51 - A Certain Village’s Meeting Room

The Einhel Republic—an elven nation said to have been formed by the gathering of multiple tribes known as “warrior clans.”

In reality, things were a little different, but officially, that was how it was presented.

There were towns called “villages” where forests had been cleared, and only trees chosen by the elves grew thickly around them.

They said, “We live with the forest, but we never said we would not alter it,” meaning that the humans’ idea of excessive nature worship was merely a misunderstanding.

In truth, nature was harsh, and it was the same for elves. Without reshaping it to suit their needs, it would be impossible for them to live safely.

Elves often called themselves “managers of the forest,” which was one reason why humans mistakenly thought of them as “guardians of nature.”

As it was a republic, the Einhel Republic had no monarch.

The nation’s policies were decided by a gathering of representatives of each clan, along with several departmental heads, known as the “Council of Sages.”

And today again, this Council of Sages convened with various representatives.

The agenda was about the recently appeared “Forest’s Nightmare” and how to respond to it.

It had already been ten years since the monster, commonly called the “Nightmare,” appeared—and the elves still had no effective means of dealing with their natural enemy.

“Hmm… so the number of casualties is twelve?”

“Are you not off by a digit?”

“Osba, what era are you living in? We’re already at the one thousand thirty-first.”

The elder called Osba tilted his head and said,

“Is that so?”

This was the meeting room reserved for the Council of Sages—a wooden chamber where twenty-four representatives had gathered.

Half of them bore aged appearances, clearly elves who had lived for more than three hundred years.

They were expected to bring wisdom as “those who had lived long,” but as some had lived too long, the proceedings often stagnated.

“Elder Odel, it is one thousand thirteen.”

“All of you are wrong.”

The elder called Odel laughed cheerfully.

“Elder Zebis, this is no laughing matter. I expect you to know the numbers properly.”

One of the still youthful-looking representatives admonished the three elders, but the offenders only stuck out their tongues like mischievous children, saying, “We got scolded.”

“In any case, we must increase our numbers again.”

“Indeed. Ah yes, you should urge your daughter to show you grandchildren soon.”

“Elder Osba, I have no daughter.”

“What? Then you must work harder at making children.”

At those words from Osba, both Odel and Zebis chimed in,

“That’s right, that’s right!”

“Our numbers have dwindled, so we must replenish them. That’s the work of the young.”

The three nodded emphatically as if they had spoken profound wisdom.

But since he was no longer young and already had a son, he kept silent, enduring their ramblings.

Before long, the three elders had derailed the discussion into chanting “Encourage procreation.”

This was supposed to be the Council of Sages—a meeting that decided the elves’ future.

“Now then, let’s return to the topic.”

At the words of the elderly woman, the three old men whose faces had warped slightly from laughter obediently nodded.

“The pressing issue is the ‘Nightmare.’ Unless we do something about it, our living space remains under threat. Does anyone have a good idea?”

“Lady Meinas, regarding that matter, what of the discussion to heal Lord Schvard’s injuries completely?”

“At this point, you still want to rely on that old man?”

Meinas, the elderly woman, sighed in exasperation.

She wanted the younger generation to take charge, but they were fledglings with no war experience, utterly unreliable.

She longed for someone to show leadership so that decrepit elders like herself would not have to oversee everything, but no such sign was in sight.

“Still, the only one who managed to fight that ‘Nightmare’ was Lord Schvard alone. If we are to slay it…”

“Regrettably, we can no longer rely on Schvard. And tell me, how long do you plan to depend on a 388-year-old man?”

At Meinas’s remark, the younger elves faltered.

She sighed again at the lack of ideas, but one representative raised his hand as if to soothe her.

“We have prepared a shrine maiden, so we still have some time. There’s no need to rush.”

“Kashial, did you create another shrine maiden again?”

“Yes, my daughter discovered someone with talent.”

“There’s no such thing as talent in a shrine maiden.”

Meinas snorted.

She welcomed more voices, but selfish ones were unwelcome.

Though it was good that opinions and proposals came forward amid the silence of the elderly, anyone who tried to seize power was unacceptable.

History had taught that establishing monarchy among elves was dangerous.

Many shared that belief.

So did Meinas, which was why the rise of the Zesato clan, who pursued power, was unwelcome.

Her eyes clashed fiercely with Kashial’s.

“So, we have time. Let’s work out countermeasures against the ‘Nightmare.’”

As the representatives of Kōnā and Zesato glared at each other, another spoke to shift the atmosphere.

The two leaned back in their chairs, folded their arms, and closed their eyes, choosing to watch in silence.

But the ideas that emerged were all unrealistic or lacked decisive power.

Some were so absurd they could not be distinguished from fantasies, showing how complacent the elves had become since the war with the Empire.

This had been the case since the “Nightmare” appeared—an example of how differently elves perceived time compared to humans.

To them, it was not “already ten years” since the Forest’s Nightmare appeared, but “only ten years.”

“What if we built something like the ballistae humans use?”

“Such a barbaric thing would never work!”

“What about throwing rocks?”

“Better to think of ways to pierce it with arrows.”

“Let’s set traps.”

“How many times have we failed already?”

At the same repeated exchanges, Meinas sighed again.

She was ready to resign herself to another postponement when the meeting room’s door was suddenly pounded on.

“Come in.”

Odel permitted the person outside.

Others shot him reproachful looks, but urgency allowed breaches of etiquette, though clearly tempers were running high.

“Excuse me!”

A young messenger, breathless, burst in.

The silent pressure demanded he speak quickly, so he rushed to Elder Zebis and handed him a letter.

“An urgent dispatch from the village of Ricor! They confirmed the death of the ‘Forest’s Nightmare’!”

The words threw the room into an uproar.

“How? How did they kill the ‘Nightmare’?”

Several representatives nearly grabbed the messenger in their frenzy.

But of course, the messenger knew nothing more.

“Hmm, so the ‘Nightmare’ was eaten by another monster.”

Reading the letter, Zebis recited its contents calmly.

“Eaten? Did you just say it was eaten?”

One representative who had nearly seized the messenger turned to Zebis.

“That’s what’s written.”

He replied, waving the letter.

Several rose to confirm it, and indeed, the message said so.

“So the report is wrong?”

“Surely it’s not a lie…”

Each voiced their doubts.

“We need more details. Who sent this?”

“No, more importantly, it means a new threat has appeared—”

The chamber fell into chaos until a sharp clap rang out.

Everyone fell silent, focusing their gaze.

At the center was Meinas Kōnā. Gathering their attention, she spoke firmly.

“First, we must confirm the truth. Summon the one who wrote this and have them give us the details. If there is also someone who witnessed the monster that devoured the ‘Nightmare,’ call them as well. Only after hearing the account should we decide how to proceed. For now, we know nothing about that monster.”

No one objected, and matters proceeded as she suggested.

Thus, the monster known as the “Genetically Enhanced Soldier” that appeared in the Fullretos Great Forest, former Imperial land, became known to the Einhel Republic.

Though some saw it as a new threat, none thought it could surpass the “Nightmare,” their old nemesis. Almost all present took the news optimistically.

“If magic works on it, then there is no problem.”

This shared belief spread so deeply that in the future, they would all regret having made a “grave mistake.”