Fiendland was fucking weird. Even by Elatran standards.

It wasn't like Rob was unused to the different territories being radically divergent from each other. Elven territory was categorized by purple grass, blue-leafed trees, and teeming forest wildlife. Human territory contained a whole lot of nothing, being a wasteland that the Humans had scarcely managed to eke an existence out of. Merfolk territory was completely underwater and home to sharks that made Jaws look like a goldfish in comparison. He'd never been to Dragonkin or Harpy territory, but from what he'd heard, the grass in one of those territories was...silver? Rob was pretty sure someone had told him silver.

Yet despite all that stiff competition, Fiend territory still took home the gold medal for Strangest Place in Elatra. While the other territories felt like fantasy genre offshoots – which fit with the gods' MO – Fiendland almost felt like it belonged on an alien planet. There was no dirt or soil anywhere, only the fleshy substance that made up its city streets, covering every inch of ground within Fiend borders. Rob hadn't actually visited Fiendland's wilderness before today, so a part of him had internalized the streets as being constructed that way by the Fiends, but nope, that's just how the surface there was.

Not that it stopped Fiendland from having a thriving ecosystem outside of its city limits. Bizarre plants grew wild and free; as he walked, Rob caught sight of oblong-shaped trees, vines dotted with eyeballs, and berries that spewed acid when you bit into them. Fiendland's most common animal was the zamult, an unholy love-child of elephant and alligator that somehow managed to flourish despite being an herbivore with the temperament of a kitten. On the opposite end of the spectrum was the yeriozark, an apex predator that was as rare as it was deadly. The creature was less of an animal and more of a sentient ball of scales and teeth, so ravenous that it never stopped hunting, and so big that its limbs couldn't support its weight, moving instead by blasting mana out of its appendages.

Rob got a front row seat to all of that and more as he, Riardin's Rangers, and the Elders trekked their way through Fiendland's outback. The Grand Overseers didn't want to tip off the Dwarves about the Fiends' recent developments in teleportation magic, so rather than being transported directly to the border, Riardin's Rangers had been placed several hours away. It thankfully afforded them enough leeway to meet the Dwarves' absurd twenty-four hour time limit, which would not have been feasible without teleporting. Either the Dwarves hadn't taken travel time into account, or they wanted the Fiends to fail so they could have an excuse to invade.

If that was their aim, they wouldn't have much to show for it. Rob couldn't imagine any other race in Elatra wanting to own Fiend territory, let alone live there. Its wilderness would come across as a funhouse of horrors to anyone who wasn't born and raised in the area.

The notion raised some intriguing questions. Specifically, Rob wanted to know if Fiend territory was like this in the past, even before the Fiends 'arrived' in Elatra. It was public knowledge that they'd appeared well after the other races, but it was not-so-public knowledge – known solely among the Fiends' uppermost echelon – that their race descended from monsters that had gained sentience.

Rob's question then became this: was Fiend territory's ecology shaped by the Fiends coming into existence? Did the very land itself alter to form new ground, plants, and animals as the Fiends settled in? Or had Fiendland always been like this, and they'd moved in because it was free real estate?

He'd have to get to the bottom of that mystery when fifty baffled Dwarves weren't staring at him with eyes the sizes of dish plates.

The sight did a lot to ease Rob's frayed nerves. After having spent hours walking past beetles the size of dogs and bubbling swamps with giant tentacles flailing from underneath, seeing some good ole' fashioned fantasy Dwarves felt like a soothing balm. They were exactly what he'd expected to see; short, stocky, and strong. None of them rose above four feet tall, which did little to diminish the imposing, battle-ready presence they exuded. All but a few of the Dwarves had come equipped with heavy weapons forged for the express purpose of beating the shit out of people, with just two mages and one archer hanging in the back. The male half of their contingent sported luxurious beards, and Rob detected a glint of envy in Elder Duran's eyes when he examined them.

To top it off, each Dwarf was at minimum Level 30, with the highest reaching 42. This wasn't a random scouting party – they were clearly handpicked to throw down in case things went south. Hell, they might be hoping for things to go south. If Riardin's Rangers wanted to resolve matters peacefully, they'd have to carefully navigate centuries of Fiend-Dwarven enmity, built upon generations of corpses and rivers of blood.

