The strongest magician among the elves is given the title of Lord Flower Crown.
That title belongs not only to the most powerful elf but also to the commander of the race—one who stands at the pinnacle of talent, knowledge, wisdom, and strength.
In the entire history of the elves, only two such geniuses had attained the rank of Lord Flower Crown and reached the realm of the Eightfold Mage, capable of wielding eight types of magic simultaneously.
One was Think Nirvalen.
The other was the young elf standing beside her, often bullied by a tentacled monster—Nina Clive, the current leader and marshal of the elves.
However, appearances were deceiving.
Nina was not an Eightfold Mage. Though she was undeniably gifted, her abilities could not rival Think's.
The Eightfold Mage represented the pinnacle of elven magical precision, a unique existence—unprecedented and, most likely, never to be repeated.
Even the Forest God, the deity worshiped by the elves, once praised Think:
"Your wisdom, your service to your people, and your loyalty to me are unmatched. The birth of a flower as brilliant as you is an omen that the war will end—the foolish gods shall be annihilated, and I alone will ascend the throne as the one true God."
Such was Think: a woman even the Old Gods found captivating, a woman who might one day end the war.
Yet after a battle many years ago, Think vanished without explanation, replaced by a new Flower Crown Lord—Nina.
Both possessed exceptional talent, keen insight, and formidable strength.
But there was a difference. Nina was only a puppet. Think was the hidden hand guiding her, the true Flower Crown Lord operating from the shadows.
Thus, to the outside world, Nina wore the title, while Think remained a secret known to almost no one.
If other races discovered that Think still lived, their shock would be immeasurable.
No one knew the truth—except her sworn nemesis.
"Nina, calm yourself," Think murmured, biting her thumb as her thoughts raced.
Could it be him?
Considering the Dwarves' movements in recent days, it wasn't impossible. She no longer dismissed them as fools. If they feared unnecessary conflict, they might send an envoy in secret to negotiate.
If that were the case, she could let Nina handle it. But if not—
A shiver crawled down her spine. Something about today filled her with foreboding, as though disaster lurked just beyond the door.
"You step aside. I'll deal with this one."
Her demeanor shifted in an instant. Her tone hardened, her posture straightened, and in the blink of an eye she had smoothed her hair and straightened her clothes. In moments, the woman who had neglected bathing and grooming for over twenty years now stood immaculate, every trace of slovenliness erased.
She was ready to face her guest.
"…Incredible, Senior," Nina whispered, watching Think's back with genuine awe.
Not awe at her grooming skills, but at her sheer nerve.
To face another after twenty unwashed years—Nina could never muster such courage. She wouldn't even have dared to speak through the door, let alone meet the intruder face-to-face.
Is this what it means to be the Flower Crown Lord?
Realizing the vast gulf between herself and Think, Nina cloaked herself with concealment magic and followed silently.
"Well, you finally decided to show yourself. Ah, wait a moment—let me finish analyzing this. Your elven magic is fascinating."
Though he spoke casually, Arthur's eyes flicked toward Think.
And he nearly lost his composure.
The moment she appeared, even Arthur—hardly a man known for frivolity—found himself thinking, Wow.
The elf before him was simply… indecently alluring.
No wonder elves so often became victims in unsavory stories. It wasn't without cause.
Forget "forest elf." She was more like a sex elf.
"Breaking into someone else's home without permission and giving orders to the owner—don't you think that's a bit much?" Think smiled thinly, her gaze fixed on the hooded man seated before her.
At the same time, she layered hidden detection and illumination spells over him, weaving a net of analytical magic.
The result? Nothing. His identity could not be discerned.
Did he dispel her spells outright?
Or was his robe crafted with some special technique?
Either way, facing such an enigma, she proceeded with caution. "May I ask who you are?"
"Huh? You're using honorifics for an intruder? So the elves are even more polite than I imagined. How charming." Arthur grinned, ignoring her spells entirely. "Very well, I'll introduce myself. I am human—yes, a human. Or as you elves prefer to say, a talking monkey."
"…Monkey?" Think muttered before she could stop herself.
It was instinctive. The elves ranked seventh among the fifteen races. They were not truly a superior race, but they had clear advantages over humans—frail creatures cut off from the Elven Corridor, unable to withstand even the lightest touch of magical force.
How could she not despise such beings?
"Arrogant as expected," Arthur said, his voice cooling. "But that's fine. I understand. After all, you're elves—a weak race nearly exterminated by a higher race."
The fifteen races were ranked thus: Old Deus first, Phantasma second, and so on, with Seirenes last.
The rankings reflected not just power but adaptability to magic—how much elven force a species could channel and control.
The elves barely held seventh place.
A precarious spot, since sixth place belonged to the Flügel.
Races ranked sixth and above were called "life." Those seventh and below—mere "creatures."
Superior and inferior.
And the very reason for that division lay between the Flügel and the elves.
"Twenty-four years ago," Arthur said coldly, "the elves were caught unprepared when the Dwarves attacked their capital. They fought back with the determination to abandon their home, and nearly dealt the Dwarves a crushing blow. But unfortunately… a passing Flügel was drawn in."
"Don't say it." Think's brow furrowed, irritation flaring.
"And then that Flügel destroyed your capital in a single strike. Every elf within its walls was annihilated—save for you. No… two of you barely escaped. Even then, you were hunted down, and only survived by offering up your people's library, accumulated over generations, as ransom."
"Keep talking, and I'll truly grow angry," Think hissed, her smile twisting into one of lethal intent.
But to Arthur, her killing aura was laughable.
"Oh? Did I touch a nerve?" He leaned back, mockery gleaming in his eyes. "Then why not attack me? Come now, Lady Long-Ears—the proud seventh-ranked race, trembling before a mere human."
-End Chapter-
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