Chapter 16: The Honored Dryad

The moment the messenger whispered into her ear, Lireath’s eyes lit up.

“Lord Tengen wishes to see you. Alone. In his office.”

The words replayed in her mind like a sweet song.

Alone. With him.

Her cheeks burned as she fought back a grin. Of course, of course he had finally realized. Their countless moments together, the long hours of serving him faithfully, the way she always stood by his side with grace and wisdom… surely he had chosen her now.

She straightened her robes, smoothed out her long hair, and dabbed the faintest touch of powder on her cheeks before briskly making her way toward his temporary office. Every step she took, her heart thumped louder. She imagined his stern gaze, his commanding voice, how he might finally.

Get ahold of yourself, Lireath, she scolded herself, pressing a hand to her chest. You are the Elder of the Dark Elves, not some giddy maiden. But… if he truly wants to be alone… perhaps…

She reached the door, inhaled deeply, and pushed it open.

Inside, Tengen sat at a makeshift desk, papers scattered before him. He looked up the moment she entered. His expression wasn’t stern. It wasn’t warm either.

It was… confused.

Lireath’s heart melted all the same.

“Oh my lord,” she said, practically singing the words as she crossed the room, robes flowing gracefully. She sat down without waiting for permission, hands folded neatly in her lap, the happiest smile plastered on her face.

Tengen raised a brow, his head tilting slightly. “Uh. Why do you look so happy?”

Lireath leaned forward, chin resting on her hands, her voice silky. “Because you wanted me here. Alone. Tell me, my lord, why is it that you desire my company…?”

She let the words linger, heavy with implication.

For a moment, silence.

Then Tengen’s lips curled.

“Oh, I see how it is.”

He stood slowly, pushing the chair back with a scrape of wood. Lireath’s breath hitched.

He stepped around the desk, his movements deliberate, calculated. His eyes gleamed mischievously as he closed the distance between them.

Lireath’s heart hammered against her ribs.

He stopped just inches from her, leaning one hand against the wall beside her head, trapping her in. The classic corner.

Lireath froze.

“My lord…” she whispered, her breath shaky, her knees weak. “W-What are you doing…?”

Tengen leaned closer, his grin widening. His voice dropped low, playful but heavy, like a predator toying with prey.

“What do you think I’m doing, Elder Lireath?”

Her entire face went red. She swallowed hard, her thoughts spiraling.

This is it. This is happening. Oh gods, I’m not ready, no, I am ready, what do I do with my hands!? Breathe, Lireath, breathe!

Her back pressed into the wall, her staff clutched tight against her robes. Her lips parted as if to protest, but no words came out.

Tengen leaned closer still, until his shadow fell over her completely. His eyes locked onto hers.

And then

He burst out laughing.

“PFFFFFT-BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

He bent over, clutching his stomach, his whole body shaking as he laughed loud enough to rattle the walls.

Lireath blinked, her face frozen in a shade of crimson that could rival spilled wine. “…H-Huh?”

“Oh man,” Tengen wheezed between laughs, pointing at her. “You... you should’ve seen your face! I, hah, corner you once and you look like you’re about to pass out!”

“Y-You-!” Lireath’s ears twitched furiously as she slapped her palms against her thighs, glaring at him. “How dare you toy with me like that!”

He wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “Heh. What can I say? I’m getting better at talking to women. That performance? Legendary. Smooth as hell. Call me Tengen-sama, the ladies’ man.”

“Legendary!?” Lireath sputtered, her voice high-pitched with outrage. “You, insufferable child!”

She pushed up from her chair, ready to storm out, her pride shattered into a thousand pieces.

But before she could take a step, Tengen’s voice cut through, low and serious.

“Wait.”

The tone shifted instantly. The laughter was gone.

Lireath paused mid-step, her hand tightening on her staff. She turned slowly, eyes narrowing, studying his face.

This wasn’t the cocky grin, the childish mischief. His expression was firm now, shadowed with something heavier.

He gestured for her to sit.

Reluctantly, she obeyed, though her cheeks still burned from humiliation.

Tengen lowered himself back into his seat, folding his hands together atop the desk. For a long moment, silence hung in the room, broken only by the muffled noise of construction outside.

Then he spoke.

“…I didn’t call you here to mess with you. Not really. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Lireath’s heart skipped, her earlier embarrassment fading into unease.

“My lord?”

His eyes, sharp and unflinching, locked onto hers.

