Chapter 194
Chapter 194
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 194
Chapter Title: 59. Requiem for Her (7)
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The elves' arrogance was an innate trait, and their wickedness was in their very blood.
They were ruthless egoists who couldn't empathize with others' pain.
Yet the elves known to the world were only somewhat haughty—they were seen as angelic, pure, gentle beings.
Only a tiny few warned of their evil nature.
The elves were masters at concealing their malice.
With their kind and beautiful appearances, innocent expressions, voices soft as a spring breeze, gentle speech, and humble demeanor.
Uncovering the ugliness hidden behind it all was no easy task.
Thus, they masked their inherent wickedness.
Moreover, elves rarely revealed their true feelings or emotions.
Any glimpse into their thoughts was deliberate, and the emotions they showed were nothing more than expressions and gestures honed over long years of practice.
Fall for their angelic grace and refined manners, and you'd end up stripped of everything, body and soul.
But elves weren't born masters of deception and manipulation.
Like all living creatures, they too were once pure and innocent newborns.
It was just that period was far too brief in the span of their lives.
During that short time, the meager compassion and goodwill they were granted wore away completely, leaving them faithful only to their racial instincts and nature.
Though it varied by individual, it took roughly fifty years for that transformation.
But that was for ordinary elves.
High Elves were different.
They lived three to four times longer than regular elves. It took that much longer for their signature hypocrisy and social cunning to fully develop.
Yet the High Elf before me was barely a hundred and fifty.
I looked at him again.
His haughty expression, dissatisfied gaze.
He had the innate nobility and arrogance, but none of the elves' polished guile or pretense.
And yet here he was, strutting about age before me.
A laugh escaped me.
Where had this pushover even come from?
But the amusement didn't last.
I sank into thought.
For a young High Elf to venture into the world, he needed permission from other High Elves.
So I couldn't understand it.
They would have known this blood-clot of a kid wasn't ready. And yet they sent him out—on a mission, no less.
As an envoy to a human prince seething with grudge against elves.
It wasn't normal.
I pondered deeply. And finally, I found the answer.
"A sacrificial lamb."
He was a gift from those scheming elves.
To soothe the hatred and rage stemming from Sigrun, so it wouldn't turn on the entire elven race.
A clear offering to appease me.
To confirm, I asked him a few questions.
What his mission was, and what he'd do after.
He replied that his task was to convey the clan's regrets over Executor Sigrun's misdeeds and to remain under my command to aid in fostering friendship between the clan and kingdom.
He added that he'd been instructed to neglect his body's care to rebuild trust and obey any order, no matter what.
My suspicions hardened into certainty.
The elven king had even kindly added that note, in case I missed the point.
Roast him, boil him, kill him, spare him. Do as I pleased.
"Fine. I don't get the apology, but I'll gladly take the help."
I'm not one to turn down a gift freely offered, so I accepted him.
My sudden shift in attitude drew a puzzled look from him.
Even that reaction was immature compared to the elves I knew.
"Your name?"
"I am Arnand of the Sword-Singers, captain of the Whispering Winds."
To the fool proudly rattling off his affiliation unasked, I said,
"Good. Arnand, I grant you entry."
"Thank you."
Only then did he offer belated thanks.
Unaware what fate awaited him. He might be worked like an ox and slaughtered like a pig, hung in the butcher's shop.
"No need to thank me."
I smiled at him.
Like a slaughterer eyeing a plump pig.
They were equally unexpected guests, but treated worlds apart.
The dwarves of the Iron Legion were warmly welcomed by the rangers, and I received them as comrades and honored guests.
They had freedom to do as they wished inside the fortress, and we spared no effort to make their lodging and meals as comfortable as possible despite our scarcity.
The elves were another story.
Their quarters were a makeshift tent under the biting wind of the open ground, and they couldn't leave without my permission.
"Anyone caught consorting with the elves, regardless of who, will face severe punishment."
Rangers on the walls and towers watched them day and night.
Thus, they were confined, thoroughly isolated.
My measures sparked much talk for a time.
"Mistreating those who came to aid the kingdom is excessive."
"We should repay goodwill with goodwill."
Some southern knights and commanders visited me, urging better treatment for the elves.
At least they weren't swayed by elven beauty into pointless chivalry or philanthropy.
"We'll use them as needed, but we must never lower our guard or surveillance."
I explained the elves' treachery to their requests, warning against falling for angelic looks and staying vigilant for the viper's nature beneath. I repeated the caution endlessly.
Not fully convinced, they dared not press for improvements.
They seemed to think I had my reasons.
With talk of elven treatment silenced, the dwarves finished installing iron cannons on all walls.
The wizards from the White Night Tower were also in position.
Then word came: the enemy's reinforcements had reached the border and begun marching.
Silver Lion Fortress quietly prepared to meet them.
"Paladins are threatening, but the real issue is the empire's wizards. Our knights and soldiers have no experience against magic."
Meetings ran daily, dominated by talk of imperial wizards.
To the kingdom's forces, whose battle wizards had been wiped out by the empire, magic was utterly alien. Even fearless knights and commanders showed vague dread and unease toward the unknown power.
"Unlike our wizards, trained at most two or three years, imperial wizards have dedicated ten to decades solely to magic. Whether ours can properly counter them is my greatest worry."
We had wizards too, but most commanders distrusted their abilities.
It was natural.
As they said, our wizards' training was mere years against the enemy's decades of grueling practice.
