“As you all know,” Caliban said with a cold glare for both Eric and the orcs as well, “It is against the accords for any representative or champion present to assault, murder, or deliberately goad any other party. Further, no threats of future challenges or direct or indirect retribution for choices made by any champion or representative present is permitted. And this includes threats of physical retribution, forced duels, or any other threats to one’s person, reputation, family, or personal property!”

He raised a conciliatory hand. “Of course you may threaten and, indeed, wage war with opposing parties outside of this chamber. This world is in contest, after all, and the crucible of battle has been declared the ultimate proving ground for Terra. But the individual representatives before you now, representatives that you all bear witness to, are entirely off limits from deliberate retribution unless you are both in a territory in dispute, and war has been declared! They may be enticed, but they may not be threatened or forced. If you refuse to accept this… you may leave right this instant, never to return to the Blue Quarter!”

Perception check made!

In that instant, Eric froze, finally understanding the hidden message behind the man’s words, and perhaps, just perhaps… the real reason why Eric had been brought here.

Because sure as shit, no one had told him about the ribs, he thought with a carefully concealed smirk as he slowly put down the savory treats he now wouldn’t dare to touch, this day at least, lest it be considered a goad.

Indeed, for all that his heart was roaring as he kept his expression stone-faced while actually dipping his head to snorting enemies whose wrath seemed just the tiniest bit ameliorated, for all that they still looked incredibly eager for his death, he contended himself with the sweet cold satisfaction that Caliban, thanks to Eric playing the hot-headed fool, had sheathed a dagger in the metaphoric entrails of their shared enemy, and their scrawny little foes didn’t even realize it.

But Eric was almost certain that he did when he deliberately stepped away from the lechon table and headed right to the pastries, keeping a neutral expression locked upon his face, even when several guild heads snorted.

“Fool was finally put in his place,” said one tight-faced woman with pinched lips and glaring eyes who for some reason radiated ‘Curse Witch’ so strongly to Eric that his eyes watered.

“I’m surprised the stupid boy doesn’t have the sense to just leave, and pray we forget his offensive behavior today when he eventually comes begging for a place within one of our guilds,” said none other than a hard-eyed Lady Gray.

Eric did his best not to laugh in their faces, already knowing their voices had not been intended to carry, seeing as that would give away a tremendous tactical edge he had over any would-be conspirator or assassin. Besides, with what Caliban had just said, leaving right now would be the worst move he could possibly make. Not when staying for the duration of this conference would transcend his status to ‘Champion’ or representative beyond anybody’s right to question.

A representative who would be, at least according to the accords, immune to any retaliation by the other parties present. Whether that be forced confrontations, outright assault, or deliberate attempts to harm by other means.

Eric kept his face carefully blank as he took in the hot furious glares the goblins were sending Caliban, who didn’t even deign to look their way. The final pair Caliban stared down were the strange pair of ebony skinned emaciated looking humanoids whose skin was covered in shimmering blue runes, armed with silver-hilted zweihanders sheathed upon their backs.

When that pair directed their too-knowing violet eyes Eric’s way, he couldn’t lower his gaze quick enough, his stomach roiling with sudden dread.

Fuck! Those looked just like… he shook his head, refusing to believe that extra-planar warriors able to crush people’s minds while cutting through their foes with monofilament blades that had once graced the cover of his favorite RPG monster compendium were actually a real thing.

Even if almost everything he had experienced this past half year made it damned clear that his gaming experience had been almost as important to his survival as being obsessively trained in historical martial arts by a trainer Eric was increasingly sure had seen real combat with those very same weapons.

Eric shook his head, refusing to let himself completely lose focus. The point was, Caliban even glared that pair down.

The only two Caliban hadn’t looked at were the goblins, and Eric could only pray that the guildmasters present could read between the lines at least as well as he.

And with a solemn nod to the closest pair of elves, the conference began.

A beautiful girl who didn’t look a day over 16 stepped forward, gazing at them all with high cheekbones, imperious green eyes and cherry-dyed lips that suddenly warmed in a brilliant smile. “Greetings, champions. My name is Annika, daughter of Lord Drevyn, who serves as a key commander of the Sylvan Alliance. As some of you may know, with the aid of our champion, we recently liberated the city once known as Gilton from the depredations of vile monsters who had been all too happy to turn your home into a living hell that had doomed so many.”

Her features fell, her sigh seeming both genuine and heartfelt. “Thousands, tens of thousands died to those monsters; tortured, boiled alive for their amusement, or killed for bloodsport. And those that didn’t die outright were forced to endure a living death of degradation, slave collars, and despair.”

The room grew momentarily silent, more than one glare aimed at the coldly staring pair of orcs.

“But all that has changed,” Annika said as the girl next to her closed her eyes, whispered soft words, and before their eyes a silver-tinted image of a garden paradise suddenly came to life.