The silence between us stretched after she sat, her expectant smile still lingering. She looked like she wanted me to say something ridiculous—something teasing, playful, maybe even personal.

But I didn’t smile.

“Lireath,” I said quietly.

Her ears perked, her grin widening for a split second. “Yes, my lord?”

I folded my hands on the desk and leaned forward, meeting her eyes. “I want to name everyone in the village.”

Her smile shattered.

“…What?” she whispered, her voice faint, as though she hadn’t heard me properly.

“You heard me.” My tone was steady, deliberate. “All of them. Every Dark Elf. Every guard, every worker, every child. I want them named.”

Her mouth parted in shock. For a moment she just stared, her hands tightening around her staff until her knuckles whitened.

Then she slammed it against the floor, the sharp crack echoing.

“Absolutely not!”

I didn’t flinch. I had expected this reaction.

“It’s for the safety of our people,” I explained evenly. “If all of them are at the level of High Dark Elves, the village won’t be so vulnerable the next time someone tries to invade. Our security will increase. Our standard of living will rise. We’ll be prepared.”

Her eyes trembled. “My lord…”

“Lireath.”

But she didn’t let me continue. She leaned forward, her voice sharp, almost trembling. “Why? Why would you even think to do something so reckless? Do you—”

Her words faltered, her throat tightening. She swallowed hard, then finally whispered the question.

“…Do you still blame yourself for what happened?”

The air went still.

I lowered my gaze, staring at the wood of the desk. I didn’t answer.

Because the answer was obvious.

I could still see the destroyed gates, the broken homes, the faces of my people hiding in fear. All while I was away, laughing and eating with Ren and Sari. Playing the adventurer. Pretending like I had time.

If I’d come back earlier… maybe…

The silence between us was suffocating.

Lireath’s lip trembled, her nails digging into her staff. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, and then she whispered, brokenly:

“…I see.”

She closed her eyes, her voice trembling. “And here I thought… I thought you had gotten better. That maybe you had finally begun to heal. But I was a fool.”

Her tone grew sharper, cutting herself down with every word.

“I despise myself for being such an idiot. To think I—your servant, your so-called Elder—couldn’t see through the paper-thin shield you’ve been holding up. I smiled and believed your jokes, your bravado, your little cocky remarks. I thought it meant you were okay. But you weren’t.”

Her hands shook. “You never were.”

I stayed silent, my jaw tight, staring at the floor.

The shame pressed against my chest like iron.

I could’ve told her to stop. I could’ve told her she was wrong. But I couldn’t. Because she was right.

The silence was deafening.

Then I finally exhaled, raising my head. My voice was calm, but heavy.

“Set up a line at the village center,” I said. “I’ll name them all, one by one.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide.

“Please, Lireath,” I added quietly.

Her lips parted. For a moment, she just stared at me, as if trying to find some crack, some opening in my resolve.

Then she shot up from her seat, slamming her palms onto the desk. “No! Don’t you dare say ‘please’ to me like that! Do you have any idea what you’re asking? Naming one or two is taxing enough—but an entire village? Do you want to kill yourself?”

Her voice shook with desperation, louder than I’d ever heard it. Her usual elegance was gone. This was raw, unfiltered panic.

I forced myself to meet her gaze. My chest ached under the weight of her worry, but I couldn’t back down.

“…I’ve named before,” I said, my tone even. “It’s not as bad as people make it sound. The rumors are exaggerated.”

Her hands trembled against the desk. “You’ve only named one or two at a time, my lord! One or two! That is nothing compared to naming hundreds in one sitting. Your mana, your life force—it could tear you apart!”

She was breathing hard, her words tumbling over each other, eyes wide with fear.

But I stayed still. Calm.

“Lireath,” I said softly, “please.”

That single word made her flinch.

I knew my eyes gave me away. Regret. Despair. Guilt.

Everything I tried to hide came spilling out through the cracks in my mask.

She froze, staring into me, and I knew in that moment she understood.

There was nothing she could say. Nothing she could do.

She had seen the truth: my resolve wasn’t just stubbornness. It was desperation. A man ready to throw himself against the impossible because he couldn’t stand the weight pressing down on his heart.

Her shoulders slumped. Slowly, painfully, she stepped back from the desk.

“…Fine,” she whispered.

The word tasted like poison.

She turned sharply, her robes swaying, striding toward the door.

