We Come in Peace (2/2)

Haalfrin is led to the inner palace's foyer, where the Lareen visitors are waiting for him.

When he opens the double doors, he first sees that the Arkin have done a splendid job of reviving this place. The carpets have been replaced, the stones polished, and the mana lights restored. There's even expensive furniture and waiting chairs lining the walls, as well as a few small stands with hot tea and some sweets resting on them.

In every way, this foyer looks like a proper place to receive guests again.

After marveling about how good his foyer looks, Haalfrin notices that the entire foyer is empty of life, except for a pair of Arkin guards on one end of the foyer, and a pair of Lareen soldiers on the other. Sitting in the middle of the room is an old man along with a young woman, who is sitting next to him on the same couch.

Just at first glance, Haalfrin can tell that the old man is a 2nd Gate mage, and the young woman is magicless. She could be his secretary, or perhaps his apprentice. Who knows?

Either way, Haalfrin can tell by the old man's neat appearance and elegant posture that he's probably high-born and privileged in some way.

When Haalfrin comes closer to these two people, the pair of Lareen ambassadors both stand up. The old man immediately extends a hand for a handshake.

Once Haalfrin shakes his hand, the old man says, "Greetings, General Haalfrin. My name is Arren Jesti."

"Good to meet you," Haalfrin nods politely. He then turns to the young woman. "Who is she?"

Arren steps aside and gestures to her. "She's my great-great-granddaughter. She's a bit of an apprentice, and a bit of an assistant. Her name is Milia Jesti.

"I see. Well, sit down." Haalfrin doesn't wait for them; he sits down first.

"I must say," Haalfrin remarks, "I'm surprised at how good your Brancotte is. I assumed that my language is dead in your world by now."

Arren smiles and nods. "Yes, well, I'm a bit of a polyglot. It's been about 3 months since the World Gate opened, and I learned your language in that time."

This causes Haalfrin to raise his eyebrows. "Oh? Impressive."

"It's fine. Everyone has their own talent," Arren says. He then gestures with his head toward Milia. "I'm afraid that she's wearing a translation enchantment. It does take a lot of time to create an efficient translation spell for a new language, so I'm afraid that she won't understand much of our conversation, and she won't be able to talk back. Please, don't be afraid if you ask her a question, and she doesn't answer back."

(A/N: Think of Google Translations. It's usually a garbled mess that only vaguely resembles what was actually said.)

"Duly noted," Haalfrin says as he leans back on his couch. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure that I've told your people before. I don't represent the tribes of this world. What could your people want with me?"

"Ah, straight to the point," Arren smiles. "As expected of a military man. Well, I'll try to be straight with you as well…"

Arren holds up a single finger. "First, Lareen would like to form trade negotiations and peace treaties with the Rehkin Clans. However, I'm afraid that we don't know any of their languages, and they don't know ours. Plus, I've been led to believe that you're a well-respected figure among the natives."

He continues: "With this in mind, I'd like to ask a favor. Would you be willing to host a meeting between me and the Clan Matriarchs, or their representatives?"

"I don't see a problem with that…," Haalfrin starts to reply, "but there's a condition. You see, the Rehkin are dear friends of mine, and I'd hate to abuse their trust. If you offend them in any way, I WILL offer your lives to them. Rehkin are notoriously unforgiving, and I value their friendship over yours."

There's a small silence. Arren certainly wasn't expecting Haalfrin's answer to be THIS stern, but he quickly recovers. "I see. Well, I'd hate to cause a scandal with the clans. Are there any points of advice you'd like to give to an old man?"

"Hmm…," Haalfrin thinks of his answer carefully. "They're an extremely emotional race, and they value relationships over benefits. Eh… how to put it…?"

Haalfrin looks down and thinks a little more.

Suddenly, he starts talking again. "The Rehkin have powerful Spiritual bonds with other members of their clan. Their feelings are deeply interconnected through some sort of pseudo-hive mind. If you kill or offend one, the rest of the clan will instantly know about it, and they'll relentlessly hunt you down, along with your entire family."

Arren's smile falters at this. "Hmm…," the old man replies thoughtfully, "Isn't that a little too much? You can't exactly live your life without offending anyone. It's only a matter of time before some foolish human being does something stupid and angers a clan."

"That's why I said that I'd offer your life to them if you offend them," Haalfrin reminds him. "It should be fine as long as you prove to them that you're on their side, not on the offender's side. Just be careful around them. Be polite. Most importantly, being their friend is more important than being a business partner. They care much about relationships and little about benefits."

