Chapter 37
Chapter 37
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 37
Chapter Title: Farewells and the Elves of Harrel
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“Then I’ll leave it to you.”
“Yes. Leave it to me.”
After finishing preparations to depart the lord’s castle with the group from the Dukedom, Seilun was seen off by Jenna and the August Domain retainers.
Only a handful of mercenaries—fewer than ten—were staying behind to assist Jenna, but the lord’s castle retainers didn’t dare entertain any notions of mischief.
No one knew exactly what had happened, but the attitudes of the nobles who had come from Duke Seilun’s Dukedom had completely changed.
Even Jonas, who had seemed ready to butt heads with Seilun upon arrival, had become not just friendly but downright syrupy-sweet in expression after just two days.
And what about that arrogant young master of the Paloma family, Sirban?
When word spread that he’d sparred with Piotr and ended up with both eyes swollen shut, some had secretly hoped it might sour relations with Duke Seilun’s family.
But.
“Haha! If that’s what my nephew wants, what can I do? Take good care of him until we reach your family’s estate.”
“Yes, Un…cle.”
The sight of Piotr clapping Sirban on the shoulders and Sirban awkwardly smiling beside him left the August Domain retainers stunned.
They’d heard he’d taken a hit to only one eye in the spar with Piotr, so it was odd to see both eyes bruised a purplish blue.
(No one knew he’d received a lesson from his furious uncle on top of it.)
In any case, it was incomprehensible that even the haughty young master from Seilun’s Dukedom had switched to such a humble posture in just one day.
But though everything was shrouded in mystery, one thing was crystal clear.
—Unless the August Domain planned to relocate to some far-off land, they had to heed the words of Duke Seilun’s family, the local overlords.
Therefore, at this moment, they also had to obey Sir Seilun Jang, whom Duke Seilun’s “representatives” were deferring to with lowered heads and respect.
If they harmed the proxy in his absence, the wrath of Duke Seilun’s family—swifter and more forceful than the distant royal law—would descend upon the August Domain before the king’s justice could arrive.
With that in mind, the August Domain retainers bid farewell to Seilun, who was just mounting his horse, with awkward smiles.
Seilun gave the retainers one last sweeping glance.
“I trust you’ll all do well without question.”
They knew full well the warning and threat laced into that worldly, benevolent smile, and they vied to respond.
“As you command!”
“I’ll devote myself fully to assisting Lady Jenna!”
“Hey, who’s calling me lady….”
“Leave it to us, Sir Seilun!”
Jenna bristled—she wasn’t even married—but Seilun ignored her, nodding in satisfaction before his eyes suddenly met someone else’s.
At the reaction of one woman who flinched and quickly turned away, Seilun inwardly chuckled and whispered low to Jenna.
“Looks like the alley cat can’t let go of the fish. Keep an eye on her, and if she pulls any nonsense, contact me immediately. No matter who shows up or what they say, invoke Duke Seilun’s name without hesitation. Just stall for time.”
“Yes.”
Jenna dipped her head, shooting a glance at Baroness August, who was fanning herself with a fan despite the lack of heat.
‘A fox, huh? Hmph, whatever.’
Jenna was a ferret well-versed in tearing foxes apart.
“Depart.”
And so Seilun, the Zanstrick mercenary band, and the Paloma group led by Jonas left the lord’s castle together.
* * *
Though some Zanstrick mercenaries remained at the lord’s castle, the party—now swelled past fifty with the addition of Jonas’s group—departed the castle’s lower village in orderly fashion, heading south.
With a five-year-old child in tow, they couldn’t move at full speed, but the well-armed group encountered no interference from bandits or monsters.
After several brief rests over five or six hours along the road, the party ascended a low, gentle hill.
There, those from the northeast led by Piotr and Stel faced a sight they’d never witnessed before.
“Wow!”
“Whoa!”
“Insane…….”
Exclamations of awe and amazement erupted here and there.
A deep green forest stretched to the limits of vision, its edge crowned by towering peaks shrouded in clouds, arrayed like giants’ palms.
