The Prosperous Western Territory - 6
Fortunately, the Magic Lord's dignity and honor could still be preserved.
"My goodness, look at this child. She's so tiny."
"Looks like she hasn't been born long. Adorable."
A real child—ten years old—had appeared, surpassing the "child" who was already over a hundred. Just as humans melt at the sight of a Yorkshire Terrier puppy, these elves poured out heated interest and cheers the moment a human child showed up. Being a child of another race was no obstacle in the face of pure cuteness.
"Hey, would you like to try this?"
The Young Duchess, still trembling as she clung to Margeta's hand as if it were a lifeline, looked up. The blonde elf watching her with open fondness held out an enormous stick of cotton candy.
At the sight of the fluffy pink mass, the Young Duchess's eyes went round; she hurriedly schooled her expression. Of course, that was only by her own standards—to everyone else the change was negligible.
"I-I am Liliana Salon, Young Duchess of the Salon Ducal House! I am not a little kid!"
No one had actually called her a little kid. And for a child of her standing to address a complete stranger—an elf, no less—with such careful formal speech already overflowed with childish innocence. The only pity was that the Young Duchess herself remained blissfully unaware of the fact.
The blonde elf regarded her with open affection, smiled gently, and inclined her head.
"My apologies, Young Duchess. I was rude to the one who will one day rule these lands. Will you accept this as a gift of apology?"
Respectful speech from a non-human, plus the flattering reminder that she would someday govern this place—the Young Duchess's bristling indignation deflated in an instant. And since the luscious pink cloud had now been rebranded an apology gift, her delight was inevitable.
While every gaze fixed on the Young Duchess, sparkling eyes and cotton candy already in her mouth, the red-haired elf who still held the Magic Lord spoke up casually.
"Have you met any other elves besides us?"
The Magic Lord shook her head. Officially, the only place demi-humans resided within imperial territory was the Sanctuary, and this was her first visit. Naturally she had never had the chance to meet other elves.
"No. I have not seen any yet."
"Then you haven't met Lady Rafaela either."
The red-haired elf rubbed her chin as if sunk in thought.
Who is Rafaela supposed to be?
Thinking was fine, but introducing the person first seemed the proper order. The Magic Lord herself only blinked, equally in the dark.
Sensing her own oversight, the red-haired elf soon spoke again.
"She's your maternal grandmother. She's also the Elder who represents us elves."
"What?"
The sudden revelation of a grandmother she had never imagined left her startled—yet the greater shock clearly belonged to the Magic Lord herself. The blank, dazed voice that escaped her lips proved it; one would never have believed it came from her.
Thanks to the red-haired elf's words, their next destination was decided automatically. Strictly speaking, the demi-human residential quarter was not a tourist site, yet with the residents' permission there was no reason they could not go.
It was a zone ordinary tourists could never enter. They had gained the chance to see that unknown world, yet no one spoke or showed excitement. When the eldest person present by human standards was sunk in gloom, who would be so tone-deaf as to make a fuss?
Maternal grandmother.
My own thoughts were tangled. Of course the Magic Lord's mother had not hatched from an egg; it was only natural she possessed a grandmother. Yet the Magic Lord had never known of her existence, and even while her mother still lived she had never heard a word about the maternal side of the family. She had simply assumed that something unpleasant must have happened with her mother's house before her mother fled the Sanctuary—
She was the Elder?
Elder: the title of the leader who guided the elves. Unlike among humans, the office was not hereditary through blood, yet the daughter of the sitting Elder would inevitably have been treated as precious.
Yet the Magic Lord's mother had cast that treatment aside and fled the Sanctuary. Moreover she had kept silent about her own origins until the very end. From the Magic Lord's perspective, a serious rift between mother and maternal house was the only possible conclusion.
"Excuse me for a moment."
"Ah—yes, what is it?"
I approached the red-haired elf, who had been glancing worriedly at the Magic Lord walking with her head bowed low. She immediately brightened and welcomed me with a smile.
Friendly enough, yet the feeling was odd. Was she still treating me like a tiny toddler?
"Beatrix never heard a single word about her maternal relatives from her mother. Is it truly all right to appear before them without warning?"
A reasonable question; the red-haired elf's expression turned a little awkward.
"That's exactly why she has to meet her. After Ariadne left, the Elder became truly despondent."
"What?"
That was unexpected. I had assumed they had quarreled violently and severed ties completely.
At my reaction the red-haired elf glanced once more at the Magic Lord, then softly chanted and spread a familiar weave of mana—a sound-blocking spell.
"It's true Ariadne fought with the Elder and left, but the quarrel wasn't all that serious."
After a sigh, the explanation that followed was both complicated and oddly hollow.
The current Elder was said to be over six hundred years old—an ancient who had lived three centuries before the founding of the Kpelleofen Empire. That meant she had witnessed the atrocities of the Apels Empire in real time; she was a living victim of history.
