Convening in front of your walled-up homestead is a group of envoys escorted by an outfit of dwarven soldiers. Among them are Silvain, the diplomat from the Kingdom of Humans, and Golimar, champion of the Stoneweaver Dwarves.

In a prideful display, the two soldiers up front carry banners that bear the insignia of their people. Obviously, to the waiting elves, this was seen as quite distasteful.

Elder Leronil, leader of the Elderwood Warriors, and Grimdal, champion of Elderwood Village, stand behind you with a detail of the village's finest soldiers. They are armed to the teeth and carry weapons forged from Lunarite, the same material used to make Grimdal's blade.

And these two groups face one another, with tension so palpable and an atmosphere so suffocating you could've sworn a Poison Slime had snuck in and spread its noxious gas throughout.

You, as the translator and mediator between the two parties, step forth to bridge this clear divide. The masked man follows suit.

Silvain will also be playing the role of a mediator during these discussions, though due to his lack of understanding of elven language, he will rely on you to relay information to the dwarves in the most civil manner possible.

"Shall we be on our way?" you ask him, clutching your ragged cloak closer.

"Yes, we're ready when you are," Silvain nods.

You turn back to Leronil having received this confirmation.

"Alright Leronil," you tell him. "Let's take them to the village."

"Understood," he solemnly inclines his helmeted head. "Alright, men! Let's haul these aggressors to the council room and have them pay for their crimes!"

The elven soldiers raise their weapons and salute in affirmation. And they quickly march toward the valley entrance, with the dwarves in tow. As you walk there, Silvain goes up to you with an inquisitive expression. Even though his face was covered by a mask...

"Hey what did those elves say back there?" he asks you out of curiosity. "I'd like to learn elvish one day, and am interested in speaking it."

"U-um..." you pause, realizing what Leronil said may jeopardize the civility in these talks should it be uncovered. "He said something along the lines of, 'Let's show these guests a lovely time at our village'!"

"Oh? He sounded pretty aggressive when he said that."

"Y-yeah... well, to the untrained ear elvish may sound aggressive you know?"

"Hm... intriguing..."

You wipe the sweat off your forehead as Silvain buys your half-baked lies. Glancing at the dwarves behind you, you are relieved to find not a single one of them privy to the fact. And you can safely assume the crisis is averted.

Until you reach the village.

Entering the vale, the dwarves are greeted with glares from all over. The elves are already distrusting when it comes to outsiders, but outsiders that have hurt their own? You can feel the hatred in their emerald eyes.

When you arrive at the foot of the council tree, you espy a row of guards along the slope leading up to the main chamber. The dwarves don't really pay heed to the bad attention they're receiving. Rather, they gape at the environment they find themselves in.

To the Stoneweaver Dwarves who have only known a gloomy land of ash and soot, this abundance of greenery overwhelms them to no end.

"Well, I'll be. For a bunch of grass-eared sissies, their architecture sure isn't half bad," Golimar says to the other dwarves, eliciting snickers from them.

Grimdal hears their subdued chuckles and leans over to you. "Garden Beast, what were they laughing about?"

Sensing agitation in his voice, you swiftly conjure up a fake but believable translation. "T-they were simply admiring the Elderwood Trees is all!"

"And that's funny, how?"

"D-dwarven humor is weird..."

"I see..." the eyepatched man slackens his posture and joins Leronil in ushering in the dwarves.

The first thing you notice upon stepping inside the council chamber is the change in layout. A grand wooden table that stretches across the entire room lies in the center of the hall. Chairs run along its sides and at the table's farthest end sits the four elders beside Leronil.

Elder Alimarc, Elder Anna, Elder Illya, and Chief Ginta. They all overlook the place from their thrones.

The dwarven delegation sits on the right row of chairs, while the elven delegation settles on the left. Leronil joins the other elders and presides over the meeting from his throne, while Grimdal joins the elven delegation alongside you.

The security here has been doubled, and you can tell these elven guards are hardier than the usual ones.

Once everyone has made it to their seats, the elders rise to their feet and commence the talks. You quickly stand up and translate their words for Silvain and the dwarves.

"We are gathered here today to have a dialogue with the Stoneweaver Elves!" Chief Ginta stars. "The subject of today's discussion revolves around the unprovoked attack on our soldiers, which led to the injury of two elven archers."

"This an unprecedented occasion," Anna adds. "Never have the Elderwood Elves engaged in talks with another nation. Thus, we ask you all to respect one another and choose your words carefully in this noteworthy event."

