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The deep-brown centaur had only just spoken when the lighter-colored one behind him let out a sharp, discontented snort. His hooves dug restlessly into the ground, scraping at the earth with an edge of irritation.
Their eyes grew sharper by the moment, like cold blades catching the moonlight, and in them flickered the heat of insult, the fire of anger provoked.
"Arrogant!"
The leader of the centaurs thrust up his spear, his voice ringing across the grove. "The mysteries of the stars are not for shortsighted human wizards like you to pry into!"
"Carrion speaks true."
Another centaur, older than the rest, his mane a wild storm-grey that bristled in the night wind, stepped forward with heavy hooves. He drove the butt of his spear hard into the earth, and the impact sent a dull thud rolling through the quiet forest. "You humans live brief and fragile lives, your vision reaching no further than the tip of your nose. By what right do you dare measure, with such shallow understanding, the covenant our people share with the stars?"
He advanced again, his muscular chest rising and falling beneath the silver wash of moonlight. Every step carried the weight of command, pressing down with an almost suffocating force. "The starry sky is the loom of fate, the compass of all living things. We read its signs, we listen to its voice, we walk the path it lays before us. And as for what you so carelessly call 'thorns beneath our feet'?"
He let out a short, scornful laugh from his throat, as though he had just been told the most absurd jest. "That is nothing more than the dust of ignorance you yourselves have stirred up through folly and recklessness! The stars have long since traced the course of destiny, yet pitifully, you blind creatures cannot glimpse the revelation shining above your heads, nor see the snares lying beneath your very steps. And so you march, one step after another, straight toward your destruction."
His voice rose higher and higher, until it carried like thunder through the grove. The trees themselves shivered; leaves quivered and rustled as though shaken by the force of his fury.
The other two centaurs answered his words with low, rumbling whinnies. Their hooves stamped the ground in agitation, and from their flared nostrils burst clouds of hot breath, each exhalation sharp with anger.
"And as for what you call 'dependence on prophecy'?"
The deep-brown centaur turned his gaze on Nightingale, cold and piercing. Contempt gleamed in his eyes, "That is not dependence, but compliance. The guidance of the stars is like the current of a river. The wise flow with it, but only the foolish struggle against its course."
Then his gaze shifted again, fastening on Sargeras with the weight of a nailed-down spear. "Now answer me, wizard. Who gave you the courage to trespass into the forbidden forest, a land our people have guarded for generations, and with that tongue stained by the dust of the mortal world, profane both our faith and our wisdom?"
Yet Sargeras, faced with the centaur's fierce questioning, betrayed not the slightest hint of fear. His expression stayed calm, almost casual, as though all that thunderous bluster were no more than a passing breeze. One brow lifted ever so slightly.
"Done with your speech?"
His eyes were calm as they locked with the burning, arrogant stares before him. A faint, undisguised curl of scorn tugged at his lips.
"A herd of creatures who pride themselves on their nobility, yet stoop to skulking in the shadows and eavesdropping like common thieves…" He deliberately slowed his words, letting each syllable cut through the tense night air. His eyes swept across the circle of centaurs who carried themselves with such lofty pride. "All I did was drop a baited hook. And you were reckless enough to bite."
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Instantly, the spears clutched in the centaurs' hands writhed and twisted, wood and steel melting into tough, sinuous cords. In a heartbeat, the very weapons they held for defense became bindings that lashed tight around their bodies, wrapping them in unyielding knots. Shock and anger burst from their throats, but the ropes pulled tight, holding them fast.
"You ask who gave me the nerve?" Sargeras looked down at the bound centaurs from above, his voice cold, like steel drawn across ice. "Did your companions never warn you? Did your stars never whisper it to you?"
CRACK!A sharp sound like splintering wood rang out. It was the snapping of bone forced against its joint.
"Ugh—ahhh!"
"My… my leg!"
Agonized cries tore through the night. Faces twisted in pain, sweat darkened their coats, and rage burned in their eyes even through the suffering.
"Since you hold such reverence for your so-called 'guidance of the stars'," Sargeras went on, stepping closer. His tone was frighteningly even, unhurried, as if pain and fury before him were nothing but background noise. "Then lead the way. Let us go meet the two 'wise' chieftains of your tribe."
The lead centaur struggled to lift his head, flames of humiliation burning in his eyes. His voice shook with both pain and fury. "You… what do you intend to do?!"
"What do I intend?" Sargeras' lips curved into a faint smile, though the chill in it cut like the edge of a blade. "By the terms of the Wizard and Intelligent Creatures Covenant, and under the laws that govern the Forbidden Forest, your stalking, eavesdropping, and attempted assault already amount to serious provocation and violation."
He paused, his voice steady and merciless, each word landing with the weight of judgment.
"I demand an audience with your leaders. Tonight, you will answer formally for the damage you have caused to my reputation, for the threats to my safety, and for the mental harm inflicted upon me and my companions. And you will provide the compensation that is due."
"Com… compensation?!" Several centaurs gasped in disbelief, as if their ears had betrayed them. The words struck like a whip, burning with shame. For a moment they looked ready to roar their fury once again, but the agony shooting up from their crushed hooves forced the sound into hissing gasps of pain.
