"I have more questions." I said to the old man in front of me, who was grumpily glancing around. Surrounded by clouds of busy bees, with the scent of roses and fresh grass drifting through the pollen-laden breeze, we were enjoying a lovely, relaxing cup of tea.

Well—I was, at least.

"Ugh, tell me something new." Morthak grumbled as he brushed a few rose petals off his shoulder. "This place has a kind of energy that makes me extremely uncomfortable."

"Hm…" I mumbled, trying not to reveal my nervousness. "I'd like to ask about 'greater runes.'"

"Greater runes? That's far beyond your capabilities, young lady. Focus on what you can do with your mediocre skills." Morthak said, taking a sip of tea and immediately making a face of disgust.

"Hey! Look, I'm talking about these runes here!" I protested, showing him a scroll containing two Greater Runes designed to fuse water and earth into a small ball of mud.

"Mm…" Morthak grunted thoughtfully as he took the scroll from my hands and examined it closely. "Impressive. You blended two different elements into a single spell by adjusting the central parameters and isolating the primary functions." he said with something that almost sounded like pride.

"Haha! I must be a truly excellent teacher!" he added with a strange, hoarse laugh.

"So… did I use the Greater Runes correctly?" I asked, a hopeful note in my voice.

"Oh? No, of course not. What you created is called a Closed-Circuit Inscription. It's usually taught in advanced classes or in noble-controlled institutions. Advanced runes are something entirely different."

"But I must admit, this surprises me. Where did you get the idea to create this on your own? I deliberately taught you only the basics so you'd understand the principles of common magic."

"Well… It was mostly trial and error. Mixed with curiosity." I admitted. "I realized it was possible to create patterns that could isolate specific components within the rune system, so with a few modifications, I built an inscription that operates independently while still drawing energy from the main system."

"This led me to wonder: What are runes? Why do they work? Who created them? How can they carry intent? Every time I think I've discovered something, I only uncover more unanswered questions." I said, a bit disappointed.

"Then answer me, Morthak." I looked him directly in the eyes. "Why? How? Satisfy this hunger I have for answers—for truth. Don't give me riddles or half-truths. I know I'm in no position to demand anything, but if you intend to treat me as nothing more than a momentary distraction, then I ask you to leave. I respect and admire you, but I cannot live under the constant fear of uncertainty, wondering whether you truly intend to teach me anything."

My words seemed to affect him… but only slightly.

"Oh? It seems you've forgotten who holds the power in this 'relationship' of ours." Morthak said, releasing a trace of his deathly aura. The garden began to wither, the scent of flowers replaced by the putrid odor of rot.

Faces twisted in agony appeared around him. Skeletal, spectral hands emerged from his back, reaching toward me as if to swallow me whole. The warm morning air grew cold, as if life itself were retreating.

"You have no power here, child. Do you think you can threaten me? I could kill you and the vermin you call children right now. I'd keep you alive as I turn them into the living dead, make them slaughter each other until only you remain—and then let them tear you apart."

Morthak's threat hung in the air like a blade.

I swallowed hard. Fear, despair, anger, sadness—everything flooded through the link. Thousands of tiny voices begged me to run, to hide, to flee. My very nature rebelled against me. Every instinct screamed Run. But I knew running would be useless—and wrong.

"I want you to leave." I said, ignoring the death looming over me. "I won't accept empty threats to my hive. Threaten me if you want, but if you endanger my children, I will never forgive it." I stared back at him, refusing to look away. It felt like a battle of wills, and the first to yield would lose.

Silence stretched for a few seconds—until Morthak suddenly burst into genuine, shrill, ancient laughter that filled me with confusion.

"Hahaha! I knew I hadn't misjudged you. That hunger, that burning spirit—that iron will hidden behind your fragile little mask. You're not a lamb, not a wolf, but a leader."

His deathly aura vanished, the garden returning to normal so naturally it made me wonder if any of it had been real.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, still confused by his sudden shift in attitude.

