Wattyson walked with a limp, surrounded by halberdiers escorting him to the Bavasr official’s tent. The morning cold still breezed through the thick forest and canopy ceiling. The staff he held onto normally used by him as a support walking stick was instead dragged along the soft dirt below.
His eyes were barely opened. His pace was glacial. He was delaying it as long as possible. The halberdiers took notice of course, but they were just happy they didn’t have to drag anyone by the collars. They were happy to play along with his small protest. After all, once they escorted him to the tent, their job was done.
Nearby people who were busy with their early morning’s duty looked to them with growing half-awe and half-skeptic. They didn’t know who that robed person was, but they sure knew he was part of that group in the dungeon. Yet right now, said robed person was being escorted by the kingdom’s guards—not the guild’s. Were they bringing him for praise and rewards, or for questioning if the group with the Chosen One actually slew the dungeon’s ‘Challenger’.
“How much longer?” Wattyson asked. His gaze remained on the ground ahead.
The leading halberdier didn’t glance back. “At our current pace? Roughly an hour, sir.”
An hour? The hub couldn’t be that large…. Even if he was dragging his foot, it wouldn’t take that long. Were they really taking him to the meeting place—wherever that Bavasr’s tent is?
He couldn’t let that go. “How far is that tent?”
“It’s not at the official place, that’s for certain.” Halberdier replied, already anticipating this. “The official requesting to meet you doesn’t want other officials to pry their eyes to the meeting. It’ll be a private tent.”
Wattyson couldn’t understand this. Why were they meeting discreetly? This was about the land—the Red Grove, surely the official would want more eyes on this. All prior meetings over the past years had been exactly that. A thought rose at the back—the timing was too much of a coincidence. He had gang-pressed Naciv into serving as his informant, and now they just killed a corrupted werewolf in the dungeon. Could this official be another player in the supernatural world? If so… If this was connected with the werewolf, then this official could be the informant branch of the Gaia’s fanatic followers—a Corax?
“May I ask why?” Wattyson followed up.
He could see the halberdier faintly shrugged beneath all the armor. “I do not know, sir. We were only told to escort you to them.”
His teeth gritted. The lack of information was grinding him. Nonetheless, he kept asking for any scraps of intel. “Does this official know who I am?”
The halberdier shook his head slightly without turning to him, “I do not think so. He gave the order using your description from a page.”
“A page?”
“Yes, sir. He used it as visual aids when informing us.”
“What was the paper about?”
“Oh, regarding the Red Grove of course.”
“Right…”
This ‘official’ seemed to not know him, but had a paper regarding him and the Red Grove. Wattyson figured the entirety of Bavasr had a wanted poster on him or something. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched as the kingdom repeatedly tried to expand into that forest.
“Do you know what that official look like?”
“Oh, just an average official sir. Black and red color tone attire for a middle management role. Round face, blue eyes, stubby nose and black hair. Do you know someone like that, sir?”
“No, I don’t believe I do.”
Wattyson clicked his tongue faintly. If there was ever a supernatural masquerading as common people, the middle management role would be the ideal spot—not too much attention nor lack of any knowledge, or leverages.
“How many would be there? In that private meeting?”
“I believe only two of us will be standing guard outside the tent. The official requested whatever happened in the tent is privy to you and him only. We wouldn’t be hearing anything.”
His eyes narrowed. Why was this meeting so private? Two standing guards were fine, but wouldn’t even be hearing anything? The meeting was taking place in a tent, sounds would leave easily for guards to hear. Everything about this meeting seemed bogus.
There was no more question to ask—pointless to continue with so many vague answers. The halberdiers likely wouldn’t know anyway. They were all trained for fighting, not to question orders too much.
His walk posture returned to normalcy—no longer limping. The staff was finally used as a walking stick. The guards noticed the increase in pace matched their own with him. The only answer he would get to his own question now would be from that official.
From the bustling Hub with many adventures and workers alike cleaning and preparing the place to now an isolated corner with one singular large tent. Such size was used mostly for medical, mess hall, sleeping or war meeting area, yet right now it was for a one to one meeting.
The halberdiers that were escorting him stopped upon the entrance. No words were exchanged, but the two behind Wattyson nodded to the captain, and went to stand guard at the front’s corners. The captain went inside to announce their arrival to the official.
He returned back and spoke to Wattyson. “He is ready for you, sir.” With that, he raised a swirling hand—a signal for two other halberdiers with him to follow as they left the tent’s perimeter.
Wattyson was now alone before the tent’s entrance flap. The two corner guards were far enough to not hear anything he said now or inside—true to what that captain said earlier. Wasting no more time, he walked in using his staff to brush the flap aside.
