After our tour of the capital—or to be fair, a very small corner of it—the afternoon came to an end in no time. Following our stop at the cosmetics corner of the mercantile district, we resumed our quest to find magical artifacts. And heck, we found some—an exciting prospect for Licht, given that artifacts often came in the form of swords, something he, as a knight, deeply valued. Unfortunately for him, none of the swords we found met the standards of a Dungeon Master as difficult to satisfy as he was. That being his standards, though high, weren’t unreasonable. As a high-ranking adventurer back in the Land of Men, Licht had access to the finest artifacts the human continent had to offer. It was no surprise that trinkets sold in open markets couldn’t pique his interest.
“Here I was thinking I’d find something interesting in the Land of Elves,” he remarked, clearly unimpressed.
Chuckling at his comment, I said, “Got baited by the usual marketing hype around elven craftsmanship, didn’t you?”
In the Land of Men, artifacts from other continents were always highly praised. Products tied to dwarven lands guaranteed unparalleled quality, especially in weaponry. Elven artifacts, on the other hand, were lauded for their enchantments, which were said to be unmatched. Yet, what we encountered here didn’t live up to the reputation. The weapons were poorly forged, and their so-called enhancements were weak—clearly the work of novice enchanters experimenting rather than experts producing masterpieces.
“That’s not entirely false advertising,” Aquaflora noted, “but you’re looking in the wrong place. You best seek the Ferron family for high-quality enchantments or craftsmanship.”
I nodded, smiling as a waitress approached the table at the restaurant where we decided to have dinner before heading back to the elder’s mansion. Since we still had a significant portion of our tourism budget left, we decided to splurge on a meal at this place. The restaurant, though tucked away in a discreet corner of the city, didn’t feel very discreet at all. Many of the patrons kept glancing at us, a sensation we had grown used to by now.
As the waitress left with our order—consisting of the most expensive dishes available—I turned to Aquaflora and Licht, thinking of a topic to break the silence. Finally, I settled on one and asked, “So, what do you think of the Umbryan capital so far?”
Directing the question to Licht first, I fixed my gaze on him. He echoed, “What do I think of it?” It wasn’t a tone of musing—he already had an answer but hesitated to give it.
“It’s unique…” he finally said.
Aquaflora nodded but could tell it wasn’t his full opinion. “Unique, sure, but anything else?”
“Anything else?” he repeated, casting a quick glance around. After another moment, he added, “Alright, but it’s going to sound harsh.”
“Go ahead,” I encouraged him.
“Alright. I think they all look alike,” he said, switching to a language only I and my fellow Dungeon Masters understood.
“That sounds exactly like something Goblin would say,” I noted, shaking my head.
“I thought so too,” Licht sighed.
“Wait, what did he say?” Aquaflora asked, clearly not following.
“Are you sure you want to know?” I teased. “It wasn’t exactly flattering.”
“I want to know,” she insisted stubbornly, though a hint of apprehension flashed in her eyes.
“Alright.” Leaning in, I whispered to her, “He said they all look alike.”
The glance Aquaflora shot at Licht proved his hesitation was warranted. Yet, while the remark was undeniably blunt, it wasn’t entirely wrong. While such words might better fit Goblin’s typically blunt manner, Licht’s observation was rooted in a certain truth.
Elves, particularly the Umbryan ones, do share many physical similarities. Their uniformly black hair, without variations in shade, their pale skin, and their distinctively shaped eyes—features they share with their Argyrian cousins—all contribute to their homogeneity. Yet, while these traits make them appear alike at first glance, each elf still possesses subtle, unique features. Calling them identical wasn’t entirely fair, but Licht’s point became more valid when one considered how their society’s values and traditions seemed to enforce that sameness.
Here’s the thing: while elves are very similar to humans—to the point that they can copulate and create fully functioning “offspring”—there are fundamental differences between the two sentient races. These differences range from their system interface to their reproductive methods. Yes, I said reproductive methods.
For humanity to reproduce, the presence of a male and a female is required. Elves, however, have an alternative. They can reproduce the human way, of course, but within elven families like the Umbryan’s, reproduction can takes on a different form. And by "alternative," I mean it’s not really a choice. If you belong to an elven family, you will be born that way—through the elven monarch’s sigil: the Ancestral Tree.
An Ancestral Tree serves more than one purpose. Beyond its role as a barrier, it can also be used to create life—elven life. Naturally, this raises many questions, especially for someone who grew up with a purely human perspective. But the system is simple: in a society like the Umbryan’s, when a couple wants to have a child, they approach the patriarch for a blessing. If the blessing is granted, an elven child will be born through the Ancestral Tree and handed over to the parents to feed, raise, and love.
