Chapter 44

WHOOSH!

A piercing whistling sound slices through the forest air.

Each time that sound rings out, it is followed by a consistent rhythm, like a composed melody.

WHOOSH!

Following the wind, it carves a sinuous trajectory.

And yet, it moves with the speed of light.

An arrow flies from somewhere and directly strikes the bow of an elven archer. The bow breaks, and ribbons flutter in the wind.

Elven Village.

Having observed everything, the elemental reports the situation to Evelyn, the elf responsible for commentary. Evelyn raises her voice.

“Elowin Tarla’ak dances with flames! That makes eleven warriors eliminated already! The fastest progression in tournament history!!”

The Festival of Fairy Maidens is a contest that spans several days. Participants hide across the entirety of the forest, seek each other out, ambush, and the last warrior standing wins.

But already, nearly twenty participants have been eliminated. At this unprecedented speed, it seems the contest might end in just a single day.

Evelyn confirmed the remaining participants.

Ri-on of the Silent Wings.

Ailrin, the Singing Bird.

Irina, the Whispering Leaves.

…

…

…

Predictable candidates.

And one unexpected rock in the mix.

Arfia, the Playful Flower.

***

“Huff, huff… Huff…”

Irina’s labored breathing echoes loudly.

She hurriedly leaps from tree to tree. Her breathing was uneven and the hand gripping her bow was slick with cold sweat.

Perhaps because of this, Irina’s hand slipped while trying to transfer her weight using a vine. Instead of following a parabolic curve, she traced a straight line and face-first slammed into the ground.

THUD.

Fortunately, she landed on a marsh, so the impact wasn’t too severe, but her previously pristine face is now covered in mud.

Even mud got into her mouth, but Irina paid it no mind. The sound of rustling grass behind her made her hastily turn around.

An elf was slowly advancing, brushing aside the grass.

“Arfia…!”

Arfia, believed to be the first eliminated participant, turned out to be the one driving Irina into this predicament.

How?

There was no need to ask. A bright, bow-shaped light emanated from Arfia’s hands.

“What… What is that? There’s no way you could handle such power!”

Irina shouted out of frustration.

Arfia’s response was nonchalant.

“To be honest, I’m still unsure myself. Am I dreaming? Did I lose consciousness from too much pain?”

But it wasn’t a dream.

There was the proof—a shackle embedded in her soul, stained by his color, proving that this wasn’t a dream.

Lost in thought, Arfia pauses.

Irina, seizing the moment, manipulates the present spirits. WHOOSH! Taking advantage of the wind, Irina uses it to leap out of the marsh and shake off the mud in a spinning motion.

“SIGNAL!”

A call that seemed to give a signal.

From various hidden spots, Irina’s allies simultaneously loosed their arrows.

Dozens of arrows wrapped in wind converged toward Arfia.

A bombardment aimed solely at Arfia.

Not just to disarm her but to severely injure—something that could potentially endanger her life if accidents happen during the tournament.

The arrows transformed Arfia into a porcupine and the wind shredded her skin.

—That’s what should have happened.

“Huh?”

The arrows fired with great momentum were inexplicably suspended mid-air, defying all laws of physics.

Blocked by a barrier of wind that spread out from Arfia. The wind spirits invoked by the elves couldn’t penetrate the barrier.

“I’m not inferior.”

There was no trace of childishness in Arfia’s eyes. Instead, a fierce, crimson anger filled the void.

The tips of the arrows aimed at Arfia turn 180 degrees.

KEEEEEEEW!

A howling wind spins around, taking the form of a corkscrew cap over the arrows.

“Never insult that person.”

SPLOSH!

The hunched porcupine unfurls, sending arrows flying in all directions.

BOOM!

CLATTER!

“Ugh!”

“Ack?”

Without a moment’s notice, the arrows hit their bows directly. The wind increases its intensity. CRUNCH! The bows were shredded like a blender.

To the elves, a bow isn’t just a tool.