The inside was like an office space. Files cabinets lined up to the desk in the middle, yet far from the wall of the tent itself. There were seats of course in front of the desk, one of cushion and one of normal chair.
The person in question—the official was seated at that desk in a wooden chair. He had the same appearance as the halberdier described him, and right now he was darting all over the place. A quick signature here, another to the left then he crouched under the table and pulled out whatever folders he kept there.
Wattyson didn’t wait for him. He stepped forward and quietly sat in the cushion chair. If he was going to talk about the land and anything political, he might as well be comfortable.
The official finally perked up to grab a cup of coffee before him, then he noticed Wattyson. “Oh! Sorry, sorry!” He immediately stood up. “I didn’t notice you come in. Please sit… or you’re already seated. Please make yourself comfortable. Do you need anything for drinks?” He hurriedly opened one of his file cabinet and took out a fuming kettle with a cup with a tea bag inside.
Wattyson leaned to his chair, and raised a warily hand. “You don’t have to accommodate me—“
“—I only have green tea. Will that suffice?” The official ignored him, and placed the kettle and the cup across Wattyson.
Wattyson gazed to the cup and back to this official. He seemed flustered like he was trying to appease his own boss. Wattyson sighed, “Green tea is fine.” He watched that official poured the hot water that might as well be boiling. It got him to click his tongue again though silently since he hated the taste of bitter.
“Please,” the official nudged the cup forward to him and sat back down, “drink when it’s your convenient.”
Wattyson took to the cup and only did a small sip. It was indeed bitter because of that boiling water, never mind the fact it was still at boiling temperature.
“What’s your name?” he asked to the official. “I rather know the person I’m talking to before we talk further.”
“My name? It’s Krestial.”
“Krestial. Alright.” He set the up back onto the desk. “You and I never met. How did you find out about me?” The halberdier said he learned it from a paper. Would he say the sam—
“Oh, from a paper. We’ve been trying to expand into the Red Grove for a while, but couldn’t. There’s always someone listed as living in the Red Grove.” Krestial bent down and pulled out a dossier. He held onto it like a treasure. “It has every known information about that forest. It’s one of the three copies in the world.”
Wattyson didn’t like the idea of himself being in someone’s official files. It was half the reason he wanted to live in isolation. He shook the contempt away. “Right. Why don’t we get to the point? What do you want to talk about?”
Krestial set the dossiers aside. “Yes, of course.” He leaned and rested his arms onto the table. “I had orders from the top.” He paused for a second. “Well… not I per say, but all of us in Bavasr has orders regarding the Red Grove and you specifically, sir. We are to talk to you regarding that forest. It is imperative.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Imperative? Why would that be? Watytson was just a person who lived in it, and… “Wait, why are you calling me sir?”
Krestial sheepishly leaned back. “Well… because you own the whole forest by virtue of being able to live there. In our eyes, you’re a fellow sovereign.”
“Sovereign? Right… a sovereign meeting with middle management.”
“I’m terribly sorry, it’s just… the area where I saw you isn’t right for, well, royal audience.”
“I’m not a sovereign. I just live there.”
A loud thud from Krestial slamming the table to lean forward. “Sir! You living there in that impossible forest already give you such right. It’s only fitting!” He flustered and sat back down. “Sorry for… my behavior, but most higher up do… see you like that.”
“Right,” Wattyson didn’t let his guard down. “A sovereign yet you people kept trying to tax me still.”
“Well… our queen kinda see the forest as her own so, for that we apologize.” Krestial faked a cough. “I would like to steer our conversation to the land ‘Red Grove’. I don’t want to take too much of your time.”
He quickly sipped whatever in his cup like it was his liquid courage. “Before we start, why don’t we go over what we at Bavasr know of the forest.” His eyes darted to him then to his cup repeatedly. “Can we?”
The answer didn’t come immediately. Wattyson’s eyes lingered on him, studying him. If this was truly about that land, he would cooperate begrudgingly, but if it wasn’t… If it was a question starter that eventually lead to matters of the supernatural… Wattyson sighed. “Alright. Go on.” He would answer accordingly. He rather not let the supernatural world aware he was active again. For all they knew, the hunter was retired.
The official’s eyes lit up. “Thank you!” His voice rang loud from the affirmation. Taking to the dossiers again, he opened it up and began. “Us in Bavasr are aware the forest is large, roughly the size of a small duchy. The Forest of Elisum which we have now referred to as the Red Grove, due to you calling it such, border five kingdoms. Your cabin is more adjacent to Bavasr in distance and to Innversa through the small town of Tamare.”
Noticing the pause from Krestial as he looked up to Wattyson, Wattyson gave a small nod confirming what the official just said.