Why else would so many different demi-human races live packed together in a single Sanctuary established on a ducal territory of the Empire? Because of the human-supremacist policies of the Apels Empire, countless demi-humans had suffered catastrophe. Near the end of Apels, madmen on the level of Hitler had ascended the throne one after another—three of them in succession. As a result the demi-human population had plummeted until extinction had been within sight.
"Most of the elves alive today were born around the founding of the Empire. Their grudges against humans have faded, and the Empire treats us well enough that they simply accept it... but those as old as the Elder are different."
They had cooperated with humans to escape hell, yet they could never forget the harm humans had inflicted. Of course, since the oppressors had been Apels, they did not take their anger out on Kpelleofen. They simply wanted nothing further to do with humans and secluded themselves inside the demi-human Sanctuary. Such elves never even set foot in the commercial district, she said.
"But when Ariadne declared she would leave the Sanctuary, the Elder grew angry and said that if she would not listen, she would no longer regard her as a daughter..."
"And she left."
"Yes..."
A mother who had taken heated words at face value and truly become a stranger was one thing—but in the end this was yet another massive mess kicked up by Apels. Even after their destruction they continued to cause trouble for the living; in many senses they had been truly impressive bastards.
"She couldn't go fetch her herself because she is responsible for the entire race, and she was never cold enough to shove other kin into the human world just to drag her own daughter back. So all these years she has simply fretted in silence."
The red-haired elf sighed again, her face heavy with worry. How could her heart be easy when she now had to tell that fretting Elder that her daughter was dead?
I thanked her for the rough outline and walked over to the Magic Lord. The red-haired elf wore an expectant look, certain I would explain everything carefully—yet
"That's what she said."
There was no need. At that short remark the Magic Lord simply nodded in silence.
The Sanctuary elves might not know it, but casting magic in front of the Magic Lord was meaningless. From their perspective, how could they ever imagine that the tiny child left behind by their runaway friend was the absolute pinnacle of magic?
"That Elder must have suffered terribly all this time. Hearing that her daughter is gone as well will be a severe shock."
"It... will, won't it."
The Magic Lord finally opened her mouth to answer. How wretched. What must it feel like for a granddaughter to have to inform her grandmother—whom she is meeting for the first time—of her own mother's death?
"Beatrix... I know this is asking a great deal, but to that Elder—"
"I already know without being told. As her granddaughter I must behave warmly toward her."
I had tried to speak as carefully as possible, yet the Magic Lord nodded as though she already understood everything. She would have to deliver a terrible message, yet at the very least, as the granddaughter left behind by that daughter, she would comfort the Elder. That was the best the Magic Lord could do.
This is driving me crazy.
Seeing her like that only made me feel more pity. The elves we had met in the commercial district had held no hostility toward humans and had treated even the half-blood Magic Lord with warmth—but the Elder, who would be full of resentment toward humans, was an unknown quantity.
She might treat the half-blood Magic Lord as a mongrel the way novels so often did, or she might regard her as a plague that had "devoured" her mother. Either way, it would be painful.
The moment we entered the elves' residential quarter, far more elves appeared than we had seen in the commercial district. And when humans who properly belonged in the commercial district walked into the residential zone, stares naturally locked onto us.
"Humans? Did some tourists lose their way?"
"You don't end up here just by getting lost. Claris brought them, obviously."
"But that one—isn't that Ariadne?"
The indifferent gazes instantly transformed into buzzing interest and uproar. An elf who was the spitting image of the Elder's runaway daughter had appeared; of course they reacted.
"Everyone move aside. We need to see the Elder first."
Thanks to the red-haired elf—Claris—we were able to push forward without being swallowed by the crowd. When she announced with a serious face that they had to meet the leader, even the curious elves stepped back.
A relief. If that many elves had latched onto us, we would only have reached the Elder after the sun had set—
What?
In an unexpected place I witnessed the miracle of Moses. The throng before us parted left and right in an instant. Were they clearing the way for our convenience? Elves really were considerate.
"Ariadne has come?"
Of course, the moment I saw the elf standing at the far end of the parted crowd, I realized that was not the case.
The presence before whom the previously noisy elves now bowed their heads in greeting: a woman with the same pure white hair as the Magic Lord, though hers was a simple long style that fell to her waist. A few wrinkles marked her face, yet those very wrinkles made her identity unmistakable.
That elf is the Elder.
Even so, I was startled that six hundred years of aging amounted to nothing more than a handful of wrinkles. Longevity races truly were something else.
"So that foolish girl has finally returned."
Slightly furrowing her brow, the Elder strode toward us. She must have been nearby, noticed the commotion, and come herself.
Damn it.
Cold sweat broke out. This order of events was the worst possible.
Even quietly learning that her daughter was dead would be a heavy blow. But first receiving the false news that her runaway daughter had returned, only to be told "Actually, she died," would be pure despair.
"If you were going to come back in the end, why did you ever—"
Approaching with an expression half anger and half relief, the Elder suddenly froze mid-step.
"...Who are you?"
At those following words I bit my lip lightly.
Here was a mother whose maternal instinct was sharp enough to recognize at once that this was not her daughter. How on earth should one explain things to such a mother so that the shock would be even a little lighter?