This setup creates a peculiar dynamic. For the patriarch, every member of the family under his rule could be seen as his creation—his offspring, even. One could go so far as to view them as his desired clones, born from a power tied inherently to him.
From an outsider’s perspective, there’s something unsettling, even dystopian, about such a system. But from the inside, this must feel entirely normal. For the Umbryan elves, this system is as natural as the life of ants: the working ants and their queen. Though the comparison might seem harsh, it isn’t entirely off base when one considers what the patriarch gains from creating and perpetuating such a system.
My point is this: knowing how they are born, even if the Umbryan elves don’t share exactly the same face, you can’t help but feel like they’re all a product of the same source. They’re all spawned from one individual. In that sense, Licht’s observation wasn’t particularly insulting. It was a fact, albeit one shaped by his knowledge and preconceptions. Still, there was no denying his comment was somewhat indiscreet.
After glaring at Licht and then glancing around to ensure no one else had overheard, Aquaflora made a statement that took me by surprise. “I guess I can’t pretend I can’t relate.”
It took me a moment to quell my surprise. Once I did, I realized her comment made sense. Despite having lived in Quel'Thalas for hundreds of years, she’d seen the outside world. Most likely, she’d been shocked by it at some point. Prompted by curiosity, I decided to ask a question that had been lingering in my mind since our meeting with the patriarch and the envoys of the Argyrian family. “I’ve been curious for a while,” I began. “When Lee and the others found you, you were living near a village in Argyrian territory. That wasn’t always the case, was it?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You once lived in the Argyrian capital, didn’t you?”
She stared at me for a moment before asking, “How do you know?”
“When we met the patriarch,” I explained, “the Argyrian envoys stared at you in a way that made it obvious they either knew you personally or had heard of you. I might have believed it was the latter if I hadn’t seen how you recognized them.”
Now, here was the big question: how did they know each other? While no formal introduction had been made, it was obvious that as envoys, they must possess some measure of power to be granted an audience with the patriarch. A certain explanation came to mind, but the fact that Goblin had never reported this detail to me left me hesitant to accept it outright. If what I suspected was true, Goblin should have been able to figure it out. Yet, he hadn’t mentioned it. Then again, his apprehension toward Aquaflora somehow made more sense if I was right. What didn’t make sense was him not mentioning it.
“They,” she stammered, hesitating before falling silent as the waitress arrived with our meal. Once the waitress left, she sighed and explained, “The three elves back then were the second and advisors of one of the patriarch family’s clan leaders.”
Each elven family has its own naming system. For convenience, I often refer to the elven equivalent of a king as an elder, as they are usually old and battle-hardened. Among the Lunor elves, their equivalent rank is known as a clan leader. In this case, the envoys were the second-in-command and the advisor of an elven clan leader.
Aquaflora then went on to explain that their presence here, considering their respective identities, was tied to seeking help from the Umbryan family’s Patriarch. That much was obvious. But on a deeper level, it seemed obvious to her that they weren’t asking for help on behalf of all the Lunor elves. Instead, they represented their specific clan. After the Argyrian family patriarch’s fall to madness, the powerful clan leaders united under him had split politically, each trying to seize control of the population left behind. Like a ship without a captain, the crew stumbled over one another, steering the vessel toward several directions at once, yet going nowhere.
As Aquaflora concluded her theory about the current state of leadership in the Argyrian capital, I couldn’t help but remark, “You sure know a lot about Argyrian leadership.”
Licht nodded, clearly in agreement. She was too knowledgeable. Even if she had lived in the Argyrian capital, as she’d confirmed, that alone didn’t explain the depth of her insights. If I were to ask a random Umbryan in this establishment, I doubted any would know their own family’s politics as well as she seemed to know the Argyrians'.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“That makes sense,” Aquaflora said, almost nonchalantly. “I was once part of it, after all.”
---
After dinner, the three of us returned to the mansion where we were staying as guests of one of the Patriarch’s elders. Bidding Licht and Aquaflora goodnight, I retreated to my room. There, I found my thoughts drifting back to what she had revealed. She had once been something akin to an elder to the Argyrian patriarch. However, she had relinquished that status, unable to adapt to the elven environment, and ultimately chose to live where Goblin and the others eventually found her. It was a surprising development—one that neither Goblin nor Bortz had reported to me, likely because they hadn’t figured it out themselves.
I mulled over this new information, wondering how it might be of use, but my thoughts were repeatedly interrupted by a feeling of unease. It wasn’t something—it was someone. Glancing toward my door, I smiled and asked aloud, “Can I ask something? Am I dealing with an assailant?”
My words hung in the silence for a moment until a voice responded, “What if you were?”
“I would ask you to at least let me get my shoes. It’s not customary where I’m from to fight barefoot.”
