Later that afternoon, as the sun began to dip and the air cooled, I stood on the overlook by the town walls. From there, I saw it all: the new red-and-blue merchant tents, kids laughing near the cotton candy machine, dwarves building new vendor stalls, and Miss Agnes still yelling at someone to "use ink, not blood" on the registry papers.
Our town was no longer a quiet outpost. It was alive, growing, pulsing with trade, trust, and the strange harmony of two worlds learning to live as one. And the heartbeat? It was louder—and faster—every day.
*****
The message came late last night—delivered by hawk scroll from the mainland.
"His Majesty King Ernest and Princess Athena will arrive at midday. This is an informal visit. No escort required."
Informal, my ass. The king doesn't cross the sea just to say hello. Still, I wasn't about to receive royalty with an empty table. I rummaged through my magical backpack, pulling out containers from the Earth-side grocery I'd stocked the night before—thinly sliced pork belly, gochujang paste, ssamjang, sesame oil, garlic, perilla leaves, lettuce, kimchi, and a few essential herbs. I had a plan.
I tapped my badge. "Raymond, meet me in the manor kitchen. Bring the chef. We're going to make something... special."
Inside the kitchen, I laid the ingredients on the polished counter like they were ancient relics. Chef Gaelin, a towering half-elf with a blade tattoo on his forearm, looked baffled.
"Is this meat... raw?"
"It will be grilled at the table," I said with a grin. "We're making Samgyeopsal. Korean grilled pork belly. The guests grill it themselves, wrap it in greens, and dip it in sauce. It's interactive. Intimate. And absolutely addictive."
Butler Raymond raised a brow. "Is it appropriate to make the king cook his own food?"
"He's tired of formality," I said. "This will lift his spirits. Trust me."
Raymond nodded once. "Then I shall arrange the dining room accordingly."
******
By noon, the long manor table had been transformed. At each seat sat a personal grill—magic-powered hotplates carved by dwarven craftsmen. In the centre, I laid out plates of marinated and unmarinated pork belly, glistening with sesame oil. Dishes of garlic, green onions, chilli paste, and kimchi surrounded the main courses. Clean-cut lettuce and perilla leaves were stacked neatly beside the dipping bowls.
The doors opened.
"His Majesty King Ernest of the Elven Kingdom! " boomed a guard.
I stood to greet him—but my breath caught.
The king had aged—drastically. His once-glorious crimson cape now sagged on narrow shoulders. His golden crown seemed too large for his head. He had lost weight. Too much. His aura, once radiant and pressurised with noble magic, shimmered now only faintly... like the last glow of a dying candle. What the hell happened to him?
"Lord Dirk," he greeted, his voice soft but warm. "You look well."
"I could say the same, Your Majesty," I said politely, then glanced at Athena beside him. She offered a graceful nod, but her eyes were troubled. She'd noticed it too.
"Please," I gestured to the table, "this meal is one I've brought from the north. It's called Samgyeopsal. Something my grandfather taught me to make."
"Ah, something sentimental," the king said, smiling faintly as he sat. "I'm honoured."
Athena took the seat beside him, curious. "So... we cook it ourselves?"
"Yes," I replied, stepping between them. "Let me demonstrate."
I picked up the tongs, dropped a few slices of pork onto the grill, and the room filled with a satisfying sizzle. The fat danced as it cooked, releasing a savoury aroma that made even the royal guards peek in.
"Once it's cooked, you take a leaf like this," I explained, picking up a perilla leaf, "add a slice of pork, a dab of gochujang, a bit of garlic, and kimchi, and roll it up like this—then eat it in one bite."
I demonstrated, chewing happily.
Athena raised a brow. "That's... it smells divine. And the meat was—Gods! It boosts one's mana, right? Like that soft bread?"
"Amazing, yeah? You'll love it," I said. "Here, you try."
She copied me, cautiously wrapping the ingredients. The king, amused, leaned forward.
"I suppose I'll have to try as well," he said, chuckling softly.
Soon enough, the room was filled with the sounds of sizzling meat, light chatter, and—for the first time in what felt like years—a genuine laugh from King Ernest.
"Dirk," he said between bites, "this... this is wonderful. I feel like I'm eating as a man again, not a statue surrounded by servants."
Athena laughed softly. "Father, you always say that."
"And I mean it," he said. Then his smile faded a little. "You notice, don't you, Dirk?"
I met his eyes. "Yes."
He exhaled. "The magic... it's leaving me. Slowly. No matter what the healers say. It's like something deep inside me is unravelling."
"There's still strength in you," I said firmly. "And you're not alone."
Raymond stepped forward with wine, refilling cups. "And you still command a kingdom with fierce loyalty, Your Majesty."