It is a link between them and nature.

Another self, forged by their spirits.

And that self was now gone without a trace—impossible to reproduce or summon back like a shadow clone.

“You! You…!”

“Thank me. If that person told me to eliminate elves, you’d no longer be here instead of your bow.”

“You traitor! Licking the boots of an inferior species! Have you no pride? Can you still call yourself an elf?”

“Repaying the trust of that person is my pride.”

If it was an order from Carami, she would achieve anything.

Arfia raised her head. Elemental spirits bowing to her as servants informed her of the forest’s every detail.

A towering tree reaching towards the sky, with a solitary figure perched upon it.

The last survivor of the Festival of Fairy Maidens.

“Ri-on.”

Arfia swiftly ascended on the wind.

***

After the start of the contest, Ri-on climbed up a tree.

From a high vantage point, the entire battlefield was visible. Read the situation, find a spot where the enemy’s attack cannot reach, and snipe.

It could be considered the basics of hunting.

“Hmm?”

Something felt off.

The position was set, but there was no prey.

Well, one prey was coming at full speed, moving as fast as a flat run. Ri-on’s eyes widened.

SWISH!

An elf leaping through the leaves, pulling the bowstring. This elf was unlike the others he’d seen before. The green wind forming the wings resembled that of a butterfly.

Not just aided by the wind, but integrated into it.

Arfia, cloaked in the wind of a Wind Servant, released her bowstring. The arrow of wind tore through the air.

Ri-on’s eyes flashed in recognition. The crisis-detection skills honed from his role as the captain of sentinels were unmatched. The force behind the arrow was insurmountable—not something his elemental could block. Acting quickly, Ri-on hurled himself down from the tree.

THUD.

Catching a branch mid-fall, he spun in the air and landed softly on another branch.

A gale wind approached.

Turning around, Ri-on saw Arfia flapping her wings, chasing after him. The wind blades created from her flapping wings sliced through the massive trees ahead like tofu.

“Ri-on! Stop running! Face me in battle!”

What madness is this?

This is no longer elemental magic or archery—it’s a natural disaster.

A butterfly creating a natural disaster.

A butterfly strong enough to cause a storm.

And Ri-on was right in the eye of a storm unleashed by a single man’s actions—atrue example of the butterfly effect.

Ri-on poured all his experience into fleeing, moving at full speed to escape the storm.

But, of course, a mere human cannot escape a natural disaster.

It wasn’t long before Ri-on was swept into the storm.

It was the day the flying elven warriors were completely defeated by a single slave.

***

Is this a festival?

No, it’s a funeral.

This village situation makes you think of a documentary.

Though outwardly it gave off a celebratory vibe, it wasn’t the case inside. All the elves had blank, expressionless faces.

All the warriors who participated in the tournament had become like Arfia. Meaning, none of them had bows anymore.

The weakest point in elven history, in terms of national strength.

However, someone always benefits from such situations. The master craftsman who created the elves’ armament smiled broadly.

If another race, the corners of their smile could have split their faces.

“Hmm, looks like I’ll be busy for a while.”

The craftsman entered his workshop with his hands clasped behind his back.

Before long, a ceremony was set up to honor the champion.

All elves, regardless of age, gathered together—forest sentinels, elder elves, and even their sovereign, the elf queen.

They numbered fewer than a thousand, yet with even the smallest elf possessing the strength of a formal mage or more, each of them was a walking battle machine.

And Arfia was the strongest of the elves.

If the elves were cannons, then Arfia could be compared to the Neo Armstrong Cyclone Jet Armstrong Cannon.

“How do I look? Fits me well, doesn’t it?”

Arfia, now adorned with a laurel crown bestowed by the elven queen, bounced back to Carami with a playful step.

The prize for winning the Festival of Fairy Maidens is officially named the [World Tree Laurel Crown], crafted from the leaves and branches of the World Tree.