I lowered my head, closing my eyes. “…Thank you.”

Her hand paused on the frame, her shoulders trembling. She didn’t look back. She didn’t speak.

And then she was gone.

I sat alone in the office, staring at the empty space where she’d stood, my heart heavy with both relief and guilt.

The village square was overflowing. Every Dark Elf who could walk was gathered, their eyes fixed on me. The ruins of their homes loomed in the background, charred wood and broken branches, a reminder of what we’d lost. And now, they looked at me—their so-called chief, their “lord”—as if I actually had the power to fix it all.

Yoruha, Lireath, and Dravel stood behind me. My “guard of honor.” Their presence pressed against my back like anchors. I couldn’t waver.

I stepped forward. My voice carried.

“Everyone, listen. Today, I will name all of you.”

The words crashed like thunder across the square.

Gasps. Murmurs. Disbelieving shouts.

“Impossible!”

“Does he want to die?”

“No one can name that many!”

Their voices blended into a storm of disbelief and fear. But none of them dared openly defy me. Their eyes—wide, unsure, trembling—never left my face.

I lifted my hand, silencing them. “I know what you’re all thinking. But this isn’t about me. This is about us. About making sure this village never suffers again.”

The silence that followed was heavy, expectant.

Lireath had already laid out the system. Warriors first. Strongest last. That way, if I collapsed early, at least the strongest would be named. It was clever, strategic. Typical Lireath.

The first stepped forward: a young man I had seen many times around the village. Everyone spoke highly of him—a magic prodigy, quick to learn, sharp-minded, with potential brimming just under the surface.

He bowed deeply. “Tengen-sama.”

I nodded, studying him. He was nervous, but his eyes shone with determination. Not bad.

“I’ve heard much about you,” I said. “From today on, you’ll carry the name… Zeril.”

The word left my lips, wrapped in power.

Light engulfed him instantly. His body trembled, his hair bleaching white in the blink of an eye, his frame stretching slightly taller. The transformation was unmistakable: evolution into a High Dark Elf.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Even Lireath stiffened behind me.

When the glow faded, Zeril stood there, staring at his hands in awe. Mana surged around him like a storm waiting to break.

He turned, bowed deeply again. “Thank you, Tengen-sama. I feel… stronger. Truly stronger. I will use this strength to protect the village.”

I smirked. “Good. Don’t waste it.”

The villagers buzzed, whispers flying, half disbelief, half awe.

Next came a girl. Lireath had mentioned her before—a strategist, sharp as a blade. Even without books, without teachers, she saw through patterns, battles, logistics. That kind of brain was terrifying.

She bowed gracefully. “It’s an honor, Tengen-sama.”

I narrowed my eyes. “They say you’re brilliant. Smarter than me, even.”

Her lips curled into a giggle. “You overestimate me, my lord.”

That hit harder than it should have. My eye twitched. Smarter than me? A teenager with no Tokyo cram schools, no math drills, no twenty-four-hour study sessions, and she was just naturally this clever? My chest burned with pure, righteous jealousy.

I puffed my chest, masking it. “Hmph. Don’t think I’ll lose to you in brains. I went to one of the top schools in Tokyo.”

She tilted her head. “Tokyo?”

“…Never mind,” I muttered.

I extended my hand. “From now on, your name is Shirina.”

Light blazed again. Her hair shimmered into a silvery hue, her aura intensifying like a drawn bowstring. The crowd murmured louder this time, the disbelief shifting into awe.

Shirina looked down at herself, blinking in wonder, then bowed again. “I… I will not disappoint you.”

“See that you don’t,” I replied, hiding the fact that my stomach was already tightening from the mana drain.

And so it continued.

One after another, villagers stepped forward. Warriors, hunters, scouts, artisans. With each name, light bloomed. With each evolution, the crowd’s awe grew.

But so did the weight pressing down on me.

Lireath could see it. I knew she could. Her sharp eyes never left me. At first, she seemed impressed. Then cautious. Then alarmed.

By the time I’d reached the fiftieth, my breaths came heavier. Sweat beaded my forehead. My chest burned, my vision wavered at the edges.

But I pressed on.

I couldn’t stop.

Not when I remembered the broken homes. The children cowering. The fear in their eyes.

This was my responsibility. My burden. My atonement.

Another.

And another.

And another.

The names flowed, my voice hoarse but steady. The glow of evolutions lit the square like a festival. The villagers began to chant, their fear transforming into something else: reverence. Hope.