The king nodded, appreciative. "That loyalty is built by people like you, Lord Dirk. The old ways are fading. But this town... your town... it feels like the future."
"I'm honoured, Your Majesty," I said sincerely. "But I'm only getting started."
The door to the hallway opened again, and Elvie peeked in. "Apologies, my lord. The merchants are ready to present the new goods after your meal."
"Tell them we'll come shortly," I said.
Athena finished her second wrap and beamed. "I could get used to this food."
"You'll find a pack of it in your carriage," I said with a grin. "For both of you. Pre-cooked and sealed."
"Dirk," the king said, rising slowly, "what you're doing here... is more than building a village. You're reshaping a nation's soul."
I stood and bowed. "Then let this meal be a symbol of unity, of heritage, and of shared fire between realms."
He placed a hand on my shoulder.
"You've done more for us than you know."
And in that moment, between the scent of grilled pork and the quiet pride in Raymond's eyes, I knew: I wasn't just feeding royalty—I was giving them hope.
After our walk through the markets and streets, I led the king toward a quieter path—one lined with soft cobblestone, trimmed hedges, and mana lanterns that hummed gently with stored light.
"This way," I said, motioning him down a tree-canopied lane. "There's something else I want to show you."
The king followed, his steps steady, eyes flicking curiously over every detail—the way the leaves shimmered with residual magic, the subtle trail of wind sprites dancing along the flowers.
As we emerged from the path, the garden came into view.
The heart of it was serene, yet undeniably powerful. A pair of massive statues carved from living wood stood in quiet grace—one depicting the Divine Tree in full bloom, the other showing its roots spiralling downward into crystallised stone. Thin veins of mana glowed beneath their bark, pulsing softly with light as if the statues themselves breathed.
Around them, lush fields of magical herbs bloomed in organised harmony. Mana-rich lavender, flame-blossoms, frost-leaves, and healing reeds swayed with the breeze, all maintained by low-floating irrigation runes and pollinated by golden mana bees I'd imported from the forest.
The king stopped dead in his tracks.
His mouth parted slightly as the magic of the place hit him—not aggressively, but as a gentle, resonant hum that seemed to echo through his bones. The entire garden exuded a presence... ancient, wise, and warm.
"It's alive," he whispered.
"It is," I said with pride. "The garden's rooted in old magic. I fused elemental soil from my homeland, relic bark from the elven groves, and blood-root dust from the dwarven valley. Then I added divine mana water from the underground spring." Bullocks! Sure, I can. Like, I knew exactly what I was doing.
He turned slowly, taking it all in—the children quietly tending bonsai trees on benches, the beastkin families plucking herbs, the flutter of magical butterflies.
"This garden feeds the entire town's ambient mana," I added. "It keeps people calm. Balanced. Even illness fades faster here."
The king reached out and touched the bark of the Divine Tree statue. It pulsed under his fingers.
"It's... like it's remembering me," he said. "Or maybe... reminding me."
At that moment, a soft voice called out from behind one of the flowering walls.
"My lord, you're back," said Divina, stepping into the garden with a gentle smile and a basket of harvested frost leaves.
Finn ran behind her, holding a pair of bonsai trimmers too big for his little hands. He stopped when he saw the King, wide-eyed but unafraid.
I stepped forward. "Your Majesty, this is Divina. She's one of our garden stewards—and an incredible healer."
Divina gave a graceful curtsy, calm and poised despite the regal presence before her.
"And this," I said with a hand on Finn's shoulder, "is her son, Finn. He's got a sharp eye for bonsai already."
The king knelt slowly, with effort, and looked Finn in the eyes. "And how old are you, young gardener?"
"Seven, Your Majesty," Finn said proudly. "I'm going to be like Baron Dirk one day. I'm learning how to prune the roots and feed the trees. Want to see my bonsai?"
The king chuckled. "I would be honoured."
Finn darted off to fetch his miniature pine, and I caught the glimmer of something in the king's eye—something old and human.
"He reminds me of my grandson," the king murmured. "Before the palace swallowed him."
Divina stepped forward, offering a cup of chilled herb tea. "This garden is open to all, sire. Even kings can find peace here."
He accepted it and sipped. The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt.
"This is what the capital needs," he said after a pause. "Not towers or gold... but this."
I stood beside him, watching Finn return, carefully holding a tiny bonsai tree no taller than a loaf of bread.
"I used dragon bark," Finn said. "And a drop of frostleaf dew every morning."
The king laughed. "And it shows. This little one might outgrow us all."
We spent the next hour in that garden—no titles, no politics. Just soil, sunlight, and quiet admiration.
And in that brief moment, I saw not a king, nor a ruler—but a man. One who'd forgotten what it meant to feel peace... until now.