The elf woman sat up slowly, brushing spider silk from her silver hair with the kind of dignified grace that suggested she'd practiced being rescued multiple times. Now that she was conscious and not dangling from a web like yesterday's laundry, I could get a proper look at her.
She was... refreshingly normal. Don't get me wrong—she had the standard elf package: pointed ears, ethereal beauty, skin that probably glowed in moonlight, the works. But she wasn't built like some artist's fever dream of anatomical impossibility. No back-breaking proportions that defied physics and common sense. Just an attractive woman who happened to have ears that could probably pick up satellite signals.
Thank whatever authors governed this story world for small mercies.
"You saved me," she said, looking up at me with those spring-green eyes. "I am Lyralei Moonwhisper, daughter of the Silverleaf Clan."
Of course her name was something like Lyralei Moonwhisper. I'd have been genuinely shocked if she'd introduced herself as "Janet from Elf forest."
"Kenji," I replied. "No fancy titles. Just a guy who's apparently really good at killing things with garbage. Although I never used that skill again."
She blinked in confusion, probably trying to parse that statement, then seemed to remember where she was. Her expression shifted to something between gratitude and desperate hope—a combination I recognized from every "please help us, chosen one" speech in webnovel history.
[System Notice: The author would like to remind the protagonist that if he keeps making meaningless meta-commentary for too long, readers will notice they're just trying to fill word count without advancing the actual story.]
I stared at the floating message. "Are you seriously giving me narrative advice right now?"
[We're just saying, maybe focus on the elf's tragic backstory instead of complaining about exposition? Character development is important too duh.]
"Fine, fine." I turned back to Lyralei, who was watching me talk to invisible text with the patient expression of someone who'd seen weirder things. "Sorry about that. Please, continue with what I assume will be a perfectly reasonable explanation for why you were spider food."
***
And oh boy, did she have a story.
"Our people are in grave danger," she began, because of course they were. "For generations, the Silverleaf Clan has lived in harmony beside the Crystal Lake, our most sacred water source. But three months ago, everything changed."
She paused dramatically, probably waiting for me to ask "what happened?" like a good little audience member.
"Let me guess," I said instead. "Something big, angry, and probably scaly showed up uninvited?"
Her eyes widened. "How did you—yes! A dragon. Not one of the ancient, wise ones from legend, but a young, arrogant beast with scales like obsidian and an attitude worse than a noble's firstborn son."
I glanced at Sassy, who was perched on a rock nearby, innocently grooming her tiny silver scales. She looked up and chirped, as if to say, "Don't look at me, I'm adorable."
"This dragon," Lyralei continued, warming to her story, "claimed the lake as its personal territory. It built a lair in the underwater caves and now treats our sacred water source like its private swimming pool. The magical properties of the lake that once purified our water supply are being... corrupted by its presence."
"So your people are running out of clean water because a teenage dragon with boundary issues decided to redecorate your lake, and that still made you sell that water to humans for high prices. Got it."
"We tried negotiating," she said, her voice taking on that particular tone that meant 'this is where everything went horribly wrong.' "We sent our finest diplomats, our most eloquent speakers, even our youngest maidens to appeal to whatever honor it might possess."
"Let me guess. It ate the diplomats."
"Worse. It ignored them. Completely. Just lounged on its hoard of stolen treasure and acted like we didn't exist." She shuddered. "The disrespect was... profound."
I had to admit, being completely dismissed was probably more insulting to elves than outright hostility. These were people who considered proper etiquette a high art form.
"So then you tried violence."
"Three expeditions," she said, holding up three fingers like she was counting war crimes. "Our finest warriors, our most powerful mages, our most experienced monster hunters. All failed."
"Define 'failed.'"
"The first expedition came back with half their members suffering from severe burns and what our healers described as 'acute embarrassment.' The second expedition didn't come back at all for three days—we found them eventually, hanging upside down from trees in their own underwear with 'TRESPASSERS' written on their foreheads in what we really hope was mud."
I blinked. "That's... unusually creative for a dragon."
"The third expedition..." She paused, her expression growing genuinely pained. "The third expedition was led by our Queen, Miraleth the Wise. She went in person, thinking that royal authority might succeed where force had failed."
"And?"
"The dragon gave her a wedgie so severe that our court healers are still researching treatment options. She's currently on a diplomatic mission to the neighboring kingdoms, seeking both a cure for her wounded pride and possibly military assistance."
I stared at her. "A dragon... gave your queen... a wedgie."
"A magical wedgie. The underwear is apparently enchanted now. She can't remove it, and it keeps... adjusting itself at inappropriate moments during formal ceremonies."
There was a moment of silence while I processed this information.
"That," I said finally, "is either the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, or the most psychologically devastating attack imaginable."
"Both," Lyralei said grimly. "Hence why I was sent to seek alternative solutions. The spider venom was supposed to counteract the dragon's magic—you know, poison against poison, fire against fire, that sort of sympathetic magical principle."
"That... doesn't make any sense. At all."
"I know," she sighed. "But we were desperate. Desperate people try desperate solutions, even when those solutions involve deliberately getting bitten by giant spiders in the hope that their venom might somehow neutralize enchanted undergarments."
It was like watching someone explain how they'd tried to fix a broken car by hitting it with increasingly larger hammers.
She gestured at the spider carnage around us. "Can you come with me and help us. Because you just single-handedly cleared out an entire nest of giant spiders like you were swatting flies."
"Fair points," I admitted. "Also, I wouldn't have to wait for that damn guild receptionist to approve my paperwork. I'm guessing elf diplomatic immunity trumps F-rank limitations?"
"Considerably."
I looked around the cave, then at my teammates, who were still huddled by the entrance looking like they'd rather be literally anywhere else.
"Alright," I said. "I'm in. But first, we need to report this whole spider situation to the guild. That's the beauty of having proper bureaucratic systems—even when they're stupid, they're at least consistently stupid."
Lyralei nodded eagerly. "Of course! And perhaps... during our journey back to the city... I could tell you more about our culture? Our customs? The political situation that led to this crisis about the water stuff? And maybe if we succeed, even your people can benefit more."
"Sure," I said, already dreading the inevitable exposition dump. "But let's save the detailed cultural briefing for when we're not standing in a cave that smells like spider guts and desperation in the next chapter."