Round 35: Zalidan

Miria was completely awestruck by the scene before her, ever since she woke up drowsily that morning.
The tribe named after High Priestess Yldris was nothing short of a well-organized metropolis. Shops lined the streets, bustling with people. The elves not only moved on the streets but also in the air, using buildings and trees as pathways as if walking on flat ground. Children of the Night Elves sat under ancient trees, enjoying the cool shade while chatting with them, playing, and learning from the knowledge they imparted. Druids, warriors, and commoners were all busy with their own tasks, though it seemed the priests enjoyed even more respect in this tribe—people kept bowing and greeting Alphens along the way.
The tallest structure in the center of the city was an altar. Compared to the tall buildings in other human cities, it was still a bit small, but for the nature-loving Night Elves, such a grand man-made structure was already quite remarkable.
Beyond the square in front of the altar and around it lay a small grove. The trees were not very dense, only enough to provide slight shade from the sun above. The only large house in the grove occupied almost the entire area. Upon closer inspection, it became clear that the so-called grove consisted of thick branches growing from the house’s corridors, stairs, railings, and rooftops. It wasn’t the house sitting in the grove—it was the house that had grown into a forest.
Entering the small grove, or rather, the large house, the serene atmosphere that Miria had felt most strongly in the Uther tribe returned immediately, as if the bustling city scene outside was just an illusion.
Anton followed Alphens solemnly, while Miria suppressed her curiosity and entered the house with him.
A small foyer led to a short but winding corridor. The wood grain on the corridor walls indicated that this living house was quite old. Some oddly shaped decorations hung on the walls, giving off a slightly eerie atmosphere.
After stepping out of the corridor, the view suddenly opened up, revealing a very spacious and bright living room.
“Welcome, esteemed Holy Warrior!” came a clear yet cold voice. The speaker stood by a window, with sunlight streaming in, making it difficult for Miria to see the elf’s face clearly.
“Respected High Priestess Yldris, thank you for receiving me!” Anton bowed, and Miria followed suit.
“Please, no need for formalities, my guest!” said the house’s owner as she stepped out from behind the window into the morning light.
Every Night Elf was an embodiment of beauty and nobility, but Miria had never seen one as beautiful as this. Her skin was like black jade, her nose was high, her eyes unusually large, and her pointed ears were even longer than those of other elves, stretching down to below her shoulders. Her ample purple robe could not conceal her graceful figure, and her proud and cold demeanor surpassed that of any elf Miria had ever met.
For a moment, even Miria, being a woman herself, felt a faint sense of love rise in her heart.

Anton took a step forward. For long-lived beings like the night elves, any circumlocution could only harm him, so he had already decided to get straight to the point: “I believe the High Priestess is well aware of the reason for my visit…”
“Yes, I’ve received Uther the Great Druid’s report,” the other party said, sitting down on a large wicker chair with an elegance that seemed unnatural for a creature of this world. “Saint Warrior Anton, and this one, the Divine Knight Miria!”
With that, Eirwen nodded slightly at Miria, who immediately bowed in return.
“I understand. As a human with a short lifespan, I have no right to offer any sensible advice to the wise elves. Even if I were to represent those other beings who live in nature and ask you to abandon your plan to summon demons, I assure you it would be a losing endeavor!” Anton grew slightly agitated as he spoke. In fact, he hadn’t expected to meet High Priestess Eirwen so easily, especially knowing her purpose.
Eirwen stretched out her hand and waved it slowly, gesturing for them to sit. Immediately, vines sprouted rapidly from the floor behind Anton and Miria, quickly entwining to form two seats of just the right size.
Turning to Anton, who had sat down, Eirwen said, “I remember you, Saint Warrior Anton. But I’m not sure if you remember me. It’s been over sixty years since we last met. Back then, you were just an eight-year-old child…”
“Oh! I didn’t expect you to remember that!” Anton showed a look of surprise and joy, though he wondered why she brought it up.
“That was the last time I left the Sleeping Forest to travel…” Eirwen rested her chin in her hand, seemingly lost in memories. “It was a very interesting journey!”
“Yes, my master often spoke of your help and guidance to him!” Was this woman trying to chat with me? Does she think this will make me leave, or…?
Anton sat on the wooden seat, stroking his beard and waiting for Eirwen to continue. Miria stared at her wide-eyed, though she had long known elves were a long-lived race. Yet the fact that such a beautiful woman was even older than Anton was hard to accept.

