“Guys,” Osmond called out to the death-glare duo. “Try to calm down, okay?”

“But he murdered those people in cold blood.” Quentin tried to argue, but Valerie stopped him.

“I know you wanted to do things the proper way,” she said grimly. “But we’re not on Earth and you’re not a cop any more. As painful as it is to say, the only law accepted in this world is the law of strength. I’m not saying that Regis was right or that he didn’t act rashly, but answer me this. After seeing that guy and hearing what he said, can you honestly say that you could have solved things peacefully?”

“I… no,” Quentin let out a dejected sigh while rubbing his bloodied fist. “Vidal was… he seemed to be obsessed with money and he really had it out for us.”

“Will killing the guy come back to bite us in the ass?” Cruz asked the important question, earning a slight head shake from both the dark elf and the paladin.

“I don’t think so,” Regis admitted. “He was a real scumbag and the locals have already sworn their fealty to Zola, but I’ve no idea how the other nobles will react to it. She would also have to ‘take care’ of her half-brother to ensure no other Vidal would have any claim to her rule.”

“I doubt the other nobles will sit idly after finding out that a bastard child took over a territory they’ve been eyeing.” Osmond remarked, the others nodding in agreement.

“You said that we’ll form an alliance,” Sophie brought it up. “But how will we help them?”

“Definitely not by sending them resources.” Fabien remarked.

“We’re not exactly in a position to lend military aid either.” Osmond added.

“We didn’t specify the nature of our alliance, but the least I can do is to ask Salvador to recommend a spellcaster for them. Preferably a second tier with some actual combat skills.”

“You mean to replace the one you killed?” The tomboyish wood elf jabbed at him verbally.

“Yeah. I’m sure someone is willing to offer their services in exchange for some benefits like an actual home.”

“We can figure all of that out tomorrow,” Valerie said as she turned toward the door. “For now, just promise me that you won’t tear each other’s throats out. The people outside need to see us unified and confident. Especially you two. Now get your war faces on and let’s get this party started.”

As Valerie opened the door, the sight of busy people and a slowly roasting boar could be seen on the other side. The villagers talked and danced happily as a few simple instruments such as a flute and a drum created simple ditties for them to enjoy.

Bray was standing at the edge of the firepit where he was tossing pieces of chopped-up fish pieces into a cauldron that was hanging from a tripod. When the people noticed the outlanders show up, they waved them closer, handing them large clay cups that had either wine or something resembling cheap spirits in them.

“Damn,” Amanda coughed after taking a shot at the local equivalent of moonshine. “This stuff is strong.”

“It sure makes you grow a beard on your chest.” Durnan said with a wide smirk, his reddening nose tip a clear sign of the few cups’ worth of booze he had already downed.

“I don’t want to grow a beard anywhere.” The half-giant blacksmith stated as she passed the cup of hooch over to Cruz who drowned it in one go, shaking her head with a slight growl.

“This stuff could be used as a rust remover,” the wood elf noted. “Give me another round!”

“Milord,” Tristan walked closer, handing a cup of wine to the spell weaver. “I’m glad to see return victorious and without anyone getting injured.”

“Thank you,” he nodded as he accepted the wine. “I didn’t know we had anything like this around.”

“Miss Mary found a few bottles at the pantry of the inn before, although most of them are of ‘trash’ quality.”

“I don’t think that matters now.” Regis said as he downed the entire cup in one go.

“No,” his steward agreed with a smile as they looked at the cheerful crowd. “I don’t think so either. By the way. There’s someone who wants to meet you.”

As he said that, a bear-sized man walked closer, his face neither cheerful nor sombre.

“I’m glad to see you finally woke up…” The dark elf stated as he reached out his empty hand for a shake.

“Druig,” the man replied while shaking hands with him. “My name’s Druig, young lord. I wanted to thank you for helping me when I was in my corrupt form.”

“You’re welcome. Though I have to admit, it was a hell of a fright for the group. First a werebear, then a friggin werewolf. I take it you’re a beast path druid?”

“That I am, though the forms you’ve seen are not my true selves.”

“True selves?” Regis looked at the large man puzzled.

“When I became a druid, I chose the form of the brown bear and the grey wolf as my beast forms, but after I got corrupted, the once pure forms got twisted as well.”

“I see. If you don’t mind me asking, how did it happen? The corruption.”

“After the devastation of the Nobles’ War, I decided to follow the trail of that monstrous dark mage to find out where he got his grimy hands on a weapon like that.”

“And the trail led you here, to the black Landwaker.” The spell weaver continued the train of thought.

“Yes. At first, I thought that the tree was just sick, or maybe the corruption was only stuck to its surface, but the moment I tried to commune with it, it was like facing an ocean tide of darkness. It seeped through my skin, clouding my mind and corroding my body. The sensation… a pure agony and despair.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. Still, that doesn’t explain how you survived. When Letty touched the tree, it rotted away one of her fingers in seconds. I had to cut it off to save her.”

“That’s because your friend is yet to become a true druid herself. Once she does, her body will react differently to such corruption. For me, it was like being trapped in a nightmare of agony and darkness. I was trapped in my beast form, half-awake, yet unable to control my body.”

“So when we fought…”

“I was awake, but unable to control my feral rage. Only when you began to cleanse me did I finally regain a semblance of self.”

“And now you’re alright?”

“I… mostly. I guess one could say that misfortune and blessings come hand in hand,” the druid said with a sad smile. “After waking up and thanking your companions, I had time to check my inner self. As it turned out, besides my original bear and wolf forms, now I have their were-form as well.”

“Well, at least that’s something. So, what now?”

“Now,” Druig hummed awkwardly. “My strength is far from its original and I owe you and your people a debt, so if you allow me, I would like to stay for a while.”