"Remember the 'weight of a leader' I told you about before? That presence carried only by beings who truly bear the life and death of their tribes—or their entire species." Morthak said. "I've only felt it from you three times. The first was when I met you. Despite the chaotic, latent power surrounding you, there was something stronger than magic—presence. The air grew heavy around you, enough for my senses to sharpen instinctively."

"The second time was when you stepped between me and your offspring. Your desire to protect them awakened a fraction of your destructive nature. And the third time was just now. Cornered, powerless, every instinct screaming at you to flee—yet you stood your ground to protect your young." Morthak spoke casually, almost as if recounting the weather.

"That's funny to you?" I asked, uneasy.

"Funny? No. Intriguing." Morthak tapped his fingers on the table. "High-level beasts rarely protect their young. Most don't even raise them. Some even see their progeny as competition. Nurturing instincts at higher tiers of existence are… rare. You don't quite fit the 'beast' category anymore, but your nature comes close enough that the comparison stands. Your species is a curiosity to me."

"If you intend to keep mocking my species and playing disturbing games like earlier, then I'm not sure I can accept your guidance." I said.

"Don't be so emotional, young lady. I admit I didn't take you seriously at first. You were more of a… diversion. But I see now that I misjudged you." He leaned back in his wooden chair. "Still, if you truly wish to learn from me, you must accept the dangers of following the shadow of an old, wandering soul like myself."

"First of all, I can't accept you as a disciple—not in your current state." he said.

"Well… not like I wanted to be one." I muttered.

"Ouch. Cold. I like that." He smirked. "But let's be clear: the reason I'm not offering you a place as an official apprentice is for your own safety. You're too weak."

"Do you have to rub that in my face? And what does strength have to do with mentorship?" I asked, crossing my arms.

Morthak looked at me as if I'd asked why fire was hot. "Everything. Accepting you as a disciple would make you a target for my enemies. And truthfully? Some of my surviving disciples aren't exactly fond of me. They'd kill you out of envy or resentment alone."

"Huh? Envious of what?" I asked, genuinely confused. Why would anyone envy me spending time with this old sack of bones?

"Well, I'm not the friendly, talkative type. You're an exception because your nature is… interesting. Not to mention your customs, which are—let's say—extremely inappropriate." Morthak chuckled.

"Me? Inappropriate how?" I asked, offended.

"Oh, in everything. The way you talk, act, behave. You're worse than drunks in a bar—yet far more intelligent, with very unusual ideas. Your species as a whole is unorthodox. Not wrong, just… different." He gestured vaguely.

"That's absurd! We're not weird—you are!"

Morthak's shoulders shook with a hoarse laugh. "Perhaps it's a matter of perspective. Your homes grow upward instead of outward. You don't use stone or wood but some strange organic material. You've built mana conduits entirely out of nature magic—something I've never seen, yet conceptually familiar. And although you're the only one who speaks aloud, there seems to be constant communication among all of you."

"Ugh… How about this: we have our secrets, and you have yours." I said, trying to steer the conversation away.

"Fair enough. I only meant that I treat you differently because my disciples treat me differently. They revere me, which makes conversations like ours… well, impossible. They're too stiff. Too cautious. Too afraid to speak freely." He waved dismissively.

"Hey!"

"I don't mean it negatively. Just different. I'm not used to idle conversation, and your kind is… fascinating. Very different from needing to study dwarven culture to be accepted, or performing bizarre witch rituals just to avoid being hunted by a coven."

"So my 'mediocrity' brings you comfort?" I muttered. "We're not mediocre. We just don't care what anyone outside the hive does—as long as it doesn't affect us."

"Hm. Interesting trait for a society. If I may ask—do you care little about individuals in general, or specifically those outside your group?" he asked, pulling a notebook from his cloak.

"Let me think… Well, simply put: if you weren't born into the hive, you can't be part of it."

