Seriously, This Goddamn Mouth of Mine
Nazareth Nemeth, having finally unveiled her true identity, was as enigmatic in her appearance as she was in the air she carried. Yet if you let yourself get entranced by that mystique and stared blankly for too long, a chilling menace would crawl straight up your spine. It was like suddenly realizing a massive black panther was crouched in the lush grass and foliage right beside you.
Still, balancing out that mystique and latent threat was a striking, sensual beauty. Rich, sun-kissed bronze skin; crisp, sharp facial features; thick, sweeping eyelashes; and full, plush lips. Her slender, athletic frame wasn’t entirely my personal cup of tea, but thanks to her top-tier combat utility and tragic backstory, she had always maintained a devoted faction of "Nemeth moms" in the Origin World community—a tried-and-true staple pick. Mind you, she wasn’t the only one; there had always been an enduring fandom for dark elves as a whole.
"I cannot fathom how you managed to deduce my identity," she said, studying me. "Did you discern that using whatever unidentified ability you possess as well?"
I gave a noncommittal nod.
"It’s easier if you just think of it that way."
"Incredible. If it is a power like that, even someone other than Princess Arpe would covet it."
Her way of addressing the princess changed the second she dropped her disguise, I noted. Arpe didn't seem to care in the slightest, fixing me with a grave expression.
"Since you already know who she is, this makes our discussion much swifter," Arpe said. "By any chance, are you aware of other circumstances as well? For instance, the dire situation Nemeth’s tribe currently faces..."
"......"
I let out a heavy sigh at the way she was so blatantly testing the waters.
"Look, Arpe. Let me make one thing crystal clear. Friends don't probe each other like that."
"...Ah. Did I offend you? I apologize."
"And drop the stiff act, too. Just be yourself and treat me comfortably. That's what I'm doing, isn't it?"
"Isn't that just because you were born with that kind of personality...?"
"What are you talking about? Believe it or not, I used to be a completely normal, upstanding cog in the great machine of society."
"A cog...? I have no idea what you mean by that."
"Right, I guess people don't use that metaphor in this world. Whatever. The point is, the fundamental premise between friends is mutual trust. That's what friendship actually is."
The Third Princess pouted slightly at my lecture.
"Then... does that mean you trust me, Sir Aljen?"
"Yeah. I trust you. It might not be the blind, absolute faith you're hoping for, but on a baseline level, I trust you."
"......"
She lowered her head, twiddling her fingers in thought, before raising her gaze once more to meet mine.
"Very well. In that case, I will trust you as well. Or rather... even if trusting you completely right this second is difficult, I will do my best to try."
"I appreciate the honesty. That's more than enough."
"Yes... Ahem, this is a bit embarrassing."
"Nothing cures embarrassment like a drink. Want some?"
"...I will pass. Good grief, you truly are the first person to ever offer me alcohol."
"Is that so? I'm honored."
When I shrugged with a sly grin, a bashful little smile blossomed across her face as well.
"At any rate, back to the main topic... Currently, Nazareth Nemeth's tribe is in grave danger."
"The dark elves are in danger? Why would they be? Your numbers might be small, but you guys are insanely strong. Ah, right. Did the demons already start attacking around this time? Come to think of it, looking back at that horrific catastrophe in the future..."
"...Demons?"
"Wait a moment. Demons? What do you mean by that?"
"......"
The moment I saw both Arpe and Nemeth stare back in startled disbelief, a cold dread seized my chest. My goddamn mouth has gone and done it again.
"...Muriel. Our guests are leaving."
"Understood."
"Wait, wait! Hold on! Sir Aljen! Aren't we friends?!"
"I told you, that's not how you use that word!"
"Sir Aljen! What do you mean by demons? Are the dark elves going to be attacked by demons?!"
Watching the two of them press me with rising panic, I dragged a hand down my face.
"Moron."
Cacciola's muffled jeer from inside my coat made a surge of deep irritation flare up. But since this was entirely my own stupid slip of the tongue, I couldn't even snap back at her.
"...Dammit."
Spilled milk couldn't be poured back into the glass. Resigning myself to the mess, I took a swig of liquor and looked at the two women who were desperately hanging on my every breath.
"Khh... Fine. Yeah. There will be an attack by demons. But judging by your reactions, it's nothing you need to worry about right now. The demons probably won't make their full-scale move until a bit further down the road."
"How on earth can we not worry after hearing something like that?!"
"Do you know which demons they are? What hierarchy do they belong to? What abilities do they wield? Is it a single assailant or an army? How will they strike?!"
"Calm down, both of you. Can we take a slow, deep breath together?"
A few moments later, after barely managing to talk down the overly frantic pair, I scratched my head with an expression of sheer exhaustion.
"First, I want to know what request you were originally going to make of me, Arpe. And why the dark elf tribe is currently in danger to begin with."
"Ah, well... the thing is, the elf tribe is facing a severe food crisis."
"...Food?"
Had I misheard her? Elves naturally resided in the Great Forest, the sacred domain of the World Tree, and were born hunters by trade. They were a race that lived well and prospered on their own without needing to farm or rely on outside help.
"You're telling me they're running out of food? How is that even possible? Did the entire Great Forest burn down or something?"
"No, it's not that. You see..."
