Chapter 67
Chapter 67
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 67
Chapter Title: The Queen's Opportunity
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I'd been almost forcibly dragged out of Alfheim by Millia's hand.
The moment we stepped outside, Millia bowed her head to me.
"I'm sorry, Young Master Jerome. We met after so long, but all you saw was my unsightly side."
I spoke up before she could bow again in apology.
"No, it's not your fault, Millia. But... is something wrong with Her Majesty the Queen?"
I was already well aware of the Forest Queen Paulo Minerva's arrogant temperament.
That was why I'd figured it wouldn't be easy for my brother and sister to ship me off to the Spring Festival and attempt mingling with the elves.
But even so, this didn't make sense. She was a benevolent queen who loved her fellow elves—her kin— as much as, if not more than, her arrogance suggested.
Yet here she was, acting like this amid an orc invasion. Of course, if we were talking purely about Paulo Minerva's personal prowess, Hatan wouldn't even be a match for her. But this was war. A war between the 'races' of orcs and elves.
No matter how strong Minerva was, one hand couldn't fend off ten. That was why even my father, Bacchus, had eventually fallen before the Empire's armies.
Even if they won, the elves would suffer devastating losses.
'And her attitude toward the benefactor who saved her daughter was off too.'
No matter how arrogant she was, unleashing killing intent like that on the man who'd rescued her daughter went beyond arrogance—it was downright rude.
At my question, Millia let out a deep sigh and hesitantly opened her mouth.
"...Truth be told, Her Majesty's mood hasn't been good lately."
'Not in a good mood.' It probably wasn't as literal as Millia made it sound.
It was unthinkable for a fool who couldn't even control their own emotions to ascend to the throne.
"Is something... going on?"
A wry smile crossed Millia's face.
"Should I say something's going on...? If anything, it's the fact that 'nothing's happening' that's making Her Majesty so on edge."
'Nothing's happening?'
I mulled over Millia's words, lost in thought. She wasn't giving me specifics on why Minerva was in a foul mood.
The spot where we were talking was near Alfheim—which meant elves guarding Minerva were scattered all around.
Even as the princess, it must be tricky to directly critique the queen she revered.
I racked my brain, recalling my earlier conversation with Minerva and her fate in the war against the Holy Empire from my past memories, trying to guess why she was acting so prickly.
How much time had passed? We'd left Alfheim behind, so quite a bit.
As Millia and I headed toward where Misha was, I confirmed no more elves were nearby and spoke up.
"Looks like Her Majesty can't break through her wall."
"……!!"
It came out of nowhere, but Millia widened her eyes and nodded vigorously.
"How... did you know?"
I didn't answer her question, just gave a slight nod as if to say, 'As expected.'
I couldn't very well say, 'Because I know your mother's fate.'
The moment I'd faced Minerva, I'd sensed her lofty realm, befitting the throne's master.
On par with my 'current' father, who'd also claimed the throne.
Yes.
She wasn't lagging behind my 'current' father.
But my father—who vied for the top spot among throne-bearers— and the Holy Empire's three dukes had displayed realms a step higher during the war.
By my guess, even back when the imperial war began, Minerva hadn't reached higher than her current level.
She'd been utterly crushed by Duke Kamil, one of the three dukes guarding the Empire's western border, and lost her forest.
After that, the elves were brutally trampled and reduced to slaves among the imperial citizens.
"...As expected of you, Young Master Jerome. Yes, Mother is growing impatient with her stalled growth."
Millia affirmed my words, confirming my suspicions.
"Lord Bacchus, your father, met our queen a few times in his youth. She watched helplessly as that young human, who couldn't even last a single bout against her, caught up to her time and again."
Elves had long lifespans to begin with, extended further by their realms. While the lords of our Carviot count family changed multiple times, the elves' queen had always been Paulo Minerva.
In that long life, she'd been overtaken by our family heads repeatedly. Over and over.
"...And then, massive upheaval hit the orcs' forces deep in the mountains."
Exactly.
That was why I'd rushed here like a madman—to prevent the disaster that would follow.
"Her Majesty sees this war with the orcs as an opportunity."
"……?"
An opportunity? What kind of opportunity?
With three great villages—or more—united in a massive orc horde bearing down.
'No way.'
I tried to deny it, but Millia's words mercilessly confirmed my hunch.
"...An opportunity to push her realm to a higher level."
"Damn, that's insane."
It was awkward cursing a parent in front of their daughter, but Millia didn't mind. If anything, she seemed to agree.
