Charles instinctively turned his head—and saw, not far away, Adele staring at them with wide eyes, her whole face a mask of indescribable shock.
She truly was stunned, unable to believe what she was seeing. After catching Charles red-handed once before, now this shameless playboy had actually invited her mother out here—flirting, hugging, acting all intimate?!
Unforgivable!
Willo's face instantly went crimson. She jumped up from the rock, quickly stepping away from Charles to put some distance between them. "No, Adele, please don't misunderstand—we were just talking business! I was just looking over the map with Priest Charles…"
She pointed to the map still spread across Charles's lap, stammering like a guilty daughter caught sneaking out, while Adele glared like a strict mother catching her child's secret date.
Charles calmly rolled up the map and spoke levelly, "That's right, we were just discussing the future of the Green Vines tribe. The monastery wants to work more closely with your people—not just for this winter, but for long-term development too."
Adele, eyes cold, pinned Charles with a glare. "So why were you hugging? Is that supposed to be part of a business meeting?"
Charles's expression didn't twitch. "It's freezing out here—my hands were numb."
"Then why not talk in camp?"
"Too many people, too much gossip."
"Then what about the tent?"
"Walls have ears."
"You—!"
Adele was practically fuming. Meanwhile, Willo tried to smooth her hair and clothes, taking deep breaths to steady herself. She turned to her daughter and said seriously, "We really were only talking business, Adele, don't get the wrong idea. That's all there is to it…"
Adele narrowed her eyes, a dangerous glint flashing in their depths.
She was observant—and nobody knew her mother better. From Willo's anxious fidgeting and guilty blush, Adele could immediately tell something was up!
Since the demons had appeared and thrown the mountain's natural order into chaos, her mother's peace of mind had been shattered too.
Now this playboy—ignoring Adele's warnings—was trying to take advantage of the mess!
Despicable! He already had so many girls flocking around him, but that wasn't enough—he had to seduce her pure, innocent mother too!
Adele gritted her teeth, but after witnessing Charles's doomsday-level power defeating Montport, she abandoned any notion of threatening him.
No, she needed another way to pry those two apart!
With a sudden, radiant smile, she quickly crossed over and sat herself right down next to Charles. "So that's it, huh? Let me see then!"
"Mom, come sit too. The three of us can keep warm and look over this plan together. I may as well learn from you, so I can take charge of the tribe some day!"
This sudden reversal even caught Charles off guard. Willo let out a huge sigh of relief, scooted in, and—with Adele between them and Charles—sat down to join the conversation. They truly looked like a family of three, reviewing plans for the Green Vines tribe's future. "We were just talking about the housing problem, right?"
Charles nodded and put aside any stray thoughts to focus on the discussion. "Right, it's not really a big problem though—I already have a solution."
Seeing the conversation turn serious, Adele smirked inwardly, feeling she'd claimed an early victory.
But then she frowned, realizing she couldn't spend the rest of her life glued to her mother's side as supervision.
No, she needed to speed things up—help her mother find a proper husband.
Letting her mother pick on her own was out of the question—she was way too naïve, and a playboy like Charles would eat her alive.
Better if I do the matchmaking!
First criteria: He has to genuinely love my mother so he'll treat her right;
Second: He must be powerful—strength is essential for her protection;
Third: He needs to be smart, well-traveled, and have a long-term vision—he'll help lead the tribe to prosperity;
Fourth: Ideally, he should already be wealthy or hold power—so Mom won't have to scrape and struggle by his side;
And lastly, it'd be nice if he looked good and had some… stamina. That would keep Mom happy, too.
Married or not doesn't matter—after all, Mom already has a daughter my age…
She ticked off the conditions—never noticing that the perfect candidate might be sitting right beside her…
...
Liberl Port, Central District, Blue Dragon Bank, top floor.
Rahman emerged from his immense artificial sand pit, giving himself a shake—every grain falling perfectly from between his scales, not a speck left clinging.
For him, as a blue dragon from the deserts, nothing beat a "sand bath"—it cleansed him, killed germs, and kept his scales silky-smooth.
Of course, that assumed the sand stayed bone-dry—ideally, even hot. Maintaining that in Liberl Port's humid seaside air had cost a fortune, but no expense was spared for Rahman's comfort.
