Chapter 127: The Elves
The Elven Forest, Palace of the Tree of Life.
Queen Elina sat upon a throne woven from living vines, listening to the monotonous drone of her Intelligence Officer. Sunlight filtered through the dense, layered canopy, casting shifting, dappled patterns across the floor. The air was thick with the heavy fragrance of pollen and morning dew.
Normally, it was a view that would soothe the soul. But Elina was currently fighting a headache that felt like a localized earthquake.
"So," Elina began, rubbing her temples, "the messenger from the Holy Empire is currently cooling his heels outside?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," the officer replied—a young Elf in a green cloak clutching a scroll of parchment. "They are petitioning for a full military mobilization. They want a joint coalition to face the 'Evernight Menace'."
Elina didn't answer immediately. Her fingers tapped a rhythmic, impatient staccato against the vine-armrest.
The Evernight Empire. A nation ruled by the dead.
By all laws of logic, the Elves should be the first to sign up for the Crusade. Life and Death were natural antitheses. But the world had stopped making sense months ago.
"What news from the Underdark?" Elina asked abruptly.
The officer blinked, clearly startled by the shift in topic. "Ah... well, Your Majesty, the subterranean districts have been in a state of upheaval lately." He unfurled his scroll, scanning the reports. "Our scouts report a massive, unprecedented migration of the Drow (Dark Elves)."
"Migration?" Elina arched a slender eyebrow. "To where?"
The officer swallowed hard. "According to our tracking... they are heading for the Evernight Empire."
Silence pooled in the palace. Elina's fingers stopped tapping.
"Repeat that."
"The Drow... they've defected to Evernight." The officer's voice had developed a distinct tremor. "Word has reached them that the Succubi are thriving there. They heard that in the Undead Empire, a 'Dark-Skin' can walk in the sun without being hunted. They heard they can own property and open businesses legally. So... they decided to see for themselves."
Elina remained silent. She remembered the intelligence she had received weeks prior. The reports claimed that the Evernight Empire treated all races with a cold, mathematical equality. As long as you followed the "Code," you were granted legal status. Even Succubi—a race usually hunted by slavers for "sport"—were living openly as merchants.
"Your Majesty, there is more," the officer added hesitantly. "Some of our own... the 'fringe' tribes on the forest borders... they've been asking questions about Evernight as well."
Elina snapped her head up. "What?!"
"The outcasts," the officer explained cautiously. "The half-bloods, the exiles, those spurned by the 'Pure' society. They heard that the Sovereign of Evernight doesn't care about bloodlines or past sins. They heard that in his world, only 'Capability' matters. And so... they're tempted."
Elina leaned back into the vines, closing her eyes. Her headache had just upgraded to a migraine.
The Holy Empire wanted her to send her people to die. The Drow were joining the skeletons. And now her own kin were starting to waver.
What a mess.
"Tell the messenger to wait," she commanded. "Tell him I require time to... consult the Spirits."
"As you command, Your Majesty."
Once the officer had withdrawn, Elina stood and walked to the high window, looking out over the emerald sea of the forest. The Elven Forest was one of the oldest powers on the continent—guardians of nature, balancers of the world.
But that balance was being shredded.
The Elves were arrogant. The "Purebloods" looked down on the "Half-bloods." The "Surface-dwellers" looked down on the "Under-dwellers." Elina had always found this obsession with pedigree to be nauseating. She had tried to change things in her youth, but every proposal had been shot down by the "Stale Old Geezers" of the Elder Council, who hid behind the shield of "Tradition."
And the result? The Pureblood birthrate was in a terminal nosedive. The future of her race was a slow, elegant extinction.
And now, the "mongrels" they had spurned had found a better exit. A kingdom built by the dead actually understood governance better than a ten-thousand-year-old forest. The irony was enough to make her want to scream.
Elina slumped back onto her throne and let out a long, weary exhale.
"Hupert, that little squirt..."
She thought of the current Pope of the Holy Empire. A century ago, during her travels in the human lands, she had met him. Back then, Hupert was just a tiny acolyte trailing behind the previous Pope. He used to turn as red as a tomato when she looked at him, unable to form a coherent sentence. Now, look at him—all grown up and trying to organize a "Holy Crusade."
"What a nuisance," she muttered. She reached into a small wicker basket hidden beside her throne and pulled out a bottle of wine. It was a potent vintage made from the forest's sweetest sun-berries. She had a private stash of several dozen.
She popped the cork and took a heavy, undignified swig directly from the bottle. The warmth of the alcohol dulled the throbbing in her head.
"Hah..."
