Chapter 65
Chapter 65
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 65
Chapter Title: Alpheheim, the Elf's World
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"Never thought I'd live to see the elves' homeland."
Saladin kept glancing around in wonder, having entered the elven territory he'd only heard about in stories.
"Ahem, Young Master Saladin. Maintain the dignity befitting the heir of Viscount Edwin's house. We're not here for leisure—this is for Banten, and ultimately the kingdom's future..."
Though Beskin scolded Saladin for his wide-eyed gawking,
even Beskin himself couldn't stop his eyes from darting about, merely keeping his head forward.
No need to mention the still-young Miron or Baukalrak.
It was only natural.
Of all the elves across the continent, nearly every one—save those kidnapped by humans—resided right here in this land, Elunheim.
How many humans on the continent had ever laid eyes on such a sight?
Of course their heads would spin.
"This is Alpheheim, the dwelling place of our queen, Minerva."
The elf guiding our group, Nord, announced this at the entrance to Alpheheim.
"I cannot proceed beyond this point. From here, only Young Master Jerome may enter alone."
An elf elite enough to join Millia's rescue operation,
yet even Nord couldn't set foot past Alpheheim's entrance.
'A mark of respect for the queen.'
"...From the vibe, it feels like we shouldn't go in either."
Saladin picked up on Nord's demeanor, and Nord nodded as if it were obvious.
"Of course. Beyond this lies the sacred domain of the great elven queen, Minerva. No one without permission may enter."
His tone was polite yet firm.
At Nord's attitude, the group turned back without hesitation.
We hadn't come to fight elves anyway. There was no reason to ruffle their feathers.
"We'll be waiting. Rest up nearby."
Then, Miron, who had been riding on Baukalrak's back, suddenly shouted.
"Sis! I wanna see Misha sis! Is my sis okay?!"
Nord reacted to Miron's cry.
"Misha...? Ah, the human girl you brought back with the princess not long ago. She's doing well, little one. No need to worry."
At Nord's warm words, Miron looked somewhat relieved, but his eyes remained fixed on Jerome, unblinking.
Anyone who couldn't read Miron's feelings from that would be missing something.
Saladin and Beskin clearly felt the same, signaling me with their eyes.
"Well, looks like we've got some waiting around to do."
Saladin said to me.
"We'll go meet Misha first, so come find us when you're done."
"Yeah. Miron seems really worried about her. Take good care of him."
Saladin waved casually as if to say "got it," then left with Nord and the others.
"Alright, time for me to head in."
Several months had passed since safely returning Millia to Alpheheim.
Finally, the time had come to meet a powerhouse who could shake up the continental balance.
The heart of the Dragon Mountains.
The Shield Family and elves called the Black Scythe, Red Axe, and Blue Sword tribes great villages and kept a wary eye on them, but
in truth, among the Dragon Mountains' orcs, the most renowned tribe was another.
The Silver Wolf Tribe.
The only orc tribe acknowledged by the proud dire wolves.
Like human cavalry, they swept battlefields mounted on dire wolves, boasting the mountains' mightiest force.
Yet the Silver Wolf Tribe was thought to have entered decline after young orcs foolishly invaded the wyvern packs—the apex predators—and were massacred years ago.
But the emergence of one orc had not only restored their former glory but propelled them toward a new era for orc kind.
In the grandest tent at the Silver Wolf Tribe's center,
one orc lounged wearily on a chair draped in wyvern hide—the skin of the tribe's mortal enemy.
A massive battle axe lay beside him, too heavy for ordinary orcs to even lift.
"Chit. The front lines are breached, you say. Chit!"
"Ch-chit! Yes, my lord! Chit! Great... chit! King!"
The orc, covered in wounds and fled into the mountains, trembled before the king.
For a great and valiant warrior to survive and return from the battlefield the king had ordered,
such shame was unthinkable for an orc.
Yet he had to report. His honor meant nothing compared to derailing the king's plans.
"Chiiiit. For the Red Axe, Black Scythe, or Blue Sword tribes to be broken so easily. Did the elves have any powerhouse besides their queen?"
Rather than anger, the king replied with curiosity.
As far as he knew, she was the only elf who could lightly dispatch great village warriors.
"Chit! Yes! My king! Chit! The encirclement... breached by. Chit! A human! Chit!"
"A human?"
At the word "human," the king's expression shifted.
"Chit. Besides the humans we faced before, were there other powerhouses? Chit."
The king thought it possible. Humans were a race teeming with the strong, after all.
