After several hours of forced march through the forest, punctuated by the violent skirmish with the goblins, King Theron's group reached a relatively safe clearing, halfway to their destination: the kingdom of Veridia. The sun was beginning its descent, painting the sky with hues of orange and crimson, signaling the time to halt for the night.

  King Theron, after surveying the surroundings with an authoritative gaze, designated a clear area near a small stream. "We will camp here. Let everyone attend to their tasks. And peasant," he said, turning to Ragnar with a mocking smile on his lips. "Since you seem so eager to make yourself useful, you will take care of tonight's meal."

  Ragnar, despite his fatigue and the recent turmoil, saw this as an opportunity to ingratiate himself with the king. "Of course, Your Majesty. It would be an honor." The effect of his "Respectable Citizen" title seemed to extend beyond the simple villagers, lending him an aura of helpfulness and reliability. His nascent "Super Service" skills, acquired through his interactions in the village, instinctively awakened.

  One of the guards, a massive man with a scar across his face, pulled some provisions from his bag: a piece of dried meat, a few root vegetables, and a handful of rudimentary spices. "Here's what we have, peasant. Do your best." His tone was condescending, but Ragnar paid it no mind.

  With surprising ingenuity, Ragnar began to improvise. Using his axe to chop wood and build a lively fire, he cleaned the vegetables and cut the dried meat into small pieces. He found some edible wild herbs along the stream, adding a touch of freshness to his preparation. Mixing the ingredients with the provided spices, he let everything simmer in a pot one of the soldiers had unearthed. The aroma that wafted from the pot quickly became appetizing, filling the evening air.

  In her cage, Lysiane watched Ragnar's efforts with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. She let out a cold sarcasm. "So, the great rebel transforms into a cook for the tyrant? Your convictions seem rather fragile, peasant."

  Ragnar ignored her provocations, focused on his task. He knew his actions were being misinterpreted, but he couldn't reveal his hand yet.

  When the stew was ready, he served it carefully to the soldiers and finally to King Theron. The latter took a sip, closed his eyes for a moment, then let out a grunt of satisfaction. "Hmm… surprising. For a simple peasant, you have a certain talent for cooking."

  The soldiers, famished after their arduous day, devoured the dish with enthusiasm, accompanying their meal with a few gourds of strong alcohol they had brought. The atmosphere around the campfire relaxed, laughter and lively conversation replacing the day's tension.

  Meanwhile, a new notification appeared discreetly in Ragnar's field of vision:

  Ragnar's title was evolving based on his actions. "Diligent Servant." Another step in his infiltration.

  While the royal squad was absorbed in their meal and drinks, Lysiane, taking advantage of the hubbub, called out to Ragnar in a low, reproachful voice. "Why are you acting like this, Ragnar? You bow down to this tyrant while he takes us chained towards certain death! Where is the courage you showed in Valenbois?"

  Ragnar approached the cage, keeping an eye on the king and his men. "Lysiane, trust me. It's not what you think. I have an idea. A plan." He couldn't say more, but he hoped the tone of his voice would be enough to sow a seed of doubt in her mind.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Later that evening, as the campfire crackled and most of the soldiers dozed off, King Theron, visibly tipsy, launched into a captivating tale. He spoke of the legend of the "Golden Carrot," an ancient and powerful artifact that King Vorlag of Kaldor sought with a consuming obsession.

  "In exchange for our cooperation in helping him retrieve this relic," Theron explained in a slurred voice, "Vorlag has promised me a limited veto right on certain decisions concerning the city of Kaldor. A token of power, you see."

  He added, in a darker tone, "But what Vorlag doesn't know is that the true wealth of this land doesn't lie in its mines. It's buried deeper, in the most generous areas of the village of Valenbois. A conceptual artifact, if you will. The 'Demon's Vein,' we used to call it. A source of telluric energy of immeasurable power, buried there for centuries."

  The king's words echoed strangely in the night. A conceptual artifact? The Demon's Vein? Ragnar felt a wave of intrigue wash over him. What secret did the lands of Valenbois hold? And what role did this artifact play in the ambitions of the two kings? The road to Veridia, beyond the immediate dangers, seemed to lead towards mysteries far deeper and potentially more perilous. The campfire illuminated the somber faces of the captives and the greedy features of the king, while the secrets of the earth waited to be unveiled in the shadows of the night.

  King Theron leaned closer to the fire, his eyes gleaming with a strange light under the influence of alcohol and the thrill of the secret he was sharing. "The Demon's Vein… it's not a tangible object, you see. Not a glittering sword or a sparkling gem. It's… a concept. An idea rooted deeply in the very fabric of Valenbois."

  He paused, savoring the effect of his words. "Imagine a place, young Ragnar, where the earth itself breathes a raw, primordial energy. An energy that influences growth, fertility, even the mood of those who live nearby. The Demon's Vein is that, but on a much vaster and more subtle scale. It's a confluence of natural forces, a kind of knot in the invisible network that connects all life here."

  He explained that this "vein" wasn't a vein of ore or underground water, but rather an area where telluric energies were exceptionally concentrated. Over generations, the inhabitants of Valenbois had unconsciously learned to live in harmony with this energy, their agricultural practices and even certain rituals adapting to its influence.

  "It's conceptual because its power lies in its influence," the king continued. "It affects the probability of exceptional crop growth, the resilience of plants against disease, the life force of animals. It's not a magic wand that makes things grow instantly, but an underlying force that favors natural abundance."

  He clarified that the artifact Kaldor sought, the Golden Carrot, was supposedly a catalyst, a means of concentrating and manipulating this energy of the Demon's Vein on a much larger scale. Legend had it that it could transform barren lands into lush gardens and confer unprecedented fertility.

  Lysiane, ever attentive despite her captivity, interjected with biting sarcasm. "So, the great secret of Valenbois is a vague 'influence'? Not very impressive for an artifact that two kingdoms are willing to tear each other apart for."

  King Theron shot her a dark look. "You understand nothing, rebel. Its conceptual nature makes it all the more powerful and elusive. You can't simply steal it or destroy it. You have to understand its flow, its rhythm, its very essence to control it."

  He turned back to Ragnar, his tone becoming more conspiratorial again. "The Demon's Vein affects several fundamental concepts. Growth, of course, but also vitality – the ability to thrive and resist. It touches on fertility, not just of the soil but also of creatures. And in a way, it even seems to influence luck in this region, a propensity for abundant harvests and a certain form of natural prosperity."

  He added, an enigmatic smile on his lips, "Some old tales even speak of a subtle influence on the mood and emotional resilience of the inhabitants of Valenbois, a certain quiet strength and an ability to recover from hardship more quickly than others."

  The king explained that the Golden Carrot was supposed to act like a tuning fork, capable of harmonizing and amplifying these concepts influenced by the Demon's Vein on a regional scale. If Kaldor got their hands on it, they could potentially transform their arid lands into granaries and gain a considerable economic advantage. The veto right he had negotiated was meager compensation compared to the true potential of the artifact and the Vein.

  Ragnar listened attentively, realizing the magnitude of the stakes. This wasn't just a matter of mines or crystals. It was about a deep natural force, a living concept that shaped the reality of Valenbois. And he, a stranger, found himself at the heart of a conflict for its mastery. The night deepened, enveloping the camp in shadow, while the conceptual secrets of the Demon's Vein continued to whisper to the rhythm of the crackling fire.