Round Thirty-Three: The Big Ham

Forty-Seven closed his eyes, cutting off all external sensations, and recalled his conversation with Uther last night.
“The messenger from High Priestess Eireldis has invited you to her tribe. You can set off tomorrow morning. The northern merchant Freys is there too…” Once again, Uther transformed into an owl and flew into Castor’s small cabin, driving him out as a guard, then sat down without the slightest shame and talked to himself. Forty-Seven was utterly bored by such utterly lackluster behavior.
“Who said I want to meet some Eir-what-dalis Big Ham? I want to stay here. You need warriors, and I need… Old man, don’t you have anything other than honey that can serve as lubricant?” Forty-Seven lay back in the chair, deliberately talking nonsense, feeling a sense of familiarity—not long ago, he had sat here the same way, with that old elf sitting across from him, talking nonstop, as if he had never left the Dark Elves’ village, and everything that had happened before was just the result of some hypnosis by that old guy.
“It’s High Priestess Eireldis… If the high priestess herself heard what you just said, you’d become the lubricant you need!” Uther said, fluttering his eyelids. His eyes, devoid of pupils, made it impossible to tell where he was focusing, but now his expression resembled that of a mischievous child making a face. “For a long time, the conflict between the Dark Elves and the Agus has remained stagnant. We still hold the upper hand in the forests, but in recent years, the Agus’ magically constructed weapons have advanced rapidly, causing us heavy losses. Recent battles have shown that their advantage has become overwhelming… Not only you—perhaps soon, my tribe and I will meet you at Eireldis’ tribe.”
What he meant was that perhaps this village would soon be engulfed in war.
Forty-Seven remained silent, tapping the table with his fingers. A wisp of green smoke rose rhythmically, and the wooden table was burned through by his fingers, though no flame could be seen.
“Perhaps after seeing you, High Priestess Eireldis will gain more confidence. She has been seeking greater power to fight against the Agus, even approaching certain taboos that the Dark Elves never touch…” Uther watched the green smoke drift into the air, then suddenly changed his tone. Forty-Seven’s head tilted slightly—this was the part that interested him: “Originally, we didn’t agree with her methods. Although Elven Warrior Leader Zalaydan still insisted on opposing her actions, to be honest, we’re actually confused now… The Elves can never compete with humans in a war of attrition, but Eireldis believes that even if the Dark Elves are destroyed, they must drag the Agus down with them…”
Damn old man. It seems I won’t get a clear answer unless I ask directly.
“Why would seeing me, the Big… High Priestess, give her confidence? What kind of confidence?”

“I’m old and can’t manage too much anymore…” Uther stood up, left his chair, transformed into an owl, and flew out through the window—seemingly never liking to use doors. “You’ll understand once you arrive at the Eldrith tribe. Go!”
Si Forty-Seven opened his eyes. The trees along the water’s edge and the occasional small animals rushed backward rapidly. The winding waterways made it impossible to tell direction—such things were better left to the elves. After all, no matter how vast the Sleeping Forest was, it seemed like their backyard, didn’t it?
An elf from the Dark Night tribe across from him was smiling at him as he kept rowing with his oar. This guy seemed familiar… In fact, to Si Forty-Seven, all Dark Night elves looked pretty similar. Though not to the extent that humans saw all mice as identical, it was still difficult for him, who wasn’t from their race, to distinguish the differences in their appearances.
It would be great if there were still image recognition devices, Si Forty-Seven thought to himself.
“Have you forgotten me already, Mr. Si Forty-Seven?” The other person greeted him with a smile, but his oar didn’t stop moving for a moment.
“Alphens!” After spitting out the name, Si Forty-Seven remembered that this was the Dark Night elf messenger who had once been held captive by the bandits in the Desolate Wasteland, later rescued by the holy warriors, and led them back to the forest. “Oh, you’re dressed so neatly today. I didn’t recognize you at first. When I first saw you, you were barely clothed at all…”
Si Forty-Seven intended to explain why he hadn’t recognized him, but his words made Alphens’ face turn slightly red, as if sunlight were shining on her face through a bright red flower.
“Filthy half-pyrenean scoundrel!” Miria on the boat behind him snorted loudly, sticking out her chin in disdain and urging the elf rower to slow down. She certainly didn’t want to get too close to that guy.
Si Forty-Seven turned his head. Though he didn’t understand what was going on, he pretended not to care.
“Actually, I’m also a messenger from the great High Priest Eldrith of the Priest tribe, inviting you there. I’m very glad you agreed to our request…” Alphens quickly regained her composure. Her slightly raised chin showed the eternal pride of the Dark Night elves, but she still wore a somewhat professional smile.
“It’s nothing. It’s not really a request. Maybe one day I’ll need your help too!” Si Forty-Seven was too tall to lie or lie down on the boat in a more comfortable position. Fortunately, sitting like this didn’t bother him either. “Also, don’t talk in such a roundabout way. ‘Big ham’ is just ‘big ham.’ Calling it ‘great big ham’ is overly wordy.”
“What did you say?”
“Uh, I mean, how much longer until we reach our destination?” Si Forty-Seven was surprised to find that he actually had an obsession with calling the High Priest “big ham.” The more he tried to avoid it, the more he said it, and the more he said it, the more he tried to avoid it. It was like a devil’s trap.

“Because it’s quite far, we won’t arrive until tomorrow morning.” There was still almost an entire day left. Anton took out a tattered little book from his pocket and began to read it with great interest; it seemed this old fellow was quite skilled at traveling. Miria propped her arm on the ship’s side and admired the scenery on both sides—truly a sight worth appreciating. The deeper into the forest they went, the less sunlight reached them. All sorts of strange yet magnificent trees and plants covered both banks of the river. More and more large animals began to appear on the riverbanks, cautiously approaching the water’s edge, guarding against predators while drinking from the flowing stream. They showed no fear at all of the Night Elves and Holy Knights on the canoes. Even a few colorful, unknown birds landed on the ship’s side, only retreating in fear and scattering when the canoe numbered Forty-Seven passed by. Forty-Seven grinned, his teeth seemingly moving as they made a slight sound like gears meshing quickly. “You say you’re a messenger? Why do you want me to go to… the Eldrith tribe?” Forty-Seven finally found a way to avoid making mistakes in speech. “Well, I can’t tell you exactly. It’s probably to ask for your help, to use your strength to relieve the difficulties our Night Elves are facing right now… In any case, I believe High Priest Eldrith will clear up your doubts.” It was as if he hadn’t asked anything. In fact, Forty-Seven didn’t expect to get any useful information from this seemingly professional elf messenger; he was just bored from the journey. The small fleet kept moving from one river to another, constantly changing direction, just like when first entering the Sleeping Forest. Without the guidance of Night Elves, it was really not easy to navigate through this forest. As dusk fell, the three canoes stopped on the shore. They would rest here and have dinner before setting off again, taking advantage of the night when the elves were at their best to reach their destination in one go. Although it was dusk, the forest was already so dark that one couldn’t see more than five feet ahead. Unlike the Uther tribe, which had countless glowing items for lighting, Miria almost fell into the river when getting off the boat. Of course, this posed no problem for the Night Elves. Kastor led the other elf warriors and disappeared instantly into the depths of the forest—whether they set up a perimeter or went climbing, it was unclear. They must have gone climbing, Forty-Seven thought.