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The young Centaur behind the dark brown one immediately let out a disgruntled snort, his hooves pawing the ground restlessly.
Their eyes sharpened, glinting with a hint of offended anger.
"Arrogant!"
The leading Centaur raised his spear at once. "The mysteries of the stars are not for short-sighted wizards like you to comprehend!"
"Carrion was right."
An older Centaur with a grizzled mane stepped forward, striking the earth heavily with the spear in his hand.
"You humans are short-lived and short-sighted—how dare you judge our race's great covenant with the stars with your shallow understanding?"
He took another step forward, his broad chest rising and falling in the moonlight, exuding a heavy sense of pressure.
"The starry sky is the loom of destiny, the compass of all things. We interpret it, we listen to it, and we follow the path it lays before us. As for your so-called 'thorns beneath your feet'?"
He scoffed shortly, as if he'd just heard the most ridiculous joke.
"That is nothing more than dust stirred up by your own ignorance and recklessness! The stars have long since revealed the trajectory of fate, but tragically, you foolish creatures can see neither the revelations above your heads nor the traps at your feet. In the end, you will only march step by step toward your own destruction."
His voice rose higher and higher, until even the leaves around them trembled.
The other two Centaurs responded with deep snorts, hooves stamping against the earth, and angry white mist spraying from their nostrils.
"As for your talk of 'relying on prophecy'?"
The dark brown Centaur swept a cold gaze over Nightingale, his eyes flashing with disdain. "That is not reliance, but compliance. The guidance of the stars is like the flow of a river—only the wise move with it, while the foolish struggle against it."
He turned his gaze back to Sagres, eyes narrowing.
"Now, answer me, wizard! Who gave you the audacity to trespass into the Forbidden Forest—land guarded by Centaurs for generations—and even dare to profane our faith and wisdom with your tongue stained by worldly arrogance?"
Sagres faced the Centaur's aggressive words without a flicker of fear. Instead, he raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Finished talking?"
He met their furious, self-righteous stares with a calm gaze, a faint trace of mockery tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Tsk tsk~ A group of creatures who claim nobility, yet resort to stalking and eavesdropping..." His voice slowed deliberately, eyes sweeping over the self-important Centaurs. "I merely tossed out bait—and you actually dared to bite."
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Instantly, the spears in the Centaurs' hands twisted and warped, transforming into tough ropes that shot up and bound them tightly amid their shocked outcries.
"You ask who gave me the confidence?" Sagres looked down at the bound Centaurs, his voice cold.
"Did your companions not warn you? Did your stars not guide you?"
Crack!
The sharp sound of bones dislocating split the air.
"Ah—!"
"My leg!"
"Since you place such faith in 'the guidance of the stars,'" Sagres approached the Centaur whose face was twisted in pain, his tone calm and composed, "then lead the way. Let's go meet your two 'wise' tribal chiefs."
The lead Centaur struggled to lift his head, eyes burning with humiliation.
"You... what are you planning to do?!"
"Do what?" Sagres's lips curved into a cold smile.
"According to the Wizard and Sentient Being Convention and the Forbidden Forest Management Regulations, your acts of tracking, eavesdropping, and attempted assault constitute serious provocation and infringement."
He paused. His voice was steady, frigid:
"I demand to meet your leader to formally negotiate compensation—for the reputational harm, the personal threat, and the mental distress you've caused me and my companions tonight."
"Com... compensation?!"
The Centaurs could hardly believe their ears. The humiliation made one of them nearly roar in protest, but the stabbing pain from his dislocated hoof reduced it to a hiss of agony.
"Yes, compensation."
Sagres's tone allowed no argument. "Nixia, make a list."
Nightingale immediately caught on, suppressing a smile.
"Emotional damages, defamation compensation, and a lost time fee for interfering with our precious schedule... all totaled..."
She glanced at the Centaurs, who were now bound tightly like cocoons. "One thousand five hundred Galleons!"
Kestrel, listening beside her, was stunned. She couldn't help but whisper, "One thousand five hundred Galleons? And a lost work fee? Isn't that a bit too much?"
Sagres tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over to Kestrel.
"Too much?"
He chuckled softly, eyes falling on the Centaur's face, twisted with fury. He said slowly:
"Are Centaurs even people?"
Kestrel paused—then decisively gave a thumbs up. "You're right!"
...
Originally, Sagres had no intention of getting involved with the Centaurs. But who would've thought these arrogant, self-important creatures would come walking straight into his hands? It was like receiving a pillow just when you're about to fall asleep.
He gave a look, and Nightingale immediately used her wand to levitate the ropes binding the Centaurs, leading them along like three stubborn, unruly horses. Kestrel followed closely behind, both nervous and excited, fingers constantly brushing the handle of her wand.
As they passed through a grove of gnarled old oaks, the space ahead suddenly opened up. Dozens of torches flared to life, lighting up the Centaur tribe's settlement.
Circular tents made of animal hides and branches surrounded an ancient stone altar, its surface engraved with intricate astrological patterns.
Further beyond, a sheer rock face was dotted with natural caves, faint lights glowing from within, lending the camp an air of quiet mystery.
"It's you again!"
A voice full of anger suddenly rang out.
Sagres looked up and saw that the speaker was an elder Centaur with a snow-white mane—someone he vaguely remembered from a previous encounter.
Surrounding him were more than twenty fully armed Centaur warriors, arranged in a fan formation, their sharp arrowheads gleaming coldly in the firelight.
"Regrettably, it's me again."
Sagres gave a slight nod, his tone calm. "Seems the brilliant stars have once again forgotten to reveal that avoiding me would've been a wise course of action."
The elder Centaur's mane bristled with rage. "Last time, you harmed our tribesmen in the Forbidden Forest and stole our sacred relics—and now you return, kidnapping—"
"Please choose your words carefully," Sagres interrupted calmly.
"Last time, we rescued your trapped tribesmen and took a fair reward in return. As for this time..."
He cast a cold glance at the three bound Centaurs. "We apprehended several offenders—caught red-handed—spying, eavesdropping, and attempting an attack."
Before he had even finished, Nightingale raised her wand at the perfect moment. A parchment scroll filled with text floated steadily into the air and hovered in front of the elder Centaur. He snatched it with a trembling hand, his rough fingers tightening.
"What is this?" he growled, eyes scanning the densely written entries.
"Compensation~" Sagres replied evenly. "Compensation for your tribesmen's offenses against us. If you're short on funds and lack sufficient Galleons, you may pay in equivalent magical materials or items."
The white-maned Centaur's face twisted with fury, the muscles along his jaw visibly trembling.
"Enough!" he bellowed, his tail lashing back and forth in agitation.
"Centaurs will never accept such insulting extortion!"
His roar echoed through the oak grove, making the torch flames waver violently.
But Sagres didn't so much as blink. He simply watched the enraged elder with indifference, as though staring at a wooden post.
"Is that so?"
He asked quietly, his tone calm and composed.
Nightingale stood silently at his side, her silver-white hair billowing gently in the wind. Kestrel's palms were slick with sweat, and the tip of her wand glowed with a faint, trembling light.
Instinctively, the Centaurs took half a step back.