"Sigh, I think so too. Mother wasn't always like this. She was a bit arrogant, sure, but a wise ruler who loved her kin, protected them with immense pride and self-assurance..."
"So why's a queen like that acting this way? There has to be a reason she suddenly veered off course."
Millia, who'd answered smoothly so far, hesitated at this question.
But only briefly.
"...It's because of me."
She bit her lip and said it.
"Ever since I was kidnapped and came back, Mother's changed."
'Insolent brat.'
She'd never liked the humans from the family called the South's Shield, but this pup grated especially.
They showed up just when she'd forget, always pissing her off.
This one was particularly bad.
If he hadn't saved her daughter, she'd have executed him on the spot.
'...Millia.'
Thinking of her daughter stirred negative emotions long buried deep in her heart.
Then she noticed the fairies and spirits bustling around Alfheim.
The ugly gouges left by the aura she'd flung at that arrogant human.
The earth spirits were timidly cleaning up the unsightly scars remaining in Alfheim.
Why were they acting grateful for doing what they should, sneaking glances like that?
She forcefully suppressed the boiling negativity at their blind devotion.
Only then did the fairies and spirits move freely.
She forced a smile for them before slowly leaving Alfheim.
'...This won't do.'
More and more kin were being kidnapped or hunted, suffering across the continent.
She'd sent elf rangers day and night to rescue them, but they were outnumbered.
Just recently, she'd nearly lost her most precious being—her daughter.
The looming threat grew by the minute, yet her power to protect the dear ones had stagnated for far too long.
Minerva pondered. What was the reason? After long thought, she reached one conclusion.
The absence of war and struggle.
Humans endlessly repeated savage slaughter among their own kind.
To kill their fellows more efficiently, more destructively.
Paradoxically, that drove endless research and growth.
But what of her kin, the elves?
Hadn't they grown complacent, leaning on the absolute being Paulo Minerva, content to defend what they had? For centuries already.
As time passed, the race's spirit weakened. Hers too.
'It's all my fault.'
Her realm, stagnant for decades—no, centuries. Until her daughter's kidnapping, she'd deluded herself into 'satisfaction.'
Clinging to the throne, convincing herself no one would covet Elunheim, the elves' land.
That this was enough.
But it wasn't. The horrific experience of nearly losing her irreplaceable daughter could only happen once.
The human pup had suggested uniting their family and strength against the orc invasion, but Minerva thought differently.
That would be pointless.
The elves would remain a weak race forever.
Always under someone's protection, never wielding power independently, forever fools.
They'd keep avoiding the continent's conflicts, scrambling just to hold on.
Depending on humans would never let the elves stand on their own.
'The war with the orcs is a chance to awaken my weakened kin's spirits.'
Much elven blood would flow, but on the whole, elevating the race's level wouldn't be bad.
'For the greater good, the lesser must be sacrificed.'
She shook her head firmly, eyes gleaming with ambition no different from any human noble's.
We arrived where Misha was with Millia, greeted by a familiar face.
"Jerome, long time no see."
Ash greeted me warmly after bowing politely to Millia.
"Yeah, long time. Can't exactly ask if you've been well, though."
"...You met with the queen."
Ash gave the same bitter smile Millia had earlier.
"A human like you would've noticed already. That Her Majesty's mindset has changed."
"Millia just filled me in. What's the elves' take on it?"
"Most elves don't fear battle."
Ash answered without a hint of hesitation.
"I don't think we'll lose either. We have the Forest Queen."
As expected.
Ash—and the elves—thought the same.
I wouldn't bet against Banten in a fight with orcs either.
My father's shadow was that vast and sturdy.
The elves must feel the same under Minerva's giant presence.
No matter Minerva's inner thoughts or her stagnation.
Her throne-granted power wasn't low enough to fall to orcs.
However.
"...The casualties will be too high. That's the problem."
That was the issue. Banten was no different. Battle would mean Banten's victory—set in stone.
But what about full-scale 'war' instead of mere 'battle'?
The orc numbers in the Dragon Mountains were incalculable.
We'd scouted three great villages, but deeper in and toward the Empire's north, more existed.
If this 'battle' cost heavy losses.
Could the elves win the ensuing 'war' with the orcs?
Hence, they needed an overwhelming victory with minimal casualties.
The foes facing the elves and Banten weren't just orcs.
Proceeding like this would shrink Elunheim, the elves' domain, punching more holes in its defenses.
And patching those would take ages.
None of us—me, Millia, or Ash—wanted that outcome.
"……."
"……."
Clap!
As the mood grew heavy, Millia clapped her hands to change the subject.