Before the protests begin... I have a plan.
The camp turned out to be well-camouflaged. Not surprising, but I noted the fact. I couldn't track it until the last moment; there's minimal magic here, and the eyes don't catch on anything. Tents in camouflage colors—if you don't know where to look, it's easy to miss without a guide. Though, perhaps I'm just too much of a city girl.
The locals noticed us but took it calmly; for them, it's a routine situation. Sentinels approached, checked the cargo, but that was it.
"Trolls could have hidden in the containers."
I couldn't help myself; I decided to ask:
"What's the point? Even if we didn't see them, there's plenty of security here."
The guards looked judgmental, but the sentry, an elf who looked quite young, replied:
"A pincer attack, obviously. And besides, it's required to check."
Well, fine, it's required. It's not like I have to do it. My brother, stopping next to the container I was sitting on, asked:
"DaVi, do me a favor and don't get in the way while we're working."
"No problem."
Venidan, having greeted her own, threw out:
"Be patient for a bit; we'll finish the work, and I'll explain everything to you. I promise," her attempt to place a hand on my forehead was met with a short burst of levitation.
I floated off the container and turned away. But I didn't refuse; information won't be redundant.
"Fine. I can help with the unloading."
"We all can," my fellow students reminded me.
These gophers see everything but don't interfere; they're having fun. But my brother decided to smooth things over. He brought the container to the tent indicated by the local quartermaster and opened the side.
"Fine. Mages, let's begin. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish."
Nothing complicated. I'm almost constantly levitating myself (seriously, almost all the female mages I know prefer not to walk, but to hover at a low height above the floor), and levitating containers isn't particularly difficult if you just sit and concentrate. The Mana strings offer almost no resistance. By the way, a funny fact: the four of us resemble monks meditating on crates. While waiting for my turn, I can look around a bit; after all, we're getting in each other's way a little.
The Rangers in the camp don't particularly stand out; they move as if in short bursts. Or rather, they don't even walk, they glide? Very smoothly and quietly; the camp is generally quite quiet. I don't see a magical field; the locals just try not to make noise without a good reason. I have a suspicion that our convoy makes almost as much noise as the entire main camp combined.
I don't interfere with the elves working, sorting the cargo; I sit to the side, helping a bit with telekinesis, drawing a bit, since they don't load me down too much. They just don't let me wander far. It's frustrating. Annoying. Not that I really wanted to. Actually, I did; it turns out that while the others have scattered around the camp, I've been explicitly forbidden from disappearing from sight.
"You've never been in the forest, especially this part of the forest. And there are traps around the camp. That's why you can't," my brother explained, as if that made it any easier for me.
So what's left for me in these conditions? Pure disappointment, sitting in the shade of crates and trees, looking around. And being a little jealous of those who aren't so restricted in their movements.
As I thought, there's no one important in the camp. The only one who is here and who deserves interest is a subordinate of a certain Nathanos Marris. This interesting gentleman is known as the first and only human commander of the High Elf Farstriders. Which is an indicator, given our lot's attitude toward humans. They can only allow a human to lead elves if that human has truly outstanding skills, even compared to elves. I don't know much about him, but apparently his appointment was personally lobbied for by the Ranger-General, even though her subordinates were against it. I'm not sure, but I think that's how it went.
But that's not all the achievements of this interesting gentleman. He is a henchman of a certain Sylvanas Windrunner. The very same one with whom the future Banshee Queen is "friends of the flesh," visiting his estate in Lordaeron. If I remember correctly. And apparently, he won her over from a certain Kael'thas Sunstrider. A colorful personality, all in all. The only problem is that catching him is quite a task.
As far as I know, although Nathanos fulfills his duties as an officer, he doesn't travel to Silvermoon without extreme necessity, as he couldn't care less about politics. Which is good. If I want to establish contacts with the local military, this is the very place to do it. Because no one would just let me go to Nathanos himself, not to mention that I haven't the faintest idea where he lives. As for Sylvanas, I won't even start—Ranger-General, for heaven's sake. You can't just walk up to someone like that. I need to prove myself somehow to interest the heavy hitters of the local military. And I have a couple of ideas.
The fact that he lives in Lordaeron is even better. I might be wrong, but if he really resides there permanently, he might report it when the plague starts among the Humans. And if I manage to talk even the Farstriders into taking the situation seriously, we could prepare the defense in time. Maybe evacuate someone. But that's not the easiest task; for that to happen, I either need to attract attention or speak in person. Ideally, I should hit the Trolls so hard with my creations that the local military would want me on their side. Not as a Pathfinder, but as a producer of mines, for example.
