Chapter 137: Elf (6)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 137: Elf (6)
What exactly is an academy?
It’s a place where a dungeon or a maze might be hidden under the library, and it wouldn’t be strange for a dragon to suddenly pop out once you clear it.
It’s a place where getting caught in a dark mage's trap and being stuck underground for days is just a regular occurrence.
That’s why Prince Ellen, the Leon agents, and I all carry expensive subspace pouches as standard equipment. Well, calling Boradori and Elian "official agents" is a bit of a stretch, but still.
After being trapped in the barrier with the High Elf, I started pulling out supplies and partitioning the space.
This side is the bedroom. This side is the kitchen. This side is the bathroom, and so on.
Those who can handle mana can go a few days without eating or using the toilet, but that is literally an act of suppressing the body’s natural functions. There are bound to be repercussions, and you might find yourself unable to exert 100% of your power in an emergency.
To put it bluntly, when the barrier breaks, the person standing in front of us might be a dark mage, not an ally. I couldn't afford to take that risk.
Once everything was organized, there was only one thing left to do.
"Hyperbolic Time Chamber, score!"
"…?"
It was time for I Alone Level Up: Season 2.
"W-what are you doing?"
The High Elf, terrified by the sight of me suddenly drawing my sword, prepared for combat. I ignored her and gave a brief answer.
"Training."
"H-here?"
"The flow of time is different here. Is there anything more efficient than this?"
"…I-is that so?"
There wasn't much else to do anyway. Even Princess Ruelle, who knew the barrier well, said that unless you were a dragon, you couldn't force it open from the inside.
"Or, we could just fulfill the condition to lift the barrier."
"Hieeeeeek!"
The person who actually knew the condition reacted like that just from me asking. Seeing as she looked like she’d rather die than tell me, I had no choice but to pass the time quietly swinging my sword.
"……sh."
How much time had passed?
As I continued my solo training for a long while, the High Elf, who had been watching me silently, muttered something.
"What did you say?"
When I turned my head, our eyes met for a split second.
"Hiek!"
She let out a short gasp, though she seemed to have gotten a bit more used to me.
"Didn't you have something to say?"
I looked at the High Elf, who was peeking out cautiously from behind a wall.
"N-no, I didn't!"
She shook her head, her face half-hidden behind the tent I’d given her as a private partition.
"What was it?"
"Uh, well…"
Under my continued questioning, the High Elf spoke with a face full of wariness.
"I said… your swordsmanship is total trash."
"……"
Her voice was cautious, but the answer was completely at odds with her timid attitude. Wait, did I hear that right?
"I-it’s not supposed to be done like that!"
…I didn't hear it wrong.
"…Then how is it supposed to be done?"
"It’s definitely not supposed to be done in that pathetic way!"
At those words, I pulled a wooden sword out of my subspace pouch and tossed it to her.
"……?"
As she looked at me with a face that asked why I was giving her this, I made a grand declaration.
"Bring it on."
Did she think I’d go easy on her just because she’s a High Elf? I was going to make her pay for the sin of calling my swordsmanship trash in front of a Leon.
"Hieeeek!"
The High Elf picked up the wooden sword with a tearful face, but I had no intention of holding back. In my past life, being told "you're trash at this game" was the ultimate insult; in this life, "you're trash at swordsmanship" was the worst possible slur.
Even if she was royalty from another race, let alone another country, this was something I couldn't let slide. I was certain that even the Queen would say, "Ah, well, that couldn't be helped," if she heard about this.
And so, I lunged at the High Elf, who held her sword awkwardly.
"…Hieeeeeek!"
I fought with everything I had.
"……"
I really didn't hold back.
"You're so bad…"
I didn't hold back, and yet, I got absolutely wrecked.
What Elves boast about is their age. And in reality, age is a cheat code.
In my past life, people used to say "youth is a cheat code," but here, it was the exact opposite. Well, it is a fantasy world, after all.
The existence of mana sometimes allowed one to transcend age, and races entirely different from humans had concepts of age that far exceeded human standards.
Elves, who stood at the pinnacle of such races, casually ignored the human concept of age. That’s why age isn't that important in a fantasy world. The only reason we called Uncle Aeryun "Uncle" in our club was purely because of his appearance.
Even if—by some miracle with a probability lower than a dark mage not invading the Academy—Uncle Aeryun’s actual age was the same as ours, we probably would have still called him "Uncle."
That’s how important appearance is in a fantasy world. If it weren't, our Leon ancestors would have just been simple dragon-fuckers.
In that sense, the Elven race is a total cheat. Unless they are murdered, they are guaranteed a lifespan of at least a thousand years. And since humans have directly taught them just how dangerous the world is, they rarely venture outside the safety of the World Tree’s domain.
Thus, the heights that humans reach through endless effort, Elves can reach just by taking it easy.
However, that was also the Elves' weakness. Laziness born from an overwhelming lifespan.
Of course, that’s only by human standards. To an Elf, it’s just a normal life. From their perspective, they probably can't understand why humans live their short lives so desperately.
Of course, the real reason is likely a balance patch for the fantasy setting. By removing dopamine-seeking elements from Elves, their growth rate was slowed, and by reducing their libido, their reproduction was limited—preventing a world where Elves naturally ruled everything.