That small nod he took it as a sign to continue. “We are aware there are large beasts and hostile vegetation preside and thrive in the Red Grove. Beasts like natural animals, but they have evolved to be more hostile. Rhino for example has one horn front, yet the same Rhino branch in the Red Grove has horns lined up on the front and along the shoulder plate. As for vegetation, there are organism like a venus fly trap, but it is able to walk with thick roots like it is dragging itself across the ground.”
“Hm, your kingdom has done their homework.”
“Yes,” Krestial closed the dossiers. “After many attempts to colonize and expand, we had a lot of closed up experiences. It is also why we don’t understand how you, Ser Wattyson, somehow live in it. Not only that, the path between the town of Tamare and your cabin remain the only safe passage.”
He let out a nervous chuckle. “This is likely why the higher up believe you’re somewhat of a sovereign.”
“How about we stop talking how you all see me as a sovereign and talk about the land itself?”
“R-right, Sir!”
Krestial just sat while shifting through mountains of papers on the desk. He clawed them out then put them back in only to accidentally pulled it out again. His movement was erratic and his face was growing more pink.
Wattyson sipped that bitter tea once more. “You didn’t prepare, did you?”
“…I might’ve not. To be honest… I didn’t expect you to show up from what the files said on you.”
That word again—the ‘file’ or dossiers or paper. Just what kind of character was this Wattyson fellow? “Krestial. What did your page say about me?”
Krestial answered immediately, “It says you’re a grumpy person and didn’t like crowded places. That you don’t like authority or bureaucracy, and that uhh… you like to get straight to the point if interacting with one when protest is no longer valid.”
He glanced to him. “I asked for this tent to be cleared out for you and me. Did I do it right? Oh god, I hope the file cabinets being this close to the desk surrounding us isn’t crowding you.”
Wattyson waved a hand to say ‘pay it no mind’ and let him get back to finding whatever it was he was clawing the papers out. His head was still paranoid—Krestial arranged this to accommodate him? It was a likely scenario for a supernatural. After all, they didn’t want to be known and this was perfect pretense to silently gauge him. Not to mention, that damned page about him…
To think that damned kingdom had been documenting him since their first encounter regarding the Red Grove seethed him. The first meeting was a shouting match. The second and third was mostly vague talk and so on till the sixth, Wattyson just sat in those meetings and gave them the silent treatment. Why would they note on that? Did they really care about the Red Grove that much?
Eureka! He wouldn’t waste time speculating when the perfect source of information was right in front of him—Krestial.
“Krestial. Why does the Kingdom of Bavasr want the Red Grove so much? Besides the queen seeing it was hers?”
“Huh?” Krestial replied, confused by the question. “I thought you knew?”
“I don’t, hence I asked.”
“Uhh… I don’t know either sir.” He meekly shrunk lower on his chair. “I’m only a small noble working for their bureaucracy. I’m not privy to those.”
Wattyson frowned. “Then how are we going to talk about the land if you don’t even know why the kingdom wants the forest?”
“Have no fear, sir!” He perked up, doubling his efforts to find the papers he was looking for. “Once I get those documents, I’ll be sure to tell you.”
“Did you not even read it?”
“I did, but…” He stopped for a moment to scratch the back of his head. “I… kinda forgot.”
Wattyson sighed and leaned into his cushion comfy chair. “Alright, find your papers so we can get this over with…”
“I’ve found it, sir!” Krestial took chunks of the papers and settled down onto the floor behind his desk. Then he started laying out the relevant ones across the desk.
“Now, regarding your question earlier.” He stood up and nudged the paper to Wattyson’s side. “The Kingdom of Bavasr want these two: Your endorsement to enter the forest, and your help in understanding it.”
The two items seemed to be contradicting to what the queen wanted. Wattyson couldn’t help but ask, “Is that really all?”
To which Krestial nodded confidentially. “Of course, this objective regarding the Red Grove was plastered all over any administrative nobles that might run into you.”
Wattyson narrowed his eyes to Krestial. Did he seriously not remember how the queen wanted the Red Grove? No… he said the queen saw the forest as her own. As far as she was concerned, she saw the forest already hers—the kingdom’s.
That raised another point. Someone from the higher up worded their objective with him to seed cooperation rather than confrontation. It was a form of consolatory from the higher up—a form of apology for wasting his time? Wattyson couldn’t fathom that thought. This was politic—there was always a hidden implication.
“Alright, I’ll bite.” He leaned back, his leg crossed. “What’s your pitch?”
“R-Really? Uhh.” Krestial was taken aback. Again. Did he really make his entire plan over the information the kingdom had on Wattyson? “Would you… be willing to?”
“That’s not how it works, Krestial. I am the owner of the Red Grove. You are speaking and representing the Kingdom of Bavasr. Tell me why you want my ‘endorsement’ and ‘help’?”