Doing this isn't exactly easy—or rather, it's not easy at all. As the inhabitants of the camp explained to us, a miniature Vietnam War is happening here. The Trolls are smart enough not to go looking for trouble. A large crowd of Trolls risks running into area-of-effect spells, which Elf Mages can and do practice. Especially on aggressive living targets. Even I could cause some mess here, if necessary, on raw power alone. The Trolls know this as well as the Elves and act in small units, stealthily. Attacking from ambush, starting the fight with a spear in the back.
Danger can be anywhere; stepping into the bushes and returning with a spear in the wrong places is easier than easy. On the other hand, it works both ways. Elves are also good at hiding and navigating the forest, and a careless Troll will get an arrow between the eyes faster than he can shout, "Taz'dingo!" Whatever that means. I winced.
The Ranger camp is the first place where I really don't like being. It all started right after unloading, when our guide went and blurted out to the camp officer:
"You need to keep an eye on the Mage girl. The kid is in the forest for the first time, behaving inadequately, doing stupid things." And not a single soul started to argue with her.
Even my brother, even the others. No, I understand that it's generally true, but it's still offensive.
Said officer measured me with a look and simply demanded:
"Stay in sight. Do not leave the camp, do not go outside the circle of tents without an escort. Questions?"
So how am I supposed to experiment here? I had to answer. I nodded, ignoring the snickers of my fellow trainees. I'll remember this, you bastards.
"Yes, sir. Stay here and keep a low profile."
The officer noticed the snickers.
"This applies to all newcomers. None of you know the terrain. And I don't want to be responsible for you hurting a finger."
There, that's better. We're all in the same boat. Naturally, among the Rangers and their youngsters, a few curious types immediately appeared regarding my situation, but they were sent away with their curiosity. I didn't sign up to be a clown. But that was it; we weren't the first or the last convoy in their lives. Everyone went about their business. I, as someone lacking Forest Survival experience, uncapped my tube.
The others were scattered. Some were talking to the Rangers; they seemed to have acquaintances here. Мои colleagues went to the students, and they were having fun there. I'm the only one who doesn't know what to do here at all. I wish we'd go back already. Here, away from the workshop and resources, forced to sit and do nothing, all that's left is to be bored.
It's insulting, beyond words. Especially when the officer actually took Venidan's words to heart and gave me a separate long lecture, which I can summarize in two phrases: sit right here and don't go anywhere ever. If a Troll spear hits you, you'll be very dead. And why did they let you out of the house, so feeble?
"So you could ask," I brushed him off grumpily.
The Elf didn't get the joke.
"I did ask. And you don't look like a little one."
Oh, great. I like this place even less.
"Because I'm not that little. Just an unfortunate interaction with Troll artifacts. They saved me, but I lost a chunk of memory."
That indifferent:
"Ah, it happens." The calm indifference almost finished me. I understand you've seen everything here, but that kind of attitude is still annoying.
And that's only my first trouble. The second is that I'm a homebody girl used to the comforts of civilization. At least as a Mage, I can generate water if I really want to. And if I really need to—dig and compress a hole, pour water in there, and heat it. But that's only hot water! I want to go home, to my own room with blueprints! There are insects here, it's hard, and there are practically no amenities! I know I need to get used to it, but that doesn't mean I like it!
Moreover, no songs by the campfire are allowed; Trolls might hear. No alcohol either, in case of an attack. The only entertainment is stories and sexual relations. I generally like the first, but for the second, I'm supposedly too small? Well, or I just don't know anyone here at all. In short, to hell with such entertainment! Better to do something useful.
Since they decided to control me again, I'll think about what I can do, thankfully my faithful tube is with me. Not that I really wanted to, why did they even drag me here, huh? What kind of Elves! At least they allowed me this, after making sure I wasn't going to run off into the forest. The Patrolman said:
"As long as I can see you, you can do whatever you want. No screaming."
And why did you say that? Fine, I got the point. Especially since my brother supported this whole situation. Maybe someone likes it, but it pisses me off that they're fussing over me like I'm made of crystal!