Rob was perfectly aware that he should've felt more nervous. Waymark made for an exceptional get-out-of-jail-free card, but it was never ideal to be outnumbered fifty to eight. And while his Party was unlikely to come to harm, the wrong choice of words could set off a war between two nations, at a time where Elatra reeeeally didn't need another war. Countless lives were at risk.

Maybe he would've felt more nervous if the looks on the Dwarves' faces weren't so goddamn funny.

"Titan's testes," a Dwarf at the vanguard muttered, his mouth wide open. "There truly is a Human. And he walked out of Fiend territory like it was an afternoon stroll. Someone slap me, as I'm evidently passed out under the bar again, dreaming up nonsense."

"We're having the same dream, then," a second Dwarf said, running her hands down her face. "Don't forget the Elves standing besides him. And I didn't hear any word about a Dragonkin showing, too. Just missing a Harpy and a Merfolk at this point to round out the set."

Diplomacy immediately whispered. Rob sent it a mental nod, then surreptitiously tapped the back of Elder Alessia's arm. This was part of their preparations. In an attempt to conserve energy, Diplomacy had chosen to delegate the role of primary negotiator to one of the Elders, picking Alessia or Duran based on whose temperament would fit the situation. Alessia would have been chosen if Diplomacy sensed that the Dwarves were in the mood to fight, while Duran would have been chosen if the Dwarves seemed receptive to peace.

No one was surprised that Alessia ended up in the hot seat. Enemy forces that told you to show up within a day, or else, usually weren't planning to break out the picnic baskets and sing happy campfire songs.

Elder Alessia stepped forward until she was standing an inch away from the border between Fiend and Dwarf territory. The highest-Level Dwarf in attendance strode up to meet her. It painted a vivid picture; one Elf facing down one Dwarf, the two divided via an arbitrary ecological line, both backed by their respective allies as tension hung in the air. The image was made even more striking by the stark visual differences between Fiend territory and Dwarven territory, with the former being...what it was, while the latter had ordinary soil and towering mountain ranges in the distance.

"Greetings," Elder Alessia stated, in a tone that was amicable yet unyielding. "I am Elder Alessia. I represent the Deserters, a united coalition of Elves, Humans, and Dragonkin. We have traveled far north to escape oppression from those who would do us harm."

A bit of shock slipped into the Dwarf's expression before it was belatedly quashed. "...Humans?" She repeated, stressing the 's'.

"No," Alessia clarified. "Just the one." They'd decided during the planning phase to be upfront about their situation. There was no way of knowing how much intel the Dwarves had, and getting caught in a lie could result in broken trust that was impossible to mend.

"So the world hasn't gone completely mad," the Dwarf chuckled. "Well met, Elder Alessia. My name is Commander Vevrandi, and I represent the will of Stonewarden Grant."

"So your letter did state," Alessia remarked. "I must admit that we did not anticipate an...entreaty, from the Stonewarden. Not this soon, and not in this manner. How did he come to know that we resided within Fiend territory?"

Vevrandi smirked. "The Merfolk couldn't keep their gills shut about you paying them a visit. They refuse to say exactly what transpired – although looking at your Levels, I can envision a few scenarios. Their intel was cross-referenced with the Elves' knowledge of your little group, and there you have it. We reached the only logical conclusion, albeit one that still beggars belief. Titan preserve, I'm having trouble believing it, and I'm seeing it right now."

Diplomacy sighed in relief.

Yeah, but speaking from experience, meatheads can be a bit unpredictable.

As if reading his mind, Vevrandi abruptly stepped across the border line and placed a friendly hand on Alessia's shoulder. "You did good work, getting away from those monstrosities," she beamed. "Don't know how you convinced them to let you off the leash and come here unsupervised, but well done. With your assistance, invading Fiend territory to rescue your people will be that much easier."

Technically speaking, they weren't unsupervised. A small group of Fiends were hidden several hundred feet away, using scrying magic to listen in. Convincing the Grand Oversees not to send a Fiend representative to the negotiations had been difficult, but necessary – with even a single Fiend in attendance, the Dwarves would've assumed that everything Riardin's Rangers said was done so under duress.

"The offer is highly appreciated," Alessia replied, carefully removing Vevrandi's hand as if it were an active bomb. "However, there is no one in need of rescuing. The Fiends have granted us safe passage and done us no harm."

