Extra's POV: My Obsessive Villainous Fiancee Is The Game's Final Boss

Bellamy leaned against one of the carved support beams inside the Chief's longhouse, his arms crossed. He kept his expression passive, not allowing anything to slip through.

This will be interesting.

He watched as his father, Chief Ilyan, took his seat across from the emotionless nobleman from Albion. Lord Ross.

The man sat with the posture of a seasoned soldier, spine straight, green eyes cold like a man who was content to kill a few soldiers in exchange for breakfast.

He'd seen those kinds of eyes on some people. People who didn't have a single shred of human feeling. They were like empty barrels masquerading as humans.

His eyes flicked to the guards that had entered with their lord, standing at attention along the walls, silent as statues, save for one. The young soldier who had stayed outside with Maria.

Bellamy had caught her sneaking glances back at the boy and shook his head, a smile disappearing as fast as it appeared on his face. He held back a chuckle. Surely, Maria and her curiosity would be the end of them all.

"We appreciate the welcome." Lord Ross began, his voice like the rushing of a stream, steady in its rhythm. "We are not here to lay claim to your land, nor threaten your sovereignty. King Henry of Albion wishes for cooperation. A channel of trade."

Chief Ilyan nodded once, giving nothing away through his expression. "Trade is possible, so long as it does not come with demands."

"We are prepared to offer Albion's best." Lord Ross raised a hand and a guard stepped forward to place a satchel in his hand.

As the lord reached into the bag, the tribe's warriors tensed from their position along the wall, ready to pounce on the man if he made a wrong move.

The lord paid them no mind, removing several small sacks from the satchel. He opened them one at a time, letting the contents glimmer on the table between them. "Refined steel. Spices from the southern ports. Tanned leather and silk."

Bellamy's eyes narrowed slightly. It was a good offer. More than generous by Albion standards. But his father maintained his composure, staring at the Ross lord.

"And what," Ilyan asked slowly, "do you expect in return?"

"Access to your herbs, medicinal roots, and rare beast pelts. Preferably dragon pelt. Additionally, any magical artifacts or stones discovered within your territory."

"You amaze me, outsider." Ilyan chuckled. "You seek our pelts and artifacts. The pelts are rare enough and the artifacts are almost non-existent. You ask for what I can't give."

"Then something else of value." Ross replied. "Forget the dragon pelt. You have pelts of other creatures. We could just increase the quantities exchanged."

One of the elders to Ilyan's right scoffed. "Do you plan to strip our lands bare?"

"Of course not." Lord Ross said without missing a beat. "We can offer sustainable quotas. Your people will hunt as they normally do. We only ask for a share of what is already gathered."

"And what of our wyverns?" Bellamy asked, stepping forward. "Will you next ask to ride them too?"

"Wyverns are unique to your region." Ross said simply. "We do not presume to ask for what is sacred. Only for what is tradable."

"You offer trinkets for lifeblood." Ilyan said calmly. "Our medicines and pelts are not easily replenished. Your spices and steel do not equate."

"I know they do but let me humor you." Ross said. "What do you want in exchange for your valuable pelts? Name a thing you desire, and Albion will consider it."

There was a pause. The elders of the tribe murmured among themselves.

"Knowledge." One of the elders offered. "We want access to your scholars. Your libraries."

Ross inclined his head. "A fair request. I can arrange for tomes to be copied and sent each season."

"We want tools for farming." Another voice said. "Those devices you use on your farm. We want them."

"We will send them too." Ross promised.

"And it still wouldn't be enough." Ilyan continued.

"And that's where we disagree." Ross shot back calmly.

And so they went back and forth for several minutes, each side proposing and adjusting.

Ilyan held his ground, while the Ross lord remained just as impassive, like two mountain peaks resisting the tide of the ocean.

"We are giving things that the other tribes will kill to have. You get richer just by possessing them. And yet, you offer little in return." Lord Ross said. "Even your pelts will not be enough for steel, knowledge, spices and more."

"I know just how much wealth and power you'll get if you sell what we give you to the other tribes deeper inside the barbarian lands."

No one said anything, knowing his words to be true.

Then, he said something that changed the tone of the entire room.

"You have something you could give us, Chief Ilyan." The man said. "Give us access to tame wyverns and wield druidic power. That would be more than enough payment."

Silence filled the room.

"What?" Ilyan asked, brows raising at the balls on the man. Asking for their closely guarded power in exchange for a few junk.

"We would send Albion soldiers to your tribe every year. They would be granted the ability to wield Druidic magic, receive basic training and be sent home."

The silence stretched as Ilyan and Lord Ross stared at each other.

Bellamy's jaw tensed. He could tell from the reactions of his tribal mates around him that they had taken offence to the man's request.

Ilyan leaned forward slowly. "The Druidic gift is not a thing to be handed out like bread, outsider. It is sacred."

"If your tribe is willing," Ross continued, his voice level, "Albion will compensate handsomely for each soldier empowered."

"It is not a matter of price. It is a matter of blood."

There it was.

Ross's eyes narrowed. "Explain."

Ilyan looked to Bellamy briefly, then to the elders seated near the back. One of them, a gray-bearded man with eyes like flint, shifted uncomfortably. Another shook her head.

"The Druidic power," Ilyan said at last, "is locked to the blood of the wild tribes. The Green Tree chooses those it considers kin."

"So you're saying only barbarians may be chosen." Ross said.

"Yes."

"Prove it."

A quiet uproar began immediately. Several voices rose at once in protest.

"He asks too much!"

"We can't take them to the Tree!"

"The foreigner doesn't understand!"

Bellamy stepped forward. "Father, you don't need to agree to this."

But Ilyan raised a hand, and the room quieted.

"They came far." He said, his voice calm. "Let them see the truth with their own eyes."

Bellamy opened his mouth to protest but saw the intensity in his father's eyes. That look meant the decision was final.

Lord Ross simply nodded and stood. "Then let us go."

As everyone rose, Ilyan gave a low whistle, signaling the door guards to open the longhouse.

As they stepped outside, the Ross lord called to the young soldier who was still standing where they'd left him, and the young man with green eyes quickly joined them.

Bellamy eyed the boy. The resemblance was clear now. He had to be Lord Ross's son.

Chief Ilyan turned to lead the way. "Come, outsider. Come see the truth with your own eyes."