Chương 70: The Headaches of a Full Office

Moeldywn tapped her foot impatiently as she once again found herself sitting in the audience chamber of the Royal Court. Her tolerance for rhetoric was waning lately, and she couldn't figure out why. Her mind wandered to the flight she took the other day, flying over open waters and looking down on towering mountaintops as if they were divots in the sand. Never had she felt so free. Moeldywn sighed. There was her answer. That damn dragon.

Though now that Meliastraza had returned, perhaps Moeldywn could coax Jewel to adorn a saddle? Moeldywn had experienced fast travel, yes, but how about slow travel? Maybe there was something to it? Taking the world one ponderous step at a time, watching everybody rush by. … no, that sounded too much like an allegory of her own life. Nothing interesting was happening on the floor below, so Moeldywn got up and left. If anything truly pressing transpired, her aides would inform her.

She slowly wandered through several parks, observing families and pedestrians as they went about their day. A few people waved, and Moeldywn returned the gesture. She found herself smiling, something she was doing more and more of late. Could it be? Was the Ice Queen melting? One man, carrying a large parcel, looked her way. As soon as his eyes fell on her, they grew large as saucers and his smile fell. He nearly dropped his package in his haste to scurry away. Moeldywn frowned.

Even if she was melting, she would always be the White Witch. Her mood thoroughly soured, she made her way back to her office to brood. Nothing quite like perusing redundant reports to take her mind off whatever was staring her in the face. Once she returned to the comforting confines of her office, a pale blue glow from the top of her desk caught her eye. There, the [Frozen Heart of the Mountain] remained exactly where she placed it, magically anchored in place.

More secure than a safe, even if the desk itself was destroyed, her bindings would hold and the stone would simply float where it was. For something like this, Moeldywn would rather have it in the open to keep an eye on it than risk it disappearing once it was out of sight. Maybe that was the source of her recent unrest. A taste of freedom, a dose of adventure, and the allure of a system-generated quest made castle life seem so… dull.

What was petty court politics and nobles bickering amongst each other compared to fulfilling a divine command? At least, that's what followers of Order would probably call any quest prompted by the system. In truth, that was a reason both for and against contacting the Order to return this heirloom. [Templars] were a zealous bunch, and Moeldywn had no doubts they would stop at nothing to see the [Frozen Heart] returned safely. There was a fifty-fifty chance they also started treating it as a holy relic.

Moeldywn wanted the dwarves to get their rock back, not chain them with some overzealous fanatics. … though, Moeldywn had to wonder, how was the status of the dwarven financial record-keeping? [Templars] of Order made fantastic accountants. Moeldywn shook her head. Not the time. Now that her mind was on the stone, Moeldywn figured it was probably time to finish her part in this [Epic] quest.

She'd written the dwarven ambassador the same day Meliastraza dumped responsibility onto her, and she was still awaiting a response. Moeldywn was reluctant to provide many details in a letter or by courier, so the ambassador's office was a bit slow in responding. No, that wasn't fair. Moeldywn knew Moira treated any request of hers quite seriously, but without an explicit emergency on her hands, she was one to settle her current affairs first. A good practice, in Moeldywn's opinion.

Today was the day of their arranged meeting, scheduled for a couple of hours from now. Moeldywn wasn't anxious. She had plenty of time to prepare, and it wasn't like there was much she could do other than hand over the rock to somebody else. But, because it was a legitimate quest item for a real system quest, Moeldywn felt she needed to put in a little extra effort. Normally, she would let her [Maids] dress her, and she would wear whatever they deemed to be the height of fashion, but today needed to be special.

It required impact. Moeldywn dug through her wardrobe, searching for something she always kept on hand but never wanted to see: her [Robes of the White Witch]. The armor she used to kill the last of her family. It didn't matter that her cousin was the one to instigate everything. It didn't matter that his assassins had killed every other living member to bear the Eutevor name. It didn't matter that it was in self-defense. To Moeldywn, these robes would always be a reminder that, by her hand, she was the last.

However. The [Robes of the White Witch] held a certain bearing to them. An aura entirely disconnected from the one she was normally shrouded in. They screamed, very loud and clear, that she was not a person to be trifled with. Perhaps even more fitting, thinking about today's meeting, was the fact that they were [Frost] attuned.