“Tengen-sama…!”

“Tengen-sama is incredible!”

“With this, we can stand against anyone!”

Their voices were fuel. I kept going.

Lireath’s lips pressed tight, her knuckles white around her staff. Yoruha fidgeted restlessly, her eyes darting between me and the line, her usual cheer replaced with unease. Dravel’s hand rested near his daggers, like he expected me to collapse at any second and needed to catch me.

But I refused to fall. Not yet.

Finally, the last villager stepped forward. An elder warrior, scarred, silent. His bow was deep, reverent.

I could barely see him through the haze clouding my eyes. My throat was raw, my mana screaming. My body begged me to stop.

But I forced a smile.

“Your name… shall be Varien.”

The glow erupted one last time. The elder’s scars gleamed in the light, his frame strengthening, his aura soaring. He lifted his head, eyes shining with renewed vigor.

And then, at last…

Darkness swallowed me.

I collapsed.

“—Tengen-sama!”

The cry rang out as Lireath and the others rushed forward. Dravel caught me before I hit the ground, slinging me over his back with practiced ease. Lireath’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding despite the panic in her eyes.

“Take him to his room! Quickly! He must rest immediately!”

“Yes, Elder!”

The square erupted in noise—shouts, gasps, prayers—as Dravel carried me away, Yoruha darting alongside, her eyes wide with fear, Lireath striding behind with the stiff poise of someone barely holding her composure.

Behind them, the village erupted into cheers. Their lord had named them all. Their power surged. Their hope rekindled.

But Lireath knew better.

She had seen the way my body trembled, the way my mana flared dangerously thin. Naming an entire village wasn’t power. It was madness.

When they reached my hut, Lireath barked more orders. “Shiki, Saki! Tend to him until he wakes. Do not leave his side for even a moment.”

The twin students hurried to obey, their faces pale.

Only when I was secured did Lireath allow herself to breathe. She slumped against the wall outside the hut, finally exhaling the breath she’d held all this time.

But before relief could settle, a guard sprinted toward her, face a bizarre mix of panic, excitement, and… was that a blush?

“Elder Lireath!” he shouted, voice cracking. “A visitor—at the gate—”

Lireath snapped upright. “What kind of visitor?”

The guard swallowed hard, his words tumbling over each other. “A Dryad, Elder! A Dryad is here!”

Lireath’s eyes went wide. “A… Dryad?”

Why? Why would one of the Dryads—those elusive guardians of the forest—come here, of all places?

Her grip tightened on her staff. She didn’t like this. Not one bit.

“Let her in,” Lireath commanded sharply. “Treat her with the highest respect. The same goes for everyone—make sure she is honored as if she were royalty.”

The guard’s face lit with determination. “Yes, ma’am!” He spun on his heel and dashed back toward the gates.

Lireath turned, her robe swirling, and strode off to prepare herself. Her thoughts raced.

A Dryad visiting here… now of all times…

The temporary office still smelled faintly of ink and wood shavings from the hastily built furniture. It wasn’t much compared to the grand chambers Lireath once knew, but it had already become the heart of the village’s new order.

And today, it housed something… unimaginable.

Elder Lireath sat across the low table, her back straight, her robes smoothed, her every gesture precise. Before her, reclining with an ease that made the humble room feel like a royal hall, was a Dryad.

Sylara.

Her very presence seemed to make the air lighter, fresher. Vines curled lazily across the wall behind her, drawn unconsciously to her aura. Her hair, long and green as spring leaves, shimmered faintly whenever she shifted, as though catching light that wasn’t there.

Lireath, the Elder of the Dark Elves, bowed her head low. “It is an honor, Sylara-sama.”

The Dryad chuckled, waving one delicate hand. “Please, don’t look so stiff. I didn’t come here to make anyone nervous.”

On the table lay a tray of fruit, berries, and roasted nuts, the best they could scavenge on short notice. Sylara plucked a grape, rolling it between her fingers before popping it into her mouth with a smile.

“Mm. Sweet. You Dark Elves really do know how to tend the land,” she said lightly.

Lireath forced a polite smile. Her mind whirled. A Dryad here? At their gates? In all her decades, she had never seen one come in person. The forest’s guardians were rarely seen, even by those who respected them most. And yet here Sylara sat, nibbling grapes as though she were just another villager.