So I just buried myself in blueprints in the shade of a tent. It's quite cool here; the forest, surrounding the camp on all sides, provides good shade and hides the camp itself. It's beautiful, of course. But I'm not in the mood to admire the views. I'll just continue studying. What can I...
And what I can do is... kamikaze drones. A much more complex version than my spiders; the drone must move in three dimensions, considering that a Troll is a very mobile opponent. And Trolls also have regeneration, which means if he doesn't die, he can recover. Need to do something about that.
Or try to make a scout gargoyle... To fly and find Trolls... That would be useful. But not with my knowledge. Yes, I quickly understood the basic concepts from templates, but it's one thing to just copy a couple of primitive movements, like turning a key or waving a broom. It's another to have complex behavior. Here you either need to make multi-level action algorithms, for which I simply lack the knowledge. Or direct control, for which, surprise, I also lack the knowledge for now. But to punch in an approximate silhouette of a Troll as a target—that's enough.
I flinched, feeling a hand on my shoulder. No, it's not the arrogant Elf girl who considers it her duty to remind me how much better she hides than I search. And the problem isn't that I'm feeble; I just haven't learned the necessary spells yet. There are a lot of them, actually. Practice is faster than textbooks, of course, but even for that, it's ideal to have a teacher who will show how to work with the strings for the desired result. Seems I've drifted off again. Yeah.
"And here you are again, buried in blueprints and textbooks. Aren't you tired of it?" my brother asked mockingly, appearing in the shadow of a container. "DaVi, seriously. You've become so serious. Where's the adventurism, where's the spirit of adventure? Has no one even caught your eye? You just sit here and that's it."
Wait, what are you implying, you big and creepy guy? For me to? No way! And anyway, the Sentinels and I are just watching each other and staying out of the way. Weren't you the one who said not to go anywhere, hmm? However...
"And what would I have done? That 'me' you're talking about, brother?"
He chuckled.
"You were quite impulsive. That sign... if you liked something, you did it without asking. Or if you didn't like someone. You were polite but bright, and thanks to your Magical Talent, you were forgiven a lot. And now you're hiding from everyone. We're worried."
I thought about it. A spoiled child? Well, then it's no wonder the ancestors were initially delighted that their offspring started studying. And then, apparently, they were stunned when it continued. No, my new parents are good Elves, no doubt. It just happens. Hmm, that's a thought.
"Did something if I liked it, huh? Like an accidentally summoned Treant?"
The man laughed outright.
"Yes, that's very much in your style, I agree. But hiding from the others—not so much."
But I don't care. Ignoring the pale relative, I convinced him to leave and headed out for a walk around the camp myself. Need to figure out how to make small but dangerous golems. And I need something that will take down Trolls. But who to ask? Everyone is busy, and those who aren't don't care about me. Just another Elf girl. A piece of the interior. I won't say it doesn't bother me. And I won't say I didn't expect it. But for the sake of the cause, I can endure. So, what do we have here?
A typical tent camp, busy with its own affairs, yes. Someone is cooking food, someone is maintaining Arms, over there is clearly a couple—we won't go there. Fine, looks like I'll have to give up on the plans to impress the locals for now. Without access to resources, I won't be of much use.
The convoy will stay here until tomorrow, then we'll head back. The locals won't stay here themselves, I think, and will soon move on to a new place. After all, the unit lives partly by hunting and through stealth, and our convoy must be very noticeable to Troll scouts.
"What are we drawing here? And hiding from others, hmm?"
Out of surprise, I sent an icicle toward the sound. On raw reflexes. Progress, though. Ah, no, it's not an enemy, but just our guide. The most annoying creature I've met. She just can't help but show that she's better than me. More stealthy, can sneak up from behind; I lack the knowledge to track her. I can do a lot, but at a novice level. This hundred-year-old long-ears is a narrower specialist, but also much more professional in her field. And she's annoying!
On the other hand, why not ask, right?
"Listen, do you know where I can get something stinging here to make the Trolls feel bad? I have an idea, but I'm not allowed to leave."
The Elf girl just sat down next to me and held out her hand, as if to say, give it here. I thought about it and gave her my sketches. As expected, the local commando, even if a student, figured it out quickly.
"A golem? Ah, I see! A container for explosives or poison? And you came up with this yourself?" No, I copied it, "Come on, don't pout! And I kept wondering why they dragged you along. So, you want to go into combat work? Hmm? I saw a similar thing with a Goblin once..."
