“Oh my god, don’t you think they’re too rude? The elves of the Northern Border can’t use healing magic? That’s your incompetence. We won’t associate with failures. Get your hand off me now!” The Leader raised his voice, as if he wanted everyone present to know just how unreasonable the woman before him was. His expression was like that of someone who had spotted a lunatic escaped from an asylum.
The Leader was a male elf, just like his old friend Melvas, though his face held a touch of youth. His eyebrows arched high upward, giving him the look of an orchestra conductor. The loose robes typical of elves revealed half his body—sturdy, toned muscles that were perfectly proportioned.
But no matter how striking his appearance, it couldn’t conceal his arrogance and malice. Clearly, prejudice had already seeped into his brain through some filthy channel.
Only now did a few patients who could still move lift their heads, gazing in confusion at the scene outside the tent.
“This doesn’t conflict with anything, sir. Their lives hang in the balance. Rather than demanding we withdraw right now, why not use Great Healing Magic first?”
Ailin released his hand, leaving clear creases on his clothes.
Yet inwardly, she felt a twinge of doubt.
She couldn’t understand why this man harbored such intense malice—enough to try driving her and the Winter Queen’s subordinates out entirely. Still, for the sake of the other elves’ safety, Ailin had compromised to a large degree.
Freed from her grip, the Leader shot Ailin a look of utter contempt and disdain, a cold and malicious expression she had never seen before.
“Damn barbarian elves from the Northern Border. What bullshit Winter Queen.”
“You… what did you say?”
Ailin clearly heard his words just before the Leader turned to enter the tent.
Her voice shifted from confusion to outrage.
The Elf Doctor, who had been forcibly dragged out earlier, patted down her robes and took a few steps back.
“I said you lot from the Northern Border are worthless trash. What about it?”
“You…”
Ailin’s eyes widened. She didn’t know what to say.
The Elf Kingdom had no laws against elves slandering one another, so those who prided themselves on rationality had no recourse against someone who trampled moral boundaries. The man before her was precisely that sort.
“Heh, Winter Queen? I’m not insulting her, but who else in the entire Elf Kingdom could make her vanish—or die? We’re just fooling ourselves!”
“What do you mean? Are you saying Her Majesty the Winter Queen framed the Elf Queen?” Ailin raised her own voice too, her emotions inevitably flaring under his relentless provocation.
“Heh, who knows.” The Leader stood with arms crossed, his eyes brimming with scorn. He gave a mocking laugh. “What, does Lord Elf Queen just enjoy playing hide-and-seek? You know full well—if we don’t find Lord Elf Queen within a few months, the Winter Queen ascends the throne. That’ll be your time to cheer and celebrate, you pack of lapdogs!!”
“But I was commissioned by Her Majesty The Winter Queen to search for the Elf…”
Ailin hadn’t finished speaking when voices erupted from every direction, every corner of the Refugee Camp, chattering like machine-gun fire:
“Still making excuses, you elven traitor! Don’t try to cover up the truth!”
“Exactly, Lord Aisifu—they deserve to die for hiding the facts!”
“Everyone knows the Winter Queen is ruthless. Has she finally struck for the good of the entire Elf Kingdom?”
“We’re just one piece of evidence away from branding her the infamous tyrant on the pillar of shame. No other killer possible—it has to be her!”
The unease, panic, and doubts buried in their hearts gradually twisted into seething anger under the fanning of the flames, all of it converging on a single target amid the sharp clashes of argument.
The place grew louder than a bustling market—a scene rare in the elegant Elf Kingdom.
Ailin glanced left and right, speaking cautiously. “But it could also be the beastmen…”
In the raging storm of voices, though, no one could hear the drip from a loosely tightened faucet.
This was Ailin’s first time feeling so utterly helpless. Something deep inside her seemed to be crumbling.
Unable to mount a rebuttal, she glanced at Melvas standing behind him. It was a familiar yet unremarkable face from meetings. Though an elder, he showed no inclination to take responsibility for anything. Rather, he seemed to have aligned himself with one side of this bitterly divided crowd.
What’s more, Ailin was only a minor general. The Winter Queen’s council of elders and the Elf Kingdom’s grand council operated on entirely different levels. They had merely crossed paths a few times before.
And so, she shifted her gaze to the Southern Border Elf soldiers, who had already received the blessing. They stood stock-still in place, without so much as twitching, simply awaiting the orders Melvas would bestow upon them.
In the rain, these golden-haired, noble warriors looked to Ailin’s eyes like passionless cadavers, devoid of any warmth.
She stepped forward and approached the old man standing resolute in the downpour. With a pleading tone, she said, “Lord Melvas, I believe we should honor the Elf Queen’s will. What she instilled in us was undoubtedly universal love. With your thousand years of wisdom, surely you can understand what I mean?”
Melvas simply shook his head, his voice heavy with earnest advice. “Child, the reason I don’t argue against it is precisely because I’ve seen far too much. Who is leading us? What will he give you? Why is he giving it to you? Those are the questions we should truly be pondering.”
“The lighthouse guided us down this path, its beacon lighting our way through every street and alley. But now, those faint stars are on the verge of winking out entirely. It’s time to blaze a new trail.”
The jeers from the crowd showed no sign of letting up, pattering down like the relentless rain. Even the wounded joined in the one-sided barrage of accusations. Voices in support of the Winter Queen were certainly present, but they were quickly buried under a fresh wave of curses, until nothing could be heard of them.
The soldiers brimmed with tension, swords half-drawn, as if the charged atmosphere might spark them into turning on one another.
Melvas’s voice was frail and aged. His eyes, squinted to mere slits, gave Ailin only a cursory glance before he turned away—whether in futile retreat from an impossible situation or in self-deluding acceptance of the way things were, none could say.
At last, tears gathered in Ailin’s eyes like raindrops on the verge of falling. She steadied herself, lifted her head, and asked, “Are you saying… you want to overthrow her?”
Melvas merely smiled and held his silence.
Ailin pressed on. “Do the other elders support this as well?”
“You should know this was the elders’ decision from the start, child. I was simply the most suitable one to come here. The other refugee camps are handling it the same way, naturally.”
“Is it because you can use Great Healing Magic to mend their wounds?”
“No…” He shook his head.
Ailin could no longer decipher the meaning behind Melvas’s smile, though his earlier expressions had still carried traces of kindness and benevolence.
“For mages, great magic—or more precisely, Supreme Magic—is closely tied to one’s cultivation level in the Soul Tier.”
“We are often exploited, forced to unleash spells with far greater range and potency than ordinary magic. This time is no exception, my child.”
“…However, I know nothing at all about Life Magic.”
