The journey back was uneventful.
No bandits.
weak monsters.
Just steady travel through increasingly familiar northern terrain.
Arden walked at the front of the group, his mind already planning the next steps.
Behind him, the dynamics had shifted noticeably.
Seravelle—walked with exaggerated enthusiasm, pointing out various plants and geological formations with the excitement of someone experiencing the world for the first time.
"Oh! Is that a frost lily? I've only read about those! They're supposed to bloom in sub-zero temperatures!"
"That's just a dead weed," Garret muttered.
"Are you sure? Because the theoretical descriptions match almost perfectly—"
"It's a dead weed."
But the real tension wasn't coming from Seravelle's botanical enthusiasm.
It was coming from the three women walking slightly behind her.
Serra, with her periwinkle eyes, kept glancing at Seravelle's figure.
Specifically at her... proportions.
It's not fair, Serra thought, trying not to stare. She can't be that much older than me. How is that even possible?
Elara, walking with her usual cold grace, also kept stealing glances.
Not analytical ones.
Just... noticing.
In my previous life, I never paid attention to things like this. Never cared about appearances or comparisons.
But now I'm noticing. And I don't like what I'm noticing.
And Kari—currently in Nari's calmer personality—was observing everything with quiet amusement.
"They're all competing for his attention," Nari said softly to her other self.
Obviously, Kari responded internally. And the new one just made it worse. Look at her.
Seravelle, completely oblivious to the tension she was causing, had moved up to walk beside Arden.
"So! When we reach home, what's the plan? More training? Artifact creation? Oh! Maybe we could establish a proper workshop for—"
"We're not staying," Arden interrupted.
Everyone's attention snapped to him.
"What?" Brick rumbled from behind.
"I need to go west. To meet someone." Arden's voice was matter-of-fact. "The rest of you will head to Ka'reth . Set up base there. I'll return within a month."
"Absolutely not," Elara said immediately, her cold voice cutting through the air. "You're not going alone."
"I won't be alone. I'll take a small group."
"Who?"
Arden considered carefully.
I need people who can handle diplomatic situations. People who won't cause problems.
"Serra. Elara. And Seravelle."
Multiple reactions happened simultaneously.
Brick frowned. "You're taking three women and no combat support?"
"Serra and Elara ARE combat support. And Seravelle has knowledge I might need."
Thrain raised an eyebrow. "Where west are you going, exactly?"
"To meet the dwarves."
Silence.
Then Rykard, who'd been lazily walking at the back, actually laughed.
"The dwarves? The ones who haven't spoken to humans in decades? You're going to negotiate with them?"
"Yes."
Elara's expression didn't change.
The dwarves. He's going to negotiate with the dwarves.
In her previous life, nobody had successfully established contact with the dwarves until it was far too late.
But if anyone can do it, it's him.
Whatever his plan is, it will work. It has to.
"That's insane," Garret said.
"It's necessary. The north needs allies. The dwarves have resources, knowledge, and strength we're going to need for what's coming."
"And you think they'll just... talk to you?" Thrain asked skeptically.
"I think they'll listen. If I approach it correctly."
Brick studied him carefully.
"What do you know about dwarves that we don't?"
"Enough to have a chance. That's all I need."
Elara simply nodded.
He knows what he's doing. Just like he knew about the Overlord. Just like he knew about everything else.
I don't need to question him. I just need to support him. Protect him. Make sure he succeeds.
That's my purpose this time. Not to lead. Not to carry everything alone.
Just to be strong enough to stand beside him.
The group exchanged glances.
Finally, Brick sighed.
"Fine. But if you're not back in a month, we're coming after you."
"Fair enough."
-----
The fortress had grown.
In the weeks since Arden had left, the refugees from surrounding villages had been integrated.
New construction everywhere.
The population had nearly doubled.
And at the center of it all, coordinating everything with military precision, was Commander Darvin.
He looked up from a planning table as Arden entered the command center.
"Lord Arden. You're back." His eyes swept over the group. "And with more people than you left with."
"Commander Darvin. I need to speak with you. Privately."
Darvin nodded, dismissing his aides.
Once they were alone, Arden got straight to the point.
"I need a formal leave of absence. One month. Maybe more."
Darvin raised an eyebrow with interest.
"Where are you going?"
"West. To the dwarven territories."