And she's waiting for an answer. Very meaningfully. We'll do without excuses, you pest! Although... I'm not going to be candid, but this is still an opportunity.
"Not exactly combat work. But I have a talent not only for magic but also for Mechanics. And since we're sitting here anyway, I thought, why not make a golem that will find a Troll, crash into him, and explode? Something cheap and numerous. Only need to somehow bypass the regeneration problem. I don't think a simple Mana discharge will be enough. Same with shrapnel."
Suddenly, to my surprise, the Elf girl sitting next to me grew thoughtful. She's noticeably older than me, maybe twice as old. And until now, all our interaction had been mockery. Harmless but unpleasant, painful. I can't deny that in her school she's better than me and will be for a long time. But could you not show it so bluntly?
"Khm. Fire works well against Trolls, but fire isn't allowed in the forest; we'd just burn up here along with half the forest. So, poisons. And a shrapnel effect. Shrapnel in the wound also hinders regeneration, especially poisonous ones. Listen, I know what might help us. Can you make a shrapnel bomb? We'll soak it in the poison that's applied to weapons... And yes, it might work. You're not allowed, sit here, I'll bring it," she patted my head and ran off, and I barely restrained myself from another icicle on reaction. She! Is! So! Annoying!
Unexpectedly, the process took off. Venidan showed a keen interest in the idea and brought clay and components for Instant poison. Everything I wouldn't have been able to get while sitting among the tents. At the same time, she gave a lecture on the possibilities of poisons used by Rogues and other cloak-and-dagger workers. And I'm all for it. Better this than jokes. You seem smarter. Fine, I'm just angry that I have to ask her for help, and she understands that. Look how pleased she is.
"There are many types of poison applied to weapons. Trolls love this stuff, so it's better not to expose yourself even to a scratch. Whether you're a Mage or a Warrior, poison affects everyone. But we, the Ranger Corps, are no worse. So, what poisons do we have? Atrophic, stunning. That's not for us. Wounding, good in battle but not in a trap. Deadly, but it works on weakened creatures, and the less the organism can resist, the worse. And Instant poison. We use exactly that."
This is curious. I can't help but admit it's useful. Perhaps I'll even tolerate all your jokes better if you show competence more often and scare me less.
"And who does Instant poison work on?"
The Elf girl waved her hand.
"On almost everything, actually. Wood, flesh, almost anything. It's more like a powerful magical acid that literally eats the wound, provoking instant decay of the organism. A terrible weapon, and the wounds are very hard to heal. Although it doesn't eat metal; it prefers what burns. Fortunately, Trolls don't have very good access to metal. Bone, wood. The poison will eat through all of it, quickly or not so much."
Soooo that's it. And will it work on Undead? Maybe, maybe. Anyway, while I got busy sculpting the body for the future golem, my new colleague prepared the toxin for us.
"Ready. Don't touch with your hands, don't take without gloves," thank you magic for telekinesis. But the Elf girl herself has normal ones.
Like I said—a Rogue. Toxin, a dagger, and a nasty character. Soooo. How should we make the golem-bomb? Well, in shape, it will be like a small gargoyle, about twenty centimeters high. Wings are needed more for maneuvering; height control will be from telekinesis, like with brooms and other tools. In the belly—a series of poison-soaked shards of fired clay and an unstable magical seal, overloaded with energy. About how I learned to make it, later. That's a story, a separate story. Good. Next on our list—the scroll.
Here difficulties arose; I still don't quite have enough knowledge to write almost fully flying creatures. I haven't done that before. But here too, I was helped. When Venidan isn't being snarky, she's quite a decent comrade. She knows what she's doing, knows who to ask and where to find the necessary resources. And now she found a suitable specialist, fortunately golems for Elves, even primitive ones, are a fairly basic thing used just everywhere. And I don't need it to be complex; I need them to be mass-producible. The simpler the control scroll, the better.
"Well, to work, colleagues!"
In the end, after twenty-four hours, I discovered that there weren't just two of us anymore, but four; the senior officer of the camp knows and is waiting for results because the idea was vouched for. Like, eeeee? When did they even manage that? Fine, doesn't matter, nothing will stop us! The "Young Magetech" circle will assemble a bomb for you in field conditions! And then blow it up!
Funny fact: on the fourth day, it suddenly turned out that the caravan had left. And I hadn't. I was so engrossed that I didn't notice. They promised to return me in one piece, but the officer pressed with his authority. I even went up to ask:
"And why did you decide that? It seems upon arrival I wasn't valued very highly?"