A good two-thirds of the Dwarven contingent stiffened. "They aren't here to coerce you anymore," Vevrandi explained, brows furrowed. "I understand that you may be worried about the hostages-"

"There are no hostages," Elder Alessia stated, firmly. "Let me make that perfectly clear. The Fiends are our allies. We do not intend to make enemies with them, just as we have no intention to make enemies with you."

Vevrandi's casual demeanor vanished in the blink of an eye. Gone was the negotiator; there stood a hardened warrior, eyes glinting with decades of pent-up hatred. "What you've said is impossible," she intoned. "You cannot be allies to Fiends and Dwarves both."

"The word impossible holds no meaning to me anymore." Elder Alessia crossed her arms. "You've no idea of the absurdities I've borne witness to over the past eight months. Common sense has crumbled into dust, and in its place, the Blight has risen. When faced with the threat of global extinction, I will gladly welcome any potential allies with open arms."

Vevrandi's fingers twitched. "Tell me, Elf," she hissed. "How many of your subordinates' souls have you had to sacrifice to earn that so-called 'alliance'? Swear to me, in the name of your god, that no Elf has come to harm during their stay in Fiend territory."

Rob was glad that the rest of Riardin's Rangers were a good distance away, as none of them had a good enough poker face for that. Alessia, cool as a cucumber, simply replied: "I swear on Lothren's name, with all the deference her name deserves, that no Deserter's soul has been consumed since we met the Fiends."

"I see." Vevrandi drummed her fingers on the handle of her axe. "Let us assume that you are speaking the truth. How, pray tell, do you suggest that we cooperate with the Fiends? They're incapable of speaking as sensible people do."

"We've learned how to converse with them using Auto-Translate."

Many sets of bushy Dwarf eyebrows shot up to the tops of their foreheads. "That was real too?!" Vevrandi exclaimed.

"Indeed it was," Alessia replied, a hint of smugness in her tone. "We'd be more than happy to share the Skill with you as well. It isn't nearly as difficult or esoteric as you might imagine, once you understand the baseline of their language."

The Dwarves were reeling. Sensing weakness, Alessia struck. "In fact, it was our Human companion that first discerned the way to bridge our gap in communication."

Fifty pairs of eyes snapped towards Rob. For once, he was glad that he'd gotten plenty of experience at being ogled by crowds – this sort of thing didn't bug him nearly as much anymore. Especially since that, if they were focusing on him, then they weren't focusing on starting shit with the Fiends.

"I would speak with the Human," Vevrandi proclaimed, without shifting her gaze.

Here we go, Rob thought, psyching himself up. Diplomacy stirred, but Rob pushed the Skill back down. Don't worry, I got this. You get some rest.

the Skill muttered, mildly embarrassed. They settled down, waiting patiently in the wings, ready to swoop in if Rob stuck his foot too far up his mouth. Just as Rob began to walk forward, Keira gave his hand a quick squeeze, dispelling most of his anxiety in one fell swoop.

"How do you do that every time?" he asked, a loving smile on his face.

"I'm just that good," she smirked. "Now go, before you make the Dwarves jealous."

Rob chuckled, letting go of Keira's hand and approaching the Fiend-Dwarven border with a spring in his step. Elder Alessia and Vevrandi stared, Alessia with amusement and Vevrandi with confusion. "You and...an Elf?" the Dwarf queried. "You are aware of their part in The Scouring, yes?"

It took Rob a half-second to answer. Not because he had any doubts about Keira, but because he'd finally pinpointed why the Dwarves' behavior, Vevrandi specifically, felt so familiar. She reminded him of everyone's racist uncle at Thanksgiving. It wasn't a one-to-one comparison, but she just had that air about her, like she was liable to say things that made Rob want to cringe and ask someone to pass the gravy as a distraction.

He could work with that. The Dwarf's honesty likely made her a popular Commander among the rank and file, but that kind of temperament was ill-suited for negotiations that weren't guaranteed to end in combat. On the battlefield of words, people who wore their hearts on their sleeves were merely presenting an easy target. And if there was one thing Diplomacy had taught him, it was that if you could exploit someone's emotions, then you could exploit them.

"I love Keira," Rob said, injecting every ounce of his respect and adoration for her into those three words. "And whatever crimes that the Elves committed during The Scouring are irrelevant. She had no part in any of it, and I would consider it a disservice to both Keira and myself were I to blame her for the actions of others. To blame anyone based on a justification that feeble."

He paused. "Even for those who do share culpability, I'd err on the side of forgiveness. The world could use more of that in general."

