It wasn’t until the city walls had disappeared behind the treeline, that Oras contemplated striking up a conversation. Before he could sort his thoughts, Romas himself raised his voice. “You show discipline and martial spirit,” the old monk spoke with the approval of a senior. “All three of you. It is rare to find a trio of which all have such mental fortitude. You, especially,” he locked onto Theria, “You move with purpose, despite your tomboyish loudness.”

  “Ah, well, ya know, a gal knows when she can chat and when she should shoot,” Theria responded with a flattered smile.

  “A lesson from hardship, I reckon? How did you get that scar?”

  Theria brushed over the dark line that parted her left brow. “Oras and I got a lil too confident trackin’ goblin footsteps.”

  “Most women would have kept to the safety of their houses afterwards. The strength of your spirit befits a warrior.”

  Theria preened at the compliment, the words landing all the heavier because they were spoken in the stoic voice of an old warrior. “Mhm… I am kinda great.” With a smug smile on her face, she turned to her husband. “Ya hear that? Appreciate me.”

  “I appreciate you every day,” Oras responded without missing a beat.

  “Sure, but how about a little more?”

  “I’ll think about it.” Oras had to ward off a shoulder bump from his currently only wife, then bumped back. The two of them wrestled as much as they could while keeping pace with the rolling cart. Celia kept a silent vigil, seemingly content just watching everything unfold. “If you are willing to share...” Oras addressed Romas again, once he and Theria had stopped ‘fighting’, “...I would be interested in hearing more about your order.”

  “What did Karlos tell you?”

  “Only that it is a militant one that establishes fortress-monasteries in remote areas,” Oras said.

  Romas grunted, a sound that could mean disappointment or simple acknowledgement. Stretching his bad knee, he reclined against the back of the cart. The pillows, he had long since shifted to the sides.

  “The Order of the Elephant’s Strength holds that enlightenment is achieved through proper application of might,” the old monk said. He spoke not in the preaching tone of one convinced of his rightness, nor was there any studied method to his words. What he said came from his schooled mind at that moment, not some speech he had prepared a long time ago. “Consider the encounters with the goblins. It scarred you both. Her physically and, no doubt, both of you mentally.”

  Oras signalled his agreement to that with a simple nod. “It taught me caution.”

  “And your limitations. From that knowledge comes the choice. One can be complacent, to accept that they are limited, to operate within the boundaries. The Order calls this the Trodden Path. We do not ridicule those that walk it, for they are in a state of neutrality and continue on the civilization. One can surrender to their limitations, shrink away from anything that could challenge them. We call this the Tail Path and they are unworthy of protection. Virtuous alone is the Tusked Path, the path of strength and resilience, of those who seek out adversity and to grow in the face of it.” Romas raised a hand and slowly curled the fingers into a fist. “What do you see around you?”

  The question hit Oras a bit unprepared. He, Theria and Celia all turned their heads. There was just green around them, in every direction, broken only by the manmade paths, predominantly the road ahead and behind.

  It was Celia who answered first, “The jungle?”

  “Precisely,” Romas answered, “And what is the jungle?”

  “A gathering of flora and fauna in a hot and humid climate,” Oras gave the definitional answer.

  Romas did not react to that answer, only acknowledged that it had been given with a glance. His blue eyes prompted Celia to answer next. “I concur with Master’s statement,” the doll woman responded.

  “I’d just say a whole bunch of trees,” Theria responded.

  “A jungle is a battlefield,” Romas responded. “The state of all Nature is war. Enlightenment is the knowledge and the ability to win battles in this war.”

  “The priests that taught us described enlightenment as harmony with nature,” Oras pushed back, interested in the response.

  “Then your teachers should not have taught at all, fools that they are,” Romas stated. For the first time, his deep voice drifted from stoic to disdainful. “Those are the words of a coddled mind, considering itself enlightened due to the ignorance born from their lack of adversity faced. Does one harmonize with the tick that sucks their blood? Should one seek diplomacy with the orc tribe that ravages villages? Is there virtue to be found in allowing the ergot to live in the field of wheat?”

  Oras contemplated the questions for a little while, chewing them thoroughly like a tasty meal. “I believe I understand your meaning. Those are our enemies in the war of Nature. One does not harmonize with the enemy.”

  “Precisely.” Romas’ disdain made room for an almost warm tone - almost. “Enlightenment is found in victory. That which allows you to shape the world as you desire is a step towards competence. That which allows you to make the world better for you and your allies, that is true wisdom. Nature is war. Those who win the war must be the most enlightened. Those are the truths of the Order of the Elephant’s Strength.”

  “A harsh philosophy,” Oras said. “I understand why those of the Main Cult consider your words so wise. You bring to the heart of civilization the thoughts that survive contact with the harshest realities.”