"Yes. Compensation." Sargeras' tone was absolute, leaving no room for dispute. He turned slightly, his voice ringing with command. "Veiliss, draw up a list."
Nightingale instantly understood. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, though the corners of her mouth twitched with amusement. "Compensation for emotional damage, compensation for damage to our good name, and of course, the fee for wasting our valuable time…" She deliberately glanced at the centaurs tied up like bundles of straw before her. "…all together, that comes to one thousand and eight hundred Galleons."
Kestrel, standing to one side, was left completely dumbstruck. Her jaw slackened in disbelief, and she leaned closer, lowering her voice to a hurried whisper. "One thousand and eight hundred Galleons? And you're adding a fee for wasted time? Isn't that going a bit too far?"
Sargeras tilted his head slightly at the words, his eyes sliding toward Kestrel in quiet amusement.
"Too far?" A soft laugh slipped from him. His gaze shifted back to the lead centaur's face, twisted with pain and anger, and he spoke slowly, deliberately, each word weighted with irony.
"Centaurs count as people?"
Kestrel froze, caught off guard. Then, after only the briefest pause, she raised her thumb in quick agreement. "You're right about that!"
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In truth, Sargeras had no interest in tangling with the centaurs tonight. But who would have thought these arrogant, self-important creatures would deliver themselves straight into his hands? It was as if he had been nodding off and someone had kindly brought him a pillow.
He gave a subtle signal, and Nightingale immediately waved her wand. The ropes binding the centaurs tightened and then lifted, jerking them forward as though they were stubborn draft horses being led on reins. Kestrel followed close behind, both nervous and thrilled, his hand never leaving the grip of his wand, ready for whatever might happen.
They pressed on through a grove of ancient oaks, their roots thick and twisted like the coils of great serpents. Then, all at once, the forest opened up before them.
Dozens of torches flared to life in unison, casting a sudden flood of firelight that illuminated the centaurs' settlement in stark brilliance.
Around a massive, timeworn stone altar stood a ring of round tents, built from stretched animal hides and bound branches. The altar itself was etched with intricate star-charts and celestial diagrams, the grooves glimmering faintly under the firelight as if the heavens themselves had been carved into the stone. Beyond the camp, sheer stone cliffs rose high, their faces riddled with natural caves. From within, faint glimmers of light seeped out, casting a pale glow that lent the entire settlement an air of ancient mystery.
"Its you again!" A voice full of anger suddenly cracked through the firelit square like a whip.
Sargeras lifted his gaze toward the speaker. An elder centaur stood there, his mane white as snow, flowing over his shoulders like a river of frost. Sargeras remembered him faintly, for they had crossed paths once before.
Around him, more than twenty fully armed centaur warriors spread out in a fan-shaped formation, bows drawn taut, arrowheads glinting with cold steel as they caught the flicker of the flames.
"It seems fate is unkind. Once again, it is me you face."
Sargeras inclined his head slightly, his voice calm and unhurried. "It would seem the radiant stars have once again failed to grant you the wisdom to avoid crossing my path."
The elder of the centaurs bristled, his mane rising in anger. "Last time, within the forbidden forest, you wounded our kin and stole our treasures. And now you… now you dare to kidnap—"
"Mind your words," Sargeras cut him off smoothly, his voice unshaken. "That time, we rescued your clansmen who were trapped, and we merely accepted a reasonable reward. As for this time…"
His gaze swept over the three centaurs bound tightly with ropes, and his voice chilled like a blade touching frost. "This time, we caught in the act a few who were sneaking about, eavesdropping on our conversations, and even attempting to raise their hooves against us."
Before the echo of his words faded, Nightingale moved her wand with deliberate grace. A parchment scroll filled with lines of neat writing floated steadily through the air and landed before the centaur elder. He snatched it up, trying to suppress his fury, but his rough fingers trembled as they closed around the parchment.
"What is this?" His voice rumbled, harsh and accusatory, as his eyes scanned the dense list of entries.
"Compensation," Sargeras replied evenly. "The price your people must pay for their offenses. If you find yourselves lacking in gold galleons, equivalent magical materials or artifacts will serve just as well."
The elder's face grew darker still, his features twisting with rage until even the muscles of his cheeks quivered.
"Enough!" he roared, his voice booming as his tail lashed restlessly from side to side. "Centaurs will never bow to such humiliating extortion!"
His furious bellow thundered through the oak forest, making the torches shudder and the firelight dance wildly in the night.
Yet Sargeras did not so much as raise a brow. He only regarded the elder with a detached, almost indifferent gaze, as though he were looking at a motionless wooden stake.
"Is that so?" he asked quietly.
Nightingale stood expressionless at his side, her long silver hair fluttering in the wind like a banner of moonlight. Kestrel's palms were damp with sweat, and faint sparks of light flickered uneasily at the tip of her wand.
The gathered centaurs, sensing the weight pressing in on them, instinctively stepped back half a pace.
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[Chapter End's]
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