"Donald, let's imagine for a moment: what would happen if Middle-earth could make excellent weapons too, and no longer needed to buy the weapons we produce?"
"Magic Crystals would go up in price." Donald answered without thinking. The answer was obvious: the Dwarves needed to buy food, and if they couldn't sell weapons, they could only sell their Crystals at a higher price.
"Crystals would go up in price? Oh, right, they would. Excellent! You're smarter than I thought! Then what if humans, especially the humans of the Magic Continent, couldn't accept the higher price of Crystals?"
"They'd have to accept it. Oh, unless... unless they started a war."
"You're absolutely right. Unless they started a war. Oh, in my view, war is inevitable. Three thousand years ago, humans started a war because of their insatiable demand for Magic Crystals. The Dwarves, Gnomes, and humans all paid a terrible price in that war. Afterward, the Crystal quota treaty was signed, ensuring three thousand years of peace. And the Extreme North Country had no choice but to expand farther north to mine more Crystals."
"So if something goes wrong with the weapons trade, the quota treaty could be voided?"
"Exactly! That's absolutely right! We need food so badly! Do you know, Donald, our people are mining way up north now. It's an unbearably harsh place. Even with enough food, people keep dying." Natia Vida looked anguished, her voice sorrowful. Donald felt that her grief was genuine.
"I understand! I think you're right. It's necessary to keep trade balanced. I apologize for the impact I've caused you all without meaning to." Donald had been persuaded by her words, and felt some sympathy for the plight of the Extreme North Country.
Natia Vida and Adarua exchanged a glance, both seeing astonishment in the other's eyes. They had never expected the negotiations to go so smoothly. If they hadn't taken the Gnomes' reverence for wisdom into account, Adarua might even have suggested simply killing the boy and ending things once and for all.
"So, you came all the way from the Extreme North Country?"
"Oh, no. I'm the trade ambassador stationed in the Feymont Empire. Adarua is my military attaché."
"So you're the ambassador."
"Please don't be so formal. The Feymont Empire is just a small country that even the Divine Son never visits, so I'm only an insignificant official in the Extreme North Country."
Donald found it hard to digest that the Feymont Empire was only a small country.
"I think you could devote more of your energy to studying magic." Natia Vida recalled the suggestion she had planned to make. Without realizing it, she had already changed the way she addressed him.
"Mm, you're right."
"But as far as I know, you're not yet a formal student at Tris Magic Academy. I think that needs to change! Of course, I mean if you're willing."
Donald considered her suggestion. His progress in magic had indeed slowed lately. Magic Models, Meditation Methods, and knowledge of Magic Arrays all required a great deal of formal study, but this wasn't the time to think about that.
"Is there any way to undo the effects of the Thousand-Tempered Sword incident and the paper I wrote with Mr. Victor?"
"Don't worry. We've used our influence at the Natural History Association to have the paper withdrawn. As for the Thousand-Tempered Sword, we plan to buy their Workshop and shut it down. We'll also compensate them by granting them exclusive rights to sell Dwarven weapons. Oh, I saw the machine in the Workshop. I heard you designed it too. It's a truly magnificent invention. Some of its details would be an excellent source of inspiration for our craftsmen. Would you mind if I had it shipped back to the Extreme North Country?"
"That would give Mr. Merkel an explanation, too. Oh, do whatever you like with the machine."
"I've just had an idea. I don't know if you'd agree to it." Natia said hesitantly.
"What idea? Let's hear it." Donald was still thinking about how to compensate Merkel. He'd have to ask him when he got back.
"I'd like to establish a Laboratory in Dorn City. You could come and advise us whenever you have time. What do you think?"
"A Laboratory?"
"Yes. We have several Laboratories in Middle-earth, and we also buy exceptional inventions and creations."
Donald agreed without giving it much thought. He figured that if he ever needed to make something, it would be easier to do so through the Gnomes' Laboratory.
The negotiations ended smoothly, and the whole process had been exceptionally brief.
With Adarua leading the way, the three of them found Richard and the others with ease. The two visitors from the north didn't appear in front of the group. After quietly saying goodbye to Donald, they slipped away unnoticed.
After a whole night of nonstop trekking and calling out, everyone except Roger, whose strength was nearing that of a Formal Knight, was utterly exhausted. But even now, no one suggested stopping the search. Even Fiona, usually so delicate, gritted her teeth and pressed on. Everyone knew Donald had risked himself to draw the bandits away for their safety.
But as time passed, a sense of foreboding settled over them all. Richard and Kelly's faces showed clear signs of crying. They couldn't bear to imagine what would happen if Donald had been killed.
Lucia was consumed by guilt. If only she'd stayed a little calmer—if she'd cast even one spell, she might have scared the bandits away. Or if only she'd remembered to use that Magic Scroll instead of throwing it away in her panic, Donald wouldn't have had to take the risk. But it was too late now. Because of her mistake, that boy might have vanished from the world forever. His words about Lant Island, and that poem, still seemed to echo in her ears. His calm smile had been right before her eyes only moments ago. When danger came, he had been far calmer than she was. He drew the bandits away, but the forest at night was so dark. He'd charged into that darkness without a second thought. He must have been afraid too. When the bandits caught up with him, would he beg for mercy? Would they spare him? No, he wouldn't stoop to begging, just as he hadn't when he faced Carl and the others...
"Hey, don't be so down, all right? A few petty bandits aren't going to kill Donald! He won't die in some place like this for no reason!" Wesley had spent all night shouting Donald's name, and by the final sentence his voice was hoarse. Roger went over to hug him, but Wesley stubbornly shoved him away and turned his head. He didn't want Roger to see his reddened eyes.
Just then, a familiar voice rang out.
"Hey, what are you all doing? Has anyone got breakfast ready?"
Before you continue