“Sure,” Regis agreed immediately. “It would be reassuring to have a skilled druid around. Welcome to Thornfell, Druig!”

“Thank you.” The man nodded as they knocked their mugs together.

After the druid left to mingle with some of the locals, Tristan showed up again.

“Did everything go well?”

“It did. Master Druig decided to stay with us for a while.”

“Excellent news,” the steward said with a wide smile. “We can always use another magi around.”

“True. By the way. Would you mind getting me another one while I change into something more comfortable?” The dark elf handed back the empty cup while simultaneously gesturing at his armour.

“Of course, my lord.”

Regis headed back to his room where he discarded the armour he used as a disguise, donning one of his spare set of clothes. By the time he got back down, his companions were merrily celebrating with the rest of the villagers. Only Quentin was silently drinking at one of the tables, listening to Valerie who tried to cheer him up.

The dark elf stopped for a moment, contemplating the idea of apologizing to his friend but he soon decided against it. ‘He needs some time to cool off. And I still owe him a right hook for that cheap shot. Moody son of a bitch.’ Regis thought as he rejoined Tristan, accepting the now refilled cup.

“About Lord Vidal.” The steward brought up the subject.

“Hm?”

“We had a similar man back home. My family served house Kreuwell for generations. They were good-natured as nobles go, but the neighbouring lord was very much like Vidal. The man believed that anything and everything on his territory belonged to him. He was a cruel and greedy man.”

“What happened to him?”

“He was torn apart by a demon if I was to believe what some of the refugees from his territory said. Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if the people used the chaos as an opportunity to take their vengeance.”

“Are you telling me this to cheer me up?”

“I doubt that it would work, but I hope that it will at least ease your mind.”

“As cheesy as it sounds, when that bastard died,” Regis let out a sigh after a few moments of silence as a passing villager refilled his cup once again. “The thought of him never being able to threaten my friends and people had already eased my mind about the matter. I’m only troubled by the consequences it could have.”

“I don’t know what the current situation of the nobles’ council is with the war and the demons, but they should be more focused on the new heiress of the Vidal territory than us. For now, I can only suggest for your lordship to enjoy the evening with the rest of the village.”

“I guess you’re right,” the spell weaver nodded along as he watched his friends chat and dance with the villagers. “It’s been a while since the last time I danced, so don’t laugh.”

Saying that, Regis downed his third cup of wine, his strengthened physique fighting tooth and nail with the cheap yet strong drink as he walked over to the others.

“Would you like to dance?” He asked Letty, the wood elf looking up at him surprised before nodding.

The two joined the crowd of merry villagers, awkwardly learning the local dance which was surprisingly energetic. One dance followed the other along with the occasional rests and drinks as the night slowly faded away, filled with laughter and merriment.

Regis woke up with a slight headache that was more like a fly buzzing in his ears than an actual hangover. The familiar ceiling of his room turned brighter by the moment thanks to the morning sun that seeped through his half-opened window. As he tried to move, the sense of an unfamiliar weight stopped him. Turning his head to the left, he noticed Letty sleeping beside him.

The young woman snuggled up to him, using his left arm and shoulder as her pillow. ‘Oh.’ The dark elf hummed to himself as he looked at the peacefully sleeping wood elf, her chest moving slowly beneath her cotton blouse. Laying there, some memories of the previous night resurfaced in his mind, making him silently cringe. ‘Well, that just happened. I can only hope she forgot most of it.’ Regis prayed as he recalled the embarrassing memories. A quarter of an hour later a gentle knock on the door roused Letty as a familiar voice resounded from the other side of the door.

“Wake up lovebirds! Breakfast is ready and we have to clean up.”

“Wha… oh.” Letty rubbed her eyes still half-asleep before noticing that she wasn’t alone.

“Good morning.” The dark elf greeted her, earning a furious blush from Letty as she shook herself fully awake.

“Good…. morning.”

“We should get up soon or they’ll eat our share.” Regis joked, but the young woman was too flustered to let out more than a strained chuckle.

He managed to get out of bed once his arm got free and he quickly changed shirts before pulling his boots on. ‘Sleeping fully clothed after a rave reminds me of my early high-school years.’ The dark elf thought as he got ready, Letty hurrying out of the room and into her own in the meanwhile. By the time he got ready and left his room, the wood elf had also finished getting dressed for the day.

“Shall we get going?” He asked teasingly as he pointed toward the stairs, following her with a shallow smile. “Morning everyone.”

“Look who decided to join us,” Valerie chuckled. “Morning you two. Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log.” The spell weaver answered while sitting down, Letty sitting beside her sister with a slight red on her cheeks.

“I guess last night’s victory celebration was officially a success.” Osmond stated after swallowing a spoonful of porridge.

“We’ll have a hell of a lot to clean up,” Cruz grumbled while staring daggers into the dark elf. “And don’t think you can slip out of it due to some lordly bullshit!”

“Where’s Quentin?” Regis asked as he noticed the absence of the paladin.

“He headed out early to check up on the barracks and the guards,” Mary explained. “He didn’t even have any breakfast.”

“Is he still moping?”

“Just give him some time. He needs to come to terms with things in his way,” the infernal woman defended the paladin. “You should also get ready to be swarmed with praises and requests, your lordship.”

“What?” The spell weaver asked back confused.

“Last night’s magic show was quite awesome, not to mention your groovy dance skills.” Osmond remarked.

“Forget the dancing,” Fabien chuckled. “I’ve never heard someone starting a love confession by saying ‘I’m not good with this kind of shit.’ and then actually succeeding.”

The rest of the group burst out laughing as they listened to the storm knight trying to imitate Regis’ brooding voice. Those words also brought back a wave of cringe-worthy memories about how he confessed to Letty after their seventh or eighth dance and likely their tenth cup of wine.