“This is where I keep the papers. However, use papyrus when making letters. The humans don’t know how to make paper, so it will be in our best interest to keep this tool to ourselves,” Weaver opened his cupboard as he explained. “So, Red, only use the paper as a sort of… bargaining tool or as a commodity.”

“I understand, Weaver,” Red answered with a bow.

“The mini-Custodian resides in the third floor, so if an attack occurs, defend it with your life,” Weaver reminded.

“I know, Weaver. You’ve already sent me the documents through hivespeak,” Red said with a low voice. “And this isn’t my first time dealing with the humans alone, you know?”

“I have to make sure. You’ve always guided the humans in, but you’ll have to use the thanes to do that for you so that you don’t have to move from this room. Understood?”

Red bowed once again, then replied excitedly, “Loud and clear!”

The two drones went quiet and simultaneously looked outside of the window. A warning had popped up in the local hivespeak, and the guards were getting rowdy. Thanes were already organizing their warrior drones, and the turrets were starting to charge themselves in advance.

‘Report,’ Weaver called out as he and Red rushed downstairs.

‘Humans. Armed. Unknown origin,’ a thane answered.

‘Rhank type humans?’

‘Negative. Vyssian type humans.’

Weaver and Red got up on the ramparts and watched as several Vyssian horsemen approached the drone embassy. They were armed and armored save for the human leading the entourage of Vyssian warriors.

The band of Vyssians stopped in front of the embassy gates, and the human leader shouted, “Northmen barbarians! This is a warning to you all! Leave rightful Vyssian lands!”

‘What is this?’ Custodian intervened the moment Weaver sent him a notification.

‘It seems that some humans are unhappy with our presence,’ Red answered.

‘I thought the Vyssians are fine with us?’ Custodian asked.

‘It… It seems that it is not true, Master Custodian. Humans are very divided, you see,’ Red whimpered.

“What do you want, Vyssians?” Weaver shouted.

“Can you not speak Vyssian? Leave rightful Vyssian and, more importantly, Sea’ax land! This land is for Sea’ax, plowed by Sea’ax, and cared by Sea’ax!” the human leader angrily howled. “Vyssian blood was spilled on Castle Norwind and Castle Marcoir, so why does the northmen get to have land on Sea’ax and Castle Marcoir?!”

“Hear! Hear!” the men behind him cheered.

“The lands were given to us by Sea’ax,” Weaver explained. “Also, they were both taken without the help of Vyssium.”

“You hear that, lads? These barbarians continue to lie with a straight face! The Central Sea’ax family think they could just give away our land just like that and butter up to random strangers, but you know what I think? They can kiss my arse!” the human leader shouted. “If you continue to argue with me, I take it that you will not leave!”

“And what will you do if we do not leave?”

“Heh heh. It would be a shame if your caravans gets lost to bandits and your outpost starves, northmen barbarians!” the human leader shouted with a smug look on his face.

“Is this a threat?”

“A threat? You think this is not a threat?”

“Answer me. Are you incapable of speaking Vyssian? I will assume hostile intentions if you do not answer my question!” Weaver warned.

“What? You dare insult a Lord of Sea’ax? How dare-”

“What in the name of Purgatory is going on?!” a new voice joined in, this time from within the embassy walls.

An old Vyssian stood next to Weaver and looked down upon the humans who were causing troubles with the drones. He rubbed his naked scalp then spat, “Who in Saint Sallus’ arse are you?!”

“What?! Who are you?!” the human leader yelled back.

“No! I asked you first! Tell me before I come down and slap your faces so hard your mothers won’t be able to recognize you!”

“You bastard bald man! You dare insult me, Fyord of Sea’ax, and think you could get away with it?!”

“So you’re Fyord? I see you are as intelligent as you look! Allow me to introduce myself! I am Hetrick of Vyssia, Head of Hall of Orthaem’s Order of Authority!” Hetrick introduced himself.

“Blah! Damned mages! You have no business here! Are you so empty-minded that you couldn’t find your way to the Hall of Orthaem and ended up here?!”

“You’re empty-minded, and your mother is a cow!” Hetrick spat out.

“Is this true? His maternal figure is a non-human?” Weaver quietly asked.

“Of course, not,” Hetrick replied then turned to continue bombarding the nobleman Fyord with more insults. “When I said I’d get down there and slap the lot of you, by the ‘gatory, I will do it even if I had to drag down Saint Sallus from the afterlife to bear witness to such glorious face reshapment!”

Fyord clicked his tongue, then muttered to his men, “Nobody told me that mages would be here. Let’s get out.”

As the Vyssian horsemen disappeared off into the horizon, the old man Hetrick cracked his neck side to side, then sighed. “Idiots like those young ‘uns have no claws for all their fur’s worth.”

“What does that mean?” Weaver asked. As far as he was concerned, humans weren’t as hairy as rats or other beasts they’d encountered before.

“It means they are all talk, no backbone. In Greatian, the equivalent would be ‘all bark, no bite’. Don’t worry about these kinds of people. As long as I’m here, I doubt they would try anything stupid,” Hetrick assured.

“So Vyssium is not attacking us?”

“By Humanos, no. At least much of Sea’ax is happy with you, as far as I could tell. Certainly most. Anyway, I need to get back to my research. I heard you’re leaving for a while?” Hetrick asked as he scratched his long neck.

