The elf country lay in the Eivasha Woodlands. This forest had no
particularly perilous reaches; there were certain sections filled with many
dangerous monsters, or small subhuman settlements, and the terrain itself
made it easy to get lost. Yet, there were no buildings worth calling
fortresses or landforms too steep for humans to pass. If progress was halted,
there was only one cause.
Someone had stopped them.
Schuen, subleader of the Firestorm Scripture, was hiding behind the
scattered forest trees, peering at the view ahead.
There sat an elf child. She looked to be all of eight, but elves were
generally smaller than humans, which made them seem younger.
There was a little chair placed on a mound of dirt, and she was perched
on that, holding a bow that dwarfed her tiny frame. A quiver sat behind the
chair, the shafts of several arrows visible within.
The quiver was not that large, and he could count the arrows within on
the fingers of both hands. But reports indicated no matter how many arrows
she unleashed, the quiver never ran empty. Clearly a magic item.
There was no one else around.
This girl was all by herself.
A lone child.
And that was terrifying.
A single hero could turn the tide of war. They were as valuable as ten
thousand men. This girl had already robbed nearly a thousand Theocracy
soldiers of their lives.
The result was that forty thousand troops were pinned down by a single
little girl.
Standard strategy dictated that if you couldn't break through the enemy's
forces, you should go around. There was no pressing need to use this path,
and while the forest itself was a constant impediment, there were few places
that could not be circumvented.
Sadly, they were not up against forces but a single foe. When the enemy
acted as a group, it was easy to detect their movements. But this girl was
not only a deadly shot, she was nimble as anything they had ever seen, and
if they lost sight of her, it would be extremely difficult to locate her again.
A one-girl army, undetectable in the darkness of the vast forest—that meant
endless guerrilla attacks and the collapse of morale among the frontline
troops.
They could split the troops, dedicating some to keeping her busy while
the main force pushed ahead. Not the worst idea, if you ignored the utter
stupidity of splitting your forces deep in enemy territory.
Arguably, they had a golden opportunity before them, since the enemy
camp—if a chair qualified as a camp—was in plain sight. The army's
leaders had decided it was worth some small sacrifices to try and eliminate
her while they knew where she was.
Fight heroes with heroes. This was hardly a problem that could be
solved by quantity alone.
But the Theocracy forces here did not have any heroes in tow. Instead,
they had the Firestorm Scripture.
They didn't have a hero in their ranks, either—they had once, but he'd
transferred to the Black Scripture. That group generally snapped up any
Theocracy citizens who'd stepped into the domain of the heroes.
Schuen, sadly, had not reached that level.
And yet, the Firestorm Scripture had been sent here, in the hopes that
their members working together could fell the hero.
This was true enough.
Schuen's team made hero-slaying possible.
But there was a big difference between someone who'd just arrived in
that realm and someone about to burst out the other side. They had a shot at
besting the former and none against the latter. That was why Schuen was
making careful observations.
In his time, he'd seen everything from the rank and file, to good
soldiers, elite warriors, heroes, and those who lay beyond. He had the
experience to back his knowledge. He had to take the measure of this elf
girl and minimize the casualties to his unit. They may not be in the Black
Scripture's league, but the members of the Firestorm Scripture were still the
best of the best—as was everyone in any of the six scriptures. Their lives
were too valuable to waste.
And depending on the outcome of this analysis, they had the option of
sacrificing more rank and file to pin her down while they waited for the
Black Scripture to arrive.
Schuen let out a long, quiet breath.
He was behind a tree, using both Invisibility and Silence. (Ordinarily,
arcane casters didn't have access to Silence, but their research had made it
possible.) Even with both spells concealing him, each breath he took further
frayed his nerves.
He wanted to wipe the cold sweat from his brow, but when any
movement could mean death, he didn't dare. Schuen was an accomplished
arcane caster, but his non-magical stealth abilities were barely above those
of an average human, and no effort could be spared.
The elf girl was likely some sort of archer or ranger class. If the latter,
her senses would be extremely honed, and she might detect him despite the
spells. She might not work out exactly where he was, but an area attack—
they'd confirmed she had one—would easily flush him out.
