Round 36: Sacrifice

At night, the Eldrith tribe became several times more bustling than during the day. Continuously, canoes carrying Night Elves arrived from all directions in this forest city. The glowing plants and animals seen in the Uther tribe reappeared, turning the city into a carnival-like scene as if a festival were underway.

Forty-seven wasn’t interested. He hid in his room, studying the trident he had taken during the day, pondering the best spot on his body to attach it.

At that moment, Freys slipped in through the slightly ajar door, carrying a blanket—like a ghost. A ghost with a big belly slipping through a crack in the door—which was already quite remarkable for Freys.

“If you can’t sleep because you’re scared and want me to tell you a story, I’m sorry, but I’m not free now,” Forty-seven said before suddenly looking up. “But if you tell me how to retract these three blades, I’ll consider telling you a story about seven little beads!”

“You still have the nerve to joke!” Freys said, his face filled with anger, though his voice was kept low. “I’m here to get you out of here. For the sake of the gods—whatever gods they may be—please leave this horrible place with me!”

“It seems you want a free bodyguard. And didn’t you say that without the guidance of an elf, no one can leave the forest?” Forty-seven touched a gem beneath the metal disc, and the three blades retracted with a clinking sound. “Besides, you’ve already lost the chance to hear a story.”

“Don’t you understand the situation? Something terrible is about to happen here!” Freys was so anxious that he was sweating, though his forehead was always oily. “These next few days are the traditional festival of the Night Elves to worship the Moon Goddess. I think the defenses will be lax. Please come with me, or we might never be able to leave!”

“What exactly have you heard or seen that scares you so?”

“Well… I don’t know, but I have a feeling. Please believe me—merchants have keen instincts! Please leave this place with me!” Freys stared at Forty-seven with his little eyes, like a lab rat trapped in a cage waiting to be experimented on.

But clearly, Forty-seven lacked compassion. Back in the spatial battlefield, he had launched virus missiles at the enemy’s position without batting an eye. Though that was mainly because he didn’t even have eyelids at the time, let alone proper eyes.

“At worst, I can summon a bunch of demons. Don’t worry, Mr. Merchant. There are many interesting creatures in hell, I assure you!” With that, Forty-seven continued to study his trident. “I suggest you go to the festival outside and participate in fun activities like catching fish or blowing up balloons. It’s good for your health, of course, if such activities exist.”

“Demons? How much longer will you joke with me! Well, as far as I know, the city is about to…”

The sudden knocking made Frees immediately shut his mouth and quickly shove the blanket under the table. It was Director Telis. “Mr. Forty-Seven, an envoy from High Priestess Yldris has come to see you—apparently to invite you to the festival. Of course, Mr. Frees too… What are you doing here?” “Ahaha! Well, I was just chatting with Mr. Forty-Seven, haha… Director Telis, today’s festival must be quite lively…” Whether from excitement or fear, Frees’s face turned red as he tightly clasped his hands together and rubbed them constantly. It must be because he can go to the festival to catch goldfish and blow balloons, Forty-Seven thought. “By the way, please don’t use the blankets in the inn to wrap your luggage and run around. You’ve already lost four blankets…” Telis gave this warning before leaving, leaving Frees alone, staring blankly. Although there were many elves on the streets, they made little noise. They flocked toward the altar in the center of the city. It was said that all Night Elves would attend the annual festival, but due to the war, the number of attendees this time was already small. By the time they approached the altar, Forty-Seven could no longer see Frees or the two holy warriors. Alphens, who was leading him, directed him straight to a large house behind the altar: “Please follow me. High Priestess Yldris wishes to meet with you alone before the ceremony begins.” “Is it a ritual to summon demons?” Forty-Seven asked Yldris directly. “No, today is indeed our Night Elf traditional festival…” Yldris observed Forty-Seven, who in turn observed her. So this is what a big ham looks like… “But why do you think I’m preparing to summon hellish demons?” “It’s obvious from your intentions.” “Hm?” It seemed even the wise Night Elves couldn’t understand such peculiar language. “I guessed it. Constructed beings have a strong sense!” “Hehe…” The high priestess smiled rarely: “I know a bit about your past, though not everything… I think hiding and deceiving won’t help you much, and it’s not in line with Night Elf customs. So please listen to my advice… How about we make a deal?” “Oh?” Forty-Seven’s red eyes flashed: “I like deals.” On the altar, the ceremony to worship the Moon and Star Goddess officially began.

