Land of the Elves
Land of the Elves
Wearbead Fortress.
This fortress, held by a baron, had once been the domain of its commander, the lord of Baron Werbid's territory.
That had ended when the baron was killed by the rampant monsters, the lesser-deity wild mage wearing a giant's body, and the emergence of the God of Burial, but the fortress's role remained.
Its duties were to watch those crossing from the Kingdom of Bida's border, to maintain local security, and to arrange ships bound for the royal capital, Teveri.
Even after its master's death, Wearbead Fortress faithfully performed its duties.
By the time the party arrived at Wearbead Fortress and secured passage, the sun that had been casting pale dawn light now hung directly overhead.
A spy, clearly sent by King Gerald, had attached himself to them, and Aslan tracked his presence through Luck while keeping his face carefully neutral.
And as he did so, he looked down at the elf before him.
A girl with brown hair cascading down. No weapons, and not a trace of the killing intent she usually gave off—Fay wore an innocent expression.
Her appearance, which no one could question was that of an elf, was the product of modest wild magic and some applied alchemy.
Simply infusing hair dye with mana had been enough for Aslan to pull off this piece of alchemy.
Now looking like an ordinary elf as a result, Fay began the performance that suited her new appearance.
"Whoa, what's that?"
"It's called a ship. It's used to cross the sea."
The bright and cheerful elf. The one who answered her was Rumel, radiating maternal warmth.
The two of them could have passed for mother and daughter.
They looked so endearing that passersby gave them unconscious smiles, and Aslan was confident that their pursuer would not grow suspicious.
It might fail, but the man would never deduce that this elf was Fay.
Aslan advanced toward the ship moored in the distance, and the party followed him.
All except Tiyamal and Angie.
"I don't want to! I don't want to board! I'd rather swim! Let go of me!"
"Ah, just be quiet and get on. It hurts for a second and then it's over, so stop whining."
"You don't understand, you don't understand! This old one's suffering! Let go!"
Tiyamal's resistance, impossible to tell if it was acting or genuine.
Angie clicked her tongue and had to physically hoist him up. Tiyamal, overpowered by strength far greater than his own, let out a keening wail.
As Aslan observed Tiyamal's ambiguous display, Ereta came up beside him and lightly ran a hand along his side, saying,
"Makes me want to pretend I'm not with them."
The vitality seeping into his body along the path of her hand was a bonus.
"...You're not wrong."
It was ugly enough that he didn't particularly want to advertise their association, but the effect was undeniable.
During the brief moment of boarding, their pursuer's gaze had fixed entirely on Tiyamal alone.
Having confirmed the pursuer's identity in that short window, Aslan spotted several familiar faces and let out a low breath.
It was the moment a secret from about seven years ago unraveled. Keeping his face blank, Aslan looked at the man approaching across the ship's deck.
He was an official from the royal capital.
A man whose duty was to verify the identities of passengers.
With a businesslike manner, he checked the party's identities.
He started with Tiyamal, moved through Aslan, and roughly inspected the rest of the group.
The last was Fay.
A girl whose appearance was unmistakably elven. A barefoot girl on the ship's deck, performing wonder at everything around her.
The official's eyebrows rose at the sight of her. He had clearly recognized what she was.
"Young lady, your name?"
"...Huh? You mean Melty?"
"Yes, what is your name?"
His gaze softened as he looked at the girl, a parchment and a wooden-backed list in his hand.
The relaxed expression of a man who had drawn an elf—a being known for being incapable of lying.
Fay took that sense of relief and set it in stone with a lie.
"Melody! You can call me Melty!"
A sunny smile. Eyes that crinkled gently into crescents. Her arms lifted in artless exuberance, and the official smiled faintly and nodded.
The scratching movement of his pen traced an unmistakable arc of approval.
With Fay as the last, the official moved on to question others. Aslan let his gaze follow the man for a moment, then feigned indifference and turned away.
*
The royal capital, Teveri, was not a large island.
In terms of sheer land area, it was even smaller than Belus Alpen.
As such, those who lived in Teveri were people who commanded unmistakable wealth and power.
Among those who held such wealth and power, certain individuals stood out conspicuously: House Meland, the royal family.
Maria was one of them. She too would be in this royal capital.
But there was no time to meet Maria.
Nor did Richard seem particularly inclined to seek out his betrothed.
Considering that the man they were about to meet was the one who had orchestrated his mother's death through court intrigue, it was only natural.
A person who has suffered loss will desperately avoid any path that resembles that loss.
That Richard was walking this path despite such a loss was entirely due to the presence of his comrades and his own remarkably meticulous sense of loyalty.
The young man chewed his fingers nervously, his eyes darting to his surroundings. His feet churned, eager to hurry.
Standing amid such obvious fear and impatience, Aslan empathized with those emotions while slowly turning his head.
There stood the observer who had been following them.
"I have been waiting."
The old man who revealed himself abruptly was a hybrid.