The forest spanned dozens of square kilometers at a glance, composed not of flat terrain but of hills ranging from fifty meters low to a hundred meters high.
Yet the distant horizon’s mountain peaks loomed so high that it created the illusion of a mere plain.
“……!”
Piotr gaped at the spectacle before him, and Sirban stepped forward with a touch of smugness.
“Uncle’s seeing it for the first time, right? That’s the famous Harrel Mountains from here on.”
“Harrel Mountains… Impressive indeed.”
“It’s not just the scenery that’s impressive—inside, it’s truly dangerous. No one knows how many ferocious beasts and monsters lurk there. That’s why there are no villages nearby.”
“Fair enough. But to enter the Dukedom, don’t we have to cross that forest?”
“That’s right. The road leads through it.”
Shifting his gaze to where Sirban pointed, Seilun saw the path snake like a serpent into the forest depths.
“If it’s as dangerous as my nephew says… that explains why no one’s traveling this way.”
“Half right, half wrong.”
“Hm?”
As Piotr tilted his head, Sirban spoke with unusual excitement.
“It’s true the forest depths are extremely dangerous, but people do pass through. Usually by hiring mercenaries, though not just anyone can.”
“Not just anyone?”
“Well, that is…”
Sirban, eager to explain, was cut off by Seilun’s voice.
“Carriages or wagons limited to fewer than five. Up to thirty people regardless of age or gender is fine, but larger groups require permission.”
“Uh… Sir Seilun speaks as if he knows. You do?”
“Hey! What’s with that tone?”
Jonas, who’d been glued to Seilun’s side all day, glared at his nephew.
It was maddening, but with the memory of his uncle raging like a furious bull still fresh, Sirban grudgingly bowed his head.
“My apologies. I misspoke.”
“It’s fine.”
Seilun just smiled.
Young nobles that age could be excused.
Besides, ever since learning neither Jonas nor Sirban had any hand in Brian’s death, Seilun harbored no ill feelings toward them.
They were simply his adorable(?) great-great-grandson and great-grandson.
But Sirban, oblivious to this, felt irked by Seilun’s attitude that seemed to treat him like a child.
‘Fine, Uncle Jonas is family, but this guy’s just a royal collateral branch?’
Unwilling to face his uncle’s wrath again but still baffled by his humility, Sirban asked in a subtle tone.
“Sir Seilun, you’ve never been to the Dukedom, yet you know it well? Do you also know who grants and monitors passage?”
At his great-grandson’s cute provocation—neck still stiff—Seilun chuckled softly.
“The elves do.”
“……!”
Sirban’s eyes went wide.
To think someone who’d clearly spent most time in the capital knew even that.
But the northeast mercenaries led by Piotr and Stel were even more shocked.
“E-Elves!?”
“Elves really exist?”
“There are elves in Duke Seilun’s Dukedom?”
They’d come to place absolute trust in Seilun’s words, but this was another matter entirely.
Elves were a reclusive race that kept strictly to themselves, rarely seen since ancient times.
Already few in number, their population had dwindled further amid the long chaos following the Demon Dragon’s emergence.
Even now, long after the Demon Dragon’s death, sightings in the Obla Kingdom—or anywhere else—were rarer still.
They’d become a half-legendary, forgotten race.
And yet, elves survived? In that forest they were about to enter?
“No way, (female) elves are all supposed to be such beauties!”
“And (female) elves wear skimpy outfits or see-through clothes!”
“Yeah! I’ve seen it in paintings and statues—all (female) elves dressed sexy.”
“Whoa! I can’t resist female elves. Ouch! Ouch! Why, why hit me!?”
The Zanstrick mercenaries punished their oblivious youngest, Miska, for voicing aloud the specific word they’d all kept in their hearts.
With his shock eased by the mercenaries’ pathetic display, Sirban turned back to Seilun.
“Ah, but I heard there are hardly any elves in the royal direct territories. You’ve never seen one yourself, right?”
As if they could exist.
He’d heard nearly all elves in the Obla Kingdom had migrated to Duke Seilun’s Dukedom.
