Chapter 523: A Ground Covered in Black Oil No One Asks About, Then the Music Plays and the Dance Continues

Serene Spirit Wilderness, Sorrowful Wood

The ancient trees’ branches twisted into knotted claws, reaching toward the Gray-Dim sky. Black moss streaked like tear stains covered the bark. The ground was muddy and slick, exuding the scent of decaying plants.

Almost no light penetrated the forest.

Gloomy, heavy.

Only the occasional cluster of fungi emitted a faint phosphorescent glow, or a few malformed dark flowers provided negligible illumination.

Sadness, anger, hunger, fear...

The red-iron dragon walked through this stand of trees and could clearly sense the emotional fluctuations within.

It was similar to how it felt in Verdant Home Grove, but positioned on the exact opposite end of the spectrum.

Moreover, it was not a fierce psychic assault so much as a subtle permeation, a stain that seeped into the mind like a fine drizzle, silently coating consciousness with shadow.

Garoth possessed the Heart Like Iron trait, and the frenzied flame helped blunt most mental attacks.

Still, even he could not help but feel a faint irritation.

It was like fine sand under scales, not painful or itchy, but constantly rubbing and wearing at him.

He noticed his breathing was a touch heavier than usual, his claws struck the ground with slightly more force, and the crisp snaps of stepping on rotten branches sounded disproportionately loud.

“But the influence here, while unavoidable, cannot distort my judgment.”

Garoth confirmed inwardly.

So much of his life had been spent battling primal urges and the frenzied flame; by comparison, the emotional interference of this wood was mere background noise.

He walked while studying the environment.

Behind the twisted trunks, shadows darted and quickly hid.

They were the wicked fey or other dark creatures that lived here.

They peered at this uninvited guest but dared not advance.

“If I trigger the frenzied flame here, the effect would definitely be more intense.”

He thought.

How would the frenzied flame resonate with the land’s negative emotions? If they met, unpredictable reactions might erupt.

Perhaps I could use places like this to specifically train the frenzied flame.

The idea sharpened Garoth’s attention.

For reasons he could not fully identify, his frenzied flame had been growing harder to control while on the Material Plane; that violent power seemed to stir with a will of its own.

And Garoth’s evolution typically required time and accumulation, not instantaneous leaps.

But in the Serene Spirit Wilderness, where emotional energy concentrated naturally, regaining control over the frenzied flame in a short span suddenly seemed plausible.

The red-iron dragon pondered and pressed deeper into the Sorrowful Wood.

He was not alone.

At his side fluttered a timid but curious little flower fairy, Vive.

The Faerie Dragon Vira had flown off to other fey settlements to spread word of “mutual benefit.”

“It’s so dark here...”

The flower fairy clung to the edge of a scale at the dragon’s shoulder, wings folded close. She shivered at the eerie surroundings and whispered, “H-His Majesty Ignas, this place is scary... Aren’t you... afraid? Should we go more slowly, be extra careful?”

The red-iron dragon paused, silent for a few seconds.

He seemed to consider the question seriously.

Then the enormous, rugged head turned slowly, vertical pupils sweeping over the dim forest.

Wherever his gaze passed, the evil creatures hiding in the shadows held their breath and trembled, not daring to make a sound for fear of drawing the red-iron giant’s attention.

In a wood that belonged to darkness, who the most dangerous presence truly was had become obvious.

Garoth withdrew his stare and looked to the tiny figure on his shoulder.

“Hm, I felt some unease when I first arrived too.”

“But the best way to overcome fear is to face it. The slower you go and the longer you linger, the more fear takes root.”

The flower fairy blinked, thoughtful.

She glanced down at her trembling little hands, then up at Garoth’s imposing visage, and summoned resolve.

“I’m not scared. I’ll overcome my fear...”

She whispered to herself and bravely flew down from the protection of the dragon’s scale.

The instant she left that shelter, the corner of her eye caught movement between the crooked branches of a twisted old tree: a hag-like wretch hid there.

The creature was ugly, skin cracked like old bark, eyes gleaming with malice in the dimness.

The flower fairy froze and was about to scream.

But the hag beat her to it.

It recoiled in panic, trying to cover itself with the few twiggy appendages it had, looking less like a vicious monster and more like a frightened animal desperate not to be noticed.

“Huh?”