What was placed on the altar as an offering was not some pitiful animal or simply the corpse of an enemy. Unlike humans, the Night Elves had never had such bloody sacrificial customs since ancient times—instead, they used strange flowers, leaves, and fruits. High Priestess Yldiris, dressed in a magnificent and almost elaborate sacrificial robe, faced thousands of Night Elves below the altar, looked up at the round and bright moon in the sky, and began to recite prayers in Elvish aloud with her arms outstretched. Her voice carried a strange rhythm. As she prayed, the altar grew brighter, accompanied by beautiful, ethereal lights—that were not fireflies, but as if the stars in the sky had gathered around her.

Forty-seven grew bored after watching for a while at this prayer ritual that resembled an opera soprano performance. In his long yet not overly long life, art and beauty had never had anything to do with him. After wandering around for a while, he met Fres in front of a tent beside the altar. Clearly, the dejected Fres had not found any fun activities like catching goldfish or blowing balloons.

“Mr. Forty-seven, why didn’t you go to the viewing stands? All the outsiders are there watching… although in my opinion, there’s not much to see…” Fres mumbled from a distance as he gazed at the Night Elves kneeling before the altar. Forty-seven snorted: “Faith can sometimes be ridiculous. What can you gain from doing this?”

“If there were a god in this world who allowed one to get rich effortlessly just by believing in him, would you worship him?” Forty-seven had planned to head back to the inn directly, but since he had found Fres, it was better to take him along.

“Of course! I’d have already beaten my forehead until it bled. It’s a pity there’s no such god!” The merchant shook his head, looking somewhat depressed. “Merchants are practical beings who value material things like money. Gods? Let those who need them worship them…”

“Mr. Merchant, you’re acting like a philosopher today!”

“Because my life might end today…” It seemed Fres was really about to cry.

Just as Forty-seven was about to say something comforting or sarcastic, the crowd erupted in noise; something seemed to have happened on the altar. Forty-seven and Fres looked up together.

Compared to the Night Elves below, Anton and Miria were even more shocked. The viewing stands were right above the altar, and everything that happened was in an instant.

Zaridan, who had been standing behind High Priestess Yldiris, suddenly pulled out a short sword and placed it across the priestess’s neck. At the same time, many Elven warriors appeared out of nowhere and quickly took control of all the priests present.

A coup?

Could there also be coups in Night Elf society?

Miria unconsciously stepped forward, but Anton gently pulled her back.

Yldiris silently stopped reciting her prayers—she couldn’t continue anyway. Soon, two Elven warriors stood behind her. Zaridan retracted his sword but still tightly held Yldiris’s wrist to prevent her from casting any spells suddenly. He knew very well just how powerful she was.

