Mage Legend

Zilvra looked up and saw a tall figure descending the steps. The pointed elf ears were clearly visible, but he was dressed in the luxurious attire commonly worn by human nobles. From his voice, the accent of the Elf Language was still clear, just with a bit more huskiness.

However, his face was completely ruined, crisscrossed with scars like randomly dug ravines, leaving the entire face a complete mess. Zilvra secretly calculated the arrangement of those scars and discovered that the cracks seemed more like they were self-inflicted.

An elf who would take a knife to stab his own face now had the help of the Undead Magic Bead, possessing both madness and danger. Zilvra gently let out a breath and spoke in the tone of a Dark Elf: "Male reptile, is there no chair in this place of yours, forcing me to stand?"

Fyyian's fingers twitched as if they touched boiling water. However, his voice remained calm, a low tone echoing in the castle: "Young lady, I have always been busy with my own affairs and never had time to sit and rest, so naturally, I don't need any chairs. Frankly, I don't even have a bed."

"Then I hope today you can spare some time from your great 'affairs' to hear the advice of a potential ally." Zilvra said, "It's worth your time to sacrifice a little."

"If not for the dark aura emanating from you, the souls outside would have torn you to pieces long ago. Dying in such a manner, the living would eternally endure pain, suffering in Hell's flames, with only a despairing cry echoing in their parched throats. Miss, would you wish for that?"

"Put away your arrogance and pride, male!" Zilvra knew well that she couldn't show weakness to him at this moment. Since she needed to appear as a 'potential ally', she naturally had to show confidence and strength. She said, "The Undead Magic Bead once belonged to us Dark Elves, granted by the Spider Goddess to the devout First Family. When we used it, I wonder where your arrogance and pride were! Now, the Drow propose an alliance with you, yet you foolishly choose to boast in the presence of your sole source of power's master; I truly don't know what you're relying on. If not for the elves, I wouldn't waste my words with you here."

The man was momentarily stunned, then laughed — if the pieced-together expression on his face could be called a smile, Fyyian indeed smiled.

"Your words are more powerful than your weapons — at least in front of my undead army, that's the case," he said. "I'm quite interested in hearing what you mean by so-called alliance."

While Zilvra was narrating to the mysterious man about a non-existent pact, Lynch was sitting in the elves' small theater savoring the unique honey wine they offered.

The Elf Queen had entered a meditative state. She had used spells multiple times lately and was exhausted. Lynch wasn't able to meet Lady Hernfurry but received her message instead. All preparations were proceeding according to the mage's plan without any concerns. So Lynch rarely found the time to come to this small theater.

Elves love beautiful poetry and melodious music. In their lives, the small theater is as essential as balls for human nobles and bonfire celebrations for dwarves. A sentence describing elven life goes like this: These elves living in the branches spend one-third of their time creating, one-third singing, and one-third appreciating. The small theater is a place where they can do all three at once, naturally, making it very popular.

However, the shadow of the previous war still hasn't dissipated, and the threat from future undead becomes more pressing, leaving elves little leisure time to sing here. This theater named "Heather's Harp" was much quieter than usual. Many visitors here were only taking a brief break, unable to stay long. Now, Lynch's group was the only one truly able to enjoy some peace.

Soka was the most satisfied among the three, comfortably lying on the smooth white wooden table, cautiously burping. Elf Cookies were the most delicious thing she had eaten so far, as soft as cream cakes, yet more fragrant than fruit pies. Little Soka was like a greedy caterpillar, taking small bites of the Elf Cookies Lynch got for her. Even so, she ate more than her share and now could barely move.