"The dwarves." Darvin's expression didn't change, but his tone carried weight. "Lord Arden, the dwarves haven't maintained diplomatic relations with humans in over sixty years. Every envoy we've sent has been ignored or turned away."
"I know."
"Then you know this is likely a waste of time."
"It's a calculated risk. And one I need to take." Arden leaned forward. "Commander, winter is coming. The real winter—the one that brings the Abyssal Flame and everything after. We need allies. We need resources. The dwarves have both."
Darvinl studied him for a long moment.
"You've been right about everything else so far. The Overlord. The defenses. The training protocols." He sighed. "Fine. You have your leave. One Month"
"That's fair."
"Who are you taking?"
"Serra Frostveil. Elara. And a consultant. Seravelle."
"Three women and no heavy combat support?"
"Serra and Elara are more than capable. And the dwarves respond better to smaller groups. Taking a full military escort would be seen as aggressive."
Darvin didn't look convinced, but he nodded.
"Your decision. I'll have supplies prepared. When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow morning. I need tonight to brief the others on what they'll be doing while I'm gone."
"Understood. Is there anything else?"
"Yes. Give Brick more training. He's earned it. And give Thrain access to the training yards—he's developing new techniques that could be useful."
Darvin made notes.
"Done. Anything else?"
"That's all. Thank you, Commander."
----
Arden had been given proper accommodations this time—a small but comfortable room in the keep.
He was reviewing maps of the western territories when a knock came at the door.
"Come in."
The door opened.
Serra, Elara, and Seravelle entered together.
The three women could not have been more different.
Serra—petite, with periwinkle eyes and an uncertain expression.
Elara—, elegant, with cold eyes and perfect posture.
Seravelle—voluptuous, with impossible carmine eyes and cheerful enthusiasm.
"You wanted to brief us?" Elara asked, her voice professionally neutral.
"Yes. Sit."
They settled around the small table.
"We're leaving tomorrow for the western wastelands. The journey will take about a week—four days through the western plains, then three days into dwarf territory."
"What's our objective?" Elara asked.
"Establish diplomatic contact with the dwarven holds. Specifically, with their craftmasters and clan leaders."
"And how do you plan to do that?" Serra asked quietly. "The dwarves haven't spoken to humans in decades."
"Because humans keep approaching them wrong. They send diplomats with gifts and flowery language. The dwarves hate that."
"Then what's the right approach?" Elara pressed.
Arden smiled slightly.
"We're going to get drunk with them."
All three women stared at him.
"Excuse me?" Elara said flatly.
"Dwarves value friendship over formality. And the fastest way to make friends with dwarves is to drink with them. Pour, drink, and if necessary, pass out together."
"That's..." Serra started.
"Insane?" Elara finished.
"Cultural," Arden corrected. "Dwarves don't trust people who won't drink with them. It's seen as a sign of dishonesty—like you're hiding something."
"So we're going to get drunk. With dwarves. As a diplomatic strategy," Elara said, her voice carefully controlled.
"Yes."
Seravelle's eyes sparkled with stars.
"That's fascinating! A culture where social bonding through shared intoxication is the primary diplomatic protocol! I've read about similar practices in ancient texts, but I never thought—"
"Seravelle," Arden interrupted gently. "Focus."
"Right! Sorry! I'm just excited!"
Serra looked uncertain.
"I... I don't drink much. I don't know if I can—"
"You don't have to drink a lot. Just enough to show you're willing to participate. The dwarves will respect the effort more than the result."
Elara frowned, but not in disagreement.
"And what about actual negotiations? Business discussions?"
"Those happen after the drinking. Once you're friends, the dwarves will talk business. But not before."
"Understood." Elara nodded simply. "We'll follow your lead."
Serra looked between them.
"Just like that? You're not going to question it?"
"Why would I?" Elara's cold eyes met hers. "He's been right about everything else. I have no reason to doubt him now."
And even if I had doubts, they wouldn't matter. I chose to trust him. To put my faith in him.
That's not changing.
The three women exchanged glances.
Finally, they all nodded.
"Alright," Serra said quietly. "We'll trust you."
"Thank you," Arden said simply.
----
They left at dawn.
Just the four of them, three horses, and two wagons loaded with supplies.
Arden rode at the front.
Serra and Elara flanked him on horseback.
And Seravelle...
"Um, Arden?" she called from beside one of the wagons. "I don't actually know how to ride a horse."
Everyone turned to stare at her.
"You don't know how to ride?" Serra asked, surprised.