“I don’t deny that the pride of the elves depends to a large extent on our lifespan. We’re not inherently kind, but if waiting can eliminate our enemies, why risk our lives fighting shorter species over already scarce natural resources…” Eirwen stood up, looking out the window. Her slightly raised chin matched her words perfectly: “The Sleeping Forest is the homeland of our Night Elves. Our ancestors have lived here for tens of thousands of years. I admit the Night Elves have tendencies toward isolation and exclusivity, but we don’t completely dominate the forest or refuse to communicate with any other races. If I’m not mistaken, forty years ago, you embarked on an eight-year trial journey in the Sleeping Forest. Were you harmed or rejected by the Night Elves back then, or did we hinder your journey and cultivation?”

“No!” Anton’s voice grew uncertain. He almost knew what Eirwen was about to say, but he had no strength to stop her from continuing. “I will always be a friend and ally of the Night Elves. Not only have the elves saved my life many times, but what makes me even prouder is that many elves have become my friends. They’ve taught me many things—truths about the world that I might never understand on my own.”

Anton thought of the old druid Uther and began to feel the pressure and difficulties he faced.

“Then…” Eirwen’s voice suddenly rose in pitch, even taking on a harsh tone. “Why has our homeland been burned? Why have our compatriots been slaughtered? What have we done to deserve such treatment?”

“Hmm…” Older women are often more difficult to deal with than older men. They’re full of wisdom but often refuse to reason with you. “But, respected High Priestess Eirwen, a force that cannot be controlled may ultimately become a weapon to destroy oneself. I act not only out of my faith but also because I won’t allow too much harm to come to my elf friends!”

“And what’s your suggestion? Go negotiate with Agus’s noble mages—those selfish, deceitful, and treacherous shorter species?” Eirwen sat back down, her tone tinged with bitterness. “Or can you deal with Agus’s Construct Army that has already entered the outskirts of the Sleeping Forest? Holy warriors, no amount of lofty words can solve survival problems. When a sword is held to your neck, do you still care whether it’s a holy sword or a demon’s staff?”

This analogy made Anton frown.

“Regardless of length, all lives eventually come to an end. If we believe in what we hold dear, then even at the cost of our lives, we should defend it, right?” Mireia, who was sitting nearby, suddenly spoke up. Anton’s fingers twitched; he wanted to raise his hand to stop her, but he stopped himself. Eirwen turned to Mireia with interest. “I mean no offense, respected High Priestess Eirwen!”

“No, if you wish, you may continue,” Eirwen smiled; it seemed she liked this girl.
“But in the face of evil threats, we shouldn’t just sit idly by. Anything beautiful and good is worth defending with our lives, just as we defend our faith!” Miria continued, growing more radiant the more she spoke. “It’s just that evil creatures like demons really shouldn’t exist in this wonderful elven world. Though I’m not entirely sure yet, Mr. Anton must have his reasons…”
Eirwen glanced briefly at Anton, who sat upright, wearing the stern expression befitting an old paladin.
“I don’t doubt that you’ve come here with good intentions; otherwise, you wouldn’t have met me.” Eirwen let out a sigh so faint no one else could hear, then turned to Miria. “Using evil to fight evil, with goodness standing by and doing nothing—couldn’t that be a win-win situation for everyone…”
“Using evil to fight evil…” Miria pouted, looking confused. “I hadn’t thought of that, but perhaps you’re right…”
This girl was actually seriously considering such a thing! Using evil to fight evil—such an act was itself evil!
Anton shook his head slightly. It seemed memorizing doctrines thoroughly wouldn’t help this inexperienced girl much… In fact, it had never really helped him either.
Believing in justice was right, but justice wasn’t just about hiding behind doctrines—something that often couldn’t be understood merely through study.
“Then, have you made up your mind to carry out the ritual to summon demons?” Anton could no longer wait patiently.
“If we’re well-prepared.” Eirwen gave a slight nod to the two paladins, as if sending them off.
Continuing to talk to this stubborn elf was just a waste of time. Anton stood up. “That’s too unfortunate, but I’ll still do my best to persuade you to abandon this terrible idea!”
With that, Anton left the living room. Miria also stood up in a hurry, bowed, and left. Alphens, who had been standing by the doorway, smiled at Eirwen. Seeing her nod at him, Alphens turned and left as well.
“I’d better go out and stroll around. Staying here is too boring!” Forty-Seven in the inn grew annoyed by Freys’s endless complaints.
“Weren’t you waiting for the high priest’s summons? How can you just run off?” Freys widened his eyes as he watched Forty-Seven walk straight out of the room.
As he stepped outside the inn, Forty-Seven suddenly felt as if the sky had darkened all at once. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was a tall figure ahead casting a shadow, and he happened to be standing right in that shadow.
It was a massive gray bear. Which druid would play such a prank in this busy street?