  “In return, I find in these cities thoughts that are aimed inwards,” Romas revealed his thoughts. “Understand that, as convinced as I am of my Order’s truth, I am also aware that we are warriors. Victory is not won on the battlefield alone. In the war of Nature, there are only frontlines. The plough that tills the soil in preparation for the grains we tamed. Shored up banks that prevent rivers from turning into deadly floods. Consolidated dirt that turns to a road.” The monk knocked twice on the bottom of his cart. “An enlightened society acknowledges all productive efforts. Every bit of prosperity we produce is proof that we are on the right path. Like a muscle grows from proper exercise, so too is the growth of the reach of our people the natural outcome of proper action.”

  “A question,” Celia raised her voice. “Could your words not be used to wage war?”

  “Nature is war,” Romas reiterated. “I believe I understand the spirit of your question, however. You wish to know if we would condone war between nations?”

  “Affirmative,” Celia said.

  “War between fellow seekers of enlightenment is a terrible thing. Yet, in order to show who is right, it will be necessary,” Romas responded.

  Celia considered that idea. “So victory makes one enlightened?”

  “A victorious nation might be an enlightened one. The tyrannical empire might win over a smaller nation that is of higher moral fibre. Yet, while a victor may sometimes be evil, the loser of a war is always unenlightened. Any virtues they had die with them.”

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  “What about martyrs?”

  “Martyrs are the righteous dead of the victors. They do not exist on the side of the defeated. Contemplate the history books if you do not believe my words alone.”

  Oras took all of those words in. He did not absorb them, but he understood them. How much of these thoughts he made his own, he would take years to consider. “I thank you for sharing your wisdom.”

  “I thank you for listening well,” Romas responded.

  The Dragonblood trotted along the path for a minute, before a stray glance at Celia summoned another question to his mind. “What does the Order think of the Stringless?”

  Romas tilted his head, his jaw rolling as if struggling to form the words his mind already picked. “The better question is how we regard the Empire of Strings,” he finally said. “The Stringless are ultimately the manifestation of the Strings’ shortcomings. For hundreds of years, they were the dominant force in the war of Nature. They dominated the three continents and kept at bay the forces of monster and calamity. Yet, they lacked foresight. They exhausted their spirit by exploiting their own people. The Stringless are the natural reaction to this.”

  “So the Stringless are the victors and the Empire of Strings defeated, therefore the Empire of Strings must have lacked virtue?” Oras applied the previous statements to the current conversation.

  “Indeed. It is much easier to extract wisdom from failure than it is from perceived, ongoing success.” Romas tapped his bad leg with the back of his hand. “Many call me wise and venerable, yet even I did not know of the limitations of my ageing body until I was struck for it. Now you can behold me and draw your own conclusions. If they are correct, you will be a step closer to enlightenment than I was. Nature allows, you will pass this onto the many children you ought to have once you leave the influence of Amayron’s Blessing.”

  “As my father did before me and his father before him,” Oras agreed.

  “By the power of Lord Maplewine, you are ordered to halt!”

  The squeaky voice echoed through the forest. Oras immediately reached for his knuckledusters. Theria’s expression switched from the smirk of a tomboy to the falcon-eyed stare of a combat veteran. Celia followed their example, manifesting her mantis blades.

  “I said halt!” the voice repeated.

  Though the Dragonhoard party would have usually obliged, Subra did not care. The elephant continued trodding on, unbothered by the shouting of the forest voices.

  “STOP!” Romas shouted. His commanding tone registered with the elephant. Stumpy legs stopped treading, the carriage stopped rolling, and Romas rose to his feet, using the raised sides of the cart and his cane as support. “I thought I was rid of you.”

  “You will never be rid of us, you insulted the Lord Maplewine!”

  The speakers revealed themselves, hovering out of the nearby treeline. They were small humanoids, each standing at little over 1,20 metres tall - except they weren’t standing at all. They were flying on buzzing insect wings, leaving glitter in their wake. Antennae extended from colourful hairs. Their irises were just a little too large and lacked any form of pupil, adding to the alien look of their androgynous forms. It could not be said whether these were men or women. Most likely, they were neither.

  ‘Lesser Fae,’ Oras thought. He had read about them, even encountered a few of them in the jungle before. They generally were less harmful than a goblin, though that was for a lack of intent, not for a lack of capacity. They were smart, in their fae ways, and these four were armed with daggers and shields shaped from hardened wood. They also had no fear of death. Lesser Fae were born directly from the Fae Realm, so it was said, and, like all fairies, would be reborn there if slain on Megomaia.

  “Oh, but I see we catch you in bad health?” the speaker of the group, a fairy with deep purple hair and eyes, tilted his head. “Should we come back later?”

  “It has been three years since last I saw you and I am getting old, Shatar.”

  “Ooooh, right… ageing… well… uh… then we will fight you instead, bodyguards of the hated rival!” Shatar pointed his wooden blade at Oras. “Suffer for the Egg Speaker!”

  The fae charged forwards. Oras met the assault in kind immediately. His brutal charge caught the Lesser Fairy completely off guard. His knuckledusters crashed into the chin of the otherworldly humanoid, sending him flying back the way it came. These beings were as light as they were lithe.

