If there was anything special about a conversation, it was the fluency with which one spoke.
Fluency was the key to captivating an audience, persuading a skeptic, or commanding a room. The art of conversation wasn't merely about words; it was about how those words were woven together, the cadence of the voice, and the conviction behind each sentence.
Fluency was power, and Cronos understood this all too well.
A dangerous salesman was one with a silver tongue, that same tongue that could sweeten even the most unappealing product and make it irresistible.
Everything — the essence of conversation — fell under the broader domain of persuasion. This understanding had driven Cronos to acquire the skill early on, right before his encounter with the soldiers.
He knew that in the world he now inhabited, words could shape destinies.
The art of persuasion was invaluable, not just for striking deals but for navigating the complex web of human interactions.
And this was the moment for Cronos to shine, to turn a dire situation into an opportunity. The foodstuff tithe between Ether Town and Blackwood was not his idea, nor was it the brainchild of the original inhabitant of this body.
It was a policy devised by the Council of Elders, a means to establish diplomatic ties with Ether Town. But what had once seemed like a pragmatic decision was now a liability, one that threatened to unravel their fragile peace.
Ether Town looked down on Blackwood, treating it as little more than a vassal. Their disdain was palpable, reflected in every word and action of their soldiers.
This condescension was the reason Cronos was being treated with such dismissiveness now. Still, he had no intention of allowing Blackwood to remain subservient forever.
This moment was a test — of his resolve, his wit, and his ability to wield the power of persuasion.
"Well, we provide you safety from the monsters that roam the land," said one of the soldiers, his voice laced with impatience. "But you should hurry up with the food tithe. We need to report back."
Cronos met the soldier's gaze, his eyes steady and unyielding. For a brief moment, the soldier faltered, a chill running down his spine.
There was something unnerving about the way Cronos looked at him — as though he could see right through him. Yet, the boy's youthful appearance betrayed him, and the soldier's confidence quickly returned.
"I need more time," Cronos said finally, his voice calm but resolute. His words hung in the air, and the soldiers exchanged wary glances.
"We had an agreed amount of ti—"
"The townsfolk were threatening to riot," Cronos interrupted, his expression grave. He leaned forward slightly, his tone softening but remaining firm.
"Farmers are refusing to work. Everywhere, there's unrest. Yesterday, I had to use our remaining stock to calm the people, to keep order. If you grant us a few more days, I can promise you double the amount we owe. By your next trip, Ether Town will have no cause for complaint."
The soldiers' expressions hardened at first, their pride bristling at the suggestion of a delay.
But as Cronos spoke, they began to waver. His words carried a weight that was difficult to dismiss, a subtle pull that made their rigid stances soften.
"Double?" one of them asked skeptically, his arms crossed.
Cronos nodded. "Double. You have my word. But if you force us now, you'll be taking scraps. Give us time, and Ether Town will reap the benefits of patience."
The scarred soldier who had spoken earlier eyed him critically. There was a long pause, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, he grunted and turned to his companions.
"Fine. But you'd better deliver, boy. If not, Ether Town won't be so forgiving next time."
Cronos inclined his head respectfully, concealing the triumphant glint in his eyes. "You won't be disappointed."
Without another word, the soldiers turned and left the farmhouse, their boots thudding against the wooden floor.
Cronos waited until they were out of sight before exhaling slowly, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. The gamble had paid off, but he knew this was only the beginning. The delay he had secured was a reprieve, not a solution.
He stepped outside and surveyed the village. The tension among the townsfolk was palpable, but there was also a flicker of hope in their eyes.
They had watched the soldiers leave without taking their hard-earned supplies, and that small victory meant everything.
Cronos's mind raced as he considered his next steps. The council's decision to align with Ether Town had been short-sighted, but it was up to him to turn the situation around.
He needed to bolster their defenses, increase their food production, and most importantly, rally the people. Blackwood couldn't remain under Ether Town's thumb forever.
As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the fields, Cronos gathered the villagers. They stood in a loose circle, their faces a mix of exhaustion and curiosity.
"Today, we bought ourselves time," he began, his voice carrying across the gathering. "But time alone won't save us. We need to work together, to prepare for the challenges ahead. Ether Town sees us as weak, but we will prove them wrong."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and Cronos could see determination replacing doubt in their eyes.
"Starting tomorrow, we'll double our efforts in the fields. We'll fortify our defenses and ensure that every man, woman, and child has a role to play. This is our town, our home, and no one will take that from us."
A cheer rose from the crowd, tentative at first but growing stronger. Cronos felt a surge of pride. These were his people, and he would do whatever it took to protect them.