They made small talk at first, Lireath careful, Sylara carefree.

“Oh, did you hear?” Sylara said suddenly, eyes twinkling. “One of the beastkin prides had a wedding last week. The groom fainted halfway through because the bride stepped on his tail during the dance!”

Lireath blinked, then let out an awkward laugh. “…Truly?”

Sylara leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially. “And the Orcs—oh, you’ll love this—apparently their chieftain got into a shouting match with a boar. A boar! They say it lasted hours before the beast finally walked away, looking more dignified than him.”

Lireath pressed a hand to her lips, laughter bubbling despite herself. “That… I can almost imagine it.”

Sylara grinned, clearly pleased. “See? I told you. This forest is full of drama if you know where to look. And I,” she tapped her temple, “see everything.”

The weight in the room lifted for a time. Lireath found herself laughing, relaxing in a way she hadn’t in weeks. But soon, inevitably, her Elder’s instinct tugged her back to seriousness.

She set her cup down softly. “Sylara-sama… forgive me for asking directly, but what brings you to our village?”

The Dryad stilled, her smile fading just slightly. She set aside the berries she had been nibbling, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

“I wondered how long you’d hold it in,” she said gently.

Lireath’s grip on her staff tightened under the table. “It is my duty to know. A Dryad does not appear in a village without reason. What purpose guides you here?”

Sylara sighed, tilting her head, her voice softer now. “First, let me make something clear. I mean you no harm. You, your people—your Lord. I would not set foot here otherwise.”

Lireath inclined her head. “I never suspected malice, Sylara-sama. That is not the way of your kind. My worry lies not in if you mean harm, but why you are here at all.”

For the first time, Sylara’s eyes sharpened. That whimsical air of gossip vanished like smoke.

“…I wish to meet him,” she said simply.

Lireath’s heart skipped. “…Our Lord?”

“Yes. Tengen.”

The Elder’s composure cracked for a moment. She leaned forward, her tone sharper than she intended. “Why?”

Sylara’s lips curved in a knowing smile. “That, I wish to discuss with him present.”

The refusal was gentle, but firm. Lireath’s mind raced, suspicion and anxiety battling within her. A Dryad requesting to meet him, directly…

Her voice softened, almost pleading. “Tengen-sama is… not well. He is unconscious, and we do not know when he will wake.”

Sylara blinked, surprise flickering across her face. Then, genuine worry. “Unconscious? What happened?”

Lireath hesitated only a second before she explained everything—the naming, the strain, how he had pushed himself until his body collapsed.

When she finished, Sylara’s hand covered her mouth. For a moment she was silent. Then she giggled.

Lireath stiffened. “What is—”

“He really is just like Ashryn-sama,” Sylara said warmly, shaking her head. “Reckless. Always trying to shoulder everything alone, doing things on his own terms, no matter the risk. Hah… it’s uncanny.”

Lireath blinked, then let out a long, weary sigh. “…Tell me about it.”

The two shared a look—one of mutual exasperation and strange, almost fond resignation. Then, unexpectedly, they both laughed.

“You have my sympathy, Elder,” Sylara said, patting Lireath’s hand gently. “You’re the one who has to deal with him directly. Hang in there.”

Lireath chuckled despite herself. “Some days, that is easier said than done.”

For a fleeting moment, the tension was gone again. Just two women, sharing the quiet suffering of caring for someone too stubborn for his own good.

But the air shifted once more as Sylara rose gracefully from her seat. “Then I will wait. Until he wakes. My business here cannot proceed without him.”

Lireath stood as well, bowing. “Of course. We will prepare quarters for you at once.”

They began to walk toward the door. But just as Lireath reached for the handle, a thought struck her. She hesitated, turning back.

“…Sylara-sama,” she said softly. “Could you not give me even the smallest clue? About what you wish to speak with him?”

The Dryad paused. For a long moment, her expression was unreadable. Then her eyes darkened, her playful tone gone.

“It’s about Gorrak,” she said. “And his mad plan of conquest.”

Lireath’s chest tightened. The air felt heavier instantly. She bowed her head quickly to hide the flicker of fear in her eyes. “I… see. Then of course, we will await Tengen-sama’s awakening.”

Sylara’s smile returned, calm and gentle once more. “That would be best.”

As they left the office together, Lireath’s heart pounded against her ribs. Gorrak’s name hung in her mind like a shadow, heavy and suffocating.