But I trusted Ophelia.
In magic, she was supremely arrogant, uncompromising.
If she deployed them to the front, they were ready to hold their own.
Of course, that meant nothing to them.
No one remained who knew the name "White Night," famed four centuries ago.
So I offered another countermeasure.
Before the commanders, I recited a lost ancient lore.
"Fairies excel in magic and gathering, dwarves in fortification and metallurgy. Orcs reign in warfare and hunting, giants in might and wisdom."
The commanders stared blankly at this unheard legend. But they soon realized "fairies" meant elves and brightened.
"Elves are the natural counters to human wizards."
Elves had an innate sense to detect completing spells faster than anyone, and in some cases, could interfere to twist outcomes—a special gift.
To cast before them required at least a hexagram archmage weaving six circles.
Archmages didn't drop from the sky, so even if the enemy had any, they'd number one or two at most.
And that many, the Sword-Singers could check.
Their leader was a High Elf, after all, even if a bit green.
"Plus, the fortress has dwarven iron cannons. Their power rivals the flames and lightning of wizards."
I praised the Iron Legion's prowess tirelessly before the commanders.
They half-believed, but their anxiety eased somewhat.
What a frustrating lot.
Soldiers in a fortress guarded by fairies and dwarves fearing wizards—they'd rage if they heard.
Thus explaining and issuing orders, the meeting ended before I knew.
Leading it with uncharacteristic verbosity left me exhausted, as if I'd fought three days straight.
Alone in the empty seat, slumped, a gruff voice sounded.
"Can't stand watching this frustration."
I turned to see Percival, attending as a guest.
"Lord Malcoy said that."
As I started to ask what was frustrating, he deferred to his superior.
I looked at Malcoy.
His face was stuffed like he'd eaten a basket of sweet potatoes without water.
Percival clapped his shoulder.
"Speak up. Why hold back?"
"What words from a mere guest?"
"You said the fortress commanders and crown prince are all too frustrating to watch."
Malcoy scowled at Percival's bluntness.
I straightened and urged Malcoy to speak if he had something.
After prodding, he reluctantly stepped forward.
"Everything's too passive."
Once started, he poured out his views.
Mostly critiques of the kingdom's responses.
Like a card game where you wait for opponent's play, scramble a counter, never lead—best case, break even.
"Defensive posture explains some, but the kingdom's gone too far."
My brow furrowed.
I knew attrition could wither the kingdom. I was waiting for a reversal chance.
But I couldn't deny we were being dragged by imperial moves, as he said.
Arms crossed, I nodded for him to continue.
"This won't do. Win ten times, rout thirty legions—even then, no future for the kingdom."
"So?"
"Strike first. Hit their blind spots. Make the empire follow us."
He met my eyes squarely.
Provocative expression.
As if to say, "I have a way, but can you pull it off?"
"Cut the needless provocation and continue."
Chastened, Malcoy resumed, sheepish.
"Switch to offense."
"You know the situation?"
"Yes. Heard it ad nauseam today. Empire's Northeast 11 legions plus 20 reinforcements marching on the border."
"And still, go on offense?"
I frowned; he grinned.
"The enemy expects that too."
Pointing at the map, he outlined the plan.
"That's it."
Unwittingly uncrossing arms, glued to the map, I snapped back.
"Whether to accept is Your Highness's call."
The passionate explainer was gone; now a flat-faced man who'd said his piece.
And I chose.
"Can you explain that to the others?"
No reason to cling to grinding attrition with this plan.
"I could, but they won't like it. Might think it's imperial spy mischief."
"I'll handle that."
I summoned the commanders at once.
They arrived puzzled; I nodded to Malcoy.
Grudgingly, he rose and explained striking imperial blind spots as before.
When done, the kingdom commanders' faces were mixed.
Some disliked a recent POW devising plans; others admired the solid idea; some felt self-loathing that days of their pondering yielded nothing, yet this ex-prisoner had one.
"What do you think? I see it as a prime chance to hit their flank."
Emotions varied, but answers unified.
"Worth trying."
"Success reverses the tide."
Malcoy panicked at their support.
Natural.
Percival had told me: even as legion commander, his background and youth meant plans ignored.
Now, mere nominal guest, practically POW.
No wonder he was stunned his idea was accepted.
Maybe a first.
His plan embraced.
Indescribable emotion lit his eyes.
Seeing it recalled my own first recognition.
After battle, displaying captured standards—the dizzying thrill in their gazes.
Guessing Malcoy's heart was easy.
Flustered, proud, elated.
Didn't someone say? A man stakes his life for those who see him.
And for Malcoy, this was that moment.
Indeed, he passionately proposed more plans right there.
Some rejected, others refined for execution.
He poured out ideas nonstop.
As he spat fervor at commanders, I exchanged glances with Percival.
'Told you he'd come around quick.'
'Yeah. You were right.'
Lips moving, we smirked in sync.
The war-hating prince of a fallen nation was gone.
Left was an eager rookie commander whose talents were just being recognized.
"So, operation name?"
Mid-rant, Malcoy suddenly asked.
"Operation name? Needed?"
"To fix the haphazard system and for security—essential."
Laughter bubbled.
This guy ranting war moments ago now fussing over naming his own plan.
Swallowing mirth, I pondered.
"Operation name..."
Questionable if needed, but if so.
"Requiem."
No fitter name than a song for those choosing death over life.