Arren thinks a little more. "I see. Well, could you spare a few of your subordinates to teach me their customs and traditions?"

Adhering to their traditions would certainly be a fitting display of sincerity. 'Besides,' the old man thinks, 'I've known some closed-off, clannish communities before. With people like them, the less they feel like you're a stranger, the better.'

"Very well," Haalfrin says. "That's not too much to ask for." He goes silent after that.

"Hmm…," Arren says after a pause, "Don't you have anything else to say? I'm surprised you're not trying to negotiate for anything."

"What could Lareen possibly offer me?" Haalfrin shrugs. "I'm just an old soldier in charge of this castle. So long as the Rehkin clans or your people don't try to send invading armies through the World Gate, then I have nothing to care about beyond these walls."

In other words, Haalfrin is basically saying, "Feel free to pretend I'm not here… unless you intend on starting a war."

Feeling Haalfrin's candid attitude, Arren smiles genuinely for the first time. "Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?" he asks – just to be sure.

Haalfrin shakes his head.

"Very well," the old gentleman says, "I suppose the only thing left to talk about is… who will you send to teach me about the Rehkin Clan's customs? Do you want them to meet me in Lareen, or do you need me to stay here?"

"Hmm…," Haalfrim mumbles. "All right. Let's do it like this…"

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Despite having a great first impression of Arren Jesti, Haalfrin is neither optimistic about Lareen, nor its leaders.

Sure, he's heard from Lyr that his people despise war and love peace… but it's best to not hope for too much. In the end, humans are still humans.

Haalfrin knows all too well that even previously peaceful people can easily grow thirsty for blood again as soon as more resources and land becomes available for plunder.

Besides, the Rehkin and humans didn't get along before… Why would it be any different this time?

'Well, I'd mind as well keep myself busy,' Haalfrin thinks nonchalantly. 'I need to get this castle up and ready again for another war.'

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Meanwhile, we see several men in a brightly lit room – all sitting around a long table. Without exception, everyone here is wearing rich clothing – various shades of tunics and expensive enchantments sown into their clothing.

This room would look like any other office room, except for the padded walls to block out sound, and anti-scrying enchantments to block out spies from eavesdropping.

Measures like this are always necessary when plotting a war, after all.

One of the old oligarchs at the table claps his hands and leans forward in a professional posture. "Well, the World Gate is now open."

"What has the military learned so far?" asks the young-looking man at the head of the table. This man has blonde hair, along with sharp, attractive features.

Frankly, he stands out like a sore thumb, being a young man among a ring of old grandpas. However, the only reason he looks so young is that he's a 2nd Gate mage, whereas all the other shareholders are 1st Gate mages.

The old man who first spoke immediately answers his boss's question. "The reports say that it's full of clean, fertile land. We've also seen that the natives don't appear to have advanced weapons like us."

"I say it's the perfect time to expand our borders," one of the other shareholders says.

Another of the old men shakes his head at this. "No. We don't have the budget for such a thing. With so many of our citizens being without jobs, our tax revenue is down the trash dump."

This old man is Geralt – the Minister of Finance in Lareen. He would know this better than anyone.

"That's exactly why we need to invade," the young man at the head of the table says. "That land is rich with resources. Whoever claims it first will have a competitive edge on the market. Plus, you all know, as well as I, that the Tiamat Corporation is getting ahead of us. If we let them make the first move, then we'll be the ones swallowed up."

"What about the public?" the Minister of Public Safety asks the young man at the head of the table. "There hasn't been a war in Lareen in nearly 200 years. None of the current generation even remembers such a thing. Nobody would support us. Do you really not want to be re-elected as Prime Minister next year?"

"Heh, that's easy to solve," the Prime Minister smiles. "There are already old stories about the natives on the other side being monsters. Just exaggerate some of the reports, spin up a few stories, and the people will be spewing for their blood."

In the end, it's always the same. All you have to do is pay off the tale spinners, book authors, and newsletters into putting your political messaging into their content. The rest solves itself.

The Minister of Public Safety visibly relaxes. "You're right."

A woman in the room holds up her hand, "I'll contact my people in the publication department. We'll take care of public opinion."

"Good," the Prime Minister says. "Now, wars take a lot of planning, so we'll be here a while. Anyone need refreshments before we get started?"