“What is the Warlord doing? Has he betrayed the High Priestess?”
“Zaladhan, have you gone mad?”
“What’s going on here?”
The night elves in the crowd began to stir, but they soon realized that the entire altar and the square beneath it were under the control of the Night Warriors. Leading them was none other than Telis, the innkeeper.
“People of the Night, listen to me!” Zaladhan began to speak. Although the square was still noisy, his voice managed to reach everyone there. “I am not trying to betray High Priestess Yldris, nor will I betray my race. I’m doing this to stop her plan to summon demons!”
After a brief silence, the crowd erupted into even louder protests.
“That’s impossible! Stop making excuses for your foolish actions!”
“How could Warlord Zaladhan lie? Could the High Priestess really have such a plan?”
“Nonsense! No one would dare violate such an obvious millennia-old taboo!”
“The High Priestess must have her own reasons. After all, we’re facing the threat of Agus, aren’t we?”
A beautiful smile appeared on Yldris’s lips. She gestured for silence, and soon the whispering night elves quieted down, waiting for their High Priestess to speak.
But Yldris didn’t speak right away. Instead, she turned to Zaladhan and whispered to him.
“Respected Warlord… I never expected you to stage a rebellion on the festival honoring the Moon Goddess… Aren’t you afraid of defiling her sacredness?”
“Speaking of defilement… Lady High Priestess, your plan has already defiled everything in our faith!” Zaladhan’s grip on Yldris’s delicate wrist was like iron clamps. “Telis has told me everything… I will never allow you to reopen the Gates of Hell!”
Yldris looked surprised. “How is that possible? I’ve never even thought of such evil plans… Weren’t it the previous High Priestess of the night elves who sacrificed herself to destroy the Gates of Hell?”
“Enough!” Zaladhan tightened his grip. “Respected Lady High Priestess, for the future of the night elves, I will not allow your plan to succeed… Even if it means sacrificing my life… Now, order that the defense of the entire city be handed over to my warriors. As for you and your priests, stay put for now—do not approach the Gates of Hell!”
“As you wish…” Yldris seemed unbothered. “But I must remind you, Warlord. If you don’t have a clever plan to deal with Agus, it’s better not to try to stop me… Without resolving this threat, the night elves have no future!”
“That’s not your concern…” Zaladhan’s face, illuminated by the moonlight, resembled a statue, full of masculine beauty. “The night elves have survived in the Dark Forest for thousands of years… Our will and strength will ensure our survival. As long as we can wield swords and have the courage to face our enemies… the night elves will never perish!”

Ildris looked at Zalidan and smiled helplessly.
“Oh… I could watch it over and over again… It’s truly full of excitement…” Daguras lay softly in her chair, clutching the magic book tightly against her chest, seemingly completely immersed in the battlefield records brought back by the memory orb.
The red-robed female mage gave her a disdainful glance before turning her attention outside—wind, still carrying traces of blood and smoke, blew across the terrace of the construct mage tower. The lush forests in the distance seemed like a shroud covering the land. The moonlight, like mist, covered the forests and the open areas alike, enveloping all the creatures fighting among itself under that moonlight.
Daguras rolled her eyes—her golden glasses reflecting a sly glint—“Oh, Moriel. It seems you’ve met an old acquaintance… Do you have any connection to that strange construct? He looks amazing… Isn’t this exactly the perfect warrior we’ve always dreamed of—untiring, flawless, and deadly decisive?”
“I have nothing to do with him,” the female mage replied, still gazing at the night. Her slender figure seemed somewhat lonely in the darkness: “And those shiny golden glasses of yours don’t seem to improve your vision much… He’s a half-pyreborn creature. It seems the dark elves have begun seeking special powers to resist us—a trend we must be wary of.”
“Hahaha~” Daguras laughed like silver bells as she held the magic book: “Half-pyreborn creatures… Well, whatever you say… That term really excites me… I wonder if Teacher Isabella would agree with you?”
The female mage suddenly turned around.
A flash of magic power and a sharp gust of wind appeared simultaneously.
Daguras stood in the center of the room. The chair she had been lying on had turned into a pile of grayish-white stones. Her magic book was open, with one page torn out. Tiny snowflake-like lights floated around her and the female mage, like countless drifting petals. A huge translucent scythe was embedded in the wall, slowly dissolving before turning back into a sheet of paper that fell to the ground, leaving only damage on her red robe and a long crack in the wall.
“I warned you…” the female mage’s voice was hoarse: “Don’t mention her name.”
“Haha…” Daguras bowed elegantly. The pages on the ground seemed to be drawn back into the magic book, except for the symbols that emitted a snow-like glow, missing from the other pages: “Baby, you’re too sensitive… But this time we used a lot of the latest weapons yet achieved nothing—we didn’t even manage to advance an inch. Maybe you should think about how to write a report?”
“Oh?” The female mage raised her beautiful eyebrows: “Shouldn’t the report on the battle results be prepared by the main commander?”
She walked past Daguras without even glancing at her: “If you’re asking for my advice—just write that our new weapons aren’t as useful as those idiots back in the rear think!”