The World Tree Abduction Incident (Part 2)

Elves were superior.

Despite being a long-lived race, their exceptional physical constitution ensured they rarely tired. Under fair, equal conditions, besting an elf in a one-on-one contest was nearly impossible.

Provided they enjoyed the ridiculously broken cheat buff known as the World Tree, that is.

Now, the World Tree—the very core of El-Ladh's identity—had been abducted. The fallout fell squarely upon the shoulders of the elves.

"Wait, losing just one World Tree wrecks them this hard?"

The mana that once brimmed through every fiber of their bodies had evaporated. Naturally, the physical prowess and magic sustaining their species plummeted—no, completely crashed through the floor.

In a strict sense, the elves were one hundred percent the victims. Yet not a shred of sympathy took root in the community. If anything, everyone was having the time of their lives clowning on them.

Of course, a post defending the elves popped up on very rare occasions, but...

Such posts were immediately bombarded with universal hostility. Even so, the original poster stubbornly doubled down on their defense.

Naturally, public opinion didn't budge an inch. In fact, seeing an anonymous user defending the race in a room full of elf-haters sparked immediate suspicion.

And just like that, an Elf Infiltrator was unmasked. In truth, it was simply an elf masquerading as a human online.

"Wait, they were actually an elf?"

Evidently, the elves had launched an ambitious PR campaign to steer public opinion, only for it to blow up catastrophically in their faces. Predictably, sentiment toward them cratered even further.

"Looking strictly at the facts, they are the victims, sure."

Yet karma had a way of catching up to people. With zero defenders and their media play in ashes, the relentless mockery flooding every corner of the gallery finally snapped the elves' patience.

The conflict escalated toward an immediate catastrophe. The Council of Elven Elders was seriously reviewing the deployment of high-tier Location Tracking Magic Tools.

The real issue was that the dark elves refused to back down even a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠millimeter.

To make matters worse, uninvolved third parties piled onto the dark elves' side, blowing the feud completely out of proportion.

"Wait, you guys are seriously going to war with the elves?"

I had assumed they would demand a reasonable ransom of food and quietly retreat, but the dark elves proved far more obstinate than expected. By all metrics, the elves vastly outnumbered them—where was this boundless confidence coming from?

From the second the elves brought out a trump card like their Location Tracking Magic Tool, it ceased to be a fair contest.

Unable to comprehend it through basic common sense, I pressed further.

Ever since their expulsion from El-Ladh, they had been driven completely into a corner.

Originally, the dark elves had lived in El-Ladh.

With their dusk-toned skin, they were regarded as a sort of ethnic minority among the elven race. Unlike the others, they recognized the fatal flaws festering within elven society.

The problem was that this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠occurred during the golden age of the elves. Naturally, the rest of the elven populace paid them no mind.

And so, they banished them.

The dark elves possessed a mystical, alluring beauty that incited petty jealousy even among their own kin, so the elven high society seized the excuse with open arms. They drove the dark elves out beyond the western worldline, casting them beyond the known borders of the world map to wander the monster-infested badlands aimlessly.

True to their nature, the dark elves were the polar opposite of the arrogant mainland elves. Through sheer diligence and hard work, they succeeded in carving out a sanctuary of their own, carving out an existence beneath the dirt where the haughty gaze of the elves could never reach them. In an environment utterly hostile to agriculture, they cultivated a thriving civilization through relentless sweat and unyielding talent.

Yet before long, the Great War erupted.

The war poisoned the soil, soaking the earth in demonic blood and rot. Furthermore, elves were never biologically adapted to subterranean life. To pour salt on an open wound, the complete absence of sunlight caused chronic, debilitating skin inflammation to plague their populace.

"Honestly, how did they even survive this long?"

Starvation wrought by the Great War, compounding on every imaginable dermatological ailment triggered by severe sun deprivation. It was a miracle of sheer endurance that they hadn't gone extinct. But now, with the ravenous beasts of the subterranean abyss closing in, they were pushed to the edge of the cliff.

With the World Tree, they could harvest nutrients even in a sunless subterranean vault. It would enable agriculture again, resolving their perpetual famine. The dark elves simply had no other choice left.

"Hmm..."

The dark elves shown in the pictures posted to the gallery were painfully gaunt, their dusky skin mottled with inflamed red patches. Sun-deprivation illnesses had ravaged them from the inside out.

Even to medieval minds, the sun was an essential element of life. The prevailing opinion held that this was an insurmountable tragedy, for living indefinitely without sunlight was universally regarded as impossible.

An obvious question arose: why not just step onto the surface and bask in the sun?

The dark elf sanctuary lay far beyond the boundaries of the mapped world. While it might not match the apocalyptic horror of the Outside where primeval monsters prowled, the surface was almost certainly infested with mutated demonic beasts. Sending one or two scouts to sneak above ground was one thing; migrating en masse was outright suicide.

"Still, staying underground forever isn't an option either."

Deprived of sunlight for prolonged periods, the body slowly withered as bizarre, agonizing ailments crept through marrow and flesh.

Fortunately, the modern world possessed an absurdly simple answer—a remedy I could personally vouch for as a professional shut-in bunker guard and honorary dark elf.

"Lacking vital nutrients?"

Then you just ingest those nutrients through another avenue. Without a moment's hesitation, I pulled up the system shop and navigated straight to the grocery category.

Deep subterranean depths, within the dark elf city of Lumelin.

Relying solely on torches and faint luminescence magic, the settlement stood shrouded in a gloom so heavy it resembled a necropolis.

"Ugh, it's so itchy."

"Do we have any ointment left?"

"It ran out ages ago. There's not a drop of sunlight ointment left in the whole city."

Centuries of sun deprivation had etched various afflictions into the very flesh of the dark elves. Mild cases suffered from relentless skin irritation and brittle osteoporosis; severe cases endured excruciating body aches that gnawed down to the bone. They had staved it off using a magical compound dubbed 'sunlight ointment,' but production yields were abysmally low. Worse still, its therapeutic effects were marginal at best. Sunlight remained an intractable, eternal curse hanging over their people.

"...What in the world should I do?"

Roen, the leader of the dark elves and the sole active Gonik user representing her tribe on the gallery, clutched her long ears in agony.

Advancing to the surface risked unimaginable slaughter at the jaws of demonic beasts. Remaining underground meant watching her people slowly rot from disease. To top it off, the sapling of the Sacred Tree they had abducted required sunlight to flourish. Now that they had made open enemies of the elves, Roen felt driven entirely mad with anxiety.

At that exact moment, a cardboard parcel dropped out of thin air onto the desk of Roen's office with a dull thud.

"?!"

Startled out of her skin, Roen leaped backward with wide eyes. After hovering warily for a few moments, she crept forward and gingerly inspected the bizarre lettering printed across the container.

"Multi... vitamin?"