By now, a small crowd of villagers had gathered. A few of the Lunar believers were even agreeing with the racist butcher.
This wasn't a new sight to Izikel, but it was shocking to realize that people like this also existed here. In his past life, this was something he could never understand.
Why would you hate someone simply because they are different?
No reasoning, no justification—just an inherent disdain that burned in their hearts. But no matter how unreasonable their requests were, it was clear that if he didn't find a way to de-escalate the situation, it could turn into something worse.
With a sigh, he finally spoke.
"Okay, everyone, that's enough."
Although his voice was that of a child, the authority it carried as the son of a priest was evident. The murmurs of the crowd fell silent, and all attention was focused on him.
"We are not sending the Druids away," he said boldly. "They helped build this village, so they have as much right to it as you and I."
Old Man Jon scoffed, his lined face twisted with stubborn conviction.
"No. This land belongs to the good believers of the Lunar Moon. The Druids are simply taking advantage of our generosity. We offer them protection and security, and how do they repay us? By harming our priest and his family! I think it's high time they found a place of their own. The foreigners have to go."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Izikel clenched his fists.
"Is that what you want?" he asked, his voice sharp.
"Do you truly want all the 'foreigners' to leave?" He let the words hang in the air before taking a deliberate step forward. "Because if I recall correctly, that would include me, wouldn't it?"
According to what he had read about his family's history, Landre Vau-Leotard wasn't originally from the Lunar Kingdom. He had come from the White Kingdom, which explained their family's snow-white hair, instead of the usual black or blue hair of Lunar nobility. He had been awarded his nobel title due to his performance during the Great War of the Five Kingdoms. Though he converted to the Lunar faith, it didn't change the fact that he was not originally from here.
"We all know that they were not true born Lunar believers, so shouldn't my ancestors and I be considered foreigners too?"
Old Man Jon's mouth opened and closed, as if he had only just realized this—though, in truth, he had always known. Everyone had. It wasn't a secret, but they had chosen to turn a blind eye in order to justify their stance.
Ignoring the part that doesn't fit their argument.
And that wasn't even the only thing they were ignoring. Izikel clicked his tongue in frustration.
"And let's not forget—the land you stand on wasn't always so blessed. Before the Druids came, it was barren. Dry. Crops refused to grow, and the people struggled to survive. Then the Druids planted the Old Tree, and everything changed. Our fields flourished, our people thrived. If it weren't for them, this land would still be lifeless."
Thankfully, Izikel had been reading the Vau-Leotard Diary he had found in the altar cave. He had originally been fascinated by the history of the village, never expecting that the knowledge would come in handy like this.
"Yes, the Druids do not fight in our legions. But they heal our saints, tend to our wounded, and work the land as hard as any of us. They are part of this village—whether you want to admit it or not."
The crowd wavered. Izikel could see it in their eyes. He had struck something—pride, shame, perhaps even guilt.
He paused, letting his words sink in. Many of the villagers avoided his gaze. Even Jon shifted uncomfortably, though his stubbornness had yet to fade.
'But I can't tell if I actually made sense to them or if they're just nodding because its a noble talking,'
He sighed. He had never been particularly good at public speaking. The confidence in his voice today surprised even himself. Maybe it was easier because they already revered him. Or maybe he just wanted to play the part.
"I was injured by Lyzah, yes. But I am standing here, alive, because of the Druids. My parents' deaths have nothing to do with my accident, and I won't have you spreading baseless rumors. So, let's put this matter to rest."
A murmur of reluctant agreement spread through the crowd. Even Old Man Jon, though clearly displeased, gave a stiff nod before turning away. One speech from a child wasn't enough to change his heart completely, but it was clear that he wouldn't be leaving with the same conviction he had arrived with.
As the crowd dispersed, a man in a white robe approached. A green stole hung around his neck, embroidered with a golden design—a cross with a tree drawn on it. His headwear bore the same pattern.
Even from where he stood, Izikel could feel a tranquil energy emanating from the man. He looked to be in his late thirties, with long, faded green hair. Though dark circles shadowed his eyes, the power he radiated was unmistakable.
This could only be the Chief of the Druids and the head Tree Keeper—Markis Vaelthir.
Despite his tired expression, the chief gave a friendly smile and bowed slightly. He was accompanied by a few other Druids who looked just as drained. Their distinct attire signified that they worked directly under him, tending to the Old Tree.
"Thank you, Lord Izikel. Once again, we are saved by the unending benevolence of the Vau-Leotard—a truly noble bloodline."
Izikel shrugged.
"No need to thank me, Chief. I was just doing the right thing."
But the chief remained bowed as he responded.
"No, I must. My daughter, myself, and every other Druid who lives in your village owe you a great debt—one we could never hope to repay. If there is ever anything you need, do not hesitate to ask. I will always be at your service. I am sure all my children would be glad to be of service to you as well."
That was how the chief sometimes referred to the Druids—his children.
Izikel chuckled.
"It's funny you should say that because I was already planning to ask if I could visit your Old tree."
The small crowd held their breath for a moment. Some, like Lyzah and Sophia, visibly tensed. Others exchanged uneasy glances, their faces filled with hesitation and apprehension.
The awkward silence was finally broken as Markis lifted his head slightly, his expression unreadable
"I… I'm afraid that will not be possible, my lord."