By wearing them, the robes granted Moeldywn immunity to ice magic, though they had the peculiar quirk of turning her skin bone-white and her lips deep blue, as if she were suffering from extreme cold. The robes themselves featured a gradient from deep blue to pitch black, evoking the frozen depths of an icy tomb. Moeldywn did not intend to intimidate the old ambassador, with whom she was good friends, but give her the courtesy of authenticity.

As she waited for the appointed time, Moeldywn sat behind her desk, adjusting her stationery to alleviate her tension. Despite her long and turbulent life, she had never participated in a system quest. Not even a "normal" one, let alone something tied to an epic item. A very small part of Moeldywn contemplated keeping the [Heart] and returning it herself. Would the system grant her a reward? That was how it worked with adventurers, wasn't it?

They were the ones most likely to receive and undertake quests handed out by the system. Quests were one of the few things she was woefully uninformed about. Did they give out gear? Skills or abilities? More experience? Moeldywn leaned back in her chair. It had been decades since she'd leveled. It might be nice to relive that feeling of energy rushing through her body as she grew more powerful. Not that she needed it. But…

that same small adventurous part of her felt like running out of her office and slipping into the Adventurer's Guild. Incognito, of course… maybe [Sunrise] needed a part-time damage-dealer while their [Mage] was studying….

"My lady, Madame Ambassador Lumberlog is here to see you." Moeldywn looked up from where she was shoving a paperweight to the extreme edge of her desk, seeing if she could balance it before it fell off. She quickly stowed the [Heart] inside a drawer in her desk and nodded to her [Maid] to let the woman in. Gods, what an unfortunate name. Perhaps Moeldywn would insist that Moira return the [Heart], and maybe the system would change it.

It was the least she could do for the woman after she'd spent nearly half a century liaising between their peoples.

"My apologies for taking so long to arrange this meeting," the stocky dwarven woman said as she entered.

"What with the sudden disappearance of [Froljnar]- oh. Your highness." Moira's eyes finally landed on Moeldywn as the White Witch got up to offer the woman a chair. Seeing the woman in her battle armor instead of a gown more suited for work behind a desk put the dwarf in a more respectful, if slightly wary, mood. Moira crossed her arms over her chest and dipped her knees in a traditional dwarven greeting.

"Rise," Moeldywn said regally, taking the woman's hand and leading her to a comfortable armchair. There was a chance this conversation might get very emotional, in which case it would be better if she were sitting down. Moira's arm shivered at the touch of the White Witch's frozen fingers, her eyes roving up and down the dreadful robe nervously. She watched Moeldywn take her seat behind the desk and chose her words carefully.

"Should I have cleared my calendar sooner, your highness?" the ambassador asked tactfully. It was a polite way to mask her annoyance at being caught unprepared while also slipping in a subtle barb. Moeldywn knew she could have gone easier on the poor woman, so she let it slide.

"There was no rush," Moeldywn said airily. Truthfully, there was not. But the dwarves might not think so after they found out what she possessed.

"How are things on the home front?"

"Bah," Moira snorted and tossed a long braid of greying orange hair over her shoulder.

"As well as can be expected. Gold breeds gold, they say, but blood keeps it in the vault. I'm wondering what that means for long stretches of peace. There hasn't been a war for over a century, and I fear we've grown complacent. Eh, not that I'm complaining, mind you," the woman chuckled.

"I'd rather keep all my limbs to retirement, thanks. I, eh, don't suppose that's why we're all dressed up today?"

"No, thankfully," Moeldywn chuckled.

"The treaty between the demons and humans still stands. But, what was this you were just saying about [Froljnar]?"

"Ah, our resident embodiment of winter? It seems he's taken a holiday. Not that I don't mind the sun shining down on us more than two days out of the month, but it's been a right pain in the ass tryin' to figure out why, or when he's commin' back. Er, sorry, your highness."

"Think nothing of it," Moeldywn chuckled. It showed a measure of trust if a woman as disciplined as Ambassador Lumberlog slipped into comfortable speech and her natural accent.

"And, as it so happens, I might be able to shine some light on those concerns of yours."

"Eh, you have much dealin' with the [Lord o' Frost]?" Moira asked. Horizon didn't have a [World Boss] of its own, but that didn't mean its rulers willingly sought out someone else's.

"Personally, no. But an… acquaintance, shall I say? An acquaintance of mine did. This-" Moeldywn retrieved the stone from where it was freezing the drawer of her desk shut and displayed it with a flourish, "-was left in my possession not a week ago." Now, Moira had known Moeldywn for all her professional life. The dwarf was nearly 80 years old, and she had a good head on her shoulders. She was kind, quick-witted, sharp of tongue and soft of heart.

