“They’re coming! The Dayflare Family is coming!” The shout echoed through the village streets, cutting through the peaceful afternoon air and the rhythmic sounds of daily labor. The messenger’s footsteps thundered against the packed earth as he sprinted toward his house, his voice carrying equal measures of urgency and apprehension.

  The village guard, their leather armor creaking with movement, swiftly assembled into formation. Their spears and shields caught the afternoon sun as they marched toward the towering bamboo gate, their disciplined movements belying the tension in their faces.

  Though technically allied with the Dayflare Family, uncertainty hung heavy in the air. The villagers’ expressions betrayed their inner turmoil—this first encounter could either cement their alliance or spark conflict.

  At the warning signal from the weathered wooden watchtower, the streets quickly emptied. Women hurried children indoors, their gentle but firm voices urging them to safety. Men retrieved weapons from their homes, positioning themselves strategically behind doorways and windows. Through narrow gaps, anxious eyes watched the village streets, now eerily quiet except for the sounds of hurrying feet and closing doors.

  Jonn’s armor clinked as he ran alongside the guards and mages, his movements precise despite the weight of his gear. William matched his pace toward the village exit, his usually confident demeanor replaced by visible tension. His weathered face bore the worried expression of a man who had seen enough of nobility’s capricious nature to be wary.

  “Jonn, let’s take it easy,” William cautioned, his voice low and measured. “Sometimes we have to play dumb and servile for the greater good.” His words carried the weight of experience, acknowledging the delicate dance required when dealing with nobility’s unpredictable temperaments.

  Jonn remained silent as they passed through the bamboo gate. Around him, his guardsmen stood at attention in their borrowed Dayflare Family uniforms, the borrowed finery masking their true allegiance.

  The entrance area, once bustling with construction workers, now stood clear and orderly. Where temporary shelters had previously dotted the landscape, only packed earth remained, the new residential district rising proudly nearby, its completion within reach.

  The welcoming party assembled in precise formation, their polished armor and weapons gleaming under the afternoon sun. Hank sat astride his mount, his experienced gaze steady as he positioned himself alongside Eliot and the village mages. Their robes rustled gently in the breeze, magical energy subtly crackling around them. Elia took her place beside Jonn in the second row, her presence adding a diplomatic touch to the martial display.

  The village’s menagerie maintained a watchful distance—horses stamping restlessly, wolves and dogs alert but controlled. From her elevated perch atop her palace, Annabelle’s form cast an imposing shadow, while Roulf’s muscular frame tensed by the fence, ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble.

  “They’re coming,” Eliot whispered, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the approaching procession. Twenty-one ornate carriages and nearly as many supply wagons rolled forward, surrounded by an impressive cavalry force that outnumbered the village’s own. A massive cloud of dark dust billowed behind them, creating an ominous spectacle that resembled a demonic parade emerging from the depths of Hell itself.

  Jonn felt a single bead of sweat trace its way from his forehead down his neck, his heartbeat thundering in his ears as his mind raced with possibilities.

  There’s no turning back now. May this alliance serve the village well… or we’re doomed!

  The welcoming party stood their ground as their ‘guests’ closed the remaining distance. From within one of the leading carriages, a young redheaded woman observed the village’s fortifications with pleased interest; her lips curved in satisfaction. ‘Good. They’re not as primitive as I feared… I was dreading living among tents and livestock.’

  “They’ve arranged quite the welcome, Young Lady,” observed a middle-aged woman beside her as she studied the reception party, particularly noting Hank and William’s presence among the villagers. “Their cavalry is impressive. His Grace’s previous envoys didn’t have this many horses in their ranks."

  “Their stable is well-stocked… The village prospers beyond expectations,” observed an armored man as he stood vigil beside the middle-aged woman. Both served as attendants to the redheaded commander of the reinforcement group.

  Isabelle Dayflare studied the village’s impressive mounted force with calculating eyes. “That’s promising. Transporting livestock from the capital would have been problematic. These numbers will ease internal breeding programs.” Though her words spoke of practical matters, her thoughts ran deeper. ‘They’ve integrated well with our advance party… That’s good. Commanding them will be easier that way.’ A smile played across her features, revealing teeth perfectly white and aligned, betraying her noble upbringing.

  The procession slowed its approach, wheels creaking and horses’ hooves kicking up less dust as they came to rest fifty meters from the reception party.

  Following strict military protocol, a delegation of guards advanced first, approaching William and Hank’s position.

  William and Hank exchanged one last look with Jonn, silently reinforcing their earlier instructions about the proper diplomatic procedure. Together with Elia, they urged their mounts forward to meet the troop’s primary guards.

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  “Sir William, Sir Hank, it’s good to see you well,” greeted a distinguished man, his gray hair matching the gleam of his silver armor that encased him from neck to toe. His presence commanded respect, the mark of a veteran warrior clear in his bearing.

  The two level 3 mages returned the formal gestures customary for such encounters, with Hank, the elder of the pair, taking point in the exchange. “Sir Raaf, the pleasure is mutual,” he addressed the level 4 mage—one of the three Mystics accompanying Isabelle’s contingent. Sensing the underlying tension from the villagers, he smoothly transitioned to introductions. “Allow me to present Jonn and Elia, natives of the area and leaders of the Eternal Village.”

  The Mystic’s gaze settled on Jonn and Elia with a peculiar intensity, his expression a complex mixture of disdain and grudging acknowledgment. His magical senses detected their capabilities, particularly noting Jonn’s power, though his weathered face revealed nothing more.

