With Quentan acting as her voice and providing supplementary details, I managed to learn a bit more about the island where the Death Mage had once lived.
The island had been artificial—a construct similar to the Sun Castle. The identity of its creator remained a mystery. Apparently, the Death Mage had discovered it in a dormant state and reactivated it herself. On these specific details, Quentan’s memory proved far more reliable than the Death Mage’s own.
According to her testimony, she had spent those years caught in a cycle of incomprehensible behavior, consumed by a grudge so profound she had wanted to destroy the entire world. It was a chilling thought. I wondered what could have possibly inspired such intense hatred, but she seemed to have made a clean break from her past; she had forgotten the details entirely and didn't seem to care anymore. There was no point in forcing her to remember.
As for Quentan’s own creator, that also remained unknown. According to the sword, he had been forged by a group of rather eccentric mages, but his memory of the specifics—or perhaps the memories themselves—had been erased. He couldn’t even recall the exact era of his creation. Even his first meeting with the Death Mage was hazy, though they estimated it was roughly a thousand years ago. My sense of time was starting to feel warped just thinking about it.
I was curious why a mage had come to possess a sword in the first place. One would think a magic user would have little use for such a weapon. When I asked her directly, the Death Mage’s expression turned nostalgic as she explained.
"In the era where I lived, mages were expected to master both swordsmanship and martial arts. Only a tiny minority could survive on magic alone."
That made sense. In fact, the Death Mage’s skill with a blade was exceptional. While she was no match for the Death Knights, she could easily hold her own against Galf or Daga. It was impressive. I found myself wondering if I should ask her for lessons as well.
By the way, when Quentan wasn't busy attempting to possess his wielder's consciousness, he was effectively just a talking sword. It made me wonder if there was even any point to him being vocal.
"There certainly is! I am an advisor!" he protested.
"Oh? Like being able to identify an opponent’s fighting style just by their stance?"
"No, more like... checking to see if you’ve forgotten anything before you head out, and things like that. Besides, if I said anything unnecessary in the heat of battle, it would only serve as a distraction!"
I stood corrected. Quentan had adopted a much more polite tone with me ever since he’d snapped—or rather, ever since he first laid eyes on my Universal Farming Tool. He still slipped back into his old way of speaking occasionally, but I didn’t mind. I told him he should use whichever style felt most natural to him.
On the subject of talking, I had wondered if Quentan could serve as a spokesperson for the Death Knights. As it turned out, he could. We had spent so long deciphering their gestures that having a translator was incredibly convenient. However, I reminded myself not to rely on him too heavily. The Death Knights’ gesturing had evolved into something of a performance art, and personally, I felt it would be a pity to lose that flair.
Asa, the Mercury Race member stationed at the Hot Spring Area to manage the Teleportation Gate, nodded in agreement. Even the Lion Family seemed to share the sentiment. Since there was only one Quentan and he insisted on remaining by the Death Mage’s side, we decided he would only act as a translator for the knights on an occasional basis.
A line of dragons soared through the sky above the Village of the Great Tree. Dos, Giral, and Raimeiren led the way, followed by Hakuren, Suiren, Mark, Draim, Graffaloon, Sekiren, Kuorun, Domaim, Kuon, Rusty, and Helze. It lacked the refined elegance of an Angel Race flight, but the sheer scale was breathtaking.
Hiichiro, Gral, and Lananon watched from below with their mouths hanging wide open. Guronde stood nearby, watching the three children with a gentle smile. She had declined to participate in the flight, citing a lack of confidence in her ability to maintain formation.
Dos and the others began to cycle through various formation changes, mimicking the Angels' maneuvers. While they lacked the nimbleness of the Heavenly Tribe, they possessed a certain heavy, dignified majesty. The villagers all stopped to look up at the sky; I imagine the residents of Village One, Two, and Three were doing the same. I had sent word ahead of time, so I didn't expect any panic.
Just as that thought crossed my mind, the dragons bunched together and spat out a massive volley of fireballs simultaneously.
Wait, I wasn't told anything about this! Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you people doing? Was this supposed to be a surprise? It certainly worked, but fireballs were a bit much!
Wait... ah, I see. The fireballs didn't hit anything; they dissipated harmlessly in mid-air. It was just a pyrotechnic display. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Then I noticed one fireball hadn't vanished. It plummeted straight into the forest with a thunderous boom.
"Cancel the show! Everyone down, now! Don't worry about finding the culprit yet! Someone, fly me to the impact site! I have to put out the fire!"
Things became a bit chaotic for a while.
In the Village of the Great Tree, there was another significant gathering besides the Conference of Races. It was the Mothers' Conference—a meeting restricted to me and the women who had borne my children. The children themselves were not allowed to attend.
We primarily discussed things like the rotation and the children's education. I prefer to remain silent regarding the details of the rotation. This time, however, the children were the primary topic of concern. I had suspected for a while that Urza was in quite a hurry to grow up, and we had finally discovered the reason.
"Because I want to go into Papa’s room," she had said.
It was true that my room was strictly off-limits to the children both day and night. I’ll leave the reasons to the reader’s imagination. It wasn't out of any desire to be mean; it was a necessary boundary for their upbringing. To think she wanted to reach adulthood quickly just so she could enter my private quarters... The adults were in a state of internal panic after hearing her answer.
Then she delivered the finishing blow.
"What am I going to do once I'm in there? That’s a secret."
That was why this emergency meeting had been called. First and foremost, let me be clear: Urza is my daughter. That is all there is to it.
After that, the others scrutinized my recent behavior to see if I had been acting suspiciously. I was honestly baffled by how everyone seemed to know more about my daily movements than I did. They even went as far as gathering intel from Kuro’s and Zabuton’s children. In the end, the dishonorable suspicions cast upon me were cleared. Thank goodness for that.
But if my behavior wasn't the issue, then why was Urza so determined? Hakuren eventually managed to coax the truth out of her.
"I heard Papa’s room has a hidden passage," Urza admitted.
That was it. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief knowing she was still just a child at heart, and the Mothers' Conference was adjourned.
The result was that a second room was prepared for me—one that the children were allowed to enter. Naturally, it came equipped with a hidden passage. The High Elves and Mountain Elves went all out, outfitting it with hidden rooms, secret windows, and even concealed shelves.
It was basically a ninja house.
Well, if it makes the children happy, I suppose it’s fine. I just hope this stops Urza from trying to grow up too fast. Then again, I’ve heard that children grow up in the blink of an eye regardless.