She would just as soon spare a smile as she would lend a hand to a friend. Despite being an ambassador and living a life of politics, she hardly ever mixed business with pleasure. And most of all, she knew how to read a room. Perhaps that's why she was caught so flat-footed, staring at the blue lump of rock emanating frost with a quirky smile riddled with confusion. It was as if the words the system gave her were inadequate for her brain; they simply didn't process.

Until all at once, they did, and she shot up from her chair, slammed her palms flat on Moeldywn's desk as the chair fell over, and let out a strangled gasp. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

[Frozen Heart of the Mountain] Rarity: Epic Level: 1000 This is a quest item. Somebody might be interested in this.

Behold, and with this triumph I will light our forges and fire our hearths, and it will be as a lasting heirloom and symbol of our people. May we prosper and thrive throughout the ages to come. -Darion Ironsledge the 1st, on retrieving the still smoldering elemental core from the corpse of Soltus, Firelord.

Moira stared at the [Heart], her mouth wide open. Minutes passed, long past the point of rudeness, before she looked up. When she did, her eyes held a strange light, something close to reverence coated in greed.

"By my grandma's saggy tits, woman, where did you get this? I know you're much older than you look, lass, but this…this…hells. To think Darion Ironsledge once held this with his own two hands…."

"As I said, an acquaintance dropped it off," Moeldywn smiled with amusement, enjoying seeing the normally unflappable woman suitably…flapped.

"Acquaintance," Moira scoffed.

"Entertaining Helena herself, are ye? Bollocks." The dwarf caught a glimpse of powdered snow drifting from the shoulders of Moeldywn's [Robes of the White Witch] and finally remembered who she was talking to.

"I apologize, your highness. That was uncalled for, and it was improper of me-""Relax," Moeldywn said with a huff, leaning back in her chair. She looked tired and motioned for Moira to sit.

"No offense taken. As for hosting a goddess for tea…perhaps not quite, but close enough. This acquaintance of mine wishes to remain anonymous for now, though I doubt those desires will be granted for too long. And yes, they really did just drop this on my desk and all but told me: this is your problem, deal with it. And then promptly left."

"Just…left?" Moira asked, stunned.

"Don't they know what this is?"

"They do, and that might be part of the problem. To you, and any dwarf in Stronghold, this relic might as well be salvation from the gods, keeping your tunnels open and your fires lit. How long has it been since the great forges bloomed, their flames stoked white-hot? The ever-present threat of freezing solid, kept at bay without relying on precious fuel from the surface…. To my acquaintance, this is nothing but a nuisance."

"A nuisance," Moira repeated, sounding ill. She tentatively reached toward the [Heart], but paused halfway and quickly drew her hand back.

"Do you know what this means?" Moira asked.

"If the [Heart of the Mountain] should be returned? It goes beyond cold beds and uncomfortable nights. No longer would we be reliant on our allies for wood and coal. We have no forests and the elves know this; every year, their prices rise while their shipments shrink. Supply and damnable demand. Never enough to create a genuine shortage, mind, but they've got us bent over a barrel and there's nothing we can do about it. Not when our mines are running dry and we fear to dig too deep. With this…

the glory of the dwarves will be restored."

"If you can somehow get it unfrozen," Moeldywn frowned. She reached forward, uncaring how the cold that radiated from the stone encrusted her whole arm with a layer of frost. As if broken from a spell, Moira shook her head and came to her senses.

"Ahhh, true," she said woefully.

"It is, as you say, the [Frozen Heart of the Mountain]."

"Unfreezing it won't be easy," Moeldywn sighed.

"I suppose that's why the system deemed it worthy to be presented as a quest item. Epic, no less."" Somebody might be interested in this,"Moira read from the description with a laugh." Thanks for that, system."

"Well," Moeldywn smiled as the ambassador leaned back in her chair and stared at the stone longingly.

"Now you know why I've called you here. Rather simple, I should think. The only question is: how to get it back to Stronghold? Will you take it? Or wait until it can be more thoroughly secured?"

"You're just…giving this to me?" Moira asked, her head shooting up. Moeldywn wore a complicated expression as she waved her hand back and forth.

"I'm giving it to the dwarves. As for giving…one good turn deserves another, I suppose. Once it was retrieved, it would have made its way to you eventually."

"You could be rich," Moira said baldly.

