Elves (3)

The speech delivered by Elijah, Queen of the Elves, swept across the entire world in an instant.

Beyond instilling a fierce sense of racial pride in her people, it was, for all intents and purposes, a declaration of intent. Alvenheim had already been pursuing a subtle policy of expansionism, and now their monarch had openly proclaimed that the time had come to take a bold step forward and strive for greater heights. In practical terms, it was a clear signal that they were preparing to broaden their borders in earnest.

Thanks to the Gallery, word of Alvenheim's shifting atmosphere spread like wildfire across dimensions. Furthermore, Alvenheim had recently adopted an open-door policy, leading to a massive influx of foreign visitors. Debates raged over what the atmosphere on the ground was really like and whether foreigners might face persecution. Alongside El Dorado, the realm of the elves had rocketed to the forefront of continental drama.

With a single address, all eyes had locked onto the Elf Queen. Moreover, since Grylls—the most famous registered user on the Gallery—was currently off on an expedition, the sole viral topic available was Queen Elijah herself.

So what was this sovereign doing amid the storm she had stirred?

"Fufu. Simply delightful."

Having wrapped up her address, she was idling away the hours in the royal office. Some might have accused her of neglecting state affairs, but she had already handled every task within her power. All that remained was to await the upcoming public trial of the 'Prototype.' Until then, her only responsibility was keeping the Senate in check and preparing for unforeseen contingencies.

Soon, I will be able to plant Alvenheim's trees across the entire world.

Elijah closed her eyes and rested her hands neatly over her chest. Lost in reverie, her soft, blissful smile mirrored that of an innocent girl caught in a daydream. In truth, her youthful, delicate features made the impression even stronger. The trouble was that this dreamer was the supreme ruler of a sovereign nation. A fairy tale coming to life might sound wonderful, but when scaled to the level of an empire, the implications were terrifying.

A commotion erupted outside just as Elijah was deep in thought. Her eyes fluttered open, turning toward the noise.

Clack!

The office doors burst open violently, admitting a contingent of elves. In true elven fashion, each was strikingly fair and looked remarkably youthful.

"Queen Elijah! Just what is the meaning of this?!"

The elf leading the intrusion roared with indignation. Despite his long flowing hair, his sharp jawline and broad frame clearly gave him away as male.

"What is the meaning of what? I'm afraid I don't follow."

Elijah offered a nonchalant reply, completely unfazed by his outburst. Rather than brazen, her melodic tone sounded disarmingly sweet.

"Why did you make such a momentous decision without consulting us first?!"

"A decision? Ah! Are you referring to my speech?"

"Do not feign ignorance with me. We are well aware that you have been secretly conducting a classified project."

"Ah." Elijah nodded as if finally understanding. Yet the pristine clarity of her emerald eyes and the gentle upturn of her lips remained undisturbed. A subtle flicker of fanaticism lurked beneath that serene facade, causing even the enraged man to flinch. "I intended to present it as a surprise unveiling. It would be far more dramatic that way, wouldn't you agree?"

"Dramatic?!"

"Yes! To prove that our elven race commands marvelous science—no, magic—no... technology!" Elijah spread her arms wide and declared, looking like a woman completely enraptured by her own world.

The crux of the matter was that this wasn't merely 'her own world.' Time and again, she had successfully dragged her wild ideals into cold reality. The very policies that had revitalized Alvenheim had been pushed through against a mountain of opposition. Would anyone believe that all of this had originated from the whimsical daydreams of their queen? They would brand her a madwoman. Yet she had proven every single skeptic wrong.

"From now on, Alvenheim will no longer be shaped by the world; we shall shape it. That is precisely why I pursued our open-door policy."

"Do you truly desire war?" Phil Lorien, Senior Elder of the Senate, pressed her in a voice laden with a grim threat.

The Senate was frequently dismissed as an assembly of stubborn old fogies, but that conservatism served a vital purpose. If nothing else, they were duty-bound to prevent bloodshed at all costs.

"Whatever do you mean? War? I harbor no desire for war."

"And you expect us to believe that after everything you have done?"

"Yes."

"......"

Her answer was so utterly shameless that Phil was left speechless. Still, their suspicions remained just that: suspicions. They possessed no hard proof. The recent military buildup? That could be explained away as a natural consequence of rapid economic growth. Even her aggressive tree-planting initiatives contained no inherent illegality. Most problematic of all was her overwhelming public approval.

"...Very well. But when do you intend to unveil this project?" Phil had no choice but to concede ground. Challenging her now, fresh off a speech that had sent public support skyrocketing, would only tarnish the Senate's standing even further.

"I knew it! The Senate is looking forward to the project after all!"

"......"

Setting politics aside, Phil desperately wanted to do something about this clear-eyed lunatic. He harbored a gnawing dread that she would lead Alvenheim straight into ruin. Marveling at her unyielding audacity, he could only click his tongue inwardly. Purely in terms of political acumen, she possessed staggering talent. Ordinary people felt self-conscious when caught doing something underhanded, but Elijah showed neither shame nor hesitation. Paired with the capability to bring her wild ideas to fruition, she was a nightmare to manage.

"The project I've prepared will be grandly revealed in one week. At that time, the Senate will receive a formal invitation."