“Yes. Red will take over for a while so if you need anything, please consult her. And don’t try to coax her into getting papers for free, please. It won’t work with me, and it certainly won’t work on her,” Weaver explained.

“Bah ha ha! ‘Course, ‘course. See you, then, Varangian,” Hetrick laughed and held his hand out.

The drone and human shook hands, then parted away. Red had already returned to the envoy’s meeting room to get to work while Hetrick made his way to the large open courtyard within the embassy. There, the magic specialist automaton Magus was patiently waiting for Hetrick.

“There was a big commotion, some ‘ooligans messing around. Luckily, the nobles won’t mess with mages from the Hall of Orthaem as the Iron Chancellor favors us.” Hetrick called out to which Magus responded by nodding.”Anyway, let’s get back to our experiments, shall we?”

The courtyard was paved with stone and gravel, and it was devoid of anything but a lone practice target made out of straw and rags standing at the center of the courtyard. Hetrick unsheathed his sword, then stabbed the blade against the ground.

As usual, Magus was carefully observing how the humans were generating magic. Most of the human mages used a wooden or metal sword, though they were also capable of creating weaker versions of magic without any magical tools.

Hetrick explained that the section of the tool used to concentrate magic power was small, so the rest of the magic tool could be customized to the mage’s need. Most non-combatants tend to shape their tools like everyday normal items like human effigies or lanterns. However, to those that need to spill blood, a weapon would be the most obvious way to shape their magic tool.

Hetrick gripped the pommel of the sword, then ordered, “Raise the banners! Let no spirit or miracle pass through for I stand fast ‘ere!”

A glass-like barrier formed around the practice target soon after the Vyssian mage finished his chant. The barrier wasn’t smooth, it had inconsistent elevation, and there were gaps within it. If one was to describe it, it was like someone broke multiple glass bottles, glued them together haphazardly, then tried to make a clumsy wall out of the shards.

“Alright. This should deter any spells from entering, or at least the weaker spells. Stand a bit further, and cast your weaker spells,” Hetrick instructed.

The last time Magus used one of his strongest spells, it caused a ruckus in the Hall of Orthaem. This time, the drone opted to use a weaker spell. Magus thumped his staff onto the ground once, then pointed it towards the practice target.

A faint spark of lightning shot out, ignored the barrier, and zapped the scarecrow. With a wave of his hand, Hetrick dispelled his barrier then studied the charred area of the practice target.

“I still don’t understand. Is it because the mana here is weaker?” Hetrick muttered to himself.

“Weaker? Mana? Meaning?” Magus asked as he approached from behind.

“Us wee feeble mortalkind can manipulate mana, but can never create them. Our spells highly depend on the location, which is why magisteriums are located in mana-rich locations. ‘Course, talented ‘uns could work around with this problem, but it’s easier to learn magic if the environment isn’t holding you back,” Hetrick explained as he ran his finger against the burnt straw on the scarecrow. “Ah, I didn’t expect the mana in this area to be so poor…”

Magus didn’t say anything, though he knew that the reason for this problem was the anti-mana within the drones and its constructs. Hetrick raised his hand into the air, then fell quiet. After a short moment of silence, he muttered, “The mana is still thick enough to give me minimum power, so iis it my barrier?”

Hetrick had confidence in his skills, and he knew that even with extremely low mana concentration in the area, he could still create a strong anti-spell barrier. It was either that his barrier was lacking… or the northman’s spells were overpowering the barrier.

‘But wait…’ Hetrick knocked his head a couple times. He remembered a crucial thing: spells that break through anti-magic barriers would cause the barrier to visibly shatter like a brick going through a window. Magus’ lightning went through the barrier like it wasn’t even there in the first place.

‘Could it be that it’s not magic at all? Is he… really just launching lightning out of his hands naturally?’ Hetrick looked behind and observed the statue-like Magus. ‘But mana in the air gets affected when they cast spells…’

“Something wrong? Tell me,” Magus spoke out suddenly.

“No. I think something’s right. I’m getting jittery to learn more ‘bout your magic, northman,” Hetrick declared with a smile. “It’s been a while since magic’s got me excited.”

“Excuse me!” Red suddenly interjected while holding her hands behind herself.

“Hm? Ah. You must be the lady Weaver talked about. I thought you were only an attendant because you didn’t do much other than guiding guests up to Sir Weaver. Ah, was I too brash?” Hetrick snapped his finger.

“Oh, no! It’s fine. Um… you see, I’d like to ask you questions,” Red said as she revealed a sword. “Do you know what material is used to make this sword?”

Hetrick gave the sword a glance then raised an eyebrow. “I’m not exactly a smith so I wouldn’t know how-... Wait. This bluish color…”

Hetrick’s doubtful look suddenly turned around. His bored gaze was now gazing holes into the sword as he ran his hand against the blade. “Æscren!”

“Isk-rin?” Red tilted her head as she repeated after Hetrick.

“Æscren is a famous type of metal known to be stronger than steel. Its name derives from æsc, meaning ash, and íren, which means iron. Ash-iron. Quite a fitting name since the ore of the Æscren needs such a long time to melt, the workshops working with Æscren would be covered in ash… or so I heard. It could just be myths,” Hetrick explained. “I heard Æscren interacts with magic as well, I wonder what would happen if you use magic with this sword…”

“I see! That’s very interesting! Could you tell me if there’s any possible locations to mine Æscren?” Red asked then revealed a bundle of papers. “I’ll be happy to compensate you for your troubles, you know?”