The Lycan youth moved rapidly backwards from the feast before him and instead kowtowed a few metres away.

  “You’re much too kind, young mistress, but I cannot eat.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He had to be careful with his words here.

  “…Lycans can survive on very little for very long.”

  “Regardless, it’s rude to not eat when you’re offered something.”

  “You’re of course right, young mistress… still, I pray that you’ll pardon my rudeness in your benevolence.”

  If she had been annoyed earlier, then she was irate now. Still, she suppressed her scowl and asked a simple ‘why?’

  “The young mistress knows very much why.”

  “Don’t say it’s because of your class, I do not care about such things. I think I’ve made that abundantly clear by actions.”

  “It is not proper for a Goblin noble to ignore the dictates of Ani.”

  “Don’t presume to lecture me on my obligations to the Goddess,” she said testily.

  He remained silent at this, knowing that there was no good response.

  She gave a signal for her staff to leave, and although they were uneasy, they quickly heeded the command.

  Elijah was anxious about being left alone with her, but wisely didn’t say anything on the matter.

  “I have a question for you.”

  “I’ll do my best to answer you, young mistress.”

  “Are we friends?”

  “What do you mean, youn–”

  “Answer the question!”

  He saw in her eyes that there’d be zero room for evasion and decided to bite the bullet.

  “No, young mistress; I wouldn’t presume to make myself your equal in that way.”

  The expression on her face made him feel like he had dug his claws into her gut.

  “What if I said that we were?”

  “…You’d be mistaken, young mistress.”

  “Why?”

  He weighed the question for several long moments before arriving at an answer.

  “Earlier,” he said with no small amount of despondence, “someone called me an osu dog. The expression sent me into a rage and I did something careless as a result, but on reflection I see that it’s true... You can’t be friends with a dog.”

  “I don’t agree with that assessment of yourself.”

  “It’s the unfortunate truth of the matter, though.”

  “Are you satisfied with that?”

  “No one can defy the gods, young mistress. It doesn’t matter if I’m okay with it or not.”

  In a manor situated within the mountains, a group of rugged and injured individuals were rushed to the medical bay.

  It was Julnan and Yachit’s group, and the pair anxiously watched as the rest of their teammates were carted off for care. Most of their wounds were neither big nor small; just the effect of casting backlash. That miserable osu had timed his mana-destabilising howl just as they were about to release their spells. Comparable to having your gun blown up in your face, it wasn’t difficult to imagine their current states. Still, with the medical staff they had on hand, a couple days of bedrest after their treatment would see them right as rain. The real concern was Iya and Atu.

  Iya had not only suffered from the mana boil, but also forcefully pushed through the backlash and used a mana stone to replenish himself, something that backfired immensely although he had gratefully bought some time for the other two to arrive.

  If not for that, maybe Atu…

  Her condition was the worst; her hands had been shattered by that bastard son of a thousand fathers.

  To make matters worse, they had been foiled in their purpose completely by that Goblin whore.

  Master Busa won’t be pleased, Yachit said internally.

  She paced the grounds anxiously alongside her teammate, unmoved by the tranquil and picturesque environment made to put one at ease.

  It was truly a shame too, because it was truly a beautiful place.

  Designed with a stark departure from traditional Reiginian aesthetic conventions, the manor itself was leaned into symmetry and proportion that was almost daunting to behold, quite contrasted to the nearly grotesque castle that was the Chukwudifu manor. The style was what the human called Georgian[1] and that wasn’t all that was interesting about it.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  If one observed it from above, they would see that the main building was surrounded by the others in a nine-palace array[2].

  This represented the nine major clans of the Elves in Reigina, a consortium known as Jan Zaki[3] – the Lion.

  It was only possible to keep idly pacing as she was because they had nothing they could do at the moment. Even reporting their failure, a task to be dreaded, was impossible as they had been informed that their master was too busy and would only receive them the next morning.

  This created no relief whatsoever, as it only served to extend the period of anxiety before the reckoning.

  Damn that dog!

  “You need to get your hand looked at,” Julnan insisted finally, maybe tired of watching her wear a hole into the ground with her pacing.

  “It’s fine,” she said, waving him off.

  “No, it isn’t; black iron is toxic, and you haven’t washed it out thoroughly. If you heal around it, it’ll manifest disastrously down the line.”

  She made to argue but knew that he was right.

  “That bastard took it like it was no problem, though,” he added with some resentment.

  “That’s because he’s a Lycan,” she said with an eye roll.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Iron is an Earth metal; you can’t hurt them with it. Only Moon metals like silver and mithril work.”

  Julnan was no idiot, he was of course aware that silver was toxic to Lycans, but had never before heard that they were impervious to Earth metals. Luckily, silver was abundant and heavily utilised because of its special conductivity of mana, but what kind of cheat was it to be impervious to iron?

  “What a ridiculous ability,” he said, still quite resentful.