Eric was surprised anew by how beautiful a sight it was. A city of broken dreams and horrific tragedy transformed overnight into a beautiful terrarium of flowery waterfalls and impossibly fast and tall hydroponic farms and greenhouses filled with lush crops and brilliant blossoms of a thousand different varieties of flower. Shrouded as it all was by mist in the rays of the early morning sun, it looked surreal. A world of wonder and dream.

He was surprised by the moisture pricking his eyes, moved by the surreal beauty of a picture his act of grace he had helped to forge.

He hadn’t expected to feel so moved. Nor had he expected the awed gasps and animated whispers of over half-the guildheads gazing with wonder at the sight.

“I know what that city looked like just weeks ago,” said a strangely choked-up Herb. “It was a nightmare of pain, suffering, and death. I was only able to free a handful before I had to cut my losses and go.”

“How dare you interfere in our territory!” Snarled one of the orcs, just feet away.

Herb ignored the massive porcine horror, as did everyone else. “What master level spell allowed you to transform the entire city into a Sylvan paradise? And if you’re that powerful...why haven’t you already won?”

He shook his head, looking downcast and humbled. “If I had known magic like that was available...”

Annika flashed the man a warm, gentle smile. “The fact that you had the resolve and daring to enter hostile territory and free multiple unfortunate souls speaks of your character like nothing else, gentle rogue. And as to the nature of Giltons’ transformation...”

Eric felt his cheeks blaze, when Annika caught his stare and flashed a smile, showing off pearly white teeth. “No mortal mage who hadn’t already ascended all the way to Bronze could have possibly cast such a masterwork spell. And this is why we truck with you today. This is why you are all here, protected by Accords older than mankind itself. We make our plea before the mightiest among you, select Contenders who transcend the limitations of politics, force of arms, and guile. Those capable of actually seizing hold of the land itself. To shape and mold it as would a god, in the moment you would risk losing it all, placing a crown of thorns upon your head, or embrace a lifetime of honor and glory, ceding that crown to a queen who would forever honor the champions who fought under her banner.”

She waved impossibly graceful fingers at the shimmering display. “You have my word as a daughter of Lord Drevyn that this image is no illusion. It mirrors the appearance of our city, just a handful of hours ago. And it was thanks only to a sacred champion, one with the blood of ancient elven queens flowing through his veins, that Gilton ascended from a broken ruin to a sanctuary of life and fecundity that will serve as the breadbasket for countless citizens in need as we bring hope and comfort to a broken world.”

The entire gathering stared in open-mouthed wonder for long moments as she caught their gazes, each and every one, before continuing.

“We, unlike orcs, Goblins, Gith-lords, and countless others, hold no truck with slavery. We find no joy in human misery. For all that one must rise to prominence in any newly claimed world, there is still choice to be embraced.”

Her eyes flashed with a warmth and resolve that touched even Eric’s measured gaze. “You have the right to choose to serve a tyrant that would crush your people under his boot, feasting upon your flesh and tears,” she said with a hard look at the orcs. “Or declare as your master those who seek to enslave you under conniving schemes and insurmountable debt until they’ve broken even the richest of you to the status of paupers, taking gleeful delight in shattering your families as well as your hopes and dreams before selling each and every one of you to brothels and slave-mines throughout the galaxy before claiming this world’s resources entirely for themselves,” she said with a hostile glare for the snarling pair of goblins.

Before turning back to the crowd, eyes glowing with fervent hope. “Or you can choose to embrace a queen who would rule with honor and dignity, bringing hope and mercy to all her supplicants, and prosperity and glory to all the heroes who served under her banner. So I ask you. I ask you all. Has your heart ever burned with the yearning for glory? o be a hero for a cause truly righteous, a savior of your people? Do you yearn to be understood, to savor love that transcends all limitations, even time itself?”

She smiled fondly at an openly teary-eyed Vincent. “Some of you already know what it means to embrace the most precious of all gifts, love itself. It is my hope that you will help make this world a beautiful place that would welcome your descendants, your children and grandchildren. A land where both humans and elves and their shared progeny can find prosperity and joy.”

She glared at the orcs and goblins once more. “A land free of monsters that would gladly collar and enslave both our peoples, if we let them.”

She took a deep breath, her generous bosom swelling, favoring them all with a heartfelt smile. “It is my hope that you will remember my words when fate chooses you as its champion once more.” Hauntingly beautiful eyes locked with Eric’s...and everyone else’s, almost beseechingly. “When the clarion horns of fate ask you to shape a territory you have righteously conquered… you have but to think of me, Annika Drevyn, to shape destiny into the dream it was always meant to be, and yourself an honored and feted lord of the Sylvan Alliance with land, title, income and privileges.”

Her smile turned teasing, showcasing adorable dimples. “And for those of you looking for love, you will find among our people countless beautiful young lords and ladies looking for a champion to warm their hearts.”

She bowed deeply before them all. “Two of you have already earned the love of a woman of our house. One of you has already shaped fate and destiny to bring fecundity and life to a land that had once known only sorrow and death. It is our sincere hope that others among you will also choose to walk under our banner, should the clarion horns of destiny call your name. You need but bind your fortunes to our alliance, and your story will be immortalized. Your dreams… never forgotten.”