Vulnerability flashed across Vevrandi's face. She hesitated, then took the bait that Rob had set. "A large part of why we marched today is because of you," she admitted. "We Dwarves deeply regret what transpired eight years ago, and when we learned that you were being held captive by Fiends..."

She trailed off, averting her eyes. "It just seemed right to come and set you free. You're the only Human left we can make amends to."

Rob plastered a conciliatory smile on his face. "It's okay. What happened isn't your fault; we should be looking towards the future rather than focusing on past mistakes."

Which was total horseshit. Rob wasn't going to blame people for the actions of others, but he'd sure as hell blame them for their own actions. Stonewarden Grant was the Dwarven Leader during The Scouring, and his response to peer pressure was to complain and then get on a high horse long after the blood was already spilled. Rob wasn't sure about Vevrandi, but considering she was a Commander, there was a decent chance she'd been on the front lines as well. An apology from either of them was going to ring hollow.

But if he said any of that, it would derail all of the progress he and Alessia had made in the negotiations so far, shifting the conversation away from forgiveness and back towards finger-pointing. So while Rob thought the Dwarves were full of it, he could at least pretend to throw them a bone.

"Your words mean a great deal," Vevrandi said, a relieved sigh escaping her chest. "Stonewarden Grant will be extremely pleased to hear them. Even now, his heart weighs heavy with the memories of eight years ago."

"He sounds like a swell guy." Rob swept his eyes across the Dwarven contingent. "I'm assuming he's not here today, and that message you gave was just written in his name?"

"The Stonewarden is in Dwarven territory at present, although the message was penned by his hand." Vevrandi's eyes sparkled with fervent zeal. "You and him will get along fantastically well. Grant is the strongest, most virtuous man I've ever met. He would love to hear stories of how you survived the war and achieved Level 50 at such a young age."

Rob blinked. "Wait, like, in person? Is that an invitation?"

"Was that not obvious?" Vevrandi cocked her head to the side. "The Stonewarden wishes to convey his personal apologies regarding the tragedies of eight years ago. You are welcome to visit him in the Underground Cities at any time. In fact, I must insist that you join us on our return trip! Grant would be delighted to show you the depths of our hospitality and gratitude."

Diplomacy mumbled.

Of course. "If you don't mind, can I have a moment to confer with my allies?" Rob asked. When Vevrandi nodded, Rob pulled Elder Alessia back to the rest of Riardin's Rangers, speaking in a hushed tone.

"So, honestly, this is going way more smoothly than I expected," he whispered. "Figured we would've needed to Waymark out of here by now."

"You doubted my expertise in the arts of mediation?" Alessia remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"Some people can't be reasoned with. We could've easily been greeted by warmongers instead of well-intentioned meatheads."

"A fair point." She tapped her fingers against her leg. "All the more reason that you should accept their offer to meet with the Stonewarden. Well-intentioned sentiments can fade as quickly as the setting sun; we won't find a better opportunity to establish cordial relations with a Leader of Elatra."

"It is not without danger," Elder Duran added, scratching his chin. "Although Waymark mitigates much of the risk that this type of trip would usually entail. As long as Rob's traveling group consists of no more than a full Party of eight, then all involved can be evacuated at a moment's notice." He sighed. "Regrettably, this may delay some of our current plans, but they will have to wait. Fiend territory can survive a few days without the presence of its saviors."

"What about Vul'to?" Malika said, in a tiny, subdued voice. "If he wakes up, we won't be there."

The group fell silent. "He will be taken care of," Duran eventually said, kneeling down to meet her gaze. "I promise you that." The young Archmage nodded, staying quiet, looking only slightly reassured. The silence resumed, mercifully broken by Zamira soon after.

"We should perhaps wait a short period before visiting the Dwarves, regardless," she suggested. "If we immediately accept an opportunity to leave Fiend territory, it would imply that we are dissatisfied with both our allies and our accommodations."

Rob raised his hand. "Now would be a good time to remind everyone that my soul operation is scheduled in four days. I'm getting that done the second I can, and then it's doctor-mandated bed rest for who knows how long. The Dwarves are just gonna have to deal with a rain check."

That signaled an end to the discussion. Separating Rob and Diplomacy was a matter of life-and-death for the Skill, and it took priority. Seconds later, Rob was approaching the Dwarven camp once more, mulling over how to break the news to them. He elected to go with the same tone of voice he employed to pacify Jason's hyper-extroverted sports friends, who sometimes invited people to go on bar crawls when all Rob felt like doing that night was laying down and watching youtube videos.