The door opened, revealing my uninvited guest. As he stepped inside, I added, “It’s also improper for a male to enter a lady’s room without a proper invitation.”
“That,” he said, his tone calm and composed, “not bowing to equals, not fighting barefoot—that’s a lot of customs.”
“What do you want me to say? It’s another world out there. But since I’m in your domain, I suppose most of these customs shouldn’t apply. Wouldn’t you agree, Patriarch?”
The elf standing before me was tall, his long black hair cascading down his shoulders and back. Striking white strands interspersed the black, a unique trait not passed on to the elves he created. He wore a fitted crimson tunic adorned with intricate golden embroidery. His angular face, though calm in expression, carried an air of nobility and condescension. Towering over me, his gaze was fixed and unblinking.
Remaining composed, I asked, “What might bring the Patriarch to my room tonight?”
“I’ve come to visit, naturally,” he replied. “Wouldn’t it be natural for a host to check on his guests?”
Not at a time like this, or under these circumstances, I thought, though I kept that to myself. Instead, I chuckled pleasantly and said, “As you can see, I am fine. We’re having such a pleasant stay that we wish to tarry in your capital a little longer. Would you allow us to do that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he replied, his gaze unyielding. “You’ve not yet given me any reason not to.”
“I indeed haven’t, nor am I planning to give you any,” I said with a smile. My gaze drifted to a small table where a board game was set up. “Do you play, Patriarch?”
He nodded and invited himself to the chair Licht had occupied earlier that day. Rearranging the pieces for a game, I noted that I had the white pieces, leaving him with black. As the game began, he made the first move and asked, “What do you think of my capital?”
“As I said earlier, I think your capital is fascinating,” I replied, making my move.
Ignoring my comment, the Patriarch made another move and followed it with a pointed question. “I do not want that answer. We both know that’s not what you really think. I want to hear your true thoughts.”
“What I really think of it, huh?” I mused, making a move to the left. He promptly anticipated it, immediately blocking my path on the board. Wasting no time, I added, “Since you expect honesty, my answer is that I find your domain fascinating.” A smirk played on my lips as I attempted another approach in the game, only for him to block me again. “But I don’t mean that in terms of architecture, people, or even culture. No, I think it’s fascinating because of the grip one single man—what am I saying? One single elf—has over all of it. You.”
Elves within families such as his domain are given life by him personally. But there’s a reason for it—a purpose behind his actions. It wasn’t out of a desire to create a happy family. Elven monarchs, with rare exceptions, always end up building a family—a nation of sorts. The purpose is the same reason Cleon has his domain ruled by kings and nobles, and the same reason Seraphim spread their faiths. There are gains to be made here.
The first gain lies in the subjects, as we’ll call them for convenience. These subjects are linked to their monarch’s sigil, serving as a reserve of energy that the monarch can draw from in times of need. In other words, if the patriarch were to face a formidable opponent, he could draw energy from every single Umbryan under his domain. Similarly, the emperor can draw from his nobles, and the Seraphim from their devout believers.
That alone is a compelling reason to establish and maintain a family. But for elven monarchs, there’s an even more enticing benefit, unique due to the peculiarities of the system interface elves are privy to.
When an elven monarch “births” a child—because it is the monarch, not the parents, who conventionally go through this process—that child is bestowed with heightened potential for the sub-affinity the monarch has mastered. For example, if a monarch achieved their status by investing 90 affinity points into the “Earth” sub-affinity—a branch of the elemental main affinity—the child will have an enhanced chance of unlocking that sub-affinity or an adjacent one, such as “Water” or “Fire.”
This is particularly valuable to elven monarchs. Despite their elevated status, it’s not uncommon for an elven monarch to lack access to an adjacent sub-affinity. Without access, they cannot invest affinity points to create an additional ancestral tree, let alone merge it with their existing one to create a more powerful sigil. However, if someone else in their domain—one of their subjects—manages to unlock and master that sub-affinity, reaching the 90-point threshold to ascend to monarchhood, they can manifest an ancestral tree. At that point, the existing monarch can simply… acquire it. Is it stealing? Perhaps. But hey you don’t become or remain a monarch by being a good person.
“Where I come from,” I began, “monarchs have domains. We have oath-bound subjects. But we don’t have this level of control. We can’t.”
It can’t happen in the Land of Men because power is split between the emperor and the three Seraphim.
“You wish for something like this in the Land of Men?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious for the first time.
“I do,” I admitted.
He let out a soft “mph” of thought. “I thought humans valued freedom much more.”
“Oh, I do value freedom plenty,” I said, smirking. “I just don’t let others’ freedom hinder mine.”
My words earned me a difficult look from the patriarch, prompting me to add, “But well, I’m realistic enough to know that I could never achieve such control without defeating the current monarchs of the Land of Men.”
