Translator: CinderTL
"Hey, don't glare at me like that."
Galvis raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, but a faint smile still played on his lips.
"The little spark between you and Roland... let alone Theresa and me, even that dimwit Freddy could probably see it. Only Roland, who always has 'strength' on his lips, would be completely oblivious..."
Mentioning the protagonist of his epic poem, Galvis's gaze softened slightly, his tone tinged with a hint of curiosity.
"Speaking of which, Avril, have you ever wondered... why Roland is so obsessed with strength, pursuing it with such near-maniacal intensity?"
He didn't wait for an answer, continuing on his own as if tracing the structure of a poem.
"At first, I thought he was just like any other ambitious man—either craving power to secure authority or trying to fill some void in his heart. But later, I realized... that wasn't it at all."
He let out a complex chuckle and shook his head.
"The way that guy increases his strength... it's less of a 'pursuit' and more like he's... fulfilling some kind of predetermined 'contract'? Or perhaps, a 'goal' he must achieve?"
"I've never seen anyone maintain such precise and unwavering focus on the act of growing stronger itself. It's as if his life is guided by an invisible trajectory, and he dares not deviate from it for a single moment."
Galvis stroked his chin, whispering in a tone that was half-joking, half-serious.
"Sometimes I even get this absurd feeling, as if... he's holding a 'scroll of fate' that we can't see, with clearly marked milestones he must reach, and he's simply following them step by step."
Just as Galvis was trying to use a joke to dispel the heavy atmosphere in the dungeon, the sound of steady footsteps broke the silence.
The footsteps grew closer, eventually stopping before their cell.
The newcomer was a tall, pure-blooded male elf. His silver-white long hair was neatly tied back, revealing a handsome face with sharp, well-defined features.
His emerald-green eyes were like a forest in early spring, carrying just the right amount of gentleness and concern.
A crown of woven branches, seemingly casual yet intricately designed, rested upon his brow, with a few silver leaves shimmering within its weave.
"Oh! Look who has graced us with his presence!"
Galvis immediately adopted his characteristic bardic flair, sweeping one hand across his chest in an exaggerated bow.
"The great Lord Tula Morningstar! Your arrival truly illuminates even this damp and dismal dungeon."
Tula, the elf, let out a wry smile of helplessness. He shook his head gently, his voice as smooth and warm as jade.
"Mr. Galvis, you know full well that your imprisonment here was a unanimous decision of the Council of Elders. I even argued your case at the council meeting..."
He sighed, his gaze sincere.
"So, I believe you really shouldn't direct your resentment toward me."
"How could I possibly harbor resentment against you?"
Galvis wore an impeccable smile, but his eyes gleamed with keen insight.
"I'm simply... a little curious."
His gaze slowly drifted to the exquisite crown on Tula's brow, his voice like the gentle pluck of a lute string.
"During my absence from Eversong Forest, how did someone as low-profile and humble as you manage to be unanimously nominated by the Council of Elders as the next successor of the elf race? And what methods did you use to make those stubborn old fossils... so utterly compliant?"
He tilted his head elegantly, his tone growing increasingly subtle.
"Also... what was your true purpose for traveling to the River Domain Nations not long ago? And—"
Galvis's gaze suddenly sharpened, though his voice maintained the characteristic rhythm of a bard.
"—what kind of persuasion did you use to 'convince' our ever-vigilant Miss Avril to return to Eversong Forest, and willingly walk into this obvious trap?"
He took a half-step forward, flashing Tula a brilliant smile through the iron bars.
"The answers to all of this have left me, a poet who records stories, utterly curious."
"Why not enlighten me today? I promise I will compose a poem for you that is... sufficiently magnificent."
After listening to Galvis's pointed words, Tula's handsome face remained impeccably gentle. He only shook his head slightly, a hint of helplessness in the gesture.
"It seems Mr. Galvis has a considerable misunderstanding of me."
His voice was steady and sincere.
"Rest assured, however, that your teacher has already lodged a formal protest with the Council of Elders. I'm certain you will regain your freedom soon."
With that, he averted his gaze from the bard and turned to Avril, who had remained silent. His eyes held a perfectly measured touch of apology.
"Miss Avril, the Council of Elders summons you."
"I regret to inform you that, given your past displays of strength, I cannot remove your restraints. I ask for your understanding."
As he finished speaking, he gave a light wave of his hand.
Two fully armed elf warriors immediately stepped forward, swiftly untying Avril from the stone pillar and re-binding her hands with specially crafted ropes.
Throughout the process, the two warriors deliberately avoided meeting Avril's eyes, their movements betraying a subtle, imperceptible stiffness.
The woman before them—once the pride of the Silver Moon Guard, hailed as a "Valkyrie"—was now being escorted away on charges of "colluding with the Drow."
This filled the heart of every elf warrior who had once fought by her side with a complex, indescribable emotion.
Avril offered no resistance, allowing them to lead her out of the cell.
But as she passed Tula, she lifted her eyes and gave him a long, deep look.
Tula gave a slight nod, then turned. His long, silver-white hair traced an elegant arc in the dim light as he followed the escort party, composedly leaving the prison area.
Galvis stood his ground, watching their retreating figures. The eyes that always held a smile slowly narrowed, his gaze as if trying to pierce through the receding forms.
Then, he slowly withdrew into the shadows of the corner, leaning against the cold stone wall, his eyes glinting sharply in the gloom.
"This Tula Morningstar..."
Too perfect. So perfect it was almost fake.
Whether it was his impeccable etiquette, his perfectly timed concern, or his unflappable responses to questioning, he was like a meticulously painted scroll—not a single flaw to be found.
"An elf who had almost no presence on the political stage of Eversong Forest before... how did he not only win the Council of Elders' nearly unconditional support in such a short time, but even get designated as the next leader? This could never be achieved through lineage or a few pretty words alone."
"If the teacher intervenes, I might actually be able to leave this dungeon... But that's probably all part of his plan."
"His personal appearance here—less a notification, more a silent warning... or a show of force?"
Galvis exhaled slowly, his fingertips curling unconsciously.
"And that... mysterious circlet."
He had a distinct premonition.
This seemingly gentle "Morning Star," with his hidden true face and schemes, was likely far more dangerous than Avril's bizarre "chosen" tale.
The cell returned to dead silence, with only the faint, distant sound of dripping water echoing in the darkness.
Galvis frowned, trying to piece together the known clues in his mind over and over.
Every fragment pointed toward some hidden truth, yet he couldn't connect them into a complete picture.
The severe lack of information shrouded his judgment like a thick fog.
He rubbed his temples in frustration, finally able only to exhale a ragged breath and temporarily suppress his chaotic thoughts.
Avril's safety was the most urgent matter.
Yet, no matter how he strategized, he could find no viable way to rescue her from the depths of this heavily guarded dungeon, under the watchful eyes of the Council of Elders and Tula himself.
The sheer disparity in strength and his own passive position were like invisible shackles, binding him firmly in place.
A creeping sense of helplessness washed over him.
He shook his head, his voice a low, almost sighing murmur that echoed softly in the empty cell.
"Roland... this time, I'm truly at my wit's end."
As the words fell, he raised his long fingers and plucked at the empty air before him as if strumming a lute.
Where his fingertips touched, faint, invisible ripples seemed to spread.
He closed his eyes, concentrating all his spiritual energy, and continued to whisper in a voice only he could hear.
"I just hope you're not... in a place like Mistland again, completely cut off by chaotic magical elements..."
(End of the Chapter)
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