100

Dawn broke.

That said, it was still dim, and about three hours had passed since the elves had last cast their light magic.

I thought I’d limited it enough so they wouldn’t have to stay up too late, but some had kept watch over me without sleeping, so my consideration was wasted.

Since I had already asked, there was nothing to be done; once the lights went out, I simply gazed at the starry sky in a daze.

I picked up the book I had set aside — no point straining to read in the dark — and continued where I had left off.

Though I still wasn’t fully accustomed to the elven language, the books they had brought were mostly for children, so reading them wasn’t difficult.

Still, I was rather astonished that, seeing my appearance, an elf had decided to hand me “children’s books” as reading material.

(Well, true, I’d only been studying Elvish for a short while… but whether this kind of content could really kill time is questionable.)

If only it had been a little more literary, it would have felt fitting — but a monster reading picture books at night made for a rather horror-like scene.

So I wrote on a memo, “Do you have any scholarly books?” and held it up toward the elves secretly keeping watch.

After a while, a female elf nervously brought three books, set them just within my reach, and hurried away.

(That was Number Two.)

She didn’t need to be that afraid, I thought, watching with my somewhat more precise observational skills, improved by accumulated data.

Opening the books, I found they were about magic, mathematics, and agriculture.

I immediately chose the one on magic.

(Agriculture would be useful too, but that’s for when I have a secure lifespan. Right now, this is the most useful knowledge.)

So I began reading enthusiastically… only to find I couldn’t understand it at all.

(This wasn’t an introductory book. It was clearly intermediate level or higher.)

I wanted to slam it shut and say, “Who could understand this?” but restrained myself.

For someone like me, a complete novice in magic, it was too much.

I briefly thought, “If I read an introductory book, maybe I could use magic,” but whether the elves would allow that was doubtful.

Number Six might approve, but convincing outsiders of the clan? Not a chance.

Not wanting to trouble them too much, I gave up.

Besides, if asked, “Could an Imperial even use magic?” I would have to shake my head.

Plenty would say, “You won’t know until you try,” but nearly every Imperial had already tried once.

In their early teens, everyone searched things like “magic, beginner’s guide,” and gave it a shot.

Of course, it might have been wrong, so perhaps elven texts could have led me to the right path.

But this world surely wouldn’t allow someone like me to wield magic.

Since I was aiming to coexist with the elves, I had to avoid putting them at a disadvantage.

(Except for Dame Oppai. She doesn’t count.)

In fact, that bust should serve as the sacrifice to smooth relations between me and the elves.

Honestly, I couldn’t think of any other effective use for that low-spec elf.

I trusted in the elves’ wise judgment.

Still, I kept trying to glean useful information from the magic book.

Nothing practical for me, but I realized one thing: thanks to my connection with the one who bound me with control magic, I had no trouble understanding the magical terminology.

I had no intention of being grateful to that hag, but it was a nice side effect I could use.

After a while, I gave a small growl — “gwaa” — and shut the book with a thud.

I’d finished one, but the principles and logic still eluded me.

I could understand the meaning of the words, but nothing more.

The obvious conclusion was, “I need to start with an introductory text.”

By then the sun was up, and the good smell of breakfast drifted over.

(I wonder what elves usually eat…)

Naturally, I hoped they’d prepared some for their guest.

If not, I’d have to go hunting — so it was safe to assume they had.

But I couldn’t just gorge myself.

Even if it was my first civilized meal in ages, to eat like a beast would ruin all the credibility I’d built up.

As the saying goes, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” I needed to respect elven manners.

That would certainly improve Number Six’s opinion of me.

She was someone worth befriending; raising my favorability with her could only help.

I flipped through the agriculture book too, but with too many unknown terms, I quickly closed it.

Lying back and looking at the sky, I heard footsteps; an elf male emerged from the manor and approached.

Sensing him with my hearing, I set the book aside and turned my gaze to signal him to speak.

“What about food?”

He asked, keeping a cautious distance, close enough to handle things if needed but no closer.

I pretended to think, then took out my memo pad and wrote in Elvish.

Pinching the finished paper between my fingers, I showed him:

“The same as yours, please.”

He looked doubtful, then returned to the manor.

(Oh? Did they not plan to serve me breakfast? Or did they just not expect me to want the same?)

‘Well, either way,’

I thought, waiting for elven breakfast.

Curious about what they normally ate, I was a little excited.

After about fifteen minutes, they brought out bread, soup, and salad.

(…Seriously? It’s so normal I don’t know how to react.)

Maybe the taste was special — so I tried half of the tiny piece of bread that for me was just a bite.

It had a chewy texture, better than what I remembered of bread.

But it was too small.

I couldn’t enjoy the texture fully; overall, it was “about what I expected” — both as good as I hoped and disappointing.

Still, it was something I would have enjoyed back when I was human.

Next, the soup: seasoned lightly with stock from dried vegetables and mushrooms, plus salt.

With no spoon fitting my big hands, I drank straight from the bowl, but didn’t spill.

As breakfast, it was perfectly fine — but again, the portion was tiny.

I could have swallowed it in one go.

Finally, the salad: just washed and cut raw vegetables.

Also bite-sized for me. From this, I learned elves were light eaters.

(Oh… maybe when I asked for “the same,” they gave me the same amount. That explained his look earlier.)

I realized what his reaction meant.

Back in training days, even as a human, I could have eaten double that.

Now, in this body, it was more like a snack.

If my grasp of Elvish had been better, maybe I could have avoided the misunderstanding.

I finished the breakfast, but while it was my first civilized meal in a while, the portion was definitely too little.

Maybe I should ask for seconds — just to see how the elves would react.