"Keep in mind, that our first impressions of you are already unfavorable, given the circumstances," Leronil crosses his arms. "One of the injured is a young girl I'm well-acquainted with, so if you think we'll settle for a 'fair trade', then forget it. We want reparations, and we want them now."

Alimarc, in a surprising display of unity, nods along with Leronil's sentiments. "Leronil and I rarely see eye-to-eye, but this time he's hit it right on the mark. We won't let you off with a slap on the wrist. Your egregious offense must be accompanied by large compensation."

"It seems the council unanimously agrees on this," Illya looks to the dwarves. "Nameless Seer was the one who proposed these negotiations. And while we initially denied the plan, we do believe this discourse will help prevent incidents like this in the future. At any rate, it is up to you to buy our trust back. Then maybe, just maybe, we might spare some land for your people's sake."

You deliver the council's statement to Silvain and the dwarves, softening the language the Elders used while also passing it on as accurately as possible. They all appear to understand and the masked diplomat immediately musters up a response.

"I, as the man sent to resolve the dwarves' crisis, humbly apologize for the way I handled things," Silvain bows in deference to the council members. "It was foolish of me to resort to violent tactics, and on the Dwarven King's behalf, I am willing to repay—!"

"Oi, human," Golimar interrupts the man. "Who said anything about repayin' these treehuggers?"

All eyes were riveted on the hammer-wielding dwarf, who let out a grimace of amusement. Grimdal tilts his head, discerning the dwarves' pale faces, and turns to you.

"What did that dwarf say, Nameless Seer?" he inquires, clueless to the severity of the ordeal.

"A-ah..." you scratch your cheek, racking your brain for an excuse. "H-he says he wants to go to the bathroom, haha..."

How you maxed out your speaking skill remains a mystery to the world. Golimar raises his brow as he catches what you tell Grimdal, and he jumps from his chair onto the table.

"And you!" the dwarf points his war hammer at you. "From the very beginning, you've been feedin' everyone false translations!"

"H-how did you..?" your heart drops.

"I speak elvish, you buffoon! And I'm through with playing dumb!"

The man then proceeds to speak perfect elvish and level his weapon at the Elders.

"Why do we dwarves have to lend some of our resources?!" he shouts. "Just because we accidentally struck some of your weaklin' soldiers? Quit makin' a mountain out of a molehill! Nobody died, so what's the issue?! And who's to say those sentries didn't purposely jump in the way, huh?"

"Watch your tongue, you diminutive bastard!" Grimdal pulls out his Lunar Glaive and aims it at the dwarven champion. "We can only tolerate so much insolence!"

"Hah! I could snap everyone here like a twig! Don't think you have the upper hand through numbers alone, you scrawny knife-eared wimps! I am Golimar, champion of the Stoneweaver Dwarves, and I demand you hand over that meadow, lest you want me to squash you all beneath my hammer!"

At this point, everyone has their weapons unsheathed. The situation has escalated to a ridiculous degree, and you can't help but feel responsible.

It is the dwarven envoys that are scared beyond belief. None of them are armed, and the only thing protecting them are a few lightly armed dwarven soldiers. Something tells you they didn't plan for this.

"G-Golimar! What you're doing goes against the wishes of your king!" Silvain scolds the man.

"He can bite me. I'm carryin' the fate of the Stoneweaver Dwarves on my back here, while that guy sits in the mountain doing nothing! Screw him!"

"H-hey..!'

You shift your attention to Grimdal, who has been quietly watching the dwarf's every movement. Upon closer inspection though, you realize his health is dropping fast.

Grimdal

Wood Elf [♂]

Level: 78

HP: 50121/92500

"G-Grimdal! Are you okay—?!"

"Silence Garden Beast. Let me focus." he pulls his sword back and assumes an offensive stance.

You then sense the energy building up in his sword. You are not the only one who catches this, and Golimar hastily braces himself for impact.

"W-what the hell are you thinking you worthless elf?!"

Grimdal's sword glows the brightest blue it ever has. "I warned you, and now you'll suffer the wrath of this village's champion..."

The dwarf holds his hammer horizontally as a powerful whirlwind surrounds Grimdal. Everyone in the room struggles not to get blown away.

"Witness my Long-Blade talent," Grimdal finally prepares to slash his foe, "Sanguine Contract!"

And a blinding light of azure fills the chamber.