“But I have?”
“…….”
Sirban swallowed his retort denying the lie.
Still unwilling to concede, he quickly pivoted.
“Then you must know all about elves too? Beyond the obvious—they’re light, pretty, handsome, etc.?”
Even as he spoke, Sirban sneaked a glance at Uncle Jonas.
He’d gotten an apology later, but since taking his first-ever sincere (corrected) punch from his uncle, it had become a habit.
Fortunately, Jonas showed no reaction.
Or rather, he gazed with faintly pitying eyes for some reason.
‘Why the hell is Uncle acting like that!’
It was frustrating enough to burst.
But Sirban had no way of knowing.
That Seilun was likely the human in this world who knew elves best—and was closest to them.
“As young master Sirban says, elves are light. Adult male elves weigh mostly between 55 and 65 kilograms; over 70 is rare.
So people assume they’re weaker than us humans, but that’s like thinking a farmer hardened by lifelong fieldwork is weak.”
“Uh…….”
“It’s not that they lack weight—it’s because they’re constantly moving without rest. Their emotions are somewhat subdued, curbing greed and gluttony.
But could a race that runs through forests, climbs trees, and shoots bows from childhood possibly be weak? Especially since the composite bows they use are tough even for trained soldiers or knights.”
“…….”
As Sirban fell silent, the others leaned in to hear Seilun.
“Elves may look pretty and slender, but they’re a hardy race. Their advantage over humans is longevity, with youth and middle age lasting longer too.
Elves undergo adulthood rites at 30, maintaining the look and stamina of a human in their 30s or 40s even into their 60s. Aging truly begins around 70, and they pass on past 90, though long-lived ones exceed 100.
I know… or rather, I’ve heard of some living past 120.”
“Th-That’s just from ancient texts…….”
“Why would such hardy, long-lived elves walk the path of extinction? Does young master Sirban know?”
“Mm.”
Sirban flushed and averted his gaze.
Seilun chuckled at his impudent great-grandson and continued, scanning the others entranced like children hearing grandpa’s old tales—no, like an old monster telling stories.
“The main reason is their fertility window is pathetically short despite lifespans longer than humans.
Human women typically begin menstruation in their early to mid-teens and can bear children for about 30 years.
But elf women start around 30 and menopause hits near 50, with pregnancies lasting about two years.”
“Huh? Then couldn’t they have up to ten?”
“Whoa. Ten in twenty years… how much pounding would that… Ouch! Stop hitting… Ack! Enough!”
Amid the farce of Miska—sharp-minded usually but brain relocating below the belt at mention of women—being gagged and dragged off, Seilun continued.
“Elves’ wombs suffer greatly after birth, taking about three years to recover. So even nonstop childbearing during fertility yields at most four or five.
And as they age, recovery slows, endangering the mother’s health, so they avoid pregnancy past 40.”
“Ah! So just two or three then?”
Seilun replied with a faintly bitter expression.
“Only if those two or three all survive to adulthood.”
“Ah…….”
“How tragic…….”
Piotr and Sirban sighed in unison.
Realizing he’d unwittingly become a model student, Sirban made one last stand.
“W-Well, if you know elves so well, you must know the ones in our Dukedom too? They don’t let just anyone through the forest—only families like ours with generations of ties….”
“Whether they permit it is up to those friends over there. Ask them directly.”
“Huh?”
At Seilun’s chin gesture, all eyes—including Sirban’s—turned that way.
Far off, at the forest edge swaying like green waves in the wind, a cluster of figures milled about like gathered peas.
“Ooh!?”
“Are those elves?”
As the mercenaries buzzed, Piotr asked.
“My eyesight’s sharp, and the only ones gathering like that outside the forest are elves. Hm…? Why are you here?”
Seilun tilted his head at the youngest mercenary, Miska, who’d sneaked over after freeing himself from the gag.
“Sir Seilun.”
With the resolute expression and gaze of one facing a mortal foe, Miska said gravely.
“Are those elves over there… really half-naked?”
(To be continued)