Chapter 187
Chapter 187
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 187
Chapter Title: Chapter 11. The Mage of the Mages (7)
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It is often said that elves are beings closer to trees than to humans.
Branches extending from the great World Tree.
A custom that prioritizes the consciousness of their root, the World Tree, and the community connected to it over the happiness of the individual.
They live lives akin to still lifes—unhurried, shunning stimulation—spanning lifetimes close to centuries.
Thus, for elves, change is rare, and once it occurs, it wields influence enough to define that elf's entire life.
Like a small scar on a young sapling becoming a massive knot decades later, the moment an event imprints on an elf's life, they can never escape it.
Because of this, the Professor hesitated to speak.
Her right arm and left leg hung loosely empty. Around her remaining eye were irregular scars like a child's scribbles on paper, and even the hand that remained had only three intact fingers.
[Come now, child blinded by the light. Dare to tell me, right here, that humans and elves can live in harmony?]
Guessing the origin of those wounds wasn't hard when considering the meaning in her words.
‘Wounds inflicted by... humans, nothing else. And viciously so. Deer Drug Please mentioned before that elf slaves waste away and die if treated too harshly. For an elf to survive something like that until now... resentment? Resentment she prioritizes even over her own life?’
He'd inwardly sighed in relief at the village's non-hostile atmosphere, but an unexpected landmine lurked here.
‘...This might be tough to convince.’
Elves do not change. To force change, one must deliver a shock that carves away past turning points or evoke empathy... But how do you overcome memories of being turned into that state by another person?
Plan B—kidnapping her and using her as a guide after convincing her alone—didn't seem viable either.
That elder elf called the matriarch. She looked well over sixty-five at face value.
‘The kids around me earlier, who seemed five to seven, were twenty-five. If they're about five times face value... damn. She's a three-hundred-year-old monster. That's why this village in the middle of Blue Line stays intact.’
If you asked whether cowering just because she's old, without seeing any great power, wasn't overkill—that's because you don't know this place.
In GG, regardless of era, if there's an elder who looks like they have some chops, proceed with caution.
If a swordsman, they've spent decades in contemplation, succeeding in detaching themselves from the world, wielding 'aura' like a delete key beyond game mechanics.
If a mage, even stuck in low tiers with shitty imagery, they've stockpiled decades of mana, outputting at a level comparable to two tiers higher.
For spiritists, it's 'they learn from each other'—the spiritist teaches the spirit, the spirit teaches the spiritist life. Over time, spirits read thoughts without commands. At that fused level, spirit affinity skyrockets, allowing easy summons of higher spirits...
A three-hundred-year-old elf could probably exchange names with a spirit king from afar.
Kidnap an elf in front of one like that?
The entire nearby mountain range would probably rise and bury the party alive.
‘Petty topics like interests or crisis awareness won't budge her. Need a big one. At least something shocking enough to startle the matriarch...’
No matter how he racked his brain, he couldn't think of a way to persuade an old elf wrongfully imprisoned and tortured just for being an elf.
As silence dragged on, a deep furrow added to the matriarch's wrinkled brow.
"You have the face of one deep in thought."
"...The matter weighs as heavy as the years you've accumulated. That's why I hesitate to voice it lightly."
"Your kind has always been like that since olden times. What could be said in one word after 'I've come because I regret,' you twist a hundred times over into lengthy speeches, and in the process, misinterpretations breed confusion. If you have thoughts to share, lay them out plainly. Don't think to beguile with a three-inch tongue."
Damn. Any tricks, and it's game over. Now he could only play straight messenger...
But with her demanding so firmly, he couldn't ignore it and spin tales. With no choice, he drew from his bosom a luxurious sheet of paper enchanted with preservation magic and offered it to the matriarch.
"...What is this?"
"A handwritten letter from the High Priest of the Church, called the Proxy of Light. He yearns for the day when he rectifies the distant past, allowing light to shine once more on all humanity."
"The Church seeks to right the past... Who?"
"...Pardon?"
"The Proxy of Light you mentioned. Asherion? Dimatis? Or Cornelius?"
Who the hell are those? He didn't know the last two. Asherion... probably one of the hero units from 2World who bashed undead with a staff?
"...It's Saint Norman."
"Norman, Norman... Ah, yes. Twenty years ago, among the children who arrived here, some wept blood naming that name. When our children, chased by slavers, sought the guards, it was that man who made the guards capture and hand them to the merchants, wasn't it? And now that man... dares speak of reconciliation?"
Kududuk! Kwuduk!
Drdrdrdrdrdrdr!
As if resonating with her emotions, thick branches grew in the small wooden house, shaking everything around.
"No matter how you bow your heads and mouth repentance, the withered branches cannot sprout anew—why don't you understand that! Do you truly think we can forget that bloodstained past and laugh and chatter with you again? If that's the conclusion of the 'most thoughtful race,' it's not just laughable—it's absurd! Elves do not forget! This scrap of paper, a few drops of ink, holds power only in your human lands. To us, it's nothing but an insult attempting to whitewash a horrific past!"