After the sand bath, the blue dragon was just heading to the dining hall to sample the new camel roast method hyped by their visiting northern chef. But before he could enter, his blue dragonborn secretary hustled up, a stack of documents in hand.
"Prince Rahman—Montport was defeated by Charles!"
No build-up, no drama, no unnecessary words—the secretary got straight to the point, professional to the core.
Rahman's hulking form stopped dead. His enormous head swiveled a full 180 degrees, the horn on his brow pointing right at the secretary. His voice was full of disbelief. "What did you just say?!"
The secretary nodded vigorously, uncharacteristically fired-up. "It's true! According to first-hand intel, Charles and his team were evacuating a group of refugees. Montport went after them to cause a massacre."
"But Charles—we don't know how—cast some spell that summoned a sky full of magic arrays, raining down divine light that utterly obliterated Montport!"
Normally calm and even-keeled, the blue dragonborn secretary was now shaking with excitement. "Prince Rahman, we've definitely underestimated him!"
Rahman drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"I truly believed I was being as optimistic as possible about him," he said. "I thought, with the right equipment, he'd pass the trials and maybe join the hunting team. At worst, just be a support role and rack up a few achievements."
"So that was what it was—no wonder he brushed off my offer to join the squad that day. I thought it was because he lacked strength…"
"But in reality, he was too strong to even care about the group—he pulled off an achievement like this, all on his own!"
Sighing, Rahman mused, "I bet when I suggested he join the hunting squad, all he was thinking was, 'Hah, this dragon has no idea what I'm worth!'"
The secretary didn't comment, and Rahman simply flicked his tail, heading towards the dining hall. "Whatever we do, treat this man like royalty. Spare no expense—don't let those gold dragonborn poach him!"
"Do it—move a hundred thousand dragon crowns from my personal vault and arrange a banquet, a true celebration. This is a victory we must honor!"
A hundred thousand dragon crowns—a million gold. Selling Charles's entire estate wouldn't fetch that much.
Such was a Blue Dragon Prince—one whim, and he'd spend a nation's fortune on a single feast.
The blue dragonborn bowed and hurried off. He knew the drill: all the major music, theater, and dance troupes in the Muse District had to be booked, with the "Epoch" news group invited to cover the event for the city's elites…
News spread fast. The Blue Dragon Bank was soon abuzz. Such excess was criticized by some, but everyone agreed it was deserved: this wasn't just a win against the Abyssal Lord—it was a triumph for the blue dragons, a major victory over the gold dragonborn in their endless rivalry!
A victory well worth a lavish celebration!
And as the dragons partied, throughout Liberl Port, every power structure—companies, guilds, noble houses—received the news. Some rejoiced, others plotted how to ride the wave, or scheme to snatch a share of the credit for themselves.
The city boiled with unseen tension; but deep within the mountains, the hero of it all, Charles, waited in the dwarven mines with the Mountain People.
To be precise, he was waiting for Willo to give up hope.
He'd already helped peel the mask off the Alliance of Mountain Purifiers, and now he needed her to see it for herself—so she'd finally let go, and stop wasting goodwill on those ungrateful people.
He'd waited three days. Anno had already led the Blackstaff Tower's hundred-strong company away to report to her superiors—the captain dead, leadership fell to her.
Now the time was just about right.
That night, after dinner, Charles headed deep into the dwarves' mines to the satyr rest areas, looking for Willo.
The satyrs, on seeing him, young and old alike, all greeted him with respect and genuine smiles.
Clearly, after several battles, his prestige among the satyrs was at an all-time high.
Smiling, Charles exchanged greetings, and found Willo at the far end of the gathering space.
She was working, perched on a stone, jotting notes by lamplight, looking exhausted and troubled.
Charles sat beside her and asked softly, "How's it going? Any progress?"
Willo shook her head. "No… All three tribes are hopeless, sigh."
To avoid rumors that the satyrs were 'abandoning their allies', Charles had made the new plan public to all Mountain Peoples: plain and simple, follow me and I'll take full responsibility for everyone's survival and prosperity.
Houses, money, peace—never worry about demons or war again, just a good life for all.
Such honesty moved Willo deeply. But she didn't realize Charles already knew the other tribes would refuse; in truth, he wanted her to see it herself. That way, everyone would know he'd done his part, and she could finally let go.