Even if she was a hero, it was unlikely that she could slay Schuen in a
single strike. Regardless, he was not confident he could get away from her
injured.
He was less scared of dying than he was of failing to bring home the
information he'd gleaned. That would make his death meaningless.
Still, what a creepy kid.
Her expression had not changed since he started watching her. Like a
mask of gloom.
But Schuen knew all too well this was no doll. She still lived.
How long had he been watching?
His target moved at last.
Schuen's heart leaped in his chest. His initial fear was that she was
aiming at him.
Her gaze darted elsewhere, but that was little comfort. A truly skilled
warrior could easily use their gaze to disguise their true intention. Schuen
knew of martial arts that did just that.
Then, hearing enhanced by the second-tier spell Elephant Ear, he caught
the sounds of multiple footsteps approaching from the rear. The girl must
have heard them first.
These were Theocracy soldiers—his comrades in arms.
Schuen felt a pang of guilt. He knew full well why they'd been sent in.
He did not offer them a warning. That was not his role here.
He had one job—to not miss a single detail.
You could determine your target's skills—their true strength level—only
when you saw them fight. Sacrifices were necessary. Command had been
true to their word and sent these soldiers in service of a greater cause.
His countrymen would give their lives here. Careful his movement did
not give him away, he turned, the second-tier spell Hawk Eye tracking the
movement of her arrow.
She'd released a single shaft, and he watched it snake through the trees
—before it split in midair, becoming dozens.
The missiles rained down upon the earth.
She had not taken careful aim. Even if the sound alone had been enough
to locate her targets with any precision, this was a dense forest. The trees
blocked the way, and she could not shoot anyone directly. If this was a spell
like Fireball, it would simply burn through all obstructions. Her approach
had a similar effect—a skill to thread the arrow through the trees and an art
to multiply the projectiles once through.
Schuen's enhanced hearing picked up the sounds of soldiers screaming.
It did not sound as if any had escaped injury.
Screams? They still live?
They were beyond his sight, but judging from the sounds, the soldiers
were confused and scared. None of them knew where the arrows had come
from, and they were scattering in all directions, none willing to put up a
fight.
This wasn't a failure. It was the best possible choice of action. The more
directions they fled, the more of them were likely to escape the killing zone.
The girl loosed another arrow.
Once more, it wove a path around all the trees, racing toward its targets,
and splitting in the air above them.
He heard the arrows raining down and the soldiers' screams cutting out.
There were no more footsteps in the dirt.
Their deaths had given him a critical piece of intel.
Ordinary soldiers had taken two hits to kill. Certainly, skills—or martial
arts—that scattered an attack's power typically lowered the accuracy of
each strike. But a hero would have been able to slay rank-and-file soldiers
with a single hit nonetheless. Which meant—
She's no hero. This kid ain't reached those heights yet.
Schuen was sure of it.
Years of training against his rival—now the Black Scripture's Third
Seat, the Quad-Elementalist—had given him insight.
This target was weaker than Schuen himself. But that did not mean he
would win easily, nor could he afford to relax.
Archers and casters had different approaches to battle. Even if one had
the advantage in overall skill, circumstances could conspire against that.
And there was always a chance she knew she was being watched and was
intentionally disguising her true capabilities.
But he'd been observing enough to be confident.
She hadn't spotted him.
His course was clear. She was a stone in the Theocracy's path and must
be kicked aside.
He activated Silent Magic: Wall of Protection from Arrows.
That hardly counted as adequate preparation. But if he used any more
spells at this distance, she would likely sense it and turn to flee.
Time to strike.
"Silent Maximize Magic: Magic Arrow."
Stepping out from behind the tree, he used an ability—the daily exploit
from the Arcane Devotee class, which was considered required learning for
any caster in the Firestorm Scripture. This exploit allowed the use of magic
buffs not yet acquired—in this case, he naturally used Triplet Maximize
Magic.
A total of twelve magic arrows shot forward.
These arrows were guaranteed to hit and could not be dodged. But
realistically speaking, they didn't do much damage. Even maximized,
without major discrepancies in combat ability, this alone would not be
enough to kill her.