"Oh? And if a member wishes to leave?" he asked, clearly intrigued.

"We're not a tribe. More like a society." I said. "And… it's rare for someone to want to leave. In truth, only one ever did. And even then—he didn't really want to. But the hive couldn't accept him back, so we decided it was better to… part ways."

"Oh? So you exile members when necessary? Did he commit some crime?" Morthak asked eagerly.

"No. He formed a contract with a Tiefling. After that, the hive saw him as an enemy. To me, he's still one of my children. I know he's loyal. But to them… he's a traitor."

"Hm. That's interesting! So your species is capable of forming magical contracts with other intelligent beings—like spirits or magical beasts." Morthak sounded genuinely fascinated as he buried his face in his notebook, scribbling furiously.

"Well, and what about—"

"Aha! You've asked too many questions, old man. Don't you think it's my turn?" I cut in.

"Ugh. You ask too many questions. Mine are more important." Morthak retorted.

"Important to whom?" I spread my arms wide.

"To the world, obviously! Cataloging species isn't just a hobby—it's how we understand the children of the world: their dangers, magical abilities, possible uses, and much more!" Morthak said with an enthusiasm completely out of character for him.

"Okay, okay, how about this: an eye for an eye. I ask a question, you give an answer. Then you ask, and I answer."

"Oh? Want to add a 'speak only the truth' clause to this little game?" he asked with a smile that should have looked playful, but on his face appeared downright macabre.

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"We don't need absolute truth." I said quickly. "But lies aren't allowed."

"Hmph. No fun. Fine, little girl. Ask."

"What are major runes?"

"Oh, greedy, I see." he chuckled. "Major runes are simply more advanced forms of basic runes. More complex, more stable, more powerful. Everything a rune should be—just… amplified."

"More expensive too?" I sighed.

"Obviously. They're also much harder to blend with other elements through overlapping. But they're excellent for creating weapons, machines, and magical constructs." He laughed lightly. "My turn. How does your species reproduce?"

Damn it.

"…We're oviparous." I said reluctantly. "Some specific members of the species can lay eggs that develop into larvae, which eventually mature into full members of the colony."

"Hm. Are you one of those 'specific members' who can reproduce? You're the 'Mother' of this hive—logically, that implies something." His eyes gleamed with curiosity.

DAMN IT.

"I am the 'Mother' of the hive, not the 'Mother' of every individual. But yes—I am capable of reproducing. It's just not easy or fast and requires many resources." I mixed truth with exaggeration as smoothly as possible.

"Interesting." Morthak flipped open his notebook again and scribbled more notes.

"My turn." I said quickly. "What is a 'Heretic'? I saw the term in the description of something like… an item? Or more like a monster."

The moment I said the word, something in Morthak snapped. His writing hand froze, and he slowly looked up with a disgusted expression.

"Why are you asking that? Are you connected to a church?" His tone sharpened, almost threatening.

He looks offended? Why?

"I don't know where you got that idea." I said, raising my hands defensively. "I'm asking because I saw it in the description of something Jasper created—some weird plant-thing. It said something like 'Born of heresy.' I don't remember exactly. And I'm too lazy to think about it deeply."

Morthak stared at me, still suspicious.

"Hmph. 'Heretic' refers to anything that goes against the nature of a god—its will, words, or divine order. Being a heretic means you've greatly angered a god." He spoke with a disturbingly satisfied smile, as if recalling a fond memory.

"Uh?! But that thing might be an affront to Mother Nature, sure, but to the gods?!"

"Does the monster itself carry the title 'Heretic'?" he asked.

"No. The description just says it was created using 'Heretic Magic.'"

"Ah. Then don't worry. It means it was created with magic belonging to a Heretic entity."

Wait… Jasper created Ivy using awakened Wyvern blood. Wyvern blood which still carried traces of Morthak's magic. So the heretic is—

"…You're the Heretic?" I asked.

Morthak looked irritated, but not offended. "And you stole my magic?" he countered.

