Forest Summit

"Donald, let's imagine—if Middle-earth could produce excellent weapons too, and no longer needed to buy ours, what would happen?"

"Magic Crystals would go up in price." Donald blurted out. The answer was obvious: dwarves needed to buy grain, and if they couldn't sell weapons, they'd have to sell crystals at a higher price.

"Crystals would go up? Oh, right, they would. Excellent—you're smarter than I imagined! But what if humans, especially those on the Magic Continent, couldn't accept the price hike?"

"They'd have to accept it. Oh, unless... unless they started a war."

"You're absolutely right—unless they started a war. In my view, war is inevitable. Three thousand years ago, humans waged war because of their insatiable demand for Magic Crystals. Dwarves, gnomes, and humans all paid a terrible price for that conflict. After the war, the crystal quota treaty ensured three thousand years of peace, and the Extreme North Country had to expand its territory further north to dig up more crystals."

"So if the weapon trade goes wrong, the quota treaty could fall apart?"

"Exactly! Too right! We need grain so badly! You know, Donald, our people are already mining in the far north now. It's brutal up there—even with plenty of grain, people keep dying." Natia Vida's expression was pained, her voice sorrowful. Donald felt that grief couldn't have been faked.

"I understand! I think you're right—maintaining trade balance is necessary. I apologize for any unintended impact I've caused." Donald was moved by her words and felt some sympathy for the Extreme North Country's plight.

Natia Vida and Adarua exchanged glances, both seeing shock in each other's eyes. They had never imagined the negotiation would go so smoothly. If not for the gnomes' reverence for wisdom, Adarua might have suggested simply killing the boy and being done with it.

"So, did you come here from the Extreme North Country?"

"Oh, no—I'm the permanent trade ambassador to the Feymont Empire. Adarua is my military attaché."

"So you're an ambassador, Your Excellency."

"Please, don't be so formal. The Feymont Empire is just a small nation that even the gods' children never visit, so I'm merely an insignificant official back in the Extreme North Country."

The Feymont Empire being just a small nation—Donald found that hard to swallow.

"I think you should spend more effort on learning magic." Natia Vida recalled the suggestion she had planned to make, and had unconsciously changed how she addressed him.

"Hmm, you're right."

"But as far as I know, you're not yet a formal student at Tris Magic Academy. I think this situation must change! Of course, I mean if you're willing."

Donald pondered her suggestion. His progress in magic had indeed slowed recently. Magic Models, Meditation Methods, and knowledge of Magic Arrays all required extensive formal study to acquire. But now wasn't the time to think about that.

"Is there any way to undo the impact of the Thousand-Tempered Sword and that paper Mr. Victor and I wrote?"

"Don't worry about that. We've already withdrawn the paper through our influence at the Natural History Association. As for the Thousand-Tempered Sword, we plan to buy out their workshop and shut it down, compensating them with exclusive rights to sell dwarven weapons. Oh, I saw that machine in the workshop—I heard you designed it. Truly a great creation. Some of its details will be excellent inspiration for our craftsmen. You don't mind if I ship it back to the Extreme North Country, do you?"

"That way, I'll have something to tell Mr. Merkel. Oh, do whatever you want with the machine."

"I suddenly have an idea, though I'm not sure you'll agree." Natia said hesitantly.

"What idea? Tell me." Donald was still thinking about how to compensate Merkel—he'd have to ask about it when he got back.

"I'd like to set up a laboratory in Dorn City. When you have time, you could come and guide us. What do you think?"

"A laboratory?"

"Yes. We have some laboratories in Middle-earth too. Also, we acquire special inventions and creations."

Donald agreed casually, thinking that if he ever needed to do something, using the gnomes' lab would probably make it easier.

The negotiation ended smoothly, the process remarkably brief.

Led by Adarua, the three easily found Richard's group. The two northern visitors didn't show themselves to the crowd but quietly bid Donald farewell and slipped away.

After a full night of nonstop trekking and shouting, everyone except Roger, whose strength was close to that of a Formal Knight, was utterly exhausted. But even now, no one suggested stopping the search. Even the usually delicate Fiona gritted her teeth and pushed on, because everyone knew Donald had risked himself to lure the bandits away for their safety.

But as time passed, a grim foreboding settled over everyone. Richard and Kelly's faces clearly showed signs of crying—they dared not imagine the consequences if Donald had been killed.

Lucia was tormented by self-blame. If she had been just a little calmer, if she had cast just one spell, she might have scared off the bandits. Or if she had remembered to use that Magic Scroll instead of throwing it away in panic, Donald wouldn't have had to take the risk. But now it was too late. Because of her mistake, that young man might have vanished from the world forever. The things he'd said—about Lant Island, that poem—still echoed in her ears. His quiet smile had been right before her eyes. When danger came, he was far calmer than she was. He lured the bandits away, but the forest at night was so dark, and he charged into that darkness without a second thought. He must have been afraid too. When the bandits caught up, would he beg for mercy? Would they let him go? No—he would never beg, just like when he faced Carl and the others...

"Hey, don't be so gloomy, alright? Donald isn't going to get killed by a few petty thieves! He wouldn't die in some random place like this!" Wesley, who had been shouting Donald's name all night, was hoarse by the last sentence. Roger stepped forward to give him a hug, but Wesley stubbornly pushed him away and turned his head—he didn't want the others to see his reddened eyes.

Just then, a familiar voice rang out.

"Hey, what are you all doing? Has anyone made breakfast?"