughts of ‘family’ brought her attention back to Lluluvien, who was still weeping quietly at the kitchen table. Glasir emptied her dustpan into a half-filled barrel before sitting across the table from the Half-Elf. She pulled out her homework and went through a page of numbers before looking across at the Maid.

“Is it really that sad?”

“Of course it’s sad,” Lluluvien didn’t look up as she replied. “She’s my mother. We love her so much; worried about her every day…and it turns out she didn’t care a whit for us. I used to think that our mother was the victim and Elves were good people and now it turns out that our mother is just as horrible as our father or worse.”

Empathy was hard. Distress over ‘family’ was something that didn’t exist for Dryads at all. The only thing that Glasir might find truly sad was the extinction of an entire species. Otherwise, more would be born eventually. Environments could recover or become different environments. Nature was in everything and the end of things was not sad – it was simply a part of life.

Glasir’s views were not seen as a bad thing by the Warden, who said that it might serve as a reminder of the ‘big picture’ amongst mortals who were so often wrapped up in short-term thinking and personal problems. Mortals, on the other hand, always seemed to expect Glasir to reciprocate their emotions. They shared stories with her that were supposed to make her laugh, cry or display one reaction or the other. Sometimes they got entirely unexpected reactions from Glasir and it was somehow her problem.

According to the Warden, emotions were an instinctual response to what beings perceived. Because different races saw things differently, so too could their emotions differ. One could sort out emotions between different races based on the natural elements of their race. For instance, carnivorous Demihumans like Beastmen who hunted their prey found great satisfaction in doing so. A Human being hunted by a Beastman would experience panic, terror and despair while wondering why the Beastman would do such a horrible thing. The Beastman, on the other hand, would experience the thrill and joy of the hunt and its violent conclusion.

Prey could never appeal to a predator while presenting themselves as prey – they had to communicate on a level that the predator respected. The same principle could be applied to many other species in different situations, but Glasir was, in most situations, the odd one out.

Living beings that were social often had the same broad feelings when it came to how they saw groups of individuals. While they might not express it in the same way or apply it to other races at all, those emotions were still roughly based on the same instincts and could be thus used to understand and predict their behaviour. Family, friends, allies, enemies and dangerous threats to a group – social creatures could find common ground because they all framed the world in similar terms and enacted analogous behaviours in regard to them.

Dryads were born able to communicate and possessed a high degree of natural charisma. They also had Spell-like Abilities related to interacting with and manipulating others. Despite this, they were not the same type of ‘social’ that many other races were: most of their interactions were driven by what Humans would consider self-interest.

If looked at a certain way, Dryads had parasitic properties when it came to their interactions with others. They would ask for help if they needed it and get people to do things for them. Their natural allure was employed to make friends and allies who would help keep them safe. She didn’t think ill of others or actively think about what she was doing: it was as natural to her as the parasitic vines that were starting to sprout from her body.

Furthermore, Dryads were not even born as many living creatures were. Glasir was a manifestation of natural life energy – a nature spirit born from a tree. Familial feelings did not exist because Dryads did not have families as others did.

These ruminations and conclusions were the results of roughly three months of living amongst the people of Warden’s Vale. Even so, she still endeavoured to understand the denizens of the Warden’s territory. In the centuries and millennia to come, their descendants would dwell under her boughs and it would be annoying if she never figured them out.

“So…” Glasir dragged out the word, “are you crying for your mother, or for yourself?”

Lluluvien looked up at her with a furrow on her brow.

“I’m crying because I’m sad!” She told her, “Everything is too much. How would you feel if Lady Zahradnik and Lord Mare were horrible people?”

“They’d still be who they are?”

“Grr…you’re just like your mother. She’s so honourable and steadfast but good and evil don’t seem to matter to her. Just what’s right and what's wrong.”

“…is that a bad thing?”

“That’s…no? She probably wouldn’t like me much if she was too good. It just happens to be annoying when you’re looking for a bit of comfort. You really do take after Lady Zahradnik – even if you were born from a tree.”

Like most of the residents, Lluluvien referred to the Warden as Glasir’s mother. Similarly, she never referred to Lord Mare as Glasir’s father. Glasir wanted to try calling Lady Aura ‘auntie’ to see how it would feel but Lord Mare told her that the only feeling she would get from that was pain. Maybe Lady Aura wasn’t old enough like how Lord Mare wasn’t old enough to be called ‘father’.

“Then what if Lady Zahradnik told you that she didn’t want you around anymore?” Lluluvien asked.

“I don’t think that she would ever say that,” Glasir answered, “but since she’s the Warden I would have to leave.”

“Then what if she died? Permanently.”

“That would be bad news but I’d still have to live on however I can.”

“Bad news in what way?”

“She’s the Warden,” Glasir frowned across the table at Lluluvien. “That’s almost as bad as it can get.”

This was something that was continually lost on many of the residents. Some, like the Krkonoše and Dame Verilyn, understood. Everyone else seemed to have no idea or at least made other things out to be more important.

Lady Zahradnik was a Baroness, which was a species of Noble. Nobles were what Glasir suspected was what the people in the area used to refer to Lord-type individuals. Except even that part was confusing because apparently someone had decided that she was a Noble. This made no sense: Lords just were. One didn’t mysteriously become one because someone said so, just like anything else.

For some stupid reason, they thought that their nonsense about Nobles was more important than being a Warden. In fact, the Humans and Lizardmen thought nothing about her being a Warden at all. It just wasn’t a thing to them. They were so lucky to have one but they didn’t even realise it.

“Muu…” Lluluvien made a Lizardman noise, “Now I’m so jumbled up that I can’t think about it anymore. Thanks.”

“Is that uh, what did they call it…‘sarcasm’?”

“No, I can at least get back to work for now.”

Lluluvien rose from her seat and stretched. She went over to the counter to wash her face before heading up to the war room.

Glasir put her homework away. She still didn’t get it.

Well, whatever. Time to sleep.