  “You must be Jonn, the village leader?” Raaf’s question cut through the air, ignoring Elia’s presence; his tone carried the weight of noble authority.

  “Yes, Sir Raaf,” Jonn responded, maintaining a carefully measured smile.

  “You’ve made some audacious demands of His Grace.” Raaf’s words carried a sharp edge as he gestured toward the impressive convoy behind him. “We’ll meet your requirements, but mind your future requests and words carefully. Unlike you, we’ve been doing this here for centuries. We don’t need some brat telling us what to do.”

  Jonn absorbed the verbal assault without a visible reaction, months of preparation steadying his resolve.

  As long as the disputes stay in the realm of words, I have no problem, he thought, maintaining his diplomatic smile while nodding. Men like Sir Raaf are invaluable in combat… I look forward to witnessing his experience against our enemies.

  “Tend to your little community and support our initiatives,” Raaf continued, his armor gleaming as he shifted in his saddle. “Do so, and you’ll find wealth beyond imagination!”

  "I look forward to our teamwork," Jonn replied with a formal gesture, watching as Raaf’s men signaled the convoy’s advance.

  Most of the carriages and wagons carried ordinary folk, their lack of magical ability clear to trained eyes. As the guards formed a protective circle around the most ornate carriage, Jonn and Elia observed it with attention.

  A middle-aged woman emerged first, followed by another level 4 mage who radiated power that marked him as likely the strongest among them. Finally, a young woman with striking red hair descended. Her shoulder-length locks framed a face that combined youth with authority, while her black combat attire and proportionate short sword spoke of both practical experience and noble breeding. Standing around 1.7 meters tall, she cut an impressive figure.

  Her brilliant green eyes, set against porcelain skin, sparkled with the same subtle intelligence as her smile. Though she appeared close to Elia’s age, both Jonn and Elia knew better than to judge a mage’s age by appearance alone.

  The magical energy flowing through her commanded respect, regardless of her youthful countenance!

  She was clearly the group’s leader—whether by merit or family influence. Jonn and Elia focused their attention on her, aware that she would be their primary point of contact moving forward.

  A fleeting look of resignation passed between Jonn and Elia as they realized the Dayflare Family had circumvented their request for William and Hank to be the family’s local representatives. This subtle maneuvering signaled the first of many challenges they would face. Yet, neither allowed their concerns to mar their welcoming expressions.

  With practiced ease, they dismounted, their movements fluid and graceful. Magical training allowed them to project an air of genuine warmth and receptivity, their faces masks of diplomatic perfection despite any inner turmoil.

  “Jonn of the Eternal Village,” the middle-aged woman intoned formally, her governess attire pristine and her voice carrying the weight of long service to nobility, “may I present Lady Isabelle Dayflare, representative of His Grace, Duke Dayflare.”

  To Isabelle’s right loomed her warrior-mage protector, his clever smile barely concealing the raw power he exuded. Standing over two meters tall, his very presence seemed to command respect and caution.

  Jonn, however, remained unintimidated. Though slightly shorter, he stood his ground with quiet confidence, his own power, while lesser in level, still imposing. Ignoring the bodyguards, he addressed Isabelle directly.

  “Welcome to the Eternal Village, my lady,” Jonn’s voice carried warmth, carefully crafted to foster goodwill. “I trust our partnership will prove smooth and mutually beneficial.” His words were chosen with precision, aiming to defer any potential conflicts until after the more pressing threats from Arcanis’ beasts and Uranius’ group were dealt with. “I hope your journey here was without incident?”

  Isabelle’s wave was graceful yet purposeful, her green eyes locking onto Jonn’s with an intensity that belied her youth. “I’m pleased to hear it, Jonn of the Eternal Village,” she replied, her voice carrying a melodious lilt. “Our journey was indeed smooth. The Barren Hills of Deepshadow grow more expansive by the day, and the roads are increasingly lifeless.”

  Her words dripped with barely concealed satisfaction, a hunger for opportunity that was impossible to ignore. Jonn understood the sentiment without judgment. To the Dayflare Family, these barren lands represented a potential kingdom, a chance to elevate their status to the pinnacle of Valorian society.

  Refocusing the conversation, Jonn gestured towards his village with a welcoming sweep of his arm. “My lady, you must be weary from your travels. Please, let’s leave conversations and plans for tomorrow. Now, allow me to accompany you to the place we’ve prepared for your group. We have little, but you and your primary companions won’t have to sleep in tents.”

  Isabelle nodded her assent, falling into step beside Jonn and Elia as they made their way toward the village entrance, the Dayflare mages following close behind. The village guards remained at attention, their outward composure belying the nervous sweat trickling down their backs as they watched their ‘enemies’ enter their home.

  Those posing as Dayflare Family guards felt particularly uneasy, the fear of discovery a constant whisper in their minds. But as the newcomers settled in, this anxiety ebbed.

  Of the roughly 180 new arrivals, over 100 appeared to be ordinary laborers, likely sent to assist with field expansion and the establishment of the family’s outpost. The remaining 60 or so guards, apart from the mages, seemed uninterested in interacting with the villagers.

  A part of the guards accompanied the mages into the village, while others remained with the convoy. The wagons, laden with construction materials and farming implements—items requested by William and Hank—began to be unloaded by the workers. A small reconnaissance team branched off to survey the surrounding terrain.

  As activity bloomed around them, Petyr issued orders to his own men. “Back to your posts, everyone. Mind your words and actions. We can’t afford any missteps.” His command dispersed the reception formation, sending men back to their guard positions or to shadow the newcomers.

  Meanwhile, within the village proper, Jonn and Elia began their tour with Isabelle Dayflare.