Chapter 357: The Power of an Oath

"How did you know?" Pergrande’s expression was one of surprise, followed by an even deeper curiosity. "Could it be you’ve lived in a Half-Elf community before?"

"But your style isn’t much like theirs..."

"I’ve just met a Half-Elf before who also happened to have the surname Sred," Ron said, the image of the spice merchant’s steward flashing in his mind. "That’s why I asked."

"That explains it. The Sred surname isn’t common among Half-Elves," Pergrande said, nodding. "Then, about the contents of the letter—"

"Perhaps we can maintain a trade relationship. You have a considerable need for Alchemy Potions, and we’re quite skilled at mass-producing them. This could probably benefit both our endeavors," Ron paused. "As for other forms of cooperation, let’s just forget it. Your group’s methods are very different from ours. Never mind the other residents; my companions and I can’t quite stomach it."

The Priest was not surprised by Ron’s refusal. She didn’t understand why a letter with no particularly special content needed to be delivered in such a manner, nor did she understand why Ron had asked that question. Nevertheless, she rose respectfully and took her leave.

For the next half-month, the Priests from Molten Iron Barrier were surprisingly well-behaved. Even during their last two days in New Green Swamp Town, they didn’t cause any trouble. Of course, not everyone in Ron’s territory welcomed such compliance.

"This is a complaint from Morlo," Ivendel said with a wry smile, placing a letter of complaint on Ron’s desk. "The Gagawaah tavern is refusing to serve those Priests—especially that Big-bearded Dwarf."

"Why? Because he can’t stand Kobolds?" Ron wasn’t surprised. It was only a matter of time before that group clashed with the other residents. Fortunately, they no longer needed to worry about it, because just last night, Raymond Aron had submitted a request to leave the territory.

Ron had, of course, read their report before it was sent to the upper echelons of the Religious Order. While it didn’t sing his praises, it didn’t slander him either. In it, Aron specifically highlighted the unique environment and circumstances of the Delusional Land, claiming that Ron’s unification of different races and factions was a necessary response to the situation. Ron truly hadn’t expected the Chief Judge to defend his actions in the report.

As for the assessment of the Delusional Land’s defenses and the recommendation against an attack to "set things right"... Ron just pretended he hadn’t seen those parts. Over the past few days, he had also figured out the general location of Molten Iron Barrier’s main garrison: on the far side of the two Elf Kingdoms. It must have been quite a trek for the four of them, coming all this way just to verify Victoria’s faith.

Still, it made sense. According to Victoria, if a Priest committed a major transgression, a Deity might directly strip them of their boons. However, if a Priest continuously made minor mistakes—like belonging to a teetotaling sect but secretly drinking—the Deities most likely wouldn’t bother. But for a Priest like Victoria, who fought alongside "Evil Creatures" every other day, even a Deity couldn’t be certain of her stance. Issuing a warning each time would be too cumbersome, so dispatching other mortal followers to confirm her standing was a relatively fair decision.

"No, not that," Ivendel’s lips twitched as he suppressed a laugh. "Morlo said that the Dwarf eats at the tavern three times a day, but he never, ever drinks! That’s just plain un-Dwarven, and the Kobolds are taking it as an insult!"

A member of a race skilled in both brewing and drinking comes to the territory of another race that shares this passion, only to eat without drinking? Could anything be more frustrating for the Kobolds? After all, that other Dwarf, Rurik, wasn’t like this at all!

"I never knew Molten Iron Barrier was teetotaling," Ron said with a shrug. "But you can tell Morlo to rest easy. After this afternoon, that guy won’t be coming back."

The afternoon farewell banquet was held at the Gagawaah tavern. A scowling Kobold slammed a mug brimming with ale down on the table in front of the Dwarf. Big Beard seemed not to mind in the slightest. He gently pushed the mug aside and focused intently on tackling the steak on his plate.

"If you’re not drinking, I will." Pergrande readily snatched the ale intended for the Dwarf, hoisted the heavy wooden mug with one hand, and downed it in a single gulp. Such a hearty display clearly won the favor of the Kobolds, and cheers erupted all around. The Priest let out a "Ha!" and wiped her mouth casually. "Old Lei! This is the first time I’ve thought these little scaly fellows were so cute!"

"That’s only because this place is still governed by order, for now," Aron said, taking a sip from his own cup. Molten Iron Barrier didn’t prohibit alcohol; it was just the Dwarf’s personal habit. "But you still shouldn’t drink too much. Kobold ale is stronger than it seems. Be careful, or you won’t be able to ride your pack beast later."

Ron agreed with him. While Kobold-brewed ale tasted no different from the common variety, it packed a bigger punch than most hard liquors. Ron had even issued a special decree banning drunk driving—specifically forbidding coachmen from giving alcohol to their horses or pack beasts!

And why was that? Because, of course, someone had actually done it! If that carriage accident hadn’t happened right in front of the church, allowing the injured to receive immediate treatment, someone would have actually died!

"Oh, as if!" Pergrande waved dismissively at Aron, then pointed to a young man walking toward them with a cup. "Old Lei, you’d better worry about yourself! The lad you had that heart-to-heart with is coming to give you a toast, haha!"

"I-It’s not that serious..." Andre, who had only just worked up the courage to approach, froze in embarrassment at her words. Raymond Aron remained silent, simply sitting and watching him. The two of them were stuck in a standoff.

"Lord Aron, I—" Andre gritted his teeth and sighed, his head bowed. "Maybe you were right the other day. I’m really not cut out to be a Paladin. I can’t do anything but cause trouble for everyone..."

The clothes over the young man’s chest and shoulders bulged, still wrapped in bandages. The area heaved violently with his unstable emotions. "Maybe... maybe I never should have come here with Lord Ron! I should have—"

"Should have what?" Aron glanced at Ron before turning to the young man. He stood and patted Andre’s shoulder gently. "You were right to go with Lord Ron, and you should continue on this path."

"I don’t know who started you on this path, and it was clearly a mistake. But since you are now a Paladin, remember what Victoria said that day: let your oath guide your path."

The Chief Judge let out a laugh, though no one knew at what. "Young man, as your senior, I feel I must teach you something: while many Paladins devote themselves to benevolent Deities, the act of honoring our oaths itself grants us tremendous power—a power that can even rival that which a Deity bestows."

"So, hold fast to your convictions. Don’t be swayed by anything, including your so-called ’brethren’."