Elina let out a satisfied burp. Since becoming Queen, her life had become a never-ending cycle of bureaucratic trash. Even drinking had to be done in secret, lest the Elders lecture her on "Royal Decorum."
She was about to take another pull when the sounds of frantic footsteps echoed from the hall. The Intelligence Officer was back, looking even more panicked than before.
"Your Majesty! Emergency!"
Elina shoved the bottle behind her throne. "What now? Did the sky fall?"
"The... the Holy Messenger! He forced his way inside!"
Before the officer could finish, a middle-aged man in white-and-gold robes marched into the chamber. Two fully armed Templars followed at his heels. The man wore an expression of aggressive righteousness, his chin held high.
"Queen Elina! I bring greetings from His Holiness, Pope Hupert!"
The man's voice was booming and resonant, echoing painfully in the hollow palace. Elina narrowed her eyes. I'm not deaf, you zealot.
"Who authorized your entry?" she asked, her voice a flat, dangerous calm.
"The Light of the Spirits does not wait for an audience!" the messenger declared. "The necrotic plague is spreading across our continent! Every second we delay, innocent souls suffer under the shadow of the dead! We have no time for elven 'deliberation'!"
"Queen Elina! The Evernight Empire is the enemy of all life! Their very existence is a blasphemy against Nature! As the guardians of the woods, will the Elves truly sit idly by?"
Elina stared at him, her gaze icy. "Listen, kid. War means death. Once the 'Holy War' begins, how many of my kin do you think will return to these trees?"
The messenger didn't flinch. "For the sake of Order and Justice, sacrifice is a mandatory tithe! Their deaths will be their glory!"
Elina looked away, giving a dismissive wave of her hand. "Then you go collect that 'glory.' The Forest doesn't want it. And I don't care for it."
"You...!" The messenger trembled with fury. "Queen Elina! You are defying the divine will! You are enabling pure evil! You will pay for your short-sighted arrogance!"
With a violent snap of his sleeves, the man turned and stormed out, his knights in tow.
Silence returned to the palace. The Intelligence Officer stood at the bottom of the dais, daring not to breathe. Elina shot him a glare. "What are you looking at? Don't you have work to do?"
He bolted.
Elina fished her bottle out and took another massive gulp. "A pack of idiots," she muttered. She wasn't sure if she meant the Church or her own people.
Moments later, three white-haired Elven Elders, leaning heavily on staves, shuffled into the room. The lead elder's beard was long enough to sweep the floor.
"Your Majesty... the Holy Messenger... what was his business?" The Elder's voice was so slow and heavy it made Elina want to hibernate.
"Oh, he just wanted us to send our children to die for his god," Elina said succinctly.
The three Elders exchanged a look. The leader cleared his throat. "The undead are the enemies of Nature. Since ancient times, our race has been defined by our duty to protect life. We should respond to this Crusade. It is a matter of continental security."
"Well spoken," Elina said, giving a mocking little clap. "So, you believe we should mobilize for war?"
"Indeed," the Elder replied with an air of absolute certainty.
"Excellent." Elina smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Then for this expedition, the three of you shall personally lead the vanguard. You've lived for centuries; your vast experience will surely guide our young warriors to a magnificent victory."
The faces of the three Elders froze instantly. "But... Your Majesty... our advanced age... surely..."
"Nonsense," Elina chirped, her smile widening. "The actual fighting can be done by the youth. You three merely need to sit at the rear and provide your 'ancestral wisdom.' Oh, and as a gesture of the Forest's resolve, every direct descendant of the Elder Council must also enlist. They can serve as your personal honor guard."
The Elders recoiled. "Your Majesty! That is impossible! The future of our noble bloodlines cannot be squandered on a common battlefield!"
"Oh?" The smile vanished from Elina's face like a candle being snuffed. "A second ago you were drowning in 'Dignity' and 'Duty.' But the moment your own necks are on the line, the Crusade is a 'squandering' of resources?"
Elina stood up, walking down the steps to loom over them. "Someone else's child dies for 'Glory,' but yours are 'The Future'? You useless old fossils... what is left in your heads besides 'Bloodline' and 'Tradition'?"
She pointed a finger at the palace gates.
"Get out. Every one of you. Get out before I change my mind and hang you all from the branches as fertilizer."
Seeing that Elina was in one of her "murderous moods," the Elders wisely chose not to provoke her further and shuffled out in a terrified huddle.
The palace was finally quiet. Elina sat back on her throne, feeling more exhausted than if she had actually fought the Crusade herself. She reached for her bottle, only to find it was empty.
"Tch."
She tossed the bottle aside, her irritation peaking.
Being Queen is a total pain.
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