“O-of course, I am a noble of Bavasr.” He gulped loudly, the tea in both cups echoed. “Ser Wattyson,” he sat down but straighter then drank a whole cup of his liquid courage. “We believed the forest is vital to the stabilization of a post-Dark Lord’s world. The only dangerous regions are that of the north and here in the middle of Avalevd—the Forest of Elisum. We deemed it is right for us to expand into the forest and colonize it.”
Wattyson raised his eyebrow skeptically. “Colonize it? Only Bavasr? What about other kingdoms and republics? Do we not let them too?”
Krestial quickly gazed down to one of the paper that might as well be his cheat sheet before returning to Wattyson. “Yes and no. Bavasr will only control part of the forest. We will not expand more so than necessary. If other political entities want a slice of the forest, they have to do so on their own merits or with your help.”
“Then why does my endorsement help you with it?”
“Because other nations deem you the de facto ruler of the Red Grove, the entirety of the forest itself on merit itself—by right of survival. Your endorsement would signify to other nations you allow it.”
Wattyson stroked his chin before leaning down on the cushy chair even more. “Say I endorse you, what happened to my area? My cabin? Will I be subject to Bavasr?”
Krestial immediately replied back. “No! You will not!” He hurriedly pulled out a map to show Wattyson. It seemed Bavasr had been planning on how much to control the Red Grove for some time now.
He pointed to a dot on the map—a big star. “This is where you live, sir. We have accurately put it exactly where your cabin is, at least somewhat to the best of our ability. As you can see the red line here is how much Bavasr want to control. It won’t intrude on the path between your cabin to Tamare, if anything it’ll be on the left side of that road from the cabin’s perspective.”
Ten percent of the forest would be under Bavasr’s control, and the cabin would be right next to its new border. Too close for Wattyson’s liking to them, not to mention whatever shenanigans the kingdom might be doing in that forest could snowball into the local ecosystem stampede across his own patch of land.
That border line was likely the maximum they wanted, but never intend to argue for. A classic negotiation hustling technique, one Wattyson was forced to bite. “Krestial. I don’t’ like that border line. How much is the kingdom willing to reduce it?”
Krestial clearly rehearsed for this. “We would be willing to go down to around six percent of the land owned. It’ll be roughly… fifteen to sixteen kilometer away from the path I mentioned earlier.”
That wasn’t far enough, nor it was too close. Not good, but not the worst. “Alright,” Wattyson nodded his head, “however, I want to set a few conditions.”
He waited for the official to clumsily grab his notepad and pencil. Seeing as Krestial was ready, he began. “One; I will endorse the kingdom in writing with my signature in agreement with that new border line you told me. Two; I will not provide any knowledge on how the forest works. I will not help you. I am not under obligation to help. Three; Upon any more ‘talk’ with me regarding the land will result in me withdrawing my endorsement.”
Krestial nodded along as he wrote. “T-Thank you! I will make sure your words get to the right authority.”
“No.”
“N-No?”
“I want it to get to you, now.” Wattyson stood. “Right here in this tent. I want to sign it. Give me your notepad.”
The poor official confused by this stood frozen. What was the right procedure in this? Did he even have the authority to negotiate and sign?
Wattyson took the notepad from his hand anyway and signed his own name. “Krestial,” he called out. “Sign here, afterward you’ll be the hero of Bavasr. The one who managed to make the Sovereign of Red Grove sign an agreement.”
None of those words even made sense to Krestial. He wanted to settle into this role as a cushion job to escape his House’s responsibility. Now he was to sign an agreement? He did it anyway while narrating himself, “I, Krestial Kristian, shalt sign this notepad as an agreement between the Kingdom of Bavasr and the Sovereign of the Red Grove.”
The notepad remained open on the table. Krestial sat back down, realizing he just did something way out of his station… on a notepad. “T-thank you.” It was an automatic phrase he gave to Wattyson, unsure what to say even.
“Don’t worry about it.” Wattyson said nonchalantly. “I’ll be leaving now.” He did what he said.
Outside, the far away crowds were changed to that of gathering adventurers excited to embark on dungeon diving once more. Wattyson glanced to the two corner, and found the two halberdiers were still there and standing guard.
He clocked to himself that Krestial was not a supernatural, but… there were likely one in the kingdom’s bureaucracy. He didn’t like the fact there were files on him just because he was linked to the Red Grove. Why would anyone keep track of him because of that? A small thought that perhaps they just wanted to know who they kept negotiating it with? That thought was brushed away.
He tapped his staff lightly as he left the perimeter of the tent. His business was done. Bavasr got what they wanted, and he too got them to stop bothering him. Now, he had the grueling task of walking back to the tent where Arlene would be.