Likely a hybrid of the Self-Birthing Mother, he bore ears resembling an animal's and the compound eyes of a bug.
"I will guide you to the palace."
This was the man who, about seven years ago, before Gerald had sold Aslan to the Cosmic Inevitability, had guided Aslan into the royal palace—guided him to where the priests of the Cosmic Inevitability lay in wait.
Back then, his Luck had been too low to know, but with his Luck now heightened, he understood.
That knowing manner the man had carried back then—it was an attitude born of long surveillance.
And so, looking at the man, Aslan deliberately put on a look of open disgust.
"I haven't forgotten what happened last time. If you're going to guide us, then keep your mouth shut and simply guide. If you so much as part those lips, I'll sever your head from your shoulders on the spot."
The hybrid elder smiled and bowed, then immediately began to lead the party.
The royal palace of Teveri he led them toward was a distinctive place.
A castle that blazed with light as though forged from gold.
Walls that resonated with the lamp-post-like structures lining the surroundings.
Not vast, but opulent.
But merely opulent.
That was the impression Aslan had upon returning to Teveri after a long absence.
Like a taxidermy specimen.
Like a taxidermied glory, the golden light felt dead.
Following that tarnished radiance inward, the party was led straight into the palace's deepest reaches.
"...It's exactly the same. Just like before."
As Ereta said, the royal palace of Teveri had not changed at all.
Not a single detail differed from what he had seen seven years ago.
A castle befitting a king who dreamed of eternity.
After crossing a corridor befitting that eternal castle—a corridor that seemed as if it would never end—they entered a vast hall.
And there, Aslan came face to face with the one who had summoned him.
Silver-white hair swept back, green eyes that brought Maria to mind. Boredom and leisure drifting in his gaze, and black intent beneath.
Gerald I, the old man called King Gerald.
Gerald Mul Meland.
Seated on the throne, looking more sickly than he had seven years ago yet radiating a certain charisma, was the old man.
Meeting the elder's eyes, Aslan noticed how little emotion actually stirred behind that staring gaze.
The suppression of feeling revealed that this old man was a master of court intrigue, the true owner of the crown.
The owner of the crown swept his crooked gaze over the party.
Then, as if it were nothing, he hid his feelings and addressed Aslan.
"You seem to have been busy. To think you killed the Myth Killer."
Aslan laughed inwardly at the response.
King Gerald was no fool.
Aslan knew that Gerald, in his youth, had been sharp enough to debate magical theory on equal terms with mages.
There was no way an old man like that would fail to recognize Richard and Ereta.
One was a victim of his own making, and the other, until recently, the daughter of a man he had cooperated with and worshipped.
That he made no mention of it meant Richard and Ereta held no value to him whatsoever.
Ereta, who had realized this, furrowed her brow as if quietly offended, but the furrow on that guileless face only made her look cute rather than indignant, and so no one paid it much mind.
Richard, on the other hand, was suppressing the killing intent and fury that radiated from him, forcing his head into a bow.
The old man gave no reaction to these emotional displays, and Aslan, after glancing sidelong at his companions' responses, spoke.
"Get to the point."
The king rested his chin on his hand, eyes heavy with boredom. Meeting that gaze, Aslan delivered his next words with measured precision.
"Don't think I've forgotten what you did back then. I'm here only because it was obvious that if I didn't come, Your Highness would interfere. That's the whole reason, so tell me what you want and be done with it."
The words were a performance of vivid loathing. Gerald lifted an eyebrow, unruffled.
"Since you've raised the subject, the reason I summoned you is the same reason I betrayed you back then."
The same reason?
As Aslan's brow furrowed with genuine bafflement, the king stretched out a hand with a weary air and spoke.
"I need time. Lifespan."
He spoke of his own lifespan with utter boldness. The old man spoke with the bearing of a king.
"I have less than ten years left. The Cosmic Inevitability has collapsed and is now useless. If you extend my lifespan, I will dedicate one quarter of that added lifespan to cooperating with you people."
A snort as he mentioned the Cosmic Inevitability, and a glare toward Ereta. Ereta furrowed her innocent face further, but the king did not react.
"What I desire lies to the north. The remains of a god in the Land of the Elves. The remains of Nature and Creation. Retrieve that... or something of equivalent worth..."
"And if I were to grant you immortality?"
Aslan cut in before the king could even finish. At that, the king let his naked greed show. As avarice flickered through his eyes, he spoke.
"Then we shall enter an alliance, and I will dedicate attention to your coalition for a period equal to one quarter of that endless life."
"...Understood. Wait for my return."
There was nothing further to dispute. Aslan rose to leave, but before he could even turn his back, the king lifted a hand.
The hand rose leisurely, and the doors of the hall closed.
"Huh?"
"What is the meaning of—!"
Angie's startled cry and Richard's fury, finally bursting free. The sound that surged in to drown out their reactions followed.
A low boom. Matching the closing sound came the clatter of knights' armor. The knights who revealed themselves carried blue-iron weaponry, halting before the door.