Vive’s scream stuck in her throat. She stared, bewildered.

“It seems... afraid of me?”

Seeing that, the flower fairy straightened bit by bit.

If you fear me, then I’ll fear you no longer!

That simple logic doubled her courage.

She flew ahead of the red-iron dragon, and wherever she passed, the wicked creatures skulking about—goblin ghosts crouched at tree roots, shadow bats clinging to vines—backed away in alarm.

“Aha, His Majesty Ignas, allow Flower Fairy Vive to clear the way for you!”

Vive regained her bright cheer.

She waved a tiny fist and grinned, “With me here, those evil creatures won’t come near you!”

She knew exactly what they feared.

Behind her, the red-iron dragon walking at a measured pace was the source of their dread.

Still, she enjoyed the borrowed authority; this charade gave her a sense of safety in the gloomy wood.

“All right, then we’ll count on you.”

The red-iron dragon stepped forward unhurriedly.

He had come not only to observe and to consider training the frenzied flame, but also to see if the haunts of the wicked fey offered resources worth noting.

Soon he stopped before an orchard.

This orchard differed dramatically from those in Verdant Home Grove.

The trees were twisted and stunted, as if invisible pain had bent them low. Leaves were yellowed with black spots, like rusted metal.

The fruits they bore were dull and misshapen—some like dried hearts, some like twisted faces, some bristling with spikes.

Garoth could clearly sense that these fruits radiated strong negative emotional energy.

Vive cautiously poked her head out and began to explain, pointing to the fruits.

“This one is Black-Hush; eating it will make you gloomy for a whole day. That one is Gray-Dim; take one bite and you’ll have nightmares. And those spicy-looking ones...” She pointed at a dark red fruit shaped like a chili pepper.

“Eating them makes you lose control and get furious.”

“One of our Pique spirits once took a nibble and got so angry he smashed his favorite mushroom house.”

As the flower fairy described them, Garoth’s gaze shifted and finally fixed on the Angry Fruit.

It resembled a chili, its surface covered with dense ridges and pits—like solidified flame or a network of blood vessels.

The red-iron dragon reached out and plucked a single Angry Fruit.

He sniffed it; a sharp, acrid scent struck his nostrils and a sudden prickling irritation surfaced.

He studied it up close for several seconds, but did not eat it.

To bite such a fruit recklessly might trigger a violent reaction with the frenzied flame and risk losing control; precautions were necessary.

“How awful it smells. Really awful.”

Vive covered her nose with tiny hands and scrunched her face.

“They must be even worse than I imagined. Your Majesty, please don’t try it!”

Garoth said nothing and continued to inspect the orchard.

He noticed the fruits, despite their grotesque shapes, were generally plump and large, heavy on the branches.

“These fruits look very full.”

He spoke thoughtfully.

“Yes, that means they taste worse.”

Vive answered matter-of-factly. “The wicked fey who live here are either afraid, angry, or mad all the time. Their bad emotions sink into the soil and make the fruit ugly and nasty, unlike ours, which grow from joy and love and are fragrant and sweet!”

Garoth paused.

Wait—the fullness of these fruits might be due to the fear the wicked fey felt toward him?

When he entered the Sorrowful Wood, those creatures scattered, and fear filled the air.

Those emotions were the nutrients for this land’s growth.

Doesn’t that mean suppressing and intimidating wicked fey—protecting and treating the normal fey kindly—might actually improve the quality of both kinds of fruit?

“I have made the most perfect choice; worthy of myself.”

Garoth nodded with satisfaction.

Standing with the wholesome fey could maximize the yield of both kinds of fruit—a two-for-one outcome.

“Still, the Serene Spirit Wilderness’s resources aren’t limited to emotional fruits.”

He thought, There are more things here worth investigating.

Garoth strolled patiently through the Sorrowful Wood, searching.

He crossed a depression carpeted with dark moss, skirted past trees that oozed goo, and stepped over a stream of gray-black water.

The forest’s atmosphere remained oppressive, but Garoth’s stride was steady; the eerie setting affected him not at all.

After a while he paused, his large nostrils twitching.

“That smell...”

A familiar yet strange odor jolted him.

Black oil—he detected a scent like black oil!

Throughout Garoth’s growth, black oil had played a vital role.

When refined, this liquid produced tremendous energy.