"HEY! I asked first! And I didn't steal anything—you gave it to me in that disgusting Wyvern heart!" I grumbled.

"That thing? How did you extract such tiny traces of my innate magic from a corpse? Even skilled mages can't do that." he demanded, voice edging toward a threat.

"Huh? It wasn't hard. The magic was faint but still there. My species is very sensitive to mana." I said with a bit of pride. Apparently I'd done something impressive without realizing it.

"Ugh. High sensitivity to magic… I should've been more careful. My mistake." he muttered. Then he exhaled. "But yes—I am a Heretic."

"But you always talk about the gods—you believe in them, don't you?"

"Of course I believe they exist. I simply reject their doctrines and deny their so-called divinity. I can't go into detail, but let's say I have… a history with the divine. One that didn't end well." Bitterness laced his words.

"Well, now it's my turn to ask." Morthak said with a sly smile. "What is your goal as a species?" He looked at me as if expecting some grand declaration.

"Hm? Not to die?" I blurted out.

He stared at me with visible disappointment. "Ugh. I mean in the long term."

"Well… I don't know." I admitted. "We grow, expand, improve—things like that. Nothing grand. But if I had to choose something… I'd say security."

"Security?" Morthak repeated, confused.

"Yes. I…" My throat tightened. The emotions came faster than I expected. "I hate it when my children are hurt. I hate it, hate it, HATE it until my blood boils. I want a place where they can live safely, comfortably—but there are always beasts, monsters, humanoids, disasters. Everything follows us and tries to kill us. I just want to find somewhere safe so we can live in peace."

My voice cracked with anger I no longer bothered to hide. Morthak raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised.

"Oh? Now I understand where that monstrous version of you came from when we first met. That must've been you consumed by rage." Morthak said lightly. "But about your dream—give it up."

"What?" I asked, thrown off.

"It's pathetically unrealistic." he said bluntly. "A safe place? There's no such thing. Even kingdoms fall. Even empires crumble. A century of safety? Two? Laughable. The world is dangerous. As long as you live in it, you will never know true safety."

"What are you suggesting? That I go to the moon?" I snapped.

"Haha! No. I'm saying your idea of creating a safe place is ridiculous—especially with your level of incompetence and mediocre skills." he said, waving dismissively. "You can't protect yourself alone. And out of your many children, only one seems strong enough to survive independently. Your plan is foolish."

"And what else can I do?!" I shouted. "We protect ourselves in our own way. Even if it's not much—it's something."

My frustration bled into every word. "I know we're not powerful, but we've built something like a society. It may only seem impressive to humans, and that doesn't matter here. Just like we fled our old home, just like we were hunted for merely existing, just like we nearly died in a strange winter—what's stopping us from dying tomorrow? Or the day after? We're simply not enough."

Morthak nodded slowly. "You're clever—far more than most. Not just you; your children as well. I've watched them work. And I can think of ways your hive could prosper here. But the safest path is to find a lord to swear allegiance to."

"What?" I recoiled. "Why would we do something that insane?! Swearing fealty in demonic lands?!"

"It's not as bad as it sounds." Morthak said calmly. "You can build your own village and sustain yourselves. Most vassal states can't do that—they require resources from their lord. In those cases, loyalty is traded for supplies and protection." He raised a finger. "But you don't need supplies. You only need protection."

"So, with the right lord, you wouldn't need to offer eternal loyalty in exchange for their strength."

I hesitated. It's not all bad… If we found a lord who didn't demand submission, we could establish—ugh—diplomatic relations. Maybe even trade. Even if I hated the idea, it might be better than being isolated.

Why is every isekai world medieval?! Why couldn't they send me to a sci-fi civilization?!

"Fine. Do you know any lords in these regions willing to do business with us?" I asked reluctantly.