Hwaruruk!
The High Priest's handwritten letter, held in the matriarch's remaining hand, burned to ash before the seal was even broken.
‘Damn it! What now? What now! Forget negotiation—if we stay like this, we'll end up as this village's fertilizer!’
Savagely growing tree roots, the party sensing the dire mood and readying for combat, elves nocking arrows in response.
In this hair-trigger moment, what flashed in the Professor's mind was Archbishop Norman's face—eyes boiling as he confessed his past, unable to bear his sins.
A man more devout than any, who stood at the forefront of racial discrimination knowing it defied God's will. A believer who pressed on unhesitatingly, bound by the guilt he forged.
[If I ever return to the light and stand beside Roharam, I lack the confidence to ask, 'Did I live as a tool fitting Your will?']
What moved his steps? Amid pain, without a flicker of doubt. What enabled actions defying the creed he'd believed his whole life?
Kwarurururur!
"Speak! What will you pay for that countless blood debt!"
Even so acting brought the archbishop no reward. Merely ensuring others wouldn't suffer his past. That alone was the price he sought.
"What we offer... is the future! A promise that the world will change—a world where far more blood than all you've shed flows, a world that won't change if left as is!"
Drdrdrdrdr!
Amid vibrations clattering his teeth, the matriarch remained utterly still.
Her one eye gleamed at the Professor's words.
"The future. The future! You dangle an unsettled future here as payment? Compensation for centuries of being hunted, decades of torment from your light's sprouts, is a pie-in-the-sky 'future'? You think that makes sense?"
Uduk, tududuk!
‘Ughhh!’
Her roar overwhelmed his body. Like a rabbit before a lion, instinct before a being whose power couldn't even be gauged visually.
‘If I... if I flinch here... we're really dead!’
Diplomatic rhetoric fled his mind. Only that yielding here meant death, and the archbishop's bitter eyes confessing his past remained.
"That's why we're seeking someone who can sign that blank check! That worthless paper and ink you mentioned! Useless here, sure—but in the human world, one such letter can spark wars, kill hundreds of thousands without reason! Words made humans discriminate against elves, so words can reverse it! How can you not know that after experiencing it yourself!"
"...Fanciful nonsense. Mere evasion to escape this moment! Proof? Evidence it's not just your fancy, but real—"
Kwaduduk!
"Proof? Fine, proof! It's right in front of you! You hiding here now—that's the proof! I saw with my own eyes a man act against his emotions and beliefs, solely for others! You and the world now are the results of that action!"
The archbishop was but one faithful light-worshiper. Amid countless tragedies in his life, he heard no divine voice, found no scriptural answer.
Thus, he chose to bear sin himself.
Knowing lifelong torment from his own sin, he acted without hesitation, backed powerful nobles and merchants to elevate the Church to omnipotence, allowing countless believers—mere war tools for nobles—to live by faith alone.
The price for all that was his own conviction. Altering scripture to shine light equally on all, denying his life's faith.
Not for personal satisfaction. Solely to protect others within arm's reach, he staked everything to change the world.
"You can't forget! Yeah! I know—I went through it! Count just the cuttings—I've got hundreds more than you, expert here! Even now, after revenge, those bastards' faces who cut my arm and jarred it are vivid—how could I forget! Don't forget! Never asked you to, and I know it's impossible!"
Pressure like boulders crushing his body made words tumble from his lips. He needed to project his voice properly. Convey clearly, more.
Half-crawling, half-walking toward the matriarch. Yggdrasil's arrowhead aimed at his head, but her confusion kept her from loosing.
Teok!
Reaching forward, foot snagging the wooden floor, he finally met the matriarch's one remaining eye. That inscrutable, shining depth.
"Don't forget. And don't seek revenge. Then... live like this? In this wretched state. You, who's lived beyond your short-lived kind's bounties. Just watch forevermore?"
"If you truly cherish the World Tree's branches. Your sacrifice could make a better world for countless elves to come. At least this moment could be the start of that changed world."
"...Insolent human."
Drdrdrdrdr, drdrdr.... Kururuk.
The vibrations shaking the small house ceased, the heart-squeezing pressure vanishing like a lie.
After glaring long, she sighed, her wrinkled face inscrutable.
"...Then and now. You humans twist words viciously. Just say, 'Bury your feelings, close your eyes for the elves' future, and cooperate.' That's all."
"Puhah-! Too heavy to say outright. Spinning it out eases the listener's ears and the speaker's burden."
"True. A bit ambiguous... but dragging this as a test would be excessive."
.
.
.
.
.
.
Huh?
"Test... you say?"
"Yes. Though a small village, I lead people beneath me. Think I can't discern personal emotion from pragmatism as a leader?"