"I've been studying in towers and libraries most of my life! When would I have learned?"
Arden sighed.
"Fine. You'll ride with me."
He extended a hand, pulling Seravelle up onto his horse.
She settled in behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist to steady herself.
And immediately pressed her considerable assets against his back.
The effect was instantaneous.
Serra's periwinkle eyes narrowed.
Elara's expression went even colder than usual.
Of course, Serra thought, her hands tightening on her reins. Of course she gets to ride with him.
Elara's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
I'm not jealous. I don't get jealous. I died and came back to life—petty emotions like jealousy are beneath me.
She glanced at where Seravelle's arms wrapped around Arden's waist.
...I'm not jealous. I'm just... observing. Strategically.
Seravelle, completely oblivious to the death glares being directed at her back, was just trying not to fall off the horse.
"Is this right? Am I holding on correctly?"
"You're fine," Arden said, his voice slightly strained.
This was a mistake. This was definitely a mistake.
"Oh! The movement is so smooth! I can see why people enjoy this!"
With each step the horse took, Seravelle shifted slightly.
And with each shift, Serra's and Elara's expressions grew darker.
After an hour of this, Serra finally spoke up.
"Maybe we should rotate. You know, so Seravelle can experience riding with different people. Learn different techniques."
"That's unnecessary," Elara said immediately, seeing through Serra's transparent attempt. "Arden is the most experienced rider. It's safer for Seravelle to stay with him."
Even if it's torture to watch.
Even if every time she shifts, I notice.
Even if I'm definitely not jealous because I don't get jealous anymore.
Damn it.
Damn it all.
Serra's eyes narrowed at Elara's response, but she said nothing.
Seravelle, still completely oblivious, was now commenting on the landscape.
"Oh! Those clouds look like they might bring rain! Should we prepare coverings for the supplies?"
"We're fine," Arden said.
"Are you sure? Because in my studies of meteorological patterns—"
"Seravelle. We're fine."
"Okay! If you say so!"
She tightened her grip slightly as the horse navigated a slight incline.
And both Serra and Elara noticed.
Her chest is literally pressed against his back, Serra thought, trying to keep her expression neutral. That's not fair. That's completely unfair.
She glanced down at her own modest proportions.
I'll grow. I'm still young. I'll definitely be bigger than her eventually. I'll make sure of it. Somehow.
Elara, meanwhile, was having an internal crisis.
She glanced at her own figure—athletic, elegant, but not particularly... pronounced.
This shouldn't matter. Physical appearance has no bearing on combat capability or strategic value.
But I'm noticing anyway. And I don't like that I'm noticing.
Another glance at Seravelle, whose arms were wrapped comfortably around Arden's waist.
I'm definitely not jealous.
I'm just... aware. Of the situation. For strategic purposes.
That's all.
Me and Arden practically became lovers
Seravelle, completely unaware of the internal crisis she was causing, continued her cheerful observations.
"This is so much fun! I haven't traveled like this in decades! Everything looks so different from ground level instead of from a tower window!"
"Glad you're enjoying it," Arden said dryly.
Behind them, Serra and Elara exchanged a look.
For a brief moment, they were united in their shared frustration.
We need to do something about this, Serra's expression said.
Agreed, Elara's cold eyes replied.
Then they returned to glaring at Seravelle's back.
The journey west was going to be very, very long.
----
They stopped as the sun began to set, making camp in a small clearing.
Arden dismounted first, then helped Seravelle down.
"Thank you! That was much more comfortable than I expected!" She beamed at him, stars in her eyes. "Can I ride with you again tomorrow?"
"We'll see," Arden said diplomatically.
Serra immediately spoke up.
"Actually, I was thinking I could teach you some basic riding skills tonight. Then maybe you could try riding alone tomorrow."
"Oh! That would be wonderful! I'd love to learn!"
Good, Serra thought. Keep her away from Arden. Establish myself as helpful.
Elara, meanwhile, had already begun setting up the camp.
"Serra, help with the perimeter wards. Seravelle, you're on meal preparation. Arden, check the supplies and ensure the wagons are secured."
Everyone moved to follow her orders automatically.
Good. Structure. Order. Tasks to focus on.
Definitely not thinking about how Seravelle spent the entire day pressed against Arden's back.
Definitely not.
Because that would be petty. And I'm not petty.
She drove a tent stake into the ground with perhaps more force than strictly necessary.
I'm not.