That is, if it was only him attacking.
All his subordinates were using See Invisibility to track Schuen's
movements.
The girl's mask slipped.
Was it because she couldn't withstand the pain of his magical attack? Or
had she spotted the hundred magic arrows hurtling in from behind him?
The Firestorm Scripture's work ranged from assassination to
counterterrorism. They were required to be adaptable and always moved in
teams no less than four, composed of a variety of classes. They were like
the adventurer parties seen in the Kingdom or Empire. The Adventurers
Guild itself had been introduced into every country by Theocracy agents, so
it was practically a sister organization. The party this time was formed
entirely of one class and exclusively of those who had acquired specific
spells from it.
All of them were arcane casters who could use Invisibility.
Hit.
Hit.
Hit.
Hit.
It looked like she'd sprouted wings of light.
She toppled over, facedown, and did not move again. Even then, only
Schuen dared approach.
There were illusion spells that could make you look dead. This girl was
an archer and was unlikely to know any, but you could never be too careful.
He put a foot under her and flipped over the body.
The girl's skin was covered in dark bruises from the magic-arrow
strikes; no part of her young body had been left unharmed. Schuen took a
close look at her face. The swelling of her lids left her eyes half-open.
There was no light left in them.
She was definitely dead.
"Hmph, that's what you get, runt."
They had not chosen Magic Arrow for retaliatory purposes. With rangertype foes, their nimble evasions could result in area-of-effect spells doing
no real damage. Spells with psychic effects could instantly kill tough
opponents—but if the target resisted, there would be no effect at all. With
their numbers, they'd had the option of going for dealing guaranteed
damage and had taken it.
But in hindsight, it was the perfect spell. Payback for all the countrymen
her arrows had slain.
Schuen frowned at the young elf's death mask.
Unable to shake the impression that she looked…relieved.
Was it all in his head? He couldn't say for sure. But if that was the case,
it rankled. This one girl had slaughtered a thousand Theocracy soldiers. He
would've preferred her death be one of agony, suffering, and regret for the
sins she had wrought.
He made to spit on her corpse but thought better of it at the last second.
He had to strip her of her gear. There were no other foes in sight, so he
planned to do that right here, but spitting on it first would just be gross. He
could spit on her once he'd finished looting the body.
First, the bow.
A weapon carried by one strong enough to pin the entire Theocracy
army down single-handed. It was likely a masterpiece.
"Another failure."
A man's voice, nonchalant.
Schuen froze, hand halfway toward the bow. Clearly the situation called
for urgent action, but he was caught off-guard and unable to react in time.
His eyes alone darted sideways—and found an elf.
No one had been there. He knew that for a fact. This girl had been alone.
He'd even used See Invisibility on his approach.
"Were you aware, human? The fastest means to true power is to put your
life on the line, fighting superior foes. I thought this one might have been a
rare success, so I tore her from her mother's arms and placed her here…"
The man's tone grew grim. He glared scornfully down at the girl's corpse.
"Incompetent fool. The time I spent on you, yet you're worse than the other
failures. Without the royal aspect, they're little better than refuse."
Schuen knew who this elf was.
His eyes were different colors, and that made it all too clear.
The Theocracy's ultimate goal.
The loathsome criminal.
The elf king.
A being beyond the pale, one no hero could defeat—let alone Schuen.
He stood no chance.
Silent Magic: Invisibility.
Quickly casting, he tried to move.
But the elf king's gaze followed. His eyes never left Schuen. He had not
moved far from where he'd turned invisible, yet the elf king's gaze was still
on him.
The moment Schuen realized that, he turned his back and fled. Even
with Invisibility and Silence active, there was no hiding the grass his
footsteps bent. Even so, he ran.
The elf's eyes had wavered slightly. He had not caught Schuen's
location with spells like See Invisibility. His senses were just too sharp—far
sharper than any human could hope to match—for Schuen's concealment
magic to matter. He had to get away, as far as he could. If it wasn't an
ability blowing his cover, then distance was his friend and the only thing
that would prevent his detection.