She then stepped back, and Vincent, teary-eyed, broke into applause that a handful of the starry-eyed younger men quickly followed.

Because really, Eric thought with a bemused smile, what kid hasn’t thought about becoming a hero and winning the heart of a beautiful elven prince or princess? It was practically standard fair in 80% of any isekai adventure or game he had ever played. Either elves or fox-girls… and preferably both.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not surprisingly, the young elf noble exchanged the politest of nods with the two smiling green-skinned goblins, gracefully stepping back as the pair now approached the front of the stage, both of them dressed in an odd collage of 19th century tuxedos and beast hides.

One even went so far as to lift his bowler hat, revealing a pair of bat-like ears before plopping it firmly on once more. “Humans and Roundears. I, Glrrtch, diplomat for the Snicklit tribe, do greet you!” He flashed an especially toothy smile Annika’s way.

“Wasn’t that a moving story? Very very moving, I thought. Full of… trees. And plants. And fruit. Did you like all the potted fruit? I did!” His smile grew when at least one member of the audience gave a quiet snicker. “But I noticed one thing lacking, one prize that our dear elf princess forgot to mention. And do you know what that would be? Do you?” His partner lifted up his bowler hat and tilted forward on one foot, cocking his pointed ear.

“No, Glrrtch, I don’t! What did the beautifully boobed elf princess forget to mention?”

“PROFIT!” Glrrtch roared as his partner tumbled over as if smacked by a hurricane. The crowd snickered as Glrrtch nodded with satisfaction and stood atop his now prone partner. His bemused smile turned hard and cold as he locked gazes with Annika. “Our big-boobed princess spouted many fine pretty words about plants and honor. What she didn’t mention was anything about paying you anything more than a pat on the head, an empty title, and a pretty girl to warm your head. So I ask you… how big will the home they would give you be? Is it the size of a house? The size of a hovel? Will there be room to think when a half dozen screaming half-blood kids are running around, driving you crazy, when your formerly cute elven wife puts on 50 pounds and spends all day sipping the sylvan nectar to cope with an arranged marriage and pining for the prince she really wanted, while you’re spending all your days killing ugly unmentionable things in dark smelly caves, just trying to make ends meet?”

The goblin tisked and shook his head, and Eric couldn’t help but stare at a trembling Vincent, wondering if the man would fly into a rage, or was deathly afraid that the goblin was on to something.

“What you have to remember, my human friends, is that flowers, and flowery stories, might be all well and good… but pretty things don’t mean shit, if your families’ bellies are growling and the rent is due!”

He then sprung off the now blue-faced goblin he had been perched on the whole time. “So, with all that being said, what should these humans do?”

He waiting for painful long seconds while his partner wheezed and sucked in breath, before finally speaking. “They should join our team! We don’t give a shit about pretty flowers, but we do focus on what matters, the bottom line!”

“That’s right!” said Glrrtch. “Join the Snicklit tribe and enjoy the only thing that matters… PROFIT! Make no mistake, any territory you surrender to us will get all the love and care we can squeeze out of it!” He flashed a toothy smile. “Where the elves see flowers, we see poppy gardens and guaranteed life-long customers! We’ll sell those wonderfully hardy plants to just the right people who will make a wonderful brew that people will be dying to take as much of as they possibly can! Because absolutely nothing is more important than a loyal customer base!”

His partner nodded. “And where elfies see a beautiful prairie, we see a glorious strip-mining operation where coal and iron might reveal tasty deposits of Elementium or Mithril! And best of all, all that matters to you, is that we’re willing to give you a full forty! That’s right, 40% of all the profits we squeeze from every territory you send our way!”

Glrrtch winked so lewdly that Eric actually felt dirty. “And you can take all the money you make every year and buy all the pretty houses and concubines you want! And you can tell them all to call you elven lord or master or daddy… or whatever the hell you want. Because they’re your property! Best of all, you can sell back the ones who gain fifty pounds, and only keep the lovelies who swear to worship the ground you step on!”

He then turned to his partner, stage-whispering into his ear. “And we have another delightful bonus to share with all our friends out in the crowd. Don’t we, brother?”

The other goblin nodded animatedly. “Should any member of your guild manage to secure us even a single territory… that puts the entire guild on ‘friendly’ status. Do you know what that means, brother?”

“Indeed I do!” said Glrrtch, turning to face the crowd. “It means that all the millions you silly humans already owe us, the hundreds of thousands of credits you’re already paying in late fees and interest payments… stops!” He flashed a syrupy-sweet smile. “Stops for your entire guild. No more interest payments or late fees or indentured servitude contracts for any of you... ever!”

The second goblin bowed, doffing his cap once more. “Because it ain’t about flowers or pretty causes. It’s about credits. Its about the freedom and power that credits will buy you… and always will be!”

Glrrtch beamed, clapping animatedly at his partner’s words. “That’s right! Go Snicklit and get 40! Tell all your friends!”