Even now, he often consumed black oil crystals to stimulate his body and improve training efficiency.

It was not food in the ordinary sense.

Even while dieting to sharpen his digestion, black oil crystals retained their effect.

Yet concentrating and refining black oil consumed vast resources.

Garoth burned astronomical amounts daily.

With the Aola Kingdom’s reserves, he could indulge, but formation of the stuff required long accumulation; the supply was not limitless.

Garoth never minded more black oil fields.

“Black oil in the Serene Spirit Wilderness? That’s good news.”

The red-iron dragon’s eyes brightened, and he moved toward the scent.

Minutes later he arrived at a pool.

The water was pitch black and still, like viscous asphalt.

By appearance and texture, it was the black oil Garoth craved.

But it was not exactly the same.

He could distinctly sense that this oil contained rich emotional energy as well, and it carried all manners of feelings—sad weight, furious heat, the chill of fear, even warped desires.

The red-iron dragon crouched at the pool’s edge.

After a moment’s thought, he extended a claw to dip and sample the oil for closer study.

“? This... ah! Majesty be careful, you can’t touch it!”

Garoth halted and looked to the exclamation-maker, the flower fairy.

Vive fluttered beside his claw, fear obvious on her face, wings beating fast and stirring a small breeze.

“This is the sticky-goo.”

Her voice trembled. “Under Verdant Home Grove we have many places like this, but... sticky-goo is terrifying and super dangerous; you absolutely mustn’t touch it!”

Garoth withdrew his claw and asked, “What makes this sticky-goo so dangerous?”

Vive flapped her wings, flew before his eyes, face tight as she tried to sound grave. “I’ll tell you a story, and you’ll understand.”

“They say a long time ago there was a very mischievous Pique spirit named Poppy.”

“He was extremely curious and always loved to explore places the elders forbade.”

“One day, ignoring the elders’ warnings, he snuck near a sticky-goo patch to play. There wasn’t much there—just ordinary stones and dead twigs. Bored, Poppy took out his favorite bouncy ball, made from moonlight mushrooms and colorful tree fibers. It was gorgeous and very springy, so he bounced it on the clearing.”

“He was so absorbed playing.”

“One careless bounce sent the ball soaring in an arc, and it fell straight into the sticky-goo.”

“Poppy ran over, but the goo was too sticky; the ball sank and couldn’t be retrieved.”

“He was heartbroken, sat by the pool, and cried the whole afternoon until his eyes were swollen. It was his favorite toy.”

“At nightfall, exhausted from crying, he walked home sniffling, didn’t even eat dinner, and collapsed into bed still sobbing until he fell asleep.”

“And then he dreamed.”

“He dreamed his bouncy ball had returned, still so pretty and bouncy, glittering under moonlight. The ball played with him in the garden, bouncing around, and he was so happy... but in the middle of the night Poppy felt uncomfortable, as if he were holding something wet and sticky in his arms.”

“He groggily opened his eyes...”

Vive’s voice dropped lower. “He saw the ball, covered in sticky-goo, lying in his arms! It was moving slightly, like it had life! His bed, his hands, his face—all smeared with the sticky-goo... ah, so terrifying!”

When the tale ended, the flower fairy darted behind Garoth and hid her head as if that would ward off such a frightening image.

Garoth reflected.

The story sounded like a children’s cautionary tale, but he caught key details.

The ball “returned” by itself and “seemed alive.”

Combined with the black oil’s complex emotional energy, a hypothesis formed.

“Could the emotional energy in the black oil animate dead things?” Garoth murmured. “Or more precisely, imbue inanimate objects with emotions?”

If true, then this black oil’s value rose further.

“If refined into crystals and I consume them, the stimulation might hit both body and mind, raising training efficiency on both fronts.”

He calculated swiftly.

“Also, if used as an energy source for alchemical constructs or golems...”

Alchemical golems on planet Bernardo, the higher-end ones, had some intelligence—but their “intelligence” was preset commands and reaction patterns more than true sentience.

They were strong, precise, and loyal, but lacked a genuine soul.

If this emotionally rich black oil were used as fuel, could it awaken a machine soul in alchemical constructs?

Even a nascent fragment would be revolutionary.