The king drank in their bewildered faces and spoke.
"Before that, leave one of your party behind."
Unshaken by a situation unfolding precisely as he had predicted, Aslan turned his head and faced the king.
He laced his returning gaze with loathing and irritation, feigning displeasure.
"...Must you truly go this far?"
And then he unbound the short sword that had been on Fay's hip and took it in his hand.
The Master of Combat revealing his hostility. A sight that would make anyone fear, yet Gerald did not even change color.
"I see no particular problem. Once you bring what you promised, the alliance will be formed, and your companion will be released. Think of it merely as... a small bit of collateral."
He did not mention what would happen if they failed to bring it, but it was obvious without much thought.
Aslan glared at Gerald, and Gerald looked down upon Aslan.
The knights stood directly behind them, weapons in hand.
Gerald's intent was clear.
He had calculated that even if they killed him here and now, the coalition's ultimate goal could not be achieved.
And it was true.
If Aslan had come without preparing countermeasures, things would have gotten difficult.
Closing his eyes and feigning irritation, Aslan let out a sigh.
His hand lowered quietly, and the short sword returned to his waist.
"Melty."
"...Huh? Whaaat?"
The elf-girl answered with artless innocence. Aslan fell into step with Fay's performance.
"Could you... stay here for a while? I'll definitely come back to get you."
"Why? Where are you going? If you take Melty with you..."
Aslan shook his head and put on a bitter expression.
"I think I have to go somewhere. I don't think I can take you, Melty. Can you wait?"
"Okaaay, then I'll wait!"
The elf-girl smiled a brilliantly sunny smile. Faced with that undeniable performance, Aslan turned naturally toward Gerald to gauge his reaction.
There was no sense that he had noticed anything.
His Luck gave no reaction either.
'He probably hasn't caught on.'
Thinking that, Aslan spread his arms.
"Will this suffice?"
At his nakedly displayed displeasure, the king laughed with satisfaction.
"Yes. This will suffice."
Clicking his tongue, Aslan withdrew. The party followed him, disappearing beyond the corridor.
Only Fay, guided by a knight, made her way toward the inner quarters within the castle walls.
The inner quarters she was led to—a reception room—was effectively a prison cell.
A room with a window set four meters high and a solid iron door without even a crack for water to seep through.
The knight who had guided Fay ushered her inside and immediately left without posting any guard.
Their handling of the situation was, by ordinary standards, correct.
Elves cannot lie. They do not deceive.
Elves were, so to speak, beings of goodwill. They had no reason to flee.
Only Fay was an elf who could act and lie.
The moment she stepped into the cell, Fay listened intently as the knight's presence receded.
Footsteps, clink of armor, footsteps, clink of armor.
The sound faded and then grew faint. Far enough that even at a dead sprint, reaching him would be impossible. Having confirmed this, Fay wiped the bright expression from her face.
In the void where that expression had been, only a cold blankness remained.
"Hoo."
Then the girl let out a breath she didn't need to take and ruffled her hair. As she mussed and loosened it, the color slowly returned to a vivid crimson.
What she pulled out next were two iron pins—two small iron pins that could be bent to pick a lock, and she used them to tie up her hair into her usual twin-tails. After smoothing her curly hair, which barely brushed her shoulders, Fay lifted her head and looked at the window four meters up.
A window unreachable by human physical ability, intended only for ventilation, since no ordinary elf would even think of escape.
To Fay, however, it was effectively the front door.
The girl took a few light, bouncing hops, gauging the distance.
Then she rolled her blue-violet eyes, scanning the walls, the opposite wall, and the path to the window.
After that, only action remained.
She leaped.
A single bound. Her light body soared two meters high. She pivoted immediately, stretching out a bare foot to kick off the wall.
Her small body ricocheted diagonally upward without a sound. Fay twisted in the air, slipped her body through the narrow window, and emerged.
The ground four meters below was high, steep, and unyielding, but it posed no problem for an elf.
The girl landed in a somersault, and through the entire process, not a single sound was made.
On the ground where she alighted, she immediately raised her head and looked toward the distant harbor.
Then she turned her head, glanced at the sky, and closed her eyes.
She listened.
Countless noises reached her ears: the noise of a city teeming with humanity.
Amidst it all, the sounds of a ship preparing to depart.
Listening to those sounds, Fay calculated the time remaining until departure, and from her crouched position, she broke into a run.
A presence that had completely vanished. A staggering level of stealth that no detection ability, no matter how exquisite, could perceive.
The elf-girl vaulted the castle walls.
She leaped across rooftops, running alongside walls.
It took less than an hour to rejoin the party on the ship.
When the knight who had guided Fay, remembering his own younger sister, brought a meal to her cell, the room was already empty.
By the time the knight rushed off to report, the party had already left Wearbead Fortress behind and was beginning their journey north.
All that remained was to retrieve the Seed of Elf Transformation before Gerald could interpret the act as a refusal and take action.