"That counts as your question." Morthak said smugly. "And yes—I know one. The Lord of Backspine, Amelia Redgrave. A vampire, roughly 150 years old—still young for her kind. Became lord 60 years ago. She's sharp. Doesn't waste opportunities. She'd certainly offer you protection in exchange for a bit of work."

"What kind of work?" I asked warily.

"You seem skilled in construction, herbalism, medicine, and research. At least two of those are in high demand in Backspine. I know because I do business with her when I visit the city."

"…I'll think about it." I exhaled. "Last question then—where is Backspine, and how many days' walk is it?"

"Uh-uh." Morthak lifted a finger and tapped it against his lips, giving me an unnervingly playful smile. "My turn."

"Oh, come on!"

Morthak left again—this time, his journey promises to take much longer than the previous ones. At least we had a productive conversation before he departed.

Besides uncovering a few valuable insights, our discussion also pushed me to think more seriously about the hive's future. His suggestion? That we seek shelter under the protection of a local lord. The reason? All of them.

The most concerning issue is our location. We're far too close to the edge—a region left unclaimed for a simple reason: it's a battlefield. According to Morthak, human delegations routinely travel into demonic territory for "purification." a process that involves bloodshed and conflict. Their most common route? It passes directly through our camp. It's enough to make me wonder if some god of misfortune is perched above me, doing everything in their power to make my life miserable.

To the lords of the demonic lands, letting human forces penetrate too deeply is unthinkably dangerous. Because of that, demonic delegations are routinely sent here each year to guard against encroaching human armies.

Why has neither side built a permanent fort here? Morthak explained that many have tried, but both sides inevitably destroy each other's structures so thoroughly that rebuilding becomes a logistical nightmare. Effort wasted. Time wasted. Resources wasted. Eventually, they simply stopped trying.

Trevis even found remnants of some of these "forts." Most never evolved beyond reinforced camps, yet their traces remain—a quiet testament to the endless conflicts that have raged for so long they might as well be tradition.

According to Morthak, if we offered shelter to the demonic delegations—and perhaps a few reinforcements—that alone would be enough for any local lord to open their doors to us. The most likely candidate? Backspine, the city closest to the border, and the one that suffers most from human incursions. Morthak claims its lord is quite pragmatic and wouldn't ignore an opportunity like this.

But the real question is: Do I want to do this? Forming an alliance with demon-kind feels natural, especially since our species aligns more closely with them than with humans. And humans already seem predisposed to view us with hostility, so we'd hardly be losing a valuable connection. Yet formally allying with the demons would effectively sever any possibility of working with the humans who follow the Goddess of the Morning.

The real problem lies in the details. How would such an agreement be structured? Who would oversee it? If demonic delegations begin using our territory as an outpost, where would they live? What would they eat? Are they dangerous? Are they cooperative? Could we request replacements? What happens if one of them harms someone from the hive? Would we have jurisdiction to administer punishment?

So many uncertainties arise when dealing with outsiders—some reasonable, some likely fueled by the hive's collective paranoia regarding anything unrelated to itself.

I brought the matter to my [Debaters]. Normally, I might have consulted the inner circle, but this time I wanted clearer, more rational minds. And thanks to Emi—my secretary—keeping the information contained, I managed to keep word from spreading until I had at least formed a preliminary opinion.

It's not that I don't value the inner circle's opinions, but they're… chaotic. Trusting them with delicate decisions is more of a gamble than a strategy. If I must exercise my authority as queen to explore unusual or "risky" ideas, so be it.

Their conclusion? Uncertainty. According to them, there simply isn't enough information to form a solid plan. Too many "maybes." too many unknowns, too much guesswork.

"We need additional information before establishing parameters." They told me.

So the plan is simple, for now: Consolidate the base → Strengthen defenses → Send a group to Backspine → Decide the rest afterward.

Now that I know this place could become a battlefield, I need to accelerate our growth. Spring has only just begun, and in a medieval world, the next wave of attacks will probably come in three or four months—enough time for humans to gather troops and resources.