Imagine:

When a golem’s engine is destroyed and it is about to shut down, it suddenly utters a low mechanical voice—‘For the Red Emperor’—and, contrary to alchemy, forces itself upright to keep fighting...

Previously the Aola Kingdom’s alchemical industry lagged behind its warriors’ development. Constructs and golems were not advanced enough for combat duty and were limited to hauling and patrolling.

But after winning the Rhen Plateau campaign and acquiring other nations’ technical knowledge, Aola’s alchemical industry was accelerating. It had not yet formed its own signature, more a patchwork of others’ tech.

Now Garoth might have found a distinctive industrial path for Aola.

“Vive, do you recall if sticky-goo is common?”

The red-iron dragon asked.

The flower fairy peered from behind his scale, tilted her head, and considered.

“I’m not sure. I never paid much attention, but I’ve heard many underground places have sticky-goo. Some spots have more, some less, but it’s in many places.”

She hesitated and then asked in puzzlement, “Your Majesty, why do you ask?”

“Both we and the wicked fey dislike sticky-goo. Besides danger, it seems to have no other use. Everyone stays far away so they don’t get smeared.”

The red-iron dragon bared a grin, sharp teeth flashing.

“Soon you won’t fear sticky-goo; you’ll treat it as treasure.”

Garoth said.

The flower fairy shook her head in distress, unable to fathom it—sticky-goo so scary becoming a treasure? But if His Majesty Ignas said it, maybe... maybe it was true.

She decided not to overthink; the great Red Emperor wouldn’t lie.

Garoth offered no further explanation.

He wandered the wood for a while longer, cataloging several unique plants and minerals, marking their locations and characteristics, then returned to Verdant Home Grove with the flower fairy.

Along the way, the wicked creatures continued to hide far off, peering from shadows.

Back in the grove, warm sunlight and cheerful energy made Vive breathe easier; she flitted among flowers, beating her wings happily.

Garoth strolled through the grove.

He had realized many things fey took for granted would be treasures on the Material Plane.

Those items needed discovery—they couldn’t be learned simply by asking, because fey didn’t value them as humans would. They were just part of life.

Time passed at an unhurried pace.

A few days later a familiar shout rang from the grove’s edge.

“The great Vira has returned!”

At Vira’s cry, many fey swirled in like a colorful cloud, cheering and welcoming her home.

Vira performed several delightful aerial rolls and drew gasps and applause.

But soon the fey realized another figure had followed her.

A human man approached, wearing a robe woven from magical vines and some supple tree bark—simple, yet radiating a natural quality.

He appeared around forty, gaunt, with fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, but those eyes were bright and clear, as if able to see through appearances to the essence. He exuded calmness honed over years.

“This is Holis, guardian of the Verdant Grove.”

Vira introduced him to the surrounding fey.

The Serene Spirit Wilderness is dominated by fey, but humans are not rare.

Some stumble in as travelers, some come seeking peace as recluses, and some, like Holis, settle and become part of fey communities.

The fey held little hostility toward humans.

If one respected their customs, coexistence was possible.

“First time meeting you; I brought small gifts.”

Holis spoke gently.

He produced garlands and delicate trinkets from his robe pockets as if by sleight of hand and handed them to the fey.

Seeing their delight, the spellcaster could not help smiling.

However, when he perceived the unmistakable heat in Verdant Home Grove—the aura Vira had brought—the smile faded and heaviness settled in his chest.

Vira’s news sounded too good to be true.

A dragon emperor from the Material Plane had come to solve the long-troubling fiend problem and now proposed mutual cooperation with the fey?

Holis knew dragons better than most.

They were greedy, proud, and violent—predators who treated the weak as prey and deception as a tool.

They might disguise themselves temporarily, but their endgame often was plunder and conquest.

A red-and-iron dragon crossing planes and effortlessly killing a powerful fiend—was that really the work of a faerie dragon’s “avatar”?

No—stories were stories.

Holis suspected the so-called Red Emperor had deceived the naive Vira, and now sought to deceive more fey.

He felt instinctive wariness and aversion.

He had guarded the Verdant Grove for years and took the fey’s simplicity as his responsibility and family.

He had seen outsiders exploit the fey’s goodwill; some succeeded and hurt them; some were stopped, but the process was fraught.

He would never allow outsiders to use the fey’s innocence to harm them.