He snorted.
"If you were a cadet, you'd be sitting in the kitchen for talking back, mastering the figurative cutting of berries. But generally, your idea is interesting; we can try to make it. We always have plenty of Rogues; making a golem isn't a problem. If you can bring the matter to an acceptable result, all of them," he pointed at the tents, "will live a bit longer. So why should I say no? Maybe something worthwhile will come of it."
I can understand; there's one less Elf in the camp, and there are three Wounded in the field infirmary. Archer battles are quiet, without explosions and other special effects, and they happen very quickly. This time they won; just not everyone returned. And if a golem kills a Troll or a couple, it'll be a bit easier for everyone who's still alive. I think that's one of the reasons why the locals agreed. Emotional release through the creation of a powerful dirty trick for the Trolls, which everyone wants. And me, I'm all for it; for me, it's new knowledge.
And as for the convoy, as it was explained to me, even local cadets are considered above all these local guards. And if a local officer says: about-face, march to the exit, the guards obey. Especially since they promised to return me whole and in one piece. I'm still locked in the camp, you bastards! In a field tent camp! Good thing they donated a cloak to someone suffering from the morning cold and sleeping on the hard ground; otherwise, I just don't know how to live in such conditions at all! No, I don't have hiking experience. And this body is even less suited for hiking. And don't laugh; not everyone here is like you! I live in Venidan's tent, by the way. She's also my Guardian, which the long-ears doesn't hesitate to complain about. For the duration of watching over me, she was also deprived of the right to go on patrols and such.
"Important work, they said," the Elf girl snorted, "looking after various small fry. Well, at least you don't throw tantrums."
I'll just ignore that. You're annoying. And I don't like enduring the snickers of my new colleagues! I want to build myself a trailer! Or a flying house. Because to hell with such travels! I have to cast levitation on myself to sleep like that because it's hard.
Fine, the minute of reflection is over, let's work further. While I'm confident with the combat part—the collective consciousness made it as it should be—I have doubts about the control and flight module. Simply because I've never done anything like this. And this isn't just a project, but a project that must actually work! I need to show myself from the best possible side.
So I sat over the control scroll with minimal breaks. Height, orientation, target search. Then drop from above and explode. Of course, ideally, it would be to add a charge-drop-return, but I'm a bit worried and don't want to overcomplicate the project. And I simply won't be able to adequately implement that in field conditions without a bunch of tests.
Venidan sat down next to me and took away my pencil. She's looking after me here. And the others are generally okay. I was unfair to them, I admit. Good guys. Even this arrogant long-ears! Said arrogant one held out a skewer, slowly passing it in front of my nose and offering to let me smell the aroma. Fine, that's an argument. A delicious-smelling argument.
"Eat up."
I accepted the shashlik. One of the few good things about this camp—the meat here is excellent.
"Yeah, thanks."
The Huntress continues to watch over me. By order of the senior (because initiative loves the initiator), but still. Although sometimes it seems to me that she actually likes it.
"Don't be so twitchy; everything will work out."
The meat is good, tasty. And thanks for the support.
"This is my first such project, you know. I can't get used to this kind of attention to our work."
The Rogue chuckled and settled more comfortably nearby, holding a second skewer of meat.
"I don't see a problem. Maybe you haven't noticed, but the way you try to look grown-up is hilariously funny. Hey, don't pout!" she noticed my look, "I mean that at your age, mistakes are normal. At mine too. So how old are you, thirty?"
Actually, maybe. I'm potentially a Universal Man, after all. But I understand what she means.
"I'm twenty-one."
The owner of the shashlik laughed.
"All the more reason; no one expects a masterpiece of Archmage level from you. Relax. Even if we mess up, the seniors will fix everything anyway. They have more experience and all that. The main thing is that the idea is good."
Thanks, I guess. But I'm not going to miss the opportunity.
"I just want it to work. And I don't want to give up the victory. My victory."
I was insolently flicked on the nose, and she left with a roll.
"It will. Don't like losing, hmm?"
I nodded.
"And who does? You also often show what a great job you're doing."
Venidan spread her hands.
"I don't deny it; I also love to win. It's just that unlike some people, I look at things more simply. And yes, I still think we'll succeed, and you're overthinking it, DaVi."
