118 - A Certain Elf’s Perspective (2)

“The survival of one’s species is the highest priority for any living being.”

My father never wavered from his argument that we must prepare for the coming day.

He insisted that the elves should possess some means of countering overwhelmingly powerful races or individuals—such as dragons. Naturally, such words provoked the council, who knew all too well what reckless pursuit of power could bring.

Now I understand why his position grew precarious when he even suggested employing other races—humans or monsters—as tools.

That led him into contact with an unsavory organization… who could have foreseen it would cost him his life?

“He did not die for his beliefs, nor did he perish after achieving his ideals. As his child, can I call myself such and not mourn that regret?”

Silencing them had been easy.

Neither the Committee nor the Council had anticipated my parents’ deaths. Having driven a member of a great clan to his demise, they had no choice but to accept our demands.

And since the Council was glad to quiet the Committee’s endless complaints, they tolerated my words.

All of it—within someone else’s palm.

My will had no place in it.

To be honest, my father’s ideology never interested me much.

As an elf, perhaps he was admirable; as a husband and father who neglected his family for research and factional strife, he was not.

Dragging Mother into his death only made it worse.

Still, I never hated him.

“To preserve the elven race, he gave everything—and died before his work could bear fruit.” That would likely be how people describe my father.

And I, the woman who used his ideology to gain her current position—that would be my reputation.

Even so, I’ve never wished to escape this position.

Back then, I was still naïve enough to think, perhaps there’s something I could do.

I hadn’t expected it to come to this.

Sitting by the window, I lost myself in thought.

When that “Nightmare of the Forest” first appeared before us, everyone had thought, “Just another troublesome monster.”

I had thought the same.

But as the damage spread, I began to wonder if my father’s “coming day” referred to this very threat.

Yet the outcome, as we know, was that the “Nightmare” was driven away by the Sword Saint.

At the time, reports claimed it was slain, though unconfirmed. Later, when it reappeared, it was devoured by another monster.

And that monster, they said, controlled it using a forbidden art.

Those were turbulent days indeed.

In the end, we managed to form a decent relationship with that monster—that much was fortunate.

But I also began to feel my father’s fears were becoming reality.

With back-to-back appearances of beings capable of endangering the elven race, I reached one conclusion.

“I see. To fight a monster, use another monster.”

Nothing complicated about it.

If individuals existed capable of threatening even entire species, then all we needed was to pit one such against another.

By then, my course was nearly set.

But I would need to prove that the monster Argos could benefit the elves.

Without that proof, my proposal would never pass the Council of Sages.

“Did you know this would happen, Father?”

His image surfaced in my mind.

I still don’t know what drove him so far.

I have no way of knowing what he learned, or what exactly he feared—not even the outline.

Too much time has passed.

I detest the indifference I once showed.

(If I had spoken more with Father… would I have known something?)

Someone in the Council once said,

“Perhaps an age of change is coming.”

From our informants in human towns came reports of mutated orcs rampaging in the southern Council-State.

Which could mean—after the “Nightmare” and Argos—a third threat had arisen.

The order didn’t matter; such coincidences could not be mere chance.

“I wonder if he’s read my letter yet…”

Somehow, I must bring Argos to our side.

Many were questioning this plan.

(I know. It’s far too dangerous.)

That monster possessed the power to devour even the Nightmare, and the intellect to manipulate elves.

Most of all, Argos’s learning speed was astonishing.

He absorbed language and culture from the ruins of the old Empire, imitated them, and displayed intelligence unbefitting the word “monster”—tempered with caution rather than arrogance.

(He’s likely grown more wary of humankind as a result of the knowledge he’s acquired. Judging from how he’s taught himself, that’s natural.)

If he continued to gain tactical understanding, how great would his threat become?

No—perhaps he already had.

(Open hostility is unthinkable. If that isn’t made clear, how many will die? Will it even stop at casualties?)

So I stood.

The Council of Sages was now in turmoil over the information we’ve brought.

A conclusion must be reached soon.

Before negotiations become impossible, I must unify the village’s will.

“Is anyone there?”

I called for a messenger.

Time was running short.

Driven by urgency, I walked.

And prayed this path would not lead to ruin.