At that moment the ground gave a faint tremor beneath his feet.

The fey quieted and made way.

A figure more than ten meters long advanced slowly, scales glinting metallic in the sunlight. Each step made the earth tremble subtly.

Is this the Red Emperor?

Holis looked at the red-iron dragon and, at first glance, overlooked the creature’s smallish stature—clearly Garoth had used Transformation.

Holis’s gaze skimmed the dense Battle-Hardened Patterns etched over the scales; those intersecting scars told countless combat tales. He noted the dragon’s extraordinary musculature.

The human’s expression tightened; his suspicion deepened.

Yet he did not retreat.

He inhaled and stepped forward, placing himself between the fey rushing toward the Red Emperor.

These little ones already saw the dragon as a hero and protector, and that worried him further.

“Esteemed... His Majesty Ignas.”

Holis offered a polite greeting, voice steady, then introduced himself. “I am Holis, guardian of the Verdant Grove. First, thank you for removing the fiend’s threat from here.”

“That monster has plagued this place for long; your elimination of it is truly something to be grateful for.”

The red-iron dragon’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Holis’s surface praise carried an undercurrent of hostility.

The sharp-eyed fey sensed the tension and, instead of cheering, quietly backed away in curious caution, peeking to observe the dialogue.

Holis paused; his gaze became steely.

“But allow me to speak plainly.”

He did not mince words. “The fey of the Serene Spirit Wilderness are pure of heart, loving peace and beauty. They may trust and admire you for the power you showed and for my account of events.”

“But I must warn you.”

“Do not treat these innocent beings as things to be deceived or exploited.”

“They have made this plane their home and built many households and communities here; they did not thrive merely by luck or by kindness.”

Holis felt the dragon’s might, a nearly tangible pressure. Tales of his deeds, the Battle-Hardened Patterns, the exaggerated muscular form—all attested to his strength.

But Holis did not fear dragonmight.

Living here long, he had formed deep bonds with the land.

And in the Serene Spirit Wilderness, the legendary are powerful but not omnipotent.

A foreign evil dragon that dared behave badly would not fare well.

Across from him, the red-iron dragon listened quietly.

He heard the guard’s warning—indeed a veiled threat—but showed no anger or condescending disdain.

Instead his posture relaxed, as if expecting such a conversation.

The giant head tilted and he considered the man.

“Holis... a human who found belonging and responsibility in a foreign land.”

Garoth said slowly, voice low. “I have seen many like you.”

“Leaving one’s homeland to root in strange soil, defending the beliefs and people you come to accept, and being wary of outsiders—especially those who seem strong and unfamiliar—this is prudent and the duty of a guardian.”

There was even a trace of approval in his tone, which surprised Holis.

This dragon... acknowledged him?

Holis blinked; the rebuttals he’d prepared stuck in his throat.

He had expected rage, scorn, or suppression by dragonwill, not something like this.

The red-iron dragon continued evenly, “I understand your concern.”

“A mighty dragon crossing planes and proposing cooperation with the weak can sound like the start of a clumsy fairy tale or a carefully planned scheme.”

“In many stories, dragons are either treasure-thieving scoundrels or the ruin of kingdoms.”

He shook his head. “But not all dragons live only for greed and conquest, nor must cooperation be built on deceit and extraction.”

“I rule a growing kingdom and understand the value of order, sustainability, and mutual benefit.”

“Short-term plunder might bring fleeting wealth, but long-term cooperation creates true prosperity.”

Garoth’s speech was composed and logical, absent the arrogance typical of many dragons.

He even made an effort to see things from Holis’s perspective and validate the guardian’s wariness.

That approachable, reasonable demeanor coming from such a majestic dragon king was striking—and persuasive.

Holis’s expression eased, his grip on his staff loosened slightly.

This dragon was not a conventional malignant drake.

Holis knew not to judge individuals by their species. Dragons were long-lived and wise; each had unique values. At the very least, this Red Emperor did not resemble a mere plundering tyrant.

“The fey are simple but emotionally perceptive.”

Holis mused. “If he bore malice, they might not recognize it rationally, but they certainly would not adore him. Judging by their behavior, they truly like this dragon.”

“Your... insight surprises me.”

Holis looked at the giant and the edge of his voice lost some of its initial sharpness. “Perhaps you are not the kind of typical draconic ruler I imagined.”