Willo had dutifully followed him, lobbying the other tribes, telling them how Charles's advice had always proved right. But the result? Apart from her own kin—almost no supporters.
The reasons varied:
—The Highmountain tribe lost their backbone when Torun died; the old chief was ailing, his sons fighting for control, and nothing could be decided.
—The Stonehide tribe had always been hardline anti-Liberl Port, refusing to settle closer for security reasons; plus, Luger Stonehide still held a psychological grudge against Charles, so wanted nothing to do with him.
—As for the Chimera tribe, they followed the others' lead. Some half-orcs were secretly tempted, but unable to make a decision.
(Mountaineer tribe? That was Nidalee's home; she was handling them herself.)
All in all, the result was a mess—and Willo was deeply disappointed.
But Charles wasn't surprised, only smiling lightly—he'd expected this. That was why he sent Willo: to show everyone he'd given them a chance, and most of all, so she'd finally be done with them. "See? They won't listen. You don't have the authority, so no need to bear that weight for them."
"Just focus on your own people."
He encouraged her, then put on a grave, urgent face. "We don't have much time. Let's be ready to leave tomorrow, move on to your new home, yes?"
Willo's eyes dimmed, then she nodded, trusting his judgment. "Alright, I'll spread the word to our kin. We'll leave tomorrow."
At last, it seemed, she was ready to leave the Alliance of the Mountain Purifiers behind.
Feeling completely relieved, Charles said his goodbyes—hoping to escape before Adele arrived—then returned to camp to rest.
He'd barely stepped away from the satyrs when a deep voice called from behind: "Charles!"
Turning, Charles saw a tall, brown-skinned figure leaning on crutches, limping his way—a familiar friend: Danche of the Chimera tribe.
Charles hurried to help. "Hey Danche, why aren't you home recovering?"
In that last battle with Montport, Danche had risked his life to shield Charles from a deadly attack—buying time for the purifiers. But Montport's final explosion had cost him: missing the healing window, his leg was crippled and might never fully recover.
Divine magic might fix it, but only if the right opportunity came.
But Danche didn't shower him with thanks—he hesitated, then finally muttered, "Charles, can we talk outside?"
Charles's smile faded, and he led Danche out of the camp. "Why so formal? We're comrades—comrades don't keep secrets from each other."
Danche stumbled over his words. "I… I saved your life, didn't I? Gave my leg for it, maybe my whole future…"
After speaking, he gritted his teeth—he found it shameful to ask for repayment; to him, earning gratitude was humiliating.
Charles looked at him, then nodded gently. "Yes, you saved my life."
He helped the half-orc to a boulder, where they sat beneath the bleak moon. The air was cold, but both could see fine in the dark.
"So, how can I repay you?"
Danche flushed, sweating nervously. "N-no, I'd never—ah!"
He stomped his good leg, voice rough. "It wouldn't be honorable—don't think I'm here to extort you!"
Charles grinned. "Never said you were. So… what do you need?"
Danche looked down, searching for words.
"Earlier, Matriarch Willo tried to persuade me to take my tribe and join yours. Honestly, I want to—but I can't convince my people until I see it happen, first."
"In the past, things… happened. My kin are wary of Liberl Port, afraid of being targeted, or that this can't possibly work…"
Charles nodded. "So… what would help? A promise that Liberl Port will never target the Chimera tribe, and lasting peace between both sides?"
Danche shook his head. "No, too much to ask. I only want one thing: in your new camp, can you save a spot—for the Chimera tribe?"
Charles's eyes narrowed.
So… once the Chimera saw benefits, wanted to join, he'd need to always keep an open place for them—let them in whenever they pleased?
He'd have to always be ready for half-orc opportunists swooping in?
Sensing the shift in Charles's gaze, Danche hurried on. "That's all I ask. And I brought something to sweeten the deal."
He reached for his belt pouch and pulled out a thick stack of parchment. "Take a look."
Charles summoned a light, flipped through, and his eyebrows shot up. "Is this—your method for taming chimeras?"
Danche nodded, doing his best to keep cool. "It's a one-of-a-kind technique! We're the only tribe that's ever tamed wild, insane chimeras and turned them into loyal pets."
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