Willo's head shot up, her face full of shock. Without hesitation, Charles opened his arms and pulled this woman—whose every breath was spent worrying for her people—into a hug.
Even through the layer of robes, Willo's body was impossibly soft, and that sensation, mixed with the faint creamy scent clinging to her, called up memories of that one night, driving Charles nearly mad.
For a long moment, Willo didn't react at all. She just stood there dazed, letting him hold her.
"We're allies, aren't we?" Charles didn't forget his original purpose. He spoke softly, "We fight demons together—true comrades with the same goal. Besides, you… your tribe only got into this mess because you wanted to resist the fiends."
"So now, you should feel free to lean on me. Don't just ask for advice—ask for help." His voice was gentle in her ear, warm puffs of breath washing over her drooping, sensitive ears. "If you're willing to hand these worries to me, then I'll shoulder them for you."
Translation: He meant, let me take charge of your people.
Charles never believed that line "with great power comes great responsibility." To him, that was just something those in power said to avoid the blame that should have been theirs.
He always thought: "The greater your power, the greater the responsibility you should bear." Whoever holds power should bear the cost.
And sometimes, the reverse was true: the more responsibility you dared to take, the more real authority you ended up gaining.
Just like now—by volunteering to take responsibility for the Green Vines Tribe's future survival and prosperity, he was securing their obedience.
Willo had no idea about this layer of meaning. She only felt a wellspring of gratitude at his words.
Feeling his warm breath against her ears, the sincere care in his every word, and the powerful arms hugging her close, Willo found herself all but melting into him.
Almost instinctively, she circled his waist with her own arms, closed her eyes, and nuzzled against his chest, her face dreamy and almost dazed. "…Thank you, Priest. I… I'll choose to trust you."
Bitter wind still swept the winter mountains, but in that moment, the only thing Willo felt was warmth.
Charles gently patted her back, his thoughts finally starting to fall in line. "As for where your tribe can settle long-term, I actually do have a plan," he said.
Willo didn't answer, just listened intently as he went on. "First off, the demons are still raging through the deeper parts of the mountains. There's no way this area will be safe for the next two or three years—not unless you settle somewhere as close to Liberl Port as possible."
"At the very least, the archmages from Blackstaff Tower have already cleared out most of the chthonians and demons around the city. The closer you are to Liberl Port, the safer you'll be."
"As for the exact place… my suggestion is here."
He released her from his hug and led her to sit beside him on a nearby boulder. Willo followed without the slightest resistance, sitting snug up against him as he pulled a massive map out of his Bag of Holding—one absolutely covered in red and blue scribbles.
She recognized it immediately: it was an old Adventurer's Guild map of the mountains, from the Rockseeker's Outpost branch.
Since it had been drawn with help and input from all sorts of local powers—including some Mountain People—it was once the most detailed and reliable map available.
After the recent earthquake, though, many peaks had collapsed and landmarks vanished. In that state, the map had pretty much become obsolete.
So, what was Charles planning?
Willo leaned in and saw that every red and blue doodle was a new note—"blocked off," "collapsed," "new path," and so on. It was clear Charles was using the old map as a base to chart updated geography.
This was his work over the last month, running around with the dwarves and gathering new terrain info.
It still wasn't perfect, but it was usable now.
At the very least, it helped him pinpoint some key sites.
"If you guys really are planning to move, here's what I suggest," he said, pulling a new blue pencil from his pocket and drawing a neat circle on the map. "Rockseeker's Outpost might be gone, but trade between Liberl Port and the mountains hasn't ended."
"Based on the new map, this should be the only route between the two areas for the foreseeable future. Whether you're an adventurer going in for a hunt, picking herbs, hunting fiends, or just a Mountain Person looking for work in the city—or a dwarf—everybody's going to pass through here."
Willo's eyes widened as realization dawned. "So, if our tribe takes over that spot, we could set up a toll gate and charge everyone who passes?"
Then she frowned. "But wouldn't that cause trouble? We satyrs aren't fighters. Sooner or later, we'd just end up relying on the alliance's muscle again…"
Charles sighed and flicked her lightly on the forehead. "What is it with you and those bruisers in your old alliance? Why do you always think so short-term?"
He shook his head. "Why not just do business the peaceful way? Isn't your whole tribe full of druids? You could set up an inn—make it a rest stop, offer healing, hospitality, and support to travelers. That way you'd make friends, earn money, and grow stronger all at once."
The more he spoke, the clearer his own plan became.
A third-tier monastery could set up branch locations anywhere in the world. With just ten thousand more Purification Points, he could build a first-tier monastery out here—a sub-base, to handle things locally.
He'd never really considered it before; after all, reality wasn't a game. His main monastery barely had a hundred nuns on staff, and the facilities were all new. Who had energy to spare for a sub-branch?
But talking through ideas for Willo, his mind latched onto a bold new plan: "I could provide the buildings, your people provide spellcasters—and we could keep expanding. In time, maybe we'd match the old Rockseeker's Outpost in scale and importance, with just as much influence."
"Isn't that better than shaking people down for a toll?"
Willo blinked a few times. "Uh… yeah, actually."
She'd been about to protest that not every satyr could cast Cure Wounds, and most didn't have enough mana anyway.
But then she thought of Miss Nidalee's Goodberries—packed with vitality, healing more than any ordinary spell. If her people learned that trick, the tribe's total healing capacity would be ten times higher.
After all, everyone in her tribe could cast Goodberry. If they all learned that version, the problem would be solved.
If they could really make it happen, this setup would totally work.
Her heart leapt at the thought. She made a mental note to have a chat with Nidalee—learn her secret.
Still, a new worry popped up. "Long-term, that really does sound amazing. But right now, our biggest problem is shelter…"
She blinked her big bright eyes at Charles, face full of hope.
He looked down and couldn't help but grin. He was just about to say he'd already figured that out, when suddenly a scream echoed from somewhere in the distance: "Mom—!"
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