If only Fly were an option. A bitter regret, but it was not in the cards.
He was an Adept of Sulshana.
That class's special ability could be used only once a day, but it allowed
you to keep spells with finite activation times in play indefinitely—as long
as your mana held out. The more spells kept active, the faster your mana
drained, and he simply didn't have enough to use Fly here.
And using Fly while otherwise defenseless, in range of the elf king—
that was pure madness. Schuen didn't have it in him. He at least had to gain
distance, take cover behind some trees. Then maybe he could consider it.
"Ha."
He heard the elf king's derisive laugh.
"There is literally no point in killing you, but—I did come all this way.
Might as well have something to show for it."
Since Schuen was an arcane caster, physical exertion wasn't his strong
suit. But his overall skill level was verging on the domain of the heroes—
his legs could cover quite a bit of ground in a short sprint. As the gap
between them yawned, his Elephant Ear enhanced hearing caught the king's
next words.
"Go on, Behemoth. Kill!"
The earth shook. He didn't need to look back—he knew something
massive had just spawned.
"Scatter!" Schuen roared, canceling Silence so his voice would reach his
squad.
Never in his life had he yelled this loud. He could only pray it would at
least make the elf king wince.
He had to get his team moving. No matter who went down, no matter
who they had to cut loose. The only way to honor the lives lost here was to
take home as much intel as they could.
Schuen was too close to the elf king. His fate was sealed. For that reason
—he turned around. Dying before his men did wasn't such a bad way to go.
He had seen earth elementals before. Smaller than humans but thick,
burly arms—they made for quite a quirky spectacle. But the thing behind
him was no such feeble little charmer.
Its bulk was made of rocks and boulders, piled on, towering as tall as the
surrounding trees. This was undoubtedly the king of earth elementals.
Long, thick arms and short, stocky legs. On a smaller scale, the
proportions might be comical, but this thing radiated power far beyond
anything he'd ever sensed from a monster. Behind it, the elf king crossed
his arms, grinning as he watched Schuen struggle.
A galling sight indeed.
The arrogance of one seeking to claim the life of another, without
risking their own.
But Schuen's rage was lost on him. The earth elemental—Behemoth—
closed the distance, legs unmoving, as if sliding on ice. One unnaturally
massive arm raised high.
"Come at me, you cur! Wall of Stone!"
At his cry, a rocky wall appeared between him and the elf king.
An instant later, a single hit pulverized it. The shattered stones melted
into the air.
The strength and durability of some wall spells were based on the
caster's own power. Despite that—well, no, this result just proved the elf
king's elemental was far stronger.
Behemoth raised its left fist.
Out of the corner of one eye, Schuen saw the elf king smirk and knew
what that meant—the man was convinced this next blow would kill him.
He wasn't wrong.
The swing would reach before he could get another spell off. He would
perish.
And yet—
I bought some time.
For a few seconds, he'd slowed this thing down. That was enough.
Yes—
More than enough.
He had avoided the worst outcome—none of them making it home alive.
That outcome would be not just his loss but the Theocracy's.
"Ha-ha!"
Schuen laughed into the descending fist. Behemoth's blow struck home,
and he became one with the soil.
The elf king—Decem Hougan—passed through the castle gates with a sigh
of disgust.
The source of his displeasure was the length of time the trip home had
taken.
He'd ridden on the back of Behemoth, a creature that knew no fatigue—
so that was likely the fastest transport available. But knowing his time was
being wasted took an intolerable toll on his mind.
Recovering the gear he'd given that failure was not itself a waste. He
could be proud of that act. He'd inherited that gear from his father, and no
one alive could make anything of its like ever again. It would not do to let it
fall into the hands of humans—they would never appreciate its true value.
The real problem—only he was up to the task.
This applied not only to recovering weapons. The lack of reliable help
meant that all manner of tasks were confounding him. The elves around him
were far too weak.
Not one of them was worth a damn.
The elven race was magnificent. Decem's father had proved that beyond
all doubt. They were a race capable of being stronger than any other living
thing. If Decem had been a special breed—a high elf or an elf lord, perhaps
—then he would simply have assumed all others were beneath him and
been done with the matter. But this was not the case. Decem and his father
were ordinary elves. That meant that any elf could become tremendously
strong. So why did the others remain so weak?