But the reporting orc's words changed his face once more.
"Ch-chit! That human... fists. Chit! Strange! When swung, weapons... chit! Shattered, bodies exploded! Chit!"
The orc soldier reported as if he couldn't comprehend it himself.
The great village chiefs attending the king shared the confusion.
Weapons shattering from fists? Nonsense. From a frail human body, no less.
But one orc understood.
"...He's come, chit."
The orc king, Hatan.
"The human... chit! Who showed me mercy."
Perhaps sensing the odd reaction,
the orc soldier, glancing up, caught the king's faint smile.
The elves' sanctuary, home to their queen Minerva.
Alpheheim. In elven tongue, "the elves' world."
A name brimming with the elves' profound reverence, equating their queen to their very world.
True to its weighty name, this tree dwarfed all others in the Beast Forest.
One might liken it to a small hill—too grand an exaggeration?
Entering Alpheheim, the wooden tendrils on the floor stirred, slowly guiding me somewhere.
As if they'd been awaiting my arrival.
'Ugh, feels like I'm gonna get pierced by stares. They're watching from everywhere.'
Though invited, countless hidden elven rangers in Alpheheim's nooks eyed me intently.
Even though, at my current level, I couldn't so much as scratch Minerva.
Considering what Minerva meant to elves on this continent,
they couldn't afford to overlook even the slightest risk.
How far did the tendrils carry me?
A colossal door, unimaginable inside a tree, welcomed me.
Upon arrival, the tendrils gently set me down and halted.
Hmm.
"Does this mean I should push?"
Too massive for an ordinary person alone, but with a light shove, the door smoothly swung open.
No sunlight should pierce a tree's interior,
yet Alpheheim's inside glowed brilliantly.
Giant boulders dotted the space, entwined naturally by wooden tendrils.
Tiny butterflies—no, fairies—fluttered about with tinkling laughter, easing any visitor's heart.
At the vast, mystical chamber's deepest center, tendrils wove into a jade throne.
"Are you the boy Jerome?"
A clear, beautiful voice from the throne called my name.
But its cold, emotionless tone made one instinctively shrink.
A middle-aged, stunning elf gazed at me wearily from the throne.
This elf was
one of the continent's eleven superhumans enthroned in jade, queen of the elves.
Forest Queen, Faulo Minerva.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
In the mountains' southwest,
disciplined sounds echoed uniformly across the peaks.
The source? Orcs, not humans.
They bore varied tattoos on their bodies.
These orcs, the mountains' rising force,
were led at the forefront by Hatan, the living legend scripting orc history, astride a dire wolf.
"Chiiiit! Wait! Soon, I'll honor the vow I once swore myself."
His voice laced with anticipation, Hatan headed to the forest of beasts, the elves' land Elunheim, at the mountains' southeast center.
"Hmph. No."
After painstakingly explaining the orcs' intentions, the empire-alliance dynamics, and more, her curt reply stunned me.
"...Pardon?"
Even for a lofty, arrogant elf, to dismiss without consideration?
"Are your ears clogged? I said no. Insolent human child. Normally, I'd have your head for daring such words before me, but since you saved my daughter, I'll let it slide this once."
Such words?
'Where?'
Had I said anything improper?
I reviewed our talk for any offense, but nothing surfaced.
Setting that aside,
who threatens to behead their daughter's savior?
"Did I perhaps say something discourteous?"
Even pondering elven taboos yielded nothing, so I asked Minerva directly.
I might've missed some custom.
But Minerva slowly shook her head.
"No, I understood you perfectly. Orcs approach this place, and the humans' empire—the Holy Empire—kidnapped my daughter to force an alliance?"
She'd grasped every detail flawlessly.
"Then why? The continent feigns peace on the surface, but beneath, upheavals rage in real time. Without clearly distinguishing allies from foes..."
"And if not?"
Forest Queen Faulo Minerva's eyes gleamed, the air shifting.
Peaceful fairies fled her aura into hiding,
the subtle insect chirps amid rocks and tendrils falling silent.
"Do you imply..."
Smoothly,
the forest giant half-reclined on her throne rose.
"...that I, Faulo Minerva, will face any trouble?"
Her aura, reigning as elves' pinnacle for centuries, pressed heavily on my shoulders.
'This pressure... it rivals Father's at his peak.'
Yet paradoxically, her overwhelming presence only hardened my resolve.
In the war's early days, to buy the kingdom time, Father had perished heroically.
To honor his life meaningfully, allying with this elven queen was essential.