Of course, that's the optimistic perspective.

If we factor in magic, tomorrow morning I might wake up to find a small human army knocking on my door.

"It seems there are some whispers among the ranks about your capabilities as queen." Yan said to me hesitantly.

"Huh?"

Since nothing was happening right now, I decided to delve into more magical research. In the meantime, I received a visit from Yan, who came to bring the latest hive "gossip." Usually, it's silly stuff like embarrassing events or lame jokes, but today Yan seemed to demonstrate the value of his whispering club.

"What do you mean by 'ability as queen'?!" I asked, getting up from my chair, irritated.

Yan seemed afraid of my reaction, but still spoke clearly as soon as he heard my question. "I haven't been able to locate the source yet, but there seems to be doubt in the hive about your involvement in the hive's leadership, something about you 'not taking it seriously' or something along those lines. Forgive me for not being able to find the root of the problem, my queen." Yan said, bowing as if ashamed to give an "incomplete piece of gossip." "What— Ugh. Okay Yan, you did a good job, keep it up." I said, trying my best to contain the bitterness in my voice.

'Not take it seriously?! Not take it seriously?! Are you kidding me?! I'm literally prioritizing this hive in my life and I still have to hear crap like this?! Who said that? Low-level members don't have enough free will to think like that, and considering Yan couldn't find out who said it, then the options are limited to someone high-level in the hive.' I thought, trying to narrow down my options.

'Hans is out of the question, he's so loyal it's scary, Ken? Meh, if he were going to complain, he'd do it to my face, not behind closed doors. Carl isn't interested in anything beyond what's going to land in his stomach, Matt is too uptight to say something like that, Trouble, too stupid, Levi, too lovable.' "Hmm... Wait. Is this information new, or has it been brewing for a while?" I asked Yan.

"Hmm... It seems to have taken root already, forgive my incompetence in locating the rotten apples." Yan said, bowing even deeper in shame.

"Ugh, that means it must come from someone capable of managing information, the debate club perhaps? No, they wouldn't keep this a secret. Maybe the information club? Radyo and Pyper seem to be the most likely targets; they could easily spread this stuff through the hive and keep us in the dark at the same time." I thought.

"I don't believe they are the source, my queen." Yan said.

"Do you have your suspicions?" I asked him.

Yan seemed hesitant for a moment, as if he wasn't sure, but still felt compelled to speak. "I can't confirm it, but any and all information passed through the hive must first go through the leader of the information club – Big Brother Steve. I don't think there's anyone in the hive capable of sneaking anything under the table, besides, of course, Steve himself." Yan said nervously.

"Steve? He's always been a valuable and competent member of the hive. Why would he have doubts about me to the point of planting doubt in the minds of the hive?" I asked, somewhat doubtful of Yan's suggestion.

"Steve sees the hive like a game of chess; some pieces are disposable, others vital, some need to stay, and others need to go. Forgive my insubordination, but I believe Steve doesn't see you as a competent leader to handle the hive's daily problems. I have no doubt that he still sees you as the queen of the hive, but I believe he doesn't see you as a leader." Yan said.

"Ugh – What a drag!" "Insubordination?! In a hive?! I never thought I'd have to worry about loyalty! How infuriating!" she said, her blood boiling with rage.

"Should I summon Steve to your presence, my queen?" Yan asked hesitantly.

"No—I won't do anything rash. Observe him closely to be sure. Warn Hans about this possibility, and contact your members in the information club. Tell them that the queen has ordered the creation of a new branch of the club, a branch dedicated to overseeing information. This new branch will be responsible for analyzing the information that enters and leaves the information club." I said to Yan, returning to my work.

"B-But that's one of Steve's functions." Yan said nervously.

"Wasn't it obvious Yan? It's not anymore; now that's the job of another branch. If Steve wants to complain, tell him to do it face to face." I said angrily while concentrating on my work."

"...Yes, my queen." Yan said, bowing before leaving the room.

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