"No, the house just came alive, your eye blazed with killing intent, breath choking—"
"Then as GG's famed Roharam Church hero, doesn't that suit a test? If overwhelmed by that, unable to speak—a spineless wretch—then the Church's resolve is just that meager."
Seureureuk—
Wooden limbs naturally grew on her empty arm and leg, seamlessly rising to face him.
"Shall I share an amusing fact?"
"...Sounds unamusing."
"Elves rarely exile kin. No matter the shame from humans or bearing their child, the mother's forest always embraces its branches. Like new buds on wounded limbs."
Huh? What? Isn't this a gathering of elves rejected by their homeland after capture by humans and every ordeal?
"Then, why..."
"Our consciousnesses underwent too many changes to blend with the mother tree."
Chwareureuk—
Waving her hand, house branches dispersed, ceiling and walls sucked into wooden trunks.
Before them unfolded a vast natural morning seen only from great treetops. Forest life raising heads to rising sunlight.
The earlier vibrations seemed from lifting the house beneath the tree upward.
"Elves share emotions and consciousnesses. We became impurities unable to merge—entangled too deeply with humans as foes, allies, lovers. Even if they beckon us back, joining would bring human chaos and unease to other branches, so we left to settle elsewhere."
...His nape oddly tingled. This feeling. This damn familiar mix of frustration and admiration when realizing Chief of Staff's scheme.
‘...Just to check. Where'd those wounds come from?’
"Huhuhu. These? I've wandered the world nearly three centuries—scars from one place? This eye... got shot aiding the eighth prince crying to right the empire. Arm yielded to seven pitch-black Death Knights seventy years ago. This severed leg—my pride! Traded it for the life of that great hero from the Princess house, who ended the dead's uprising! Such a cute one. Human lives burn as bright as their flames, gone too quick."
‘...So, no imprisonment or torture among those wounds?’
"Me? I left the forest on my own feet. Only got permission with skill enough not to worry the branches. Never once claimed unjust suffering from humans, thoughtful child."
‘...Got played! Assumed since exiled elf village, all wounds from humans!’
The matriarch approached his stunned face, tapping his shoulder with her living wooden prosthetic.
"Sorry for the rough welcome, guest in decades. I apologize."
"No, you hold no grudge against humans... why me? From your tales, you even like them?"
To his baffled words, the matriarch smiled broadly, her face full of thick scars and wrinkles.
"Because it's a chance waited decades for—can't end with a small promise, no?"
".....Pardon?"
To his question, the matriarch spread her two arms—one flesh, one wood—toward the vast forest.
"You said it yourself: 'To make a world where elves shed no more meaningless blood.' Mentioning that priest who spat out personal emotion and faith to protect his flock means you'll provide that effort and devotion. Right? Don't claim idle words. Though small branches, this ground we stand on grew from a World Tree splinter. All rooted beings heard your words. Sometimes, words themselves hold power."
"!!!!"
Seureureuk—
He felt it. Unfamiliar mana, felt for the first time, infiltrating every corner of his body, shattering finely and vanishing traceless.
"...Binding?"
"A pact. No need to worry. No strong coercion or negatives. Closest to a vow to oneself. But if you wander lost in confusion... today's vow might gently tug your hand. Ah, take this back. More useful in your hands. As you said, mere paper and ink, yet can change the world."
Hwaruk!
Flames at her fingertips rippled space, and the archbishop's letter—thought ashen—reappeared intact.
"You seem confused, so I'll say it clearly. I, El-Parna, old stem of the World Tree, swear at its end. The branches of Kaneran will not refuse the human hand finally arrived after long wait. Awaiting the day all lands root without discrimination, until the light's hero declares will to the World Tree, we cooperate."
As her words ended, wind swirling at great branch tips gathered around her. A sensation like what entered him earlier. That too was a pact. These exiled elves had awaited, without need for negotiation, one like him to extend a hand.
Absurd and incomprehensible, he had to ask.
"Why so favorable to humans? Their changes forced you from home to this wasteland."
"Didn't I say? Elves remember."
Nostalgia filled Matriarch El-Parna's face.
"Those wounded and resentful returned home. They grew to love mother tree and community as deeply as their loss. Elves exile elves only one way: when something else takes precedence in their hearts over mother tree, over precious branches."
‘...No way?’
"Yes. All elves born in Kaneran are half-elves. We harbor human passion deep in our hearts, etched with memories of mates. Now understand why village branches welcomed you without resistance?"
The Professor could only nod like a fool at the matriarch's playful smile.
"Don't try understanding it all. Sorrow, joy. Resentment, longing. Too complexly intertwined. Overly so for elves. Just think of us as elves who fell for humans, unable to escape. Hiding in this backwater from hunters' hands, yet 'fixed' with undying human affection."
Now that he thought, that matriarch had not one elven trait. Speech, mindset, actions—all humanlike.
They had become closer to humans than elves. Complex as any race—humanlike.
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