  Lycans were scarcely ever seen outside their native province with the exception of the travelling bands of either mercenaries or dancers and storytellers (called Kwaghir in their local language) and as a result, people didn’t know much about them besides the fact that they were vulnerable to silver and could transform to hounds.

  It wasn’t just because of their isolation that nothing concrete was known about them, but as a result of intentional Elven propaganda around them. The two races had an old animus stretching back as long as any could remember and, leveraging their influence over the realm, the Elves did everything to make life difficult for their ancient rivals.

  From accusations of sharing their wives with strangers to claims that they brought about plagues and famine to assertions that they were all cannibals, there was no stone unturned in terms of slander against this race.

  The Lycans for their part were quite unbothered by this as they generally had no interest in settling outside their native land. The widespread use of silver in everything from water treatment to aesthetics to war made the prospect of living with outsiders fraught with unnecessary stresses and potential peril. Not to mention that few wanted to live next to purported cannibals and portents of plagues.

  The wave of misinformation was not without its uses, though, as they were avoided in most contexts since the tales told about them often exceeded even their own abilities. Besides, even propaganda possessed a germ of truth.

  “Wait a minute,” Julnan said, the realisation hitting him suddenly, “master must have known that our target was a Lycan, and that your primary weapon was a black iron blade – why didn’t he tell you?”

  “You’re new around here, so you must not know this but, no one ever knows what that man is thinking, better to stop trying.”

  Julnan looked worriedly before following the silent prompting of his injured partner.

  “No man can defy the gods,” he said darkly.

  “Forgive me for saying, but this isn’t necessarily a bad outcome.”

  Cardinal’s eyes squinted as he observed the face of his master.

  “This has always been inevitable; striving against the Goddess was always going to be futile. Had you taken up her offer –”

  “Haha.”

  The low, humourless laugh cut the aged giant in the middle of his statement. He knew that this was dangerous territory, but he pushed forward.

  “Don’t you understand?” he queried. “Death is more merciful than a cursed existence.”

  Cardinal remained silent for a long time.

  Contrary to his master’s expectations, he didn’t snap in anger but pondered his words deeply – it was obvious that the thought had crossed his mind before.

  “Think about it – this is the key to the Miracle Project. With the Goddess’s help, you can rise to the throne of divinity.”

  “What an idle dream.”

  Cardinal’s scoffing kindled the dark man to a rage but he held himself and importuned his former student with increased fervour.

  Cardinal was distant now though, barely responsive to anger or entreaty.

  “If it were so easy to dethrone the gods, why haven’t others succeeded? Even the august Fae of old failed and suffered the consequences for their actions… without a miracle, it is impossible to defy the gods.”

  The man lost his momentum at this point but levelled a firm gaze at his former student.

  “You used to believe above all in your ability to produce that miracle,” his master said with some emphaticness. “You believed that your destiny as the Honoured Son of the august Fae made you the true successor to this ambition that nearly doomed your race.”

  Ambition was right.

  The Fae of old most definitely had set their sights on the throne of divinity. Just the name “Divine Eye” for one of their abilities was enough to show what their hearts desired.

  Cardinal looked at the man with a distant gaze, as though remembering things far past, rather than speaking to a proximate friend and advisor.

  “… I believe differently now, master.”

  He was almost whispering at this point but he was perfectly heard by the older man.

  “I sought for miracles then… I have no need for them now.”

  His master shook his head at this but decided not to pursue the conversation; they had clashed on this more times than he could count and despite his deference and near idolisation of his master, Cardinal was one to be hardly dissuaded from any path he had decided on.

  “I do concur with one thing, though,” he said after a while, making to leave, “death is better than a cursed existence… thank you, master.”

  Elijah found himself in front of the place he called home.

  It was a modest mansion of two storeys with damp walls and the constant chilling winds that spoke of abandonment drifting in and out of from its neglected fenestration.

  As osu, his family were naturally not allowed to own any property but this mansion had been abandoned after a great flood over a decade ago and no one seemed to have an interest in reclaiming it.

  Elijah knew very little about the event but knew that people believed the land to be cursed. This was unfortunate of course, but one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. It was like this with all such places across the realm. Outcasts found homes in land that had been abandoned – cursed people in a cursed land.

  He walked in and breathed the damp and suffocating air that seemed to be a part of his very existence. Stretching his hand and running his rough fingers over the wall, he discovered that they were wet after contact. This cold moisture had seeped into the house thoroughly and nothing from magic to reconstruction could banish it. It made his home feel like a tomb which was only one part of the problem – he had gotten used to living in a tomb.

  His mind went back to his conversation with Chaina.

  What did she know about it?

  [1] Reference for Georgian: https://artincontext.org/georgian-architecture/

  [2] Reference for nine palace array: a 3x3 grid (the nine palaces), with troops or specialized units occupying different positions that align with the eight directions, often protecting a central core. In Xianxia, it's seen as an all powerful and consummate formation used in arrays, techniques, military formations, buildings, etc.

  [3] Reference for Jan Zaki: Hausa for Red Lion.