My whole body ached. Every inch of me throbbed from the previous night's chaos. My ears were still ringing, and my head spun from the sheer absurdity of it all. I woke up in the middle of the deck, surrounded by snoring Dark Elves, like a post-apocalyptic slumber party gone terribly right.
Not far from me, Count Gerhart was already up and chatting cheerfully with Lady Deidre and Eideard—who, much to my surprise, was now dressed in far more casual attire. Still monochrome, of course. But at least no more edgy armor or spikes.
"You're awake, Leo! Come join us. Lady Deidre made some excellent ocean soup for breakfast," Gerhart called out with a grin.
I sat on a barrel and helped myself to a cup of bitterbean brew. The aroma alone was stronger and more complex than the one I'd tried back in the Woodkin enclave.
Eideard gave me a look like I'd just downed a cup of venom. Deidre, on the other hand, looked genuinely intrigued.
"Never thought I'd see a human who enjoys bitterbean," she said with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
"Yes, Lady Deidre. I first tried it in the Woodkin forest. Their brew was fruity and bright. But this one…" I took a slow sip, savoring its boldness and earthy undertone. "This one's rich, nutty, and grounded. Both are delightful in their own way."
Yes, I'm a coffee snob and caffeine addict. No, I'm not sorry.
As we sat by the sea breeze and the morning sun, our talk drifted toward serious matters: the future of the Darkkin.
I laid out my thoughts clearly. "Staying isolated like this puts your people at constant risk. You're already being hunted by the Old Kingdom, and living in secrecy only makes others see you as a threat. And let's be honest, this fortress-ship isn't exactly discreet..."
Deidre raised an eyebrow but didn't argue.
"I'd like to propose a formal agreement—between your people, the County of Tilenburg, and Tharros Vale," I continued.
She listened. So did Eideard.
"Tharros Vale will offer your people legal protection. You'll be recognized as free citizens—not outcasts. You'll have the right to travel, work, live, and build your lives like any other people in the realm. We won't interfere with your internal customs or beliefs as long as they don't conflict with the law of the land. You'll share rights, and you'll share responsibilities."
Deidre narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.
"Oh, and yes," I added, glancing at Eideard with a grin, "we'll make sure to organize annual moshpits and music festivals. Details pending."
Eideard smirked. That was probably the first time I'd seen him smile.
"But, Leonhart," Deidre said, "Tilenburg isn't part of Tharros Vale. Are you suggesting we abandon the sea and move inland?"
"A separate agreement will be discussed with the people of Tilenburg. But yes, we'll need to go there, as soon as possible. With your ship. With your people. With everything."
And just like that, something magical unfolded before my eyes.
Deidre rose to her feet and stepped toward the edge of the deck. She began to sing. A soft, ancient melody that echoed through the waves like a memory long forgotten. The ocean stirred.
From the depths, a massive shadow emerged—then a shape. A sea serpent of mythic size, its jade-green scales shimmering in the sunlight. Its head alone was larger than the fortress-ship, and its eyes glowed with intelligence and calm.
"Namar, my faithful friend," Deidre whispered in the ancient elven tongue.
The beast nodded and began to push the fortress forward. Smoothly. Swiftly.
The entire structure moved as though caught in a magical current, slicing through the ocean at breathtaking speed.
"Your companion is... huuuge," I muttered, clutching the nearest railing for dear life.
"Namar is the largest and wisest of the Elven Sea Serpents," Deidre said without a trace of irony. "I sang to him once, and he listened. Since then, he and his kin have protected us, surfacing only when we're in danger."
I stared at her in disbelief.
As if her terrifying menagerie wasn't enough—Hydras, Kharybdiss, Harpies, and gods-know-what-else—now she had a sentient sea god on speed dial.
Note to self: never, ever mess with any elves. Of any kind.
We arrived at Tilenburg faster than anyone expected.
Fishermen scattered like startled gulls at the sight of the Dark Elves' massive floating fortress. On the shore, Count Merkel sat trembling atop his horse, clearly rattled by the sight. Poor man had probably waited for us all night. I gave him a casual wave, and his face shifted into a look of profound, almost desperate relief.
Once on land, we introduced Lady Deidre, the de facto matriarch of the Dark Elves.
The moment Count Merkel caught sight of her bikini chainmail, he let out a high-pitched shriek and covered his face, cheeks burning crimson. Deidre chuckled softly at the reaction. Thankfully, she agreed to throw on a leather jacket—though even covered, she still looked like someone who could kill you with a wink.
Diplomacy, it turns out, is fragile. And sometimes, it begins with asking your ally to put on a shirt.
We gathered at the port. No table, no banners—just a humble circle of four: Count Gerhart, the ever-gentle Merkel, the now less-revealing but still undeniably intimidating Lady Deidre, and myself.