“Typical?”

The red-iron dragon chuckled softly. “Maybe.”

“Every ruler has choices. Mine is to gather different wisdom and strength to walk toward a broader future.”

The atmosphere relaxed further.

Though they did not grasp the serious topic, the fey sensed the tension easing and resumed low, happy chatter.

The red-iron dragon allowed a faint smile.

Humans often bore a natural streak of defiance toward superiors, yet when a superior displayed kindness and approachability, many subordinates warmed to them.

A subtle Art of Manipulation at play.

After discussing the Serene Spirit Wilderness for a while, Garoth seemed to grow curious about Holis himself.

He suddenly asked, “Before you became a guardian, which Material Plane did you come from? From your speech and knowledge, you appear to hail from a highly developed civilization.”

Holis was taken aback—he had not expected such a personal question.

He thought a moment and felt no reason to conceal the truth.

“I come from a continent called Faerun, from the Nethereil Arcane Empire.”

“Our... arcane civilization once shone with incomparable brilliance and reached heights ordinary mortals can hardly imagine.”

An arcane empire?

A magic-centered empire like that fit the name.

On planet Bernardo, empires and kingdoms were not typically lawfully oriented around spellcasters. Warriors and knights were more common; casters were powerful but few, and reaching crown-level was rarer.

Bernardo’s industry emphasized alchemy, not arcane tech.

Garoth’s interest piqued.

He adjusted his posture and made himself comfortably reposed, adopting a listening pose.

“In my world there are also powerful empires whose citizens feel pride in their nations.”

“As a legendary mage, you must have had status. Why leave such a civilization for the Serene Spirit Wilderness?”

Holis fell silent a few seconds, returning to memories both cherished and scorned.

His gaze grew distant as he recalled his homeland.

He sighed and then spoke with complex emotion, “In Nethereil, spellcasters lived in cities floating above the ground, utterly divorced from the surface.”

“We wielded arcanes beyond ordinary conception, looking down upon the masses with godlike eyes.”

“Those cities were magnificent, intricate, full of magical wonders, yet cold and distant.”

This sounded a bit like the Halden Empire—but apparently stronger.

Garoth considered.

Halden had only a few Sky Cities until the Abyss development accelerated their numbers; many Halden cities still sat on the land. From Holis’s description, Nethereil’s casters had abandoned the ground entirely.

Perhaps it had been too long since Holis had spoken of the Material Plane. Feeling reassured by the dragon’s listening posture, Holis opened up.

“To live in the clouds and away from the earth sounds beautiful,” he murmured. “No muddy corruption, no worldly clamor—only pure study of magic and the pursuit of knowledge. But casters became arrogant and even indifferent.”

“In our empire, magical talent was the sole criterion for rank.”

He grew sober. “Those who couldn’t cast were no longer regarded as ‘people.’”

“They were called ‘terrenes,’ meaning ‘creatures of the ground.’”

“Among some magic nobles, hunting and eating people became a fad—not metaphorical but literal.”

“Spellcasters treated talentless humans like livestock, not kin.”

Holis’s face twisted with disgust and helplessness.

“I was born into a sorcerer family and had good talent; I could have comfortably enjoyed life in the sky cities, looking down on terrenes like ants.”

He paused, voice lower. “But perhaps I was too empathetic by nature.”

“I could not accept a system where talent determined one’s right to live.”

“I often wondered—if I lacked magic, would I end up on a caster’s table? Or be slain by another caster for sport?”

“To lose one’s humanity for lack of a gift—that’s intolerable.”

Holis sighed and continued, “The imperial system is massive and entrenched. Though I am a legend, I could not change it.”

“I proposed reforms.”

“I tried to establish laws protecting the terrenes and teach empathy at the academies... but each attempt failed.”

“I felt I was doing the right thing, yet became an outlier.”

“My family and kin slowly withdrew from me and treated me as a problem to be corrected.”

“So I chose to flee.” His voice grew calm. “I crossed a planar channel and arrived in the Serene Spirit Wilderness. Here... I felt peace and authenticity.”

“Fey don’t worship me for magic nor reject me for being human.”

“They look at your heart and deeds. Here I can finally breathe.”

Garoth listened quietly and inclined his head.

“Seeking inner peace and faith—an admirable choice.”

