Maximus sighed as he took his seat at the diplomatic table. He was depressed, but this was his chance to prove himself.

  "I have gathered you all here to hopefully prevent needless bloodshed," Maximus explained. "I have also prepared food. So please, eat and enjoy before we talk."

  The various world leaders before him greedily dug into the banquet without argument.

  "This is just cruel," Lady Tarlaniel, Queen of the elven nation and his closest ally, whispered beside him. "Having to negotiate with these vultures after what you sacrificed? Maybe they can deal with the next one." She sniffed haughtily before taking measured bites of her food.

  "It is the way of the world," Maximus confessed. "But we do have an advantage, so I am not all that worried, if I am being honest."

  "You have next to no military power," she noted.

  "I have more power here than you may think," he teased with a smirk.

  The rest of the meal was enjoyed in silence by the two. There was a plethora of new dishes and delicacies, many of which were only possible thanks to Vitalmire. Once the meal was done, the serving staff cleared away the dishes and food before meticulously cleaning the table. When there was no detritus left, they laid out a detailed map of the continent.

  The parchment was a masterwork—layered vellum reinforced with silk thread, enchanted to resist fire and casual sabotage. Rivers glimmered faintly as mana traced their courses, while trade roads were marked in subdued gold ink. Several leaders leaned forward despite themselves, fingers twitching as old habits urged them to measure distance, harvests, and marching routes. Maximus noticed. Of course he did. He also noticed which hands remained folded, which eyes lingered on Vitalmire’s borders a heartbeat too long, and which gazes slid away whenever Mirehold was mentioned. The table was already dividing itself into predators and survivors.

  The scent of the banquet still lingered in the air—roasted root vegetables glazed in honey, spiced grains, rich stews thick with unfamiliar herbs. Hunger sharpened attention. It always did. Maximus let the silence stretch just long enough for stomachs to remind their owners what was truly at stake.

  "I have been made aware that a great many of you have a desire to expand your territories in the wake of recent events," Maximus began.

  There was a bit of muttering and agreement, as well as twinkling eyes, around the table.

  "So I will begin by saying this: you are free to march forward with your armies," he allowed.

  Everyone paused.

  "I have already evacuated every border town where aggression was mounting," he continued. "I am also voiding all trade agreements with everyone but the elves."

  A vast amount of shouting followed this declaration. Lady Tarlaniel spread a blank fan to hide her mouth, but Maximus could tell she was smiling. He gave them all time to shout to their hearts’ content. It took nearly twenty minutes for them to quiet down—if only because they needed to catch their breath. Throughout it all, Maximus calmly sipped his tea.

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  "No other dungeon is producing food," Maximus finally continued once the room fell silent. "No dungeon but Vitalmire. All the food you just enjoyed came from there. I have already moved what remains of my army to secure it and ensure food for what remains of my empire. The only nation I am currently comfortable trading food to is the elven nation, as they too have formed a pact with the dungeon and established a military base there."

  More angry muttering rose, though the shouting did not resume. Several rulers exchanged hurried whispers. One ambassador’s face had gone pale as he stared at the western coastline, lips moving soundlessly as he recalculated supply caches that no longer existed. Another clenched his jaw so tightly that Maximus could hear teeth grind across the table. They were beginning to understand that this was not a threat—it was an accounting.

  "So I encourage you to march your armies through the barrens," Maximus said again, his tone regal. "Extend your logistical trains and supply lines. With no people or resources being added to your kingdoms through these expansions, how far can your armies really march?"

  "With nothing to fight, they can march straight to your capital," someone sneered.

  "For most of you, that is an eight-month march," Maximus replied calmly. "Six months for the closest among you. Can you truly sustain an army for that long?"

  "You can’t just evacuate all that land! We can teleport!"

  "I have already shut down or encrypted our crystal network," Maximus continued evenly. "Only the crystals between Mirehold and my capital remain active—and both have been configured to allow only one person through at a time. So feel free to teleport your forces in, one soldier at a time."

  Indignation spread across many faces at the table.

  "Why expand when it gains you nothing?" Maximus asked. "You may have the barren land. You may have the empty villages. You may have all of it. But I have the food. So tell me—how far can your armies march before my food buys the loyalty of your soldiers?"

  "Then we march on Mirehold!" another ruler shouted.

  "I will not allow any of you to pass through my lands," Lady Tarlaniel countered sharply. "I will not let locusts ravage my realm in pursuit of carrion."

  A heavy unease settled over the room. Even the most belligerent among them had gone quiet, confronted at last with the reality that wars were not won by banners alone.

  The chamber doors slammed open.

  A falcon bird-kin in a black robe strode inside.

  "And I will allow none to come from the south," Xalt declared as he approached the table. No one dared bar his path.

  "You are looking quite healthy, Xalt," Maximus greeted.

  "You have Vitalmire to thank for that," Xalt replied with a weary sigh. "He cursed me with youth. I cannot seem to become a lich once more. I now bear a personal grudge against that dungeon. Any who attempt to come north through my lands will simply add to my legions."

  The room fell silent. Shock, horror, and intrigue mingled in equal measure.

  "The dungeon gave you youth?" one king asked.

  "Indeed," Xalt scoffed. "Dehydration, starvation, even burning have failed to end my life. My body endlessly produces vitality. So long as that dungeon lives, so shall I. Thus, I must kill it, so I may return to my rightful place as a lich."

  Several rulers recoiled from him.

  "I see," Maximus said thoughtfully. "So I have the forest contained from the north. The elves hold the west. And now you claim the southern border. That may be the most comprehensive blockade of a dungeon I have ever witnessed."

  Xalt nodded. "Indeed. We have it surrounded. Would any here care to contest our claims?"

  No one spoke. Xalt’s reputation alone cowed the room into silence.

  "Well then," Maximus said at last, standing. "It appears this discussion is concluded. You may expand as much as you wish. But unless you can defeat Xalt, the elves, or myself, there is nothing to be gained by doing so."

  There was unhappy muttering, but a single glare from Xalt silenced it.

  "I look forward to future trade negotiations," Maximus said with a grin.

  "As do I," Lady Tarlaniel replied, rising to join him.

  "As do I," Xalt admitted, his eyes narrowing as he stepped alongside them.

  Maximus smiled to himself. He hoped Antionette would be impressed with how he was managing the situation.