I laid it out simply.I told Count Merkel the whole story—about the Darkkin's isolation at sea, how they were more like overgrown teenagers than monsters, how they meant no harm (except to ears during their ritual concerts), and how they now needed a new place to call home.
"Count Merkel," I began, "I believe the answer to your troubles has just docked. I propose that you offer the Darkkin sanctuary as part of your people. In return, they'll offer their protection. Let them live among you, work with you. And in time, Tilenburg will thrive."
I then turned to Deidre. "Lady Deidre, I'd like to propose a venture. A joint enterprise between your people, Tilenburg, and Tharros Vale."
Her eyes narrowed, intrigued.
"Why don't we rebuild this port into a proper trade hub? Supplies from other realms can arrive here, and goods from inland can be shipped out. You manage the port operations—take a fair cut from all transactions, say... two out of every ten. Not exploitation, just a fair service fee."
She leaned forward, interest sharpening.
"Tharros Vale will oversee inland logistics once the goods pass through the port. Count Merkel's people can work here, and in return, both your parties pay taxes to him. This is his domain, after all. It's only right he's compensated."
I didn't dress it up in fancy language—just laid it out plain and direct.
Count Merkel took a long breath and gave a solemn nod. "I have resigned the fate of House Dalmer, and of Tilenburg, into your hands, Count Gerhart Ironwill of Tharros Vale. From this day forward, the County of Tilenburg shall stand under your protection. We will adopt your laws, abide by your counsel, and honor your decrees."
He bent the knee. Gerhart quickly reached out, lifting him up.
"As long as we are united by the ideals of shared happiness, shared opportunity, and shared responsibility among all peoples and races," Gerhart said, his voice calm but resonant, "then no one needs to kneel. We are equals here. I refuse your subjugation, Count Merkel—because we stand side by side. And should Tharros Vale ever fall into need, I only ask that you remember this day, and do the same."
Merkel was sobbing uncontrollably by then. Deidre simply gave a soft, approving smile.
By sunset, the draft of the Trilateral Agreement was complete—penned, of course, by yours truly.
All parties sealed the pact with a round of Tharros Vale's finest appleberry moonshine.
And just like that, a port was reborn.
The Dark Elves descended from their fortress ship like teenagers stepping out of their mother's basement for the first time in years. Despite the wide-eyed stares from the local fishermen—no doubt expecting ruthless corsairs—the Darkkin were calm, even polite. No swords drawn. No songs of conquest. Just slightly awkward shuffling as they met the land for the first time in who-knows-how-long.
The massive ship groaned as it docked at the far end of the port, now more fortress than vessel. At a graceful nod from Deidre, her people moved in near-silent rhythm, unloading sack after sack of loot. Untouched. Gleaming.
Gold coins, uncut gemstones, polished jewelry, ancient trinkets from forgotten kingdoms... Enough wealth to fund a minor nation. Count Merkel stood frozen, his mouth agape.
"This," I said casually, "will be the seed capital for Tilenburg's future. The trade hub begins here."
Deidre, ever the pragmatist, issued quick instructions for her people to settle in—along with a gentle reminder to observe basic manners when interacting with the locals. A few rules wouldn't hurt anyone.
That evening, we found ourselves in Count Merkel's modest manor. The warmth of grilled fish filled the dining hall. Somehow, Eideard had won the hearts of Adelheid and Angela—Merkel's two daughters—who giggled endlessly as they tugged at his sleeves, demanding more stories.
Lady Edith, regal in her quiet grace, sat beside her husband, clearly mesmerized by Deidre's unique fashion sense—namely, how little fabric it involved.
Red wine from the elves flowed freely, rich and fragrant, an odd yet perfect pairing for the smoky fish.
"Dalmer… Dalmer…" Deidre murmured, swirling her wine. Her brow furrowed, lips pursed. Then, her eyes widened.
"Dalmerix," she breathed, eyes fixed on Count Merkel. "The founder of the Kingdom of Stahlmark?"
I nearly choked.
Count Merkel blinked, scratching the back of his neck. "That... might be my ancestor, yes. Our house dwindled over the centuries. We lived as landless nobles for generations until my grandfather was granted stewardship of Tilenburg."
Deidre leaned in, sharp as ever. "And the Saleri family? The current ruling house—weren't they a cadet branch of the Dalmer line?"
"They were," he admitted, looking down at his plate. "But while they rose, we... fell. I'm the last living Dalmer now."
I turned to Count Gerhart, wordless. He looked back, blank as ever.
"I don't know houses, Leo," he said plainly. "Didn't have one."
And so, at this humble wooden table sat:
—The heir to the kingdom of the Elves.—The last descendant of Dalmerix, founder of Stahlmark.—And the warrior who led humanity to victory against the Demonkind.
We were eating grilled fish.
Like a family of peasants.
I was completely and utterly at a loss for words.