The Mad Elf's Leash
Amelia left Smith in her room and returned to the guild master's office. The moment she stepped inside, she collapsed onto the chair with its plump cushion, planting her ass down hard.
"Fuck. If even those damn pointy-eared bitches know about it, the demon tribe's already in the loop."
Amelia sighed deeply, her face etched with a seriousness she'd never once shown Smith.
"...Still, lucky that dumbass got nabbed. Goddamn it."
The elves—rulers of the forest, hailed as Forest Protectors yet equally dubbed Green Chaos—were called "pointy-ears" or "stuck-ups" far more often by other races than by their proper species name. That said it all about how much animosity they stirred.
These days, all elves had gathered in the Kalan Great Forest on the continent's western edge to form a kingdom, but in the past, they'd lived scattered in tribes across various woodlands. Their bad blood with other races stemmed from that era.
Classic double standards: fine if they chopped down trees to build homes, but if another race so much as logged a bit or cleared land for settlement, the elves would foam at the mouth, charge in, and turn everything to chaos. And that was just the start—they had a nasty habit of snatching men from other races as breeding stock whenever the chance arose.
If elves weren't such adept mages, they'd have been wiped out long ago. Even now, they ranked just below demons as a race everyone watched warily.
Amelia had pegged Giena as an elf the moment she saw her dismantle the public square's barrier with a bow and arrow. Without that telltale sign, Amelia might've left her masquerading as a human mage, rotting away in the guild unchecked.
For Amelia—and for the adventurer branch as a whole—spotting Giena today was a stroke of pure luck.
Amelia pulled a round stand and a transparent crystal orb from her desk drawer. She set the orb down first, flipped the stand over, and tapped its underside a few times with her finger. Only then did she place the orb atop the stand and set it on the desk.
Woooong— A faint light emanated from the crystal orb, accompanied by a very low hum.
"—Did you resolve the disturbance alright?"
A clear voice, almost girlish, flowed from the crystal orb.
Amelia smirked.
"The wall got smashed, but no major damage."
"—No idea what happened, but if you're calling it that, sounds like you scored big."
"Not material gains."
"—Hold on. Let me grab some paper to jot this down."
Fussing sounds came from beyond the orb.
"—Never mind."
"The pointy-eared bitches caught on. Lucky for us, they don't seem to have direct divine revelations like the temple or us."
"—If those lunatics know, the demons probably do too."
"High probability? Nah, those bitches already know. Only makes sense why they'd push the truce twenty years early."
"—...You're right, Branch Master Amelia. I thought the demons' internal strife was behind advancing the truce by twenty years, but guess not."
"Yeah."
Both Amelia and the girl beyond the orb let out small sighs.
"—Temple nutjobs, demons... what a headache."
"Others we can handle, but those pointy-eared bitches need total exclusion."
"—Agreed. Temple's too fragmented, and Agatha—the only one who knows the truth—is keeping quiet, so no worries there. Demons respect lines, so no trouble from them."
"Right. The rest at least have some code, but those pointy-eared psychos? No morals at all."
"—Got countermeasures?"
"Yeah, hooked a prime sucker."
"—Good. Those lunatics are shit at everything else, but their magic's on another level—refined beyond other races. Was getting tricky."
"Still, ping the other branches: pointy-eared bitches posing as humans are out there. Spread the word."
"—Of course. Guild branches, merchant alliances, underworld too. They're wary of elves anyway."
Elves—unpredictable, forest-obsessed maniacs with bows and men—were everyone's problem. Slave traders and the underworld were especially touchy.
Threat to goods? Cut it off at the root before it grows. Once rumors spread of elves leaving Kalan Great Forest, the underworld and merchants would move fast: reports, investigations, eliminations.
Friendly to customers, ruthless to threats—that was their way.
"Oh. Any fresh intel on those Petmira cunts?"
"—Nothing noteworthy. But checking that lead you gave: some Goldias nobles showing suspicious moves."
"Tch. Dumb bitches. Nobles falling for heresy."
"—Didn't you say they'd been scheming for years? Even nobles can't resist heresy brainwashing forever."
"Hah, better they bite their tongues and drop dead."
"—Branch Master Amelia. Don't say that shit. It'll bite you in the ass later."
Amelia clamped her mouth shut and flipped the bird at the crystal orb.
"—Karma."
"Psycho bitch."
Amelia chuckled silently. The girl oversaw all adventurer guild branches—a branch master in the Tullius Empire's capital. They'd known each other for decades, yet her voice still rang eternally youthful.
Long ago, that gray-haired girl had visited her in prison, awaiting punishment. Since her own deployment as branch master, Amelia hadn't seen her face again. But hearing that voice confirmed it: time hadn't touched her.
"Report's done."
"—Got it. Nothing much from here. We covered it this morning anyway."
"Yeah. Next contact after the truce, then."
"—Or after Master returns."
"Hope the boss gets back soon."
"—Heh. Ending transmission. Take care."
The moment the girl finished, the orb's glow faded, reverting to a plain crystal.
Amelia separated the stand and orb, stowed them back in the drawer, then leaned back in her chair.
"Giena, was it."
A pointy-ear mad enough to defy elders for her bow. Amelia's lax eyes sharpened.
If it'd been some elf obeying orders instead of Giena, Smith would've been snatched within days—that was Amelia's take.
Unlike heretic magic, elven mana was pure essence; even temple priests couldn't detect it easily. Only equal or superior mages could spot disguised elves.
And this city had one who could pierce any elven spell: Vizelin, ex-Imperial Mage Tower Lord from the empire.
Vizelin was the title for those atop the Imperial Mage Tower. The first, granted Archmage by the founding emperor, bore that name.
But a truth unknown to most—save emperors and a select few: every Vizelin was the same person.
Vizelin Tritania. That was her full name, the limit of Amelia's clearance.
Across the entire guild, only the Guild Master, the capital branch master she'd just spoken to, and herself knew. The first two knew far more, but it wasn't anything groundbreaking.
Anyway, that mage was away on imperial business. Hence the need for a replacement.
That's why she'd spared that pointy-ear named Giena today.
An elf skilled enough for elders to dispatch. One ignoring orders for personal obsession. Bow-mad to fanatic levels. Perfect as Smith's bodyguard.
Defied elders for the bow—and Smith was the craftsman she raved about, who could make it.
No doubt: if elders targeted Smith, she'd shoot them down herself.
"...Even if not, the oath's already her chain. She'll guard him whether she likes it or not."
Giena had sworn anything to learn bow from adventurers. Tomorrow, like it or not, she'd volunteer as Smith's protector.
"Street repairs are wrapping up anyway. Those three can handle shit without me."
No immediate plans—or need—to leave town, of course.
"Plus, that pointy-ear sees Smith as a bow-crafter, not a man. Should keep those two bitches from bitching."
A twinge of unease hit Amelia, but she shook it off, pulling quill and ink from the drawer.
"Alright... time to draft post-truce guild policy."