"Allow me to explain," Nemeth cut in, stepping forward with a somber, lowered voice. "Several decades ago, the Great World Tree began casting a curse centered upon our dark elf tribe. The moment any food comes into contact with us, it rapidly rots and corrupts, making it completely inedible. The World Tree declared that our tribe had committed a grave, irreversible sin, and that this was our punishment."
"Hmm?"
I tilted my head. That was a story I was already well aware of.
"We had no grievances with the punishment itself. It was the World Tree's judgment, and since we had stoked such immense wrath, we were prepared to accept death with humility... But at the same time, the World Tree proclaimed that this ordeal was both an atonement and a trial. We were commanded to struggle desperately to survive, to endure, to persevere—and that if we did, we would be forgiven. And so, we have fought with all our might to survive to this very day."
A profound sorrow and despair lay carved into the shadows across Nemeth's face—scars from a bottomless canyon of misery that felt as though they would never fade.
"At first, we forced ourselves to swallow rotten food. Then, with great difficulty, we acquired artifacts and relics from humans and dwarves to purify what we ate. It yielded very little result... We even broke tradition to cultivate crops and raise livestock, and we researched methods of absorbing nutrients with the absolute bare minimum of physical contact."
She paused abruptly, as if recalling a harrowing memory, before letting out a ragged sigh.
"Yet despite all our efforts, our population dwindled rapidly. Most died of starvation, but a staggering number also fell victim to the discrimination and persecution spearheaded by the high elves."
"......"
No matter how many times I heard it, the tale was identical to what I already knew. Still, just in case there were deviations, I listened carefully while nursing my drink.
"As the chieftain of my tribe, and with the aid of Arpe and Greenjack, I have been delivering the necessary sustenance to our people. Not ordinary provisions, mind you, but sacred water and foodstuffs blessed and consecrated by church priests."
Clenching her fists tightly, Nemeth looked at me with a tragic, piercing gaze.
"Do you have any idea how humiliating that is, Sir Stanashila Aljen?"
"Because it isn't just about delivering the provisions; a human has to feed your people directly by hand, right? Since that's the only way you can consume food before the curse rots it away."
That, too, had been laid out plainly in the setting lore book. There was even a dedicated companion questline for it in the game. If you recruited Nemeth or any other dark elf into your party, you had to manually spoon-feed them until the curse was resolved, which was precisely why the devoted "Nemeth moms" had formed in the player base to begin with.
Of course, setting all that aside, I hadn't realized that Greenjack had been the one supplying the dark elves all this time. That felt like a fairly significant piece of lore; why hadn't it been written in the official setting books?
"......"
...Then again, thinking about it now, maybe it wasn't all that important in the grand scheme of things. Greenjack had never operated in the light because of Princess Arpe anyway. Even now, the syndicate was already in the process of being dismantled. In the end, they were largely irrelevant to the main plot in both the game and reality. It was somewhat ironic that an organization that powerful held so little narrative weight. Still, would it have killed the developers to scribble down a brief note about it? The lore books always had this annoying habit of omitting critical details right when you needed them.
"...Ha. Truly, how do you know all of this...? No, I suppose information regarding our curse has leaked enough over the years that it should hardly come as a shock..."
Trembling with residual humiliation, Nemeth shook her head, forcing herself to regain her composure.
"However, with Greenjack currently disbanding, our supply lines have fallen into disarray."
"Naturally."
"My request is simply this."
"You want me to solve your food supply problem?"
"Yes. You only need to cover for us in the short term. I will devise a permanent countermeasure as swiftly as possible."
"Hmph...?"
I mulled it over for a second, but no matter how I looked at it, the situation made zero sense. I checked the mental database of my game knowledge thoroughly, double-checking every scrap of lore to make sure I wouldn't let another slip of the tongue ruin things.
Right. Everything checks out.
"Look... no matter how you slice it, this whole ordeal reeks of a demonic plot. Shouldn't you be dealing with the World Tree's problem first?"
"...What are you implying?"
In an instant, an intimidating aura surged violently from Nemeth as she glared daggers at me. Even with Muriel and Rebecca instantly stepping in to shield me, the murderous intent of a genuine Master was more than enough to lock up my physical body and kick my survival instincts into overdrive.
"Ha. So even after it put you through all that despair and humiliation, the World Tree is still precious to you? How touching."
Before I could stop myself, a sneer curled onto my lips and a biting taunt slipped out. It was pure muscle memory at this point—a delinquent self-defense mechanism born from sheer survival reflex.
"...Watch your tongue, Stanashila Aljen."
"Phew... Don't expect an apology. I didn't say anything wrong."
"Yes. I am aware. Please forgive my insolence."
She bowed deeply at the waist, showing immediate deference, which only made me sigh in exasperation.
"Anyway... I just don't get it. You already know the World Tree is being corrupted, don't you? Wouldn't fixing that be the obvious first move? It's not like you lack the military muscle... Or is it because it's a divine entity, so you're too terrified to lay a finger on it?"
"The World Tree is... corrupted?"
"Corrupted...? The Great World Tree is...?"
Watching Arpe and Nemeth stare blankly, their jaws slack and their eyes blown wide in sheer, uncomprehending horror, another chill shot straight down my spine.
Ah. Seriously, this goddamn mouth of mine.
Is today an auspicious holiday for screwing myself over or something?