"We appreciate that. However, Your Majesty... there is one thing you must keep in mind." Phil exhaled a long breath, fixing Elijah with a resolute gaze. Elijah tilted her head in innocent curiosity. It was a charming gesture perfectly suited to her youth, but to Phil's eyes, it was the mask of a maniac. "The achievements Your Majesty has accomplished are undeniably worthy of praise. We have no choice but to acknowledge them."

"Thank you."

"Yet, to borrow an arboreal metaphor, that is merely pruning the branches. It is only dressing the tree to appear more beautiful." Phil was ancient, even among long-lived elves. "Do not neglect the roots. Do not become so consumed with trimming the canopy that you forget to water the soil."

"Isn't that self-evident? A tree cannot survive without its roots."

"If you understand, then we shall take our leave."

Offering that seasoned counsel, Phil turned on his heel. His retinue fell into step behind him and filed out of the room. Once more, Elijah was left alone in the stillness of her office, the lingering tension drifting away like a dissipated storm.

"Mmh..." Elijah stared at the closed doors for a moment before lifting her gaze. She logged onto the Gallery and promptly drafted a post.

Venting her frustration online brought an immediate sense of relief. After all, nobody knew her true identity, so where was the harm? Grinning broadly, Elijah resumed browsing the board.

Come to think of it, they mentioned the prototype's primary drawback was command transmission speed. To rectify that...

Under her handle 'Let's Grow Trees,' Queen Elijah opened the search bar. The profile she pulled up belonged to none other than Wild Grylls—the survivor who had reportedly suffered an ordeal yesterday venturing into a Mandrake Colony.

Perhaps I could request Orichalcum from him? I could provide more World Tree saplings in exchange.

Orichalcum was an extraordinarily rare material, essential for advanced magical conduits. Securing it in bulk would yield a tremendous technological advantage.

I'll have to make thorough preparations.

Elijah closed the interface and rummaged through her cabinet documents, seeking anything that might aid Grylls's wilderness survival. If she offered supplies vital to his daily existence, he would surely agree to trade.

Ah... I can't wait to plant more trees.

Around the time Alvenheim's movements began raising continental suspicion, most neighboring nations were bracing for impact. Yet one realm maintained an almost careless indifference.

It was Mephisto, the realm of the Demons.

Even though Alvenheim sat just across the border beyond El Dorado, the demons paid it little heed. If a war broke out, so be it. They were, after all, a race historically renowned for being battle-crazed lunatics. Still, that laid-back attitude was only on the surface; the upper echelon monitored Alvenheim closely. Although demons routinely mocked the elves as fractured cowards, the current development could not be overlooked.

"We intend to dispatch an operative to Alvenheim."

"An operative... you mean a spy?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Asmode, King of Mephisto, broke the silence. At his words, Keirin looked up at him, her dark eyes wide with surprise. Sending scouts was standard procedure, but sending one into Alvenheim of all places was genuinely astonishing.

"Father, disguise magic is exceedingly difficult, even for our kind."

"I am well aware. Our physiology is far too distinct compared to other races."

Demons differed drastically from the rest of the world. Their skin was naturally shaded blue or violet, horns sprouted from their foreheads, and their eyes featured solid black sclera. While their physical features were as alluring and sculpted as any elf's, their distinct traits made blending in nearly impossible. The difficulty of illusion magic spiked exponentially the more the illusion diverged from the subject's natural form. While the baseline spell was simple enough, maintaining it required the delicate, relentless focus of a master sculptor carving stone by hand.

"However, I recently procured this."

Asmode set a chunk of ore onto the table. Keirin's gaze dropped to the mineral. It was a dark, purplish metallic stone. She recognized it instantly.

"Could this be...?"

"An Orichalcum ore. With this acting as a relay, maintaining a disguise spell will be significantly easier and far more enduring."

It was Orichalcum, famed throughout the lands as a legendary miracle metal. Keirin had received a supply of her own from Grylls, though she hadn't breathed a word of it to anyone. Given that her sole motivation for procuring it had been upgrading her crystal ball to watch sports broadcasts in crystal-clear definition, she took that secret to her grave.

Where on earth did Father get this? There haven't been any reports of an Orichalcum vein being discovered.

Curiosity tugged at her, but Keirin let the matter rest. As the sovereign of the Demon Realm, Asmode possessed private intelligence channels. It was hardly surprising that he had ways of acquiring rare treasures.

"Keirin, select trustworthy operatives from among your subordinates and submit a report. Alvenheim's actions are far from ordinary."

"Even with El Dorado sitting directly to our north?"

"Precisely because no one can fathom what that Elf Queen is scheming."

With that, Keirin acquiesced to the deployment. The clandestine operation had been set in motion. Leaving Asmode's council chamber, she returned to her personal quarters.

If only we had more Orichalcum... we could dispatch far more operatives.

Asmode had lamented the severe scarcity of the ore; a fist-sized chunk was barely enough to sustain a single spy. Given Alvenheim's unpredictable trajectory, a wider surveillance net was urgently needed.

...Should I send Grylls some more sports uniforms?

Beneath the surface, the gears of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠trade and espionage had already begun to turn.