"This is a dwarven heirloom. The kingdom would empty its coffers to ransom it back." Moeldywn sat up straight and looked Moira dead in the eye.

"I have learned, over a long and storied life, not to tempt the system. I want this miserable rock out of my office, the sooner the better. Then maybe my life can go back to being boring."

"Aye," Moira smiled.

"Wouldn't want to leave a treasure like that unattended. Who knows? Might draw the attention of a dragon, come swoop down and steal it right from under your nose."

"Of all the ironies, woman," Moeldywn sighed explosively, "You have no idea."

"Don't think we didn't hear about the [Obsidian Dragon] crossing the Lava Plains."

"That's been settled, too," Moeldywn slumped in her chair. Why was she wishing for more excitement earlier? Her life was already overly full.

"My question remains. Will you take it now? Or send word back to your king?"

"My avarice might be great, but I know my place." Moira stood from her chair, only to bow respectfully, her head nearly dipped to her waist.

"Queen Moeldywn, White Witch, I beg of you, keep our treasure safe until such a time as the gods see fit, where we can transport it safely home."

"This, I, Moeldywn Queen, do hear and say: it will be done," the White Witch said solemnly. Moira rose, wiping fresh tears from her eyes, and sat down. The ambassador was known for her gentle smile, but now it was more genuine than Moeldywn had seen it for years.

"Do you think he'll try to come himself?" Moeldywn asked.

"Thongral?"

"The king would love to try," Moira laughed, "And I should probably send word for his aides to try and stop him. Ahh, though, as things stand, I'm not sure who he'll send. Won't be the army, I doubt King Philip would appreciate dwarves marching in his lands."

"Adventurers, then?" Moeldywn asked.

"You'd trust that lot?" Moira looked skeptical.

"As much as anyone else," Moeldywn shrugged.

"It all depends on the person. My kingdom has its share of thieves and rogues, but some are trustworthy, too. Is it not the same in Stronghold?"

"I confess, I've never really put much thought to adventurers or adventuring."

"I find it to be an honest trade," Moeldywn shrugged.

"More often than not."

"Yes, but you always were a strange one. I've heard the stories."

Moeldywn was just considering freezing the laughing dwarf to her chair when the door to her office burst open. Moeldywn instinctively rose to her feet; her staff knew not to disturb her in a meeting unless it was an emergency. Seeing who was entering, she sat back down, but that didn't mean there was any less of an emergency. Alda, one of her Collectors of Intriguing Stories, was panting, out of breath, looking like he'd run all the way up to Moeldywn's office from the ground floor.

Stairs were not kind, not even to a rank 7 [Courier]. Moeldywn was about to offer the man some water when she realized he was not alone. How somebody as big as Lethia could practically melt into the scenery wherever she went was beyond even Moeldywn.

"My lady…!" Alda gasped, doubled over.

"My lady…!"

"Yes?" Moeldywn asked. She didn't bother walking over to the man; Lethia was already steering the man toward a chair, and she'd pulled some refreshments out of nowhere. The White Witch glanced at Moira, who was fidgeting. The ambassador likely felt her presence was no longer required. With the news of the [Heart] delivered, she could arrange its retrieval herself. Alda, in a surprising lack of awareness, did not even fully check the room before blurting out his report.

"My lady, a new dungeon has appeared! In the ruins of the Obsidian Mansion!" Silence fell over the room, and now that Alda had a second to regain his wits, he noticed his employer was not alone. His eyes darted back and forth from the dwarf to the White Witch, in all her regalia, and he paled. Moeldywn closed her eyes, and Moira slowly sat back down. Fortunately, Eutevor was on good terms with the dwarves. If a new dungeon truly had appeared, they'd find out eventually. Moeldywn leveled her gaze on her scout.

"A dungeon," she repeated slowly.

"In the Obsidian Mansion."

"Yes, your highness," Alda gulped. He glanced back at Moira, and Moeldywn shook her head.

"Relax. A lapse of judgment, but a harmless one. How good is this intelligence?"

"Quite good," Lethia said, stepping forward.

"I entered it myself."

"You?" the White Witch balked.

"Entered a dungeon?"

"Indeed," the elf sounded particularly cross, despite her mild looks.

"It invaded my mistress' ballroom."

"Mistress?" Moira asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"By 'Obsidian Mansion', do you mean that old, derelict fortress in the mountains east of here? Isn't it deserted? Rumors used to say it was a dragon's den, but those stories are older than I am."