“So you admit it’s impossible for—”
“Not impossible,” I cut him off. “Just very difficult.”
The Patriarch sneered, his expression carrying a weight of condescension. “You earlier mentioned being realistic, and here I was, thinking for a moment that you were.”
“What is the Patriarch referring to? I’m a little lost here,” I replied, feigning ignorance.
“You talk as if the monarchs of the Land of Men are the first obstacle you need to worry about, but they’re obviously not.”
“Oh? And what is?”
Without a hint of sympathy, he dropped the answer, “Your mortality.”
The word struck like a blow, and I winced. “That’s a low blow, Patriarch,” I said with a bitter chuckle. “Where I come from, it’s considered unbecoming to speak of a lady’s age. But… you’re right.”
He was right. My greatest enemy wasn’t the Emperor, the Seraphim, or even the other monarchs. It was time—the limited time I had left. He knew it, and so did I. How? The answer was simple: when he appraised me during our first meeting, he must have seen the state of my Longevity skill and deduced my predicament from there.
Somehow, during this exchange, I hadn’t noticed the game we were playing had panned out into a checkmate state. Letting out a sigh, I leaned back in my chair. “As a monarch who has conquered the Spiritual affinity, how long do you think I still have?”
“Fifty years, perhaps twenty-five,” he said coldly. “It’s already a miracle you’ve lived this long with your Longevity skill being so low.”
“That’s grim,” I remarked with a bitter smile. “I was hoping for at least another hundred, or at the very least seventy-five. But I suppose it can’t be helped.”
Laying back in his chair, the Patriarch said, “I’ve heard about you, former Queen Arianna. I must admit, I’ve been intrigued for a long time, which is why I was eager to see you in the flesh. But when I did…”
“You were disappointed?” I interjected.
“I wouldn’t say that exactly. But I started to wonder: what you did to your fellow King and your monarch, was that an attempt to level up your Longevity skill?”
Well, if I’m not being torn apart over here? I wondered internally. Out loud, I said, “Would you believe me if I said I did it because I was simply working toward my dream?”
“So you’re saying you genuinely tried to defeat your monarch by yourself?”
I didn’t answer immediately, but the grimace on my face confirmed his suspicion.
“Then I’d say you’re a fool.”
“For going after my dreams?”
“For believing you stood a chance against a monarch. I’ll grant you that you’re strong and that your title board is impressive. But regardless, a peon wouldn’t stand a chance against a fully realized monarch.”
I’m being compared to a peon now? I chuckled internally.
“Even if you somehow won, with your Longevity skill being so low, you’d never reach the level required to replace the monarch you wish to usurp. What would be the point? You won’t stay long on your throne.”
His words stung, but they weren’t wrong. I didn’t stand a chance against Cleon, much less the Seraphim, and even less the Immortal and Eternal Emperor of the dwarves, who were now confirmed as enemies. I acknowledged that. That’s why, as a last-ditch effort, my plan was to lure Cleon into the Voidborne Catacomb, where I was confident Dungeon Master 00 would make easy work of him. Unfortunately, Cleon hadn’t taken the bait.
Raising my arms in a gesture of surrender, I said, “I recognize my defeat.”
He looked at me with a gaze that seemed to say, Why do I think that’s not the case? To preempt him, I quickly asked, “Now then, I think we’ve talked a little too much about me. Let’s talk about you. Let’s be honest, if you don’t mind the familiar tone. Since you’ve uncovered something so intimate about me, I believe we’re beyond formality. What I want to know is: what are you planning to do about him? Because he’s coming here.”
“Him?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.
“Yes. My sources confirm it. He’s sailing in this direction and will soon be upon you and your capital.”
“I am a monarch,” he said, his voice flaring with pride.
I’m not forgetting that, I thought before saying, “So is he. But I can see you looking down on him.”
His reasoning was understandable. As the apex of their respective affinities, the three monarchs of Quel’Thalas were equals in strength. However, he was failing to consider something critical—something he didn’t know existed.
“Do not make the same mistake as me,” I warned.
“With your monarch?” he asked.
“No. With him.”
At my words, his frown deepened. “You’ve fought him before?”
“Have I fought him before?” I echoed, rearranging the pieces on the board. “No. I wouldn’t call what happened a fight. More like a disagreement that could have developed into one.”
He studied me carefully, seeming to accept that I wasn’t lying. “When?”
“A little less than two hundred years ago. He’s far from a pleasant man, but he had the merit of being reasonable. I’m not sure that’s a principle he abides by anymore. As for his strength, he was already incredibly strong back then. So strong that I really didn’t want to fight him. I can only imagine how much stronger he’s become since then.”
Finishing the rearrangement of the board, I looked up at him and asked, “ another game?”