Wearing it grants the spirit of the World Tree, reducing fatigue in elven slaves and increasing work efficiency—an in-game item.

It was also a symbolic object, marking the completion of Arfia’s complete liberation.

“Suits you well. You look like a princess.”

“Kyeh~Really? I was thinking it felt awkward and I might take it off, but I guess I’ll keep it on.”

***

That evening,

A humble celebration for Arfia’s victory took place, involving just the two of them.

The location was outside the boundary, in a shabby hut. This isolated and modest dwelling, much like a lonely island amidst a vast ocean, was where Arfia had lived.

“The home of the greatest elven warrior seems rather too plain for the title.”

“What… I guess you’re right.”

“How about claiming some kind of trophy for your victory? A grand palace even.”

“Forget the house. I seem to remember there being a tradition where champions receive a bow made from the branches of the World Tree.”

A bow that enhances the power of elemental magic.

A perfect fit for Arfia, who didn’t have a bow at the moment—likely due to the energy consumption of her wind servant.

“KYA~”

Arfia took a drink.

After the mark was etched, she fiercely disciplined the elementals, so she no longer feels pain. Although her body no longer needs alcohol, she couldn’t pass up drinking on such a good day.

Drinking during a good mood always tastes particularly special.

“This reminds me of when we first met.”

“Yes, indeed.”

Waking up to find herself drinking alcohol with an unknown man.

Did he say he would release her if she won the drinking game? At the time, it seemed like nonsense, but thinking back, Carami might have really let her go.

“Feels like it was just yesterday, yet so much has happened.”

Being kidnapped, becoming a slave,

Training, fighting against the dark elves,

Returning to the forest and participating in the tournament, only to win.

If calculated in human time, it hasn’t been very long, but from the elven perspective, who lives for a thousand years—it must have passed in the blink of an eye.

However, Arfia is certain: the few months she spent with Carami were far more valuable and precious than the hundreds of years she had spent alone.

“Hey, there’s something I want to say…”

So she wanted to say it.

A secret kept hidden from others.

Something she wanted to do with Carami.

Now that she had become a proper elf, she felt confident enough to articulate her thoughts.

“Hey… you and me…”

Her face grows hot. Was she tipsy already?

But she couldn’t back down now.

Since human life spans are so short, there was no time to waste!

Arfia closed her eyes tightly and spoke with great determination:

“Will you… form a soul pact with me?”

A thousand-year covenant made with those one loves.

A ceremony where two hearts are etched into each other’s souls by elves.

It could be only a few decades with Carami, leaving her to spend the long remaining years alone, but it was fine. After all, didn’t that soul shackle already prove something?

At first, she thought her soul had been corrupted, believing she could never share a normal love. Yet, together with Carami, there seemed to be no issue!

…

Silence.

Is Carami too shocked?

Or does Carami have no interest in such a bond? Or was this all based on her own misunderstanding? What if she’s overstepped?

Anxiety overwhelmed Arfia. Slowly opening her eyes, she noticed…

“Huh?”

There was Carami, forehead resting on the table, fast asleep.

The man who had once remained unfazed after drinking several bottles of strong wine had already passed out? Could he be pretending, unwilling to respond?

Arfia couldn’t comprehend this situation, but this time Carami wasn’t using any item—making it a natural outcome since his tolerance for alcohol wasn’t that high.

Feeling deflated, Arfia slumped.

Perhaps she should wake him up and confess again. But…

“I’ll do it tomorrow.”

There was still plenty of time.

It didn’t feel right confessing under the influence of alcohol anyway. She would do it again while sober.

Arfia gazed fondly at Carami, sleeping soundly, as if he were her beloved lover. She gently twirled one of his bangs with her finger.

In the tranquil predawn hours,

Arfia, who had been teasing Carami for a while, also dozed off. Thanks to the happy day and the wine, she slept with a bright smile, dreaming sweet dreams perhaps.

On the opposite side,

Carami’s sleeping figure stirred.

Slowly, Carami began to sit up.