"My friends and I would love to visit Dwarf territory as soon as we can," Rob began, putting on a warm smile. "We have some things to take care of first, though, so leaving today isn't really in the cards. How about we reconvene here again in, say, a week? I can't guarantee we'll be ready by then, but we'll give you an update at the very least."

Panic flickered across Vevrandi's face, just for a second. Then it was gone, replaced by an inquisitive stare. "The Stonewarden expressed a strong interest in seeing you at the earliest possible date."

Rob suppressed a wince. "While his eagerness is humbling, my responsibilities can't be put off."

"Why? Are you an important figure in Fiend territory?"

"I am," Rob admitted. "Stuff happened, lives were saved, and here we are now. They're not bad people, once you get to know them."

"...Ridiculous," Vevrandi murmured. "Never thought I would see the day that a Human of all things would join hands with the Fiends."

Rob's smile froze on his face as he realized the implications. As much as the Dwarves and Fiends hated each other, the Humans and Fiends had hated each other way more. Their blood feud went back centuries, owing to Human territory sharing a border with most of Fiend territory. From Vevrandi's perspective, Rob's willingness to forgive and forget must have seemed borderline saintlike.

The problem was that Rob wasn't from Elatra. It was easy for him to get along with the Fiends because he didn't carry any of the baggage that a Human native would have. In that same vein, while The Scouring was fresh trauma for an Elatran, to Rob it was mostly just recent history that made his life more difficult. Abhorrent, yes, worthy of condemnation, yes – but he hadn't personally lost anyone he cared about to the slaughter. If and when the Dwarves discovered that he hailed from another world, his magnanimity would instantly lose a lot of its impact. They might even be offended that he 'forgave' them for The Scouring despite not being present for it.

As Rob wracked his brain, desperately trying to figure out how to entangle himself from the web of lies he'd accidentally woven, determination bloomed on Vevrandi's expression. "There's nothing for it," she stated, in a resolute tone. "I'll simply have to witness this absurdity with my own two eyes."

Before Rob could say anything, Vevrandi whirled around and addressed her soldiers in a booming octave. "Brave men and women of the Stone!" she bellowed. "I will be journeying into Fiend territory as an envoy in order to secure the Human's cooperation. All should go well, but even so, send prayers to Titan to preserve my soul, lest I be ambushed by devils lying wait in the shadows. If I don't return in twenty-four hours, take it as an act of aggression against-"

"For fuck's sake," Rob said, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her around. "You visiting is super cool, but it's going to take longer than twenty-four hours just based on travel time alone."

"Huh." Comprehension dawned on Vevrandi's face. "I suppose that makes sense. How did you arrive to our negotiations so quickly, then?"

We teleported, Rob thought, which we're hiding from you.

"...We ran. Very fast."

--

Someone opened his eyes.

He groaned, head pounding. Pain lanced through his veins as he tried and failed to sit up. Carefully, he raised his hand, wiggling his claws/fingers to test his range of motion. Light illuminated his grey/pale skin, showing a clammier complexion than what he remembered. He licked his tongue across chapped lips, nearly gagging as he tasted bile on his fangs/teeth. Whatever had happened, he'd been bedridden for days, at least.

...What had happened? He'd been...he'd...

Everything was...foggy. Probably a head injury.

The someone relegated himself to more bed rest, but the pounding in his head only worsened as he attempted to relax. Pain continued to roll through his body in waves, and worse than that, a pervasive sense of wrong had sunk deep into his bones. Slowly, as if searching, he ran his hands over his body. He started from the top, checking his short/long hair, then his rounded/pointed ears. Moving lower, there were his bulky/toned muscles, and finally his thick/slim legs. He breathed a sigh of relief; all was as it should be.

So why was the pounding in his head just getting louder and louder and LOUDER?

As a last resort, he opened up his Status Screen. Maybe it could provide some insight into what was happening.

He froze, staring at the floating text in abject shock.

Krazan

Level: ???

??? Level: ???

HP: ??? / ???

Status Effects: ???

It was an oddity he'd never so much as heard of before, let alone seen on his own Status Screen. What was wrong with the system right now? Even ignoring the bizarre questions marks, his name wasn't Krazan, it was Vul't-

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