The red-iron dragon said slowly, “In my world a similar empire exists. Its Sky Cities now sit high in the clouds. They haven’t reached Nethereil’s extreme, but the trend is similar.”

Holis’s expression turned earnest.

He looked to Garoth and implored, “If possible, Your Majesty Ignas, please remind them: don’t live in the sky.”

“Over time, those in the clouds will no longer be ‘people,’ nor consider others ‘people.’ Distance breeds separation, separation breeds arrogance, arrogance breeds cruelty. When you regard those on the ground as ants, you cease to be one of them.”

At this Garoth smiled deeply.

“One day, when conditions permit, I will try to bring them back to the earth.”

He said it but gave no specifics.

Holis did not catch the dragon’s implications. He nodded. “Thank you. I cannot bear to see other realms repeat that path—a road to darkness that will consume everyone, even spellcasters who think themselves safe.”

Garoth then asked, “Does the Nethereil Empire—or other empires in your world—have interest in the Serene Spirit Wilderness? Since you are here, do you have familiarity with this plane?”

Holis considered then shook his head.

“As far as I know, no empire has extensive interest in the Serene Spirit Wilderness.”

“Nethereil’s casters prefer exploring the Astral Plane, chasing grand or essential mysteries.”

“The Serene Spirit Wilderness is too emotional and irrational for them; it doesn’t fit their worldview.”

“Of course, individuals or small groups might set secret observation posts or research stations, but nothing at an imperial scale.”

The Astral Plane... Garoth mulled the word.

It was vaster, a plane of thought and spirit.

Powerful realms commonly develop other planes for resources.

Nethereil eyes the Astral, Halden digs the Abyss, and other Material Plane empires explore different planes—yet here Garoth stood in the Serene Spirit Wilderness.

It could not match the Astral or the Abyss, but it was a promising start—and much safer.

Garoth also recognized another potential risk.

Nethereil had little interest, but other Material Plane powers might involve themselves. Cross-planar resource development could collide with other powerful realms and spark competition or conflict.

“Thank you for your candor, Lord Holis.”

Garoth said, “Your experience and insight help me.”

“They give me a clearer understanding of the Serene Spirit Wilderness and strengthen my conviction that cooperating with guardians like you and the fey who truly love this land is the right path.”

He paused, and his huge body slowly rose, casting a great shadow.

“Now, let us discuss business.”

“If the Verdant Grove is willing to join cooperation, we can start with specific, cautious projects—after building sufficient trust and understanding, we can explore deeper collaboration.”

Holis looked at the mighty dragon; his initial hostility had nearly vanished.

He had to admit this dragon did not match his mental image of an evil drake.

The creature was wise, patient, willing to listen and understand.

Holis felt he spoke with an ancient and sagacious being—perhaps, in the Material Plane, a kind of Ancient Dragon who had mastered its nature.

“...We can try.”

He finally said, “The Verdant Grove is willing to join the cooperative framework with you and Verdant Home Grove, but the details must be negotiated to ensure fairness and protect fey interests.”

Holis’s endorsement was significant.

Garoth had learned from Vira that many guardians of other fey settlements were cautious; they preferred someone with experience like Holis to assess the situation first.

Holis’s approval effectively stamped the cooperation with legitimacy.

“I come in good faith to negotiate simply.”

The red-iron dragon smiled faintly. “Before that, let us hold a small celebration to mark our forthcoming cooperation.”

“The Serene Spirit Wilderness likes joy, does it not?”

Without waiting for Holis to respond, he lifted his head and bellowed in a booming voice, “Everyone, play music and dance!”

“Bring out your tastiest fruits and sweetest nectar! We shall hold a banquet to enjoy joy and beauty and celebrate new friendship and cooperation!”

“Hooray!”

“Banquet! Banquet! We’ll have a feast!”

“Bring my tambourines!”

“I’ll do the new butterfly dance!”

The fey cheered and joined in, and Verdant Home Grove burst into life with vitality and laughter.

Holis watched the mass of fey surround the red-iron dragon and felt astonished.

This legendary Red Emperor had arrived recently but seemed to have already adapted fully to the Serene Spirit Wilderness, blending in as if native.

Holis’s last doubts faded.

He lifted his staff and wore a genuine, relaxed smile as he walked toward the now lively banquet area.