How could he prove elves were the ultimate species?
He need simply produce results that were plain to see.
Place the world in the hands of elves, those who inherited his blood.
To that end, he needed suitable—powerful—mothers.
Unfortunately, there was no way to tell which mothers were suitable
until the children they bore grew. To hasten their growth, he had thrust them
all into the bellows of war, and few, if any, had returned.
All this time he'd spent and with nothing to show for it. His head hurt.
These thoughts had left a scowl on his brow—yet a woman came his
way.
"Your Majesty."
"What?"
His rage turned her way. Then his eyes widened, surprised.
Strong emotions—especially hostility—from one of his power were a
burden upon those weak in body and mind. Even a glance their way was
stunning. True, he had merely been angry, not actively desiring her death.
But even that would hit a weak elf hard. Yet, she had withstood the impact,
merely turning pale.
She was extremely weak—one of many failed mothers.
So how had she withstood his disfavor? Was he simply that exhausted?
He could have brushed on by, but her feat was worth some small reward.
Decem paused. He was a merciful king.
"What happened to her?"
Her? Who? After a hard day's work, she should be praising his labors,
not offering incomprehensible questions. His interest in her withered.
"Rugi, I mean."
Rugi.
He had no memory of that name.
True, Decem never remembered anyone's names. Few people were
valuable enough to remember.
In his opinion, it was a waste of memory to learn useless names of those
who possessed no value. He could not go so far as to say memory was a
limited resource, but there was no point in learning anything noncritical. He
had no idea why so many stuffed their minds full of useless rubbish.
The woman's eyes were on the bow he held.
"She died, didn't she?"
That connected the dots. She meant the failure. He'd given her this
glorious bow, and the fool had died anyway. The thought that she had
carried half his blood made him feel deeply embarrassed. No—perhaps it
was because she had only half his blood that mere humans had been able to
kill her.
"Yes, she'd dead."
"I—I see."
Her voice quivered.
She must be ashamed to have been related to that failure. But it was also
true that the failure had been far stronger than this woman. An even greater
source of shame.
But it was a king's duty to dole out opportunities.
How kind of him to show mercy to these fools. Decem impressed
himself anew.
"Come to my room. I'll grant you another chance."
He walked away without waiting for an answer. His priority was to
return this equipment to the treasury.
When that was done, he washed away the grime of the battlefield and
lay down in his bedroom.
As he waited, a man knocked at the door. "Excuse me, Your Majesty."
He glanced over the man's shoulder, but the woman was not there.
"…What?"
"Report for you, my king. You called Myugi in tonight, but she took her
own life."
"She what?"
"She threw herself off the parapets."
"And for such a minor fall to kill her—no, that would be enough for you
lot."
Decem considered this. He could not imagine why she would want to
die. He had just called her to his chambers. She should have been delighted.
Perhaps someone had been envious and killed her for it.
"Are you sure it was suicide?"
"Quite sure, Your Majesty. There were witnesses."
Decem considered blaming these witnesses, but if it was suicide, what
could be the cause? In time, he realized there was only one possible
explanation.
"I see; it all grows clear to me. She took her life by way of apology—for
the sin of bearing that defective child, I assume?"
"…Only she can know her feelings. But that may be the case, Your
Majesty."
The man's expression never changed.
"In that case, give the body a proper funeral. She made amends with her
life. It is my royal duty to accept."
"Your generosity honors us all."
The man bowed low. Decem took this deference in stride. It was only
proper to dispense the king's mercy to those without value.
Feeling horribly merciful, he decided to grant the servant before him—
whose name he did not know—a boon.
"Do you have a daughter?"
"...…Yes...I do."
"Fortune favors you, then. If she is of age, send her to me. If she is not,
your wife will do."
The man quivered, clearly honored. Once the tremor died away, he
spoke, forcing his voice out.
"As you wish, Your Majesty…"
The man left, and Decem forgot the dead woman completely. The fate of
the useless was of no concern to him.