  The Lesser Fairy was still tumbling back when an arrow struck it in the chest. Theria was as accurate as ever, having nailed a shot that caused the humanoid to dissolve into glitter and green leaves.

  Oras put his fists up in a guard, spinning around to get a good grip of the situation. Three enemies remained, he knew that much. “Above you!” Romas yelled.

  Too late. The leader of this pack of fairies was already upon him. The point of the wooden sword found a less protected bit of his chest and stabbed into him, sinking a few centimetres in before stopping. Oras swiped the fae aside. Fluttering wings brought him back into the air, ready for another strike.

  The creature was about to descend again when an arrow struck him in the shoulder. Shield dropping from the injured arm, the leader of this squad tumbled for a moment, then caught himself and charged towards Theria.

  The redhead nocked another arrow, drew the string and aimed. Rather than keep moving straight at her, the fae then flew in unpredictable circles. Theria tried to line up her shot, but the opportunity never arose. The opportunity to strike, however, came. Suddenly swerving, the fairy leader charged at Theria, ramming his shoulder and the tip of his blade into her stomach.

  “Hands off my wife!” Oras declared and ripped the fairy off his beloved tomboy. A swipe of the wooden blade made keeping the grip impossible. At least he prevented Theria from sustaining more than a shallow injury.

  Elsewhere on the battlefield, Celia was exchanging blows with another fairy. The recklessness of the immortal’s attacks had the blonde cede ground with every swipe, until her back suddenly hit a tree. The wooden blade struck the side of her head, leaving her stunned for a moment.

  While Theria tried to get another shot in on the leader of the pack, the last of the Lesser Fairy did a cheap shot fly-by. It was just a shallow cut across Theria’s shoulder, but it was a cut all the same.

  Celia struggled to her feet and took a wild swipe with her mantis blade. Giggling and making mocking farting sounds, the Lesser Fairy simply curved out of the way.

  Hearing the pained gasps of his women, Oras clenched his teeth. Patience reigned in anger and in the overlap of them laid power. The leader of the pack swirled around him. “You also have an egg face, egg follower!” the fae mocked. “You are going to suffe-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

  Oras had taken a lounging step forwards. Snatching the leg of the Lesser Fairy Leader right out of the air, the Dragonblood proceeded to swing the light creature overhead. The face of the fae broke on the compacted dirt of the road. A second swing assured the demise of this corporeal form, making it explode into particles of light and leaves on impact.

  The fairy harassing Theria was distracted by his leader’s defeat - a fact Theria immediately capitalized on. The arrow on her string was finally released, striking the humanoid in the stomach. A wound, but not one that took the creature out immediately.

  Still exploiting her ringing head, the Lesser Fairy attacking Celia swung, this time leaving a deep gash in her shoulder. The laughter of the fairy was cut short when Theria nailed it in the side of the neck with a shot across the field. What would have been deadly to a human, the being of the Fae Realm regarded with a deathless smirk.

  Struck but far from giving up, the other Lesser Fairy executed another dive bomb attack. Oras tried to intervene, but he had only just recovered from swinging the leader around like a ragdoll. By the time he reached Theria, she had sustained a deep cut along her arm.

  Managing to dodge for long enough to recover her senses, Celia locked onto the fae that had been keeping her occupied. A swift swing of her mantis blade put an end to the capricious laughter, the Lesser Fairy turning into glitter and leaves like its comrades. Only one of them was left now.

  The immortal entity charged at Theria again, with all of the reckless joy only an immortal could feel. Oras put an end to that by crashing his reinforced fist into the side of the Lesser Fairy’s face, turning him into dust and leaves midair.

  Oras looked around, only relaxing when there was no more laughter and swirling fae anywhere to be sensed. He put his knuckledusters away in a hurry, then checked on Theria. “How are you doing? Talk to me.”

  “Losing blood, but it ain’t the worst,” Theria assured. Loss of vitae was making her a little pale, but the wounds were not so deep as to be life-threatening. The same went for himself and Celia. They would recover over the coming days.

  “I apologize for my poor showing, Master,” the doll-woman croaked.

  “You indeed could have done better.” The comment did not come from Oras, but from Romas. The old monk was climbing out of the carriage. “You got struck in the temple. I need not tell you to avoid that in the future. Even Stringless are affected by this. Mistakes, however, happen. You should have focused on raising your guard, rather than swing around wildly after. Recover, then strike.”

  Celia acknowledged the words with nothing more than a light nod.

  “Beyond that, you are showing promise as combatants. You do need more practice… and you need to sit down.” He pointed at the carriage. “I will find Sokmoss, you wait here.”

  “We are tasked to protect you,” Oras stated.

  “And you cannot do that if you keep marching with open wounds. Sit down. I will not be far.”

  Romas was already heading into the forest, leaving them no choice but to oblige.