Forty-seven reached out to touch the gray bear’s head, but the bear bit his arm. Shaking his head, Forty-seven used his other hand to grab the bear’s black nose. Instantly, the bear’s fierce expression turned to agony; with tears in its eyes, it released its grip.
“Your bear really lacks good manners!” Forty-seven said, shaking his bitten wrist, addressing the person on the bear’s back.
On the bear’s back was a proud male Night Elf. He looked down at Forty-seven as if he were an ant. Then he raised his head and gazed at the tall altar in the center of the city, his lips moving as if muttering something in Elvish.
Suddenly, a group of Night Elf warriors surrounded them. Their mounts were fierce white tigers, though it was unclear whether they were druidic transformations or real tigers.
“…” The bear’s owner waved his hand, and immediately the warriors raised their right hands. With the sound of blades being drawn, disc-shaped objects on their backs extended three blades each. The warriors waved their hands, and dozens of trident blades flew toward Forty-seven.
Amidst the inevitable onslaught of blades, Forty-seven disappeared, as if he had never been there.
When the trident blades returned to their owners’ hands, Forty-seven reappeared—standing on the bear’s back, with a fully assembled cannon barrel pressed against the bear’s owner’s back of the head.
“…” Even under such circumstances, the Elf remained silent. Forty-seven guessed he was either autistic or couldn’t speak Common at all.
Forty-seven tilted his head slightly; a blade swept past his ear. He grabbed the blade with his hand, forming a windmill-like shape with the three blades. Like other Night Elf weapons, it was exquisitely crafted. Forty-seven was immediately captivated by its metallic beauty but didn’t pay attention to who its owner was.
“Stop it! Forty-seven, that’s Lord Zalidan, the leader of the Night Elf warriors!” Anton and Miria happened to arrive at the inn at that moment. Seeing what was happening, Anton immediately stepped in to stop them.
“The leader? You mean this weakling? Stop joking!” Forty-seven placed the seized trident blade against the bear’s owner’s neck. “Are you used to greeting people with knives? Or do you want to claim it was an accident?”
The other party remained unmoved, as if Forty-seven were an being utterly beneath him—after all, who talks to an ant crawling by their feet?
Forty-seven jumped off the bear’s back. “Killing an Elf in their own tribe isn’t very wise. I thought I was a guest here, but it seems that old druid deceived me again.”
The Elf also jumped off the bear’s back. Only then did Forty-seven realize how unusually tall he was—almost as tall as Forty-seven. His lean but toned body didn’t seem to hinder his agility due to his height. His handsome yet resolute face wore a cold expression.

“Warlord Zalidan, this must be a misunderstanding. Though it may look similar, it’s definitely not a demon…” Anton explained, but Zalidan seemed unwilling to pay him any attention.
“So you’re an artificial being from the Uther tribe?” So this guy could speak the common language.
For the first time, 47 got the chance to look directly into an Night Elf’s eyes. Previously, the shorter elves had to lower their heads to talk to them. “So Night Elves can still show their eyeballs during the day. I thought all elves’ eyeballs were actually small light bulbs!”
At that moment, Curator Thelis stepped out of the inn. She made eye contact with Zalidan and then averted her gaze knowingly.
“It seems the Holy Warrior has already met High Priestess Yldrith—and returned empty-handed.” These words were clearly meant for Anton. Anton didn’t say anything, only stroked his white beard.
Zalidan jumped onto the bear’s back, and the group of elf warriors set off again. “Be careful, artificial being!”
“You too. Next time, let me stand behind you, and you won’t be able to leave so easily!”
Watching the warriors grow farther away, Anton turned to 47. “It’s uncertain whether you’ll even get the chance to stand behind him. Better not underestimate a Night Elf warlord!”
“My lord warlord, are you alright?”
Zalidan touched his neck. Even in this body, failing to notice that artificial being’s move and ending up behind him was a great shame for an elf warrior!
But now wasn’t the time to deal with such things. No matter how bad the situation, it was just a sacrifice after all.