Chapter 18

There were a lot of things I expected when I opened my eyes that morning. A half-burned stew pot, Bonk's snoring outside my hut, and maybe a new leak in the community bathhouse roof.

What I didn't expect?

A human courier, standing at the gate, holding a scroll sealed in red wax and looking like he very much regretted signing up for this route.

Behind him, two goblins were arguing about whether he should be knocked out first and questioned later, or if we should just skip to the stew interrogation.

I stepped between them with a forced smile. "Let's not traumatize the messenger before breakfast, please."

The courier blinked at me. "You're... Taku?"

"Depends. Are you here to arrest or assassinate me?"

He flinched. "Neither! Message only! Please don't throw anything!"

I took the scroll and gave him a small nod of thanks. He promptly turned and sprinted back into the woods like we were a nest of hornets. Which, to be fair, wasn't inaccurate.

Riri appeared beside me, hair sticking up in every direction. "Did he bring breakfast?"

"No," I said, holding up the scroll. "But he brought trouble."

Bonk arrived, already holding a chicken. "We ready for interrogation?"

"No chickens today," I sighed. "We have mail."

...

We unsealed the scroll at the council table, still sticky with yesterday's berry compote. Riri squinted at the elegant handwriting.

"From Baron Harwin of Eastmarch," she read aloud, trying her best noble accent. "A formal invitation for Taku, alleged founder of Underleaf, to attend a Warboard demonstration and cultural dinner."

She looked up, eyes wide. "A noble dinner?"

Gresh frowned deeply. "That sounds like a trap."

"It's a dinner," Bonk said. "How dangerous could it be?"

I gave him a look. "Have you met humans?"

He nodded thoughtfully. "Good point."

Elena appeared from the shadows, as usual. "Baron Harwin isn't a war hawk, but he is opportunistic. This might be a test—or a stage."

"So a trap," Gresh confirmed again.

"Or a bridge," I muttered.

Grak leaned forward. "We can't keep hiding in the forest. If a noble wants to see what Underleaf is… maybe we should let them."

Everyone stared at me.

I exhaled slowly. "We'll go. But only a small delegation. Me, Riri, Elena... and Bonk, if he promises not to touch anything sharp."

Bonk raised his hand. "Define 'sharp."

...

The next few days were chaos.

Apparently, when you're invited to a noble's manor, you need clothes that don't look like you've wrestled pigs in them. Which disqualified ninety percent of our village.

I found a passable tunic, brushed the twigs out of my hair, and immediately regretted every decision that led to this moment.

Riri, meanwhile, took things seriously. She drafted an "Underleaf Protocol Manual for Cross-Cultural Exchanges." It included guidelines like "no biting," "ask before touching cutlery," and "don't name the noble's pet."

Bonk ignored most of it and packed a basket of smoked mushroom jerky "just in case diplomacy needs snacks."

The night before we left, Elena pulled me aside.

"Do you know what you're walking into?" she asked quietly.

"Diplomacy," I said. "Or maybe theater."

She nodded. "Just remember—it's not about what you say. It's what you let them believe."

I smiled grimly. "Good. That's the only thing I'm good at."

...

Baron Harwin's estate looked like someone gave a peacock a castle.

There were fountains, hedges shaped like mythical beasts, and so many marble statues of the Baron himself that I lost count at twelve.

We were escorted inside by a butler who clearly thought we were a plague wrapped in goblin-sized clothing.

The Baron greeted us with a wide smile and a suspicious amount of rings. "Welcome! I've heard fascinating things about Underleaf. And your... innovations."

I bowed stiffly. "Thank you for your interest."

His daughter, a sharp-eyed girl of maybe thirteen, stepped forward. "Are you the one who made Warboard?"

"That's me."

She beamed. "Can you teach me how to beat my tutor?"

"I'll need to see the tutor first."

"He cries a lot," she said cheerfully.

"I can work with that."

Riri immediately hit it off with her, the two of them comparing notes, sketching out new board pieces, and debating whether Bonk should have his own expansion deck. (He shouldn't.)

...

The exhibition match took place in the estate's rose garden. A large crowd had gathered: nobles, guards, even a bard taking notes.

The Baron sat nearby, sipping wine. "Let us see if monsters truly can think."

No pressure.

I took my seat across from the Baron's advisor, a smug man named Marlo who wore too many buttons and too little humility.

The board was ornate. Our carved pebble pieces from Underleaf looked positively rustic next to his lacquered ivory ones.

He opened with an aggressive pincer move. I countered with a flank maneuver I called "Bonk's Diversion," involving sacrifice, distraction, and implied stew.

The crowd murmured as the game progressed. Riri was scribbling frantically. Bonk was loudly whispering advice that made no sense.

Halfway through, I started explaining my moves aloud.

"If you push here," I said, moving a piece, "you expose your rear defense. In terrain terms, that's a floodplain with no elevation."

Marlo blinked. "That's not in the rulebook."

"It is if you build roads for a living."

The final move was a draw—a mutual stalemate with implied economic collapse.

The nobles applauded politely.

The Baron leaned forward. "You didn't try to win."

"I tried to teach."

He nodded slowly. "Clever."

...

That night, after a ceremonial dinner (featuring five forks I didn't know how to use), the Baron pulled me aside.

"You're building something unusual," he said. "Monsters that don't act like monsters. Roads. Schools. Games."

"We're building lives," I replied quietly. "A future."

"And you think that future includes humans?"

"If they want to be part of it."

He studied me for a long moment. "I don't know what you are, Taku. But I suspect history will remember it."

When we returned to Underleaf, the village held a feast. Bonk was declared "diplomatic chef." I still don't know what that means.

Gresh greeted me at the gate. "So? Allies?"

I shook my head. "Not yet. But maybe... witnesses."

...

That night, as I sat by the fire, Riri handed me her journal. She'd added a page titled: "First Contact – Baron Harwin's Visit."

Below it, she'd written a single sentence:

"Today, the humans listened."

I smiled softly.

It wasn't a treaty.

But it was a beginning.