Still, I thought I could win. I wanted to show her the lesson from the story of the Tortoise and the Hare. I believed that the effort of a human doing his best could overcome the swordsmanship an Elf practiced just for fun.
But I lost. And I didn't just lose; I was crushed.
"How…"
I spoke with a voice full of resentment.
"You're a scrub…"
High Elf Yerisha offered nothing but pure mockery.
"What exactly makes me a scrub?"
"Uh, well."
She fell into thought for a moment.
"Everything?"
She really knew how to get under my skin.
"…Let’s go again."
"…It’s not like anything will change."
She couldn't even meet my eyes, yet she spoke so arrogantly. I tried to show her that this time would be different.
"I told you…"
"……"
I got wrecked again.
"Do Elves even learn the sword?"
"Not all Elves learn the sword, but for High Elves, it’s practically mandatory."
I guess there’s a reason they claim to be a superior race.
"The elders said that if our mana is sealed by the schemes of the wicked Derman people, we should at least be able to swing a blade…"
It was a bit awkward that the reason lay in Dale’s past, but I didn't say anything, as pushing further would turn this into a UFC match.
"Still, it’s not really my thing."
Tap, tap. Yerisha spoke while lightly shaking her sword.
"I only practiced a little bit—for about three hundred years."
"……"
Three hundred years. Yeah, nothing I can do about that. Still, it wasn't all bad.
"Then, one more time…"
"…Is there any reason to keep fighting a scrub?"
I acknowledged her strength, but it seemed she still hadn't grasped the reality of our situation.
"Do you want to starve?"
"……"
"I’m grilling meat for dinner."
Ah, wait, are Elves herbivores?
"……I’ll finish this quickly."
Seeing her salivate, it seemed my assumption was just a stereotype.
Since no one was watching, I could train intensely. Not only that…
"T-that’s cheating! How can a youngster use drugs to try and beat an adult?!"
Since we wouldn't see each other again after graduation anyway, I could practice fighting at maximum capacity by using as many doping drugs as I wanted.
"Hah!"
Of course, I couldn't use anything that would put too much strain on my body in case of an emergency, but it was hard to find an opponent outside who could handle the level of doping that would make the Sword Emperor or other Academy figures scream "Halt!" in horror.
"You're still a scrub, though."
But I lost. I got absolutely destroyed.
"……"
Should I be relieved that a person—no, an Elf—like this isn't in the Swordsmanship Department? Or should I despair that there’s a swordsman in the Magic Department stronger than those in the Swordsmanship Department?
"You're not going to use a sword at the Academy, right?"
"Based on what you said, I don't know what might happen… so I can't say I'll never use it. But I don't usually use it. I am an elegant Spiritist, after all."
Ahem.
She puffed out her chest as if waiting for praise, so I spoke my honest feelings.
"I've never seen a Spiritist, so I don't know what that is."
Of course, I knew. It’s a common trope in the fantasy genre. But in this world, they weren't that common.
"Are there no Spiritists in Leon?"
"We don't even have proper mages; do you think we’d have Spiritists?"
"…? I heard you have a Magic Tower."
"We do."
"But you don't have mages?"
"Because we don't have proper mages."
"……What exactly does the Leon Magic Tower do?"
"It’s a group of mage-wannabes."
At my words, Yerisha let out a deep sigh and raised her sword.
"I suppose. Spirits are pure life forms born from the mana that dwells in all things. That’s why, aside from Elves, there are almost no races that can hear the voices of spirits."
"Oh…"
"In other words, only a very select few who are chosen from birth are given the right to converse with spirits. While Elves make up the majority of them, not even all Elves can talk to spirits."
Only a portion, even among Elves. But that wasn't the end of it.
"Conversing is just the beginning. You have to maintain a continuous mental bond to barely manage something called a contract."
After saying that, Yerisha took on a reminiscent expression. She was probably thinking back to the time from her first contract to when she contracted with a powerful spirit.
"So, Spirit Magic is truly amazing. Swordsmanship… you can easily beat someone like you with just 300 years of practice. But with Spirit Magic, even after practicing for over 500 years, I still have a long way to go…"
I thought her casual way of insulting people was very "Kkanpu-like," but then…
"I have a question!"
"What is it, you young, sword-scrub human!"
Hmph.
Yerisha looked at me blankly with a face full of confidence, unlike before, but I had long since figured out her true nature.
"Isn't it just that you're bad at socializing?"
"……What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, the reason Spirit Magic took so long is just because you're being bullied by the spirits, just like you are by everyone else…"
"W-what are you talking about?!"
Her face turned red as she shouted, looking like I’d hit the nail right on the head.
"Grandma Yerisha has no friends…"
"W-who are you calling grandma?! A-and what do you mean I have no friends! The Elves who follow me…"
"Friends don't usually call you 'Lady Yerisha'."
"……"
I shut her up just as she was about to claim her followers were her friends. I wondered if she could even come up with a rebuttal.
"Pick up your sword…"
"Then die."
To provide a simple "persuasion," Yerisha raised her sword.