I hope so. I'm not doing this for fun. The idea is to attract attention to myself and gain a reputation for various military inventions. I understand that at first glance everything is done more or less correctly. In the end, I specifically built a prototype and ran it through rewriting the scroll to make sure it would work. But time is terrifyingly short! And I need a result, a good result! Yes, I'm worried. After all, I'm not working for myself...
In the end, they didn't take me for the combat testing of the flying mine prototype:
"Too noisy and noticeable."
They left me in the camp. All that's left for me is to sit, or hang, wait and chew. I'm curious, after all! And who knows when they'll return and in what state. The camp, by the way, has started preparing to move. When they return, they'll change position. As I was told, the Trolls have more or less figured out where the Rangers are sitting, so the number of skirmishes has increased, as has the number of Wounded. And yes, while the Trolls distract the scout units with traps and such, their large forces might just attack a village. And no, "might" is the wrong word. They will do it.
The irony is exactly that such things happen quietly and unnoticed. Until it hits, everything will be calm. And then it'll just be too late to twitch. They returned on the fifth day, from the east. Whole, well, almost.
I literally flew out like a bullet, hearing familiar voices. Literally flew, by levitation. And seeing the familiar cloaks, even with traces of blood, I relaxed somewhat. At the very least, my golem didn't attack its own; that's already good. And perhaps I'm even a tiny bit glad they weren't hurt. Just a tiny bit. And now the results!
"Well, how was it?"
Venidan smiled, tired but pleased.
"It was great. We spotted them earlier, sent the golems. The Trolls noticed them but didn't understand what they were. They threw a couple of spears, knocked one of the three down. And just as they approached it, it went 'boom'! And exploded. And then the second and third fell on their heads. The poison and shrapnel worked as they should, and whoever survived, we took down with arrows. They fought back, of course, but who can beat an Elf in a familiar forest? In short, you're a natural; it works as it should. We'll gather recommendations; the golems were lagging, but you can consider it a success."
And only at that moment did I relax. So that's how it turned out. Splendid. On such an occasion, I stayed in the camp for another two days. While the patrolmen rest, Venidan will lead me home, and just because.
"Well, then congratulations to everyone!"
I managed to restrain myself from starting to shout, and yet those smiles... That smell of victory. I'm damn pleased. I helped the guys unload, listening to how it all went.
The result was good. The golems are dumb, but if they see a target, their clay brains have enough to move straight toward it. To explode upon arrival too.
That, by the way, is my problem with the return system; teaching a golem to orient itself in space is quite difficult. If the route is static, that's one thing. Or if the target is visible. But in the forest, these clay things don't really understand what's wanted of them at all. But when there's a target, then yes, I see the target, I don't see obstacles. A few simple actions and an explosive finale.
In short, it worked. They squeezed the scroll scheme out of me and even paid ten gold. Not the students, but the senior officer. Not much, but more than nothing. What I like more is that the scheme is mine; it has my signature and surname. If the command appreciates it, such things will be used, and I'll be noticed. If they don't appreciate it, well, more power to them; I have my own version of the template. I'll use it myself. At the same time, I wrote down a couple of recipes for local dishes, poisons, and we had a pretty good talk with the locals. And we had a pretty good time; I only just now realized that I've been sitting here for almost a month. Wow, time flew. Fine, I'm not complaining. It's fun here and the Elves are good. I quite like it here, although sleeping is still hard. And Venidan sometimes turns on meanie mode.
It was a very interesting and useful experience. And with it, I can return to our village. Venidan decided that we would move fast. She'll run, I'll use levitation. Now we don't need to levitate containers, and flight doesn't create noise, so we'll be able to reach the village in a day. I'm all for it; finally, the comforts of civilization await me! No insects, dirt, or hard bedding! Home! Where there's delicious varied food and a quiet room where I can work on blueprints and plan world domination! Mwa-ha-ha-ha! Okay, no need for another Monday.
Only... As soon as we approached the settlement, we saw the stunned faces of the Guard.
"DaVi, you're alive? Hey, inform her mother!"
Eeeee, what? Venidan was also in shock.
"What's going on, Guardian? We returned on time. You should have been warned that we would be delayed because of a magical project of hers," she clarified to the Guardian.
And I'm also interested in this, why their faces are so stunned.
"The convoy didn't return. Not yesterday, not a week ago, nor two or three. They didn't come. We thought it was all over."
Oh. I... fine, that's not good. Yes, that's not good. Yes. That's definitely not good.
***
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