"You aren't wrong," Moeldywn sighed.

"On all accounts. Lethia, I've never heard of a dungeon inside the mansion. When did you first discover it?" Perhaps, in the long years since Meliastraza's great slumber started, some unknown threat had been lurking up there, and Chaos deemed it worthy of attention.

"Two days ago," Lethia replied.

"My mistress summoned it when she used her key in a mysterious lock."

"Of course she did," Moeldywn groaned.

"Why would it be anything else?"

"But, my lady," Alda said, his excitement palpable, "It's high level!" Moeldywn turned to Lethia, who nodded once.

"The outer instance is a hub," she said coolly.

"It's a raid instance; nightmare difficulty. But once inside, the first portal recommends rank 5. My mistress entered to investigate." Moeldywn expected no less from Meliastraza. To her, any dungeon less than rank 30 must be child's play. Her insatiable curiosity must have compelled her to explore. On one hand, that meant Moeldywn could be assured no cataclysmic threats existed to shake her realm. But on the other… it was highly unlikely the dragon would share her secrets.

To Melia, she'd probably find it much more amusing to let everybody else find out for themselves. But… a brand new dungeon, in human lands. Moeldywn leaned back and put a hand to her chin. Dungeons were more than a place for adventurers to delve for loot and die in the process. They were a vital strategic resource. Entire economies revolved around dungeons, and any kingdom that possessed one exploited them ruthlessly.

They were the primary reason the Adventurer's Guild was created: to explore them and bring back their riches. Whole towns would spring up near profitable dungeons, which would change the landscape of every map in the kingdom. Political lines would be drawn over who could or could not best manage the dungeon resources, as well as keeping people safe from monsters feeling threatened by an influx of Humans in their spawning zones.

Moeldywn knew that as soon as King Philip found out about this dungeon, as soon as it was verified by the Guild, he would not rest until his greed was sated. He'd send people en masse. Architects, surveyors, infrastructure experts, anybody who could remotely make the place more accessible. He'd send the army, both to protect his assets and to train. Few people realized that dungeons, especially high-level dungeons, were critical in boosting the strength of any military, as they allowed people to level so rapidly.

A rank 5 dungeon would be perfect for their needs, as anything higher than that was rare and posed too great a risk of failure. No amount of levels gained would be worth emptying the kingdom's treasury to constantly replace an army's worth of destroyed gear. However, the sudden appearance of a dungeon posed problems King Philip might not consider. Such as the fact that Abbyton would likely not be able to support an influx of eager adventurers or their civilian supporters.

Moeldywn would need to get ahead of the rush, not to claim a piece of the prize for her own, but to make sure the peaceful corner of Serenity Forest wasn't overwhelmed. Steps needed to be taken to ensure this new asset could be used efficiently without ruining everything around it in the process. Moeldywn could feel a headache building, and suddenly she found she really wanted to take a nap.

Perhaps the gods were not done laughing at her expense, because as soon as she was about to send everyone away, a new set of footsteps came crashing down the hall. Moeldywn swore silently and turned expectantly to face the door. A disheveled, dirty, and unkempt man, who looked like he hadn't slept in days or bathed in weeks, came rushing forward. His robes were familiar, even if his face was not, underneath a week's worth of patchy black stubble.

The normally venerable Headmaster of Arcanus Scholastia was looking distinctly worse for wear, and he couldn't possibly be more excited about it.

"Your majesty!" Izrizar Veloran said, walking through the office's open door, oblivious to everything else inside. It's 'your highness', Moeldywn muttered.

"I have the most intriguing news! Do you recall those notes I sent along for your perusal? The ones about those fantastic enchanted [Planters] in Abbyton? Well, there's more! Now we have an entire [Greenhouse] to research! And that's not the best part! Somehow, a dragon managed to create an [Aetherstone]! Now we can travel back and forth the same day!" Moeldywn couldn't bear to look at the man's euphoric face, so she buried her own in her hands with a groan.

Clearly, this was not the response Veloran was looking for. His smile turned lopsided with confusion, and as he looked around the room, he noticed several people he must've ignored in his excited rush to collaborate with the White Witch herself. He blinked rapidly and grinned sheepishly.

"Am I…interrupting something?" Moeldywn felt the bags forming under her eyes; she was so tired. She glanced at the [Frozen Heart of the Mountain], still sitting on her desk, all but forgotten. She pointed her chin at it before turning to Moira.

"You see, I have problems of my own. Figure it out yourself."