Chapter 475 - 435: The Arrogant Long-Ears

Chapter 475: Chapter 435: The Arrogant Long-Ears

The August sun pierced through the clouds, sweeping away the gloom that had lingered for days.

The sticky humidity was gone, replaced by the crisp scent of earth baking under the sun.

A convoy bearing no emblems sped along a trade route in the northern Sea Province. Although only a select few knew of Velin’s diplomatic mission to the Evergreen Council, the convoy had deliberately chosen this remote, old road that passed through the territory of neutral nobles to avoid trouble.

The wheels crunched and creaked over the gravel.

Caroline sat in the carriage, resting her chin on one hand as she watched the scenery recede outside the window.

The golden waves of wheat were sparse, but they were living plants, at least. In the distance, the mountains shimmered and warped in the heat haze, and a few wild hawks could occasionally be seen circling overhead.

’Is this... a date?’

Even though they were accompanied by twenty fully armed guards and a number of servants, with ten carts of silk, spices, and potions for a meeting gift trailing behind, this was indeed the first time she had traveled so far with Velin.

The Prince wasn’t here to be a third wheel, there were no endless account books, and none of those nobles who were a headache just to look at. As for Xiaolan? Caroline didn’t even consider her a worthy rival.

So, on this trip, it was just the two of them.

She stole a glance at the man sitting across from her.

Velin was leaning against the carriage wall, holding a thick sheepskin notebook. A quill spun rapidly between his fingertips. Sunlight spilled across the side of his face, making even the finest hairs on his skin clearly visible.

’This guy... even at a time like this, his head is full of nothing but calculations.’

"I’ll have to start charging if you keep staring."

Velin didn’t even look up as the tip of his quill struck out a line of text on the paper.

"Who... who’s staring at you!" Caroline was like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, nearly jumping out of her seat. "I was checking the road conditions! The road conditions, you hear? This route was a secret trade path that the Golden Sail Commerce Association used for smuggling... ahem, pioneered. I’m very concerned about whether the roadbed can support the weight of the carts."

"The roadbed is stable, just like the Haiti Duchy is now."

Velin closed his notebook and turned to look out the window.

"The Prince is a smart man. He’s probably finished distributing all that confiscated church property by now. The nobles who benefited from it are now more loyal to the royal family than anyone."

"You get what you pay for. It’s the way of the world." Caroline pursed her lips, her merchant’s shrewdness returning. "But what about the True Origin Sect? Can that hothead, Seras, really keep his people in line?"

"He doesn’t need to control everyone, just their hearts."

Velin pulled a crumpled flyer from his coat. It was printed with the True Origin Sect’s latest propaganda poster—a fat, pot-bellied bishop leaning over a shriveled farmer, sucking his blood.

Simple, crude, and effective.

"Hate is the best adhesive. As long as everyone still hates the church, the True Origin Sect is righteous. By the time that hatred fades, a new order will already be established."

Velin folded the flyer and put it back in his pocket.

"I’m less worried about things at home and more worried about our neighbors up ahead."

"The Evergreen Council?" Caroline frowned. "I’ve dealt with their peripheral merchants before. Those long-ears... how to put it? They’re trustworthy in business, but they always give you the feeling that they’re doing you a charity."

"That’s normal."

Velin spread his hands. "In their eyes, humans—a short-lived species with lifespans of less than a century—are no different from mayflies that live and die in a day. Would you discuss equality with a mayfly?"

"Then why are you still coming?"

"Because even though mayflies are short-lived, there are a lot of them, and... they’re very annoying."

Velin smiled and pulled a map from under his seat, spreading it on the small table.

It wasn’t an ordinary map, but a rough political sketch marked with the spheres of influence of various factions.

"I’ve done my homework. The Evergreen Council isn’t a monolith."

His finger drew a circle on the map over a large, green-colored area.

"Many people who don’t understand them think the elves are a single, unified whole, but that’s not the case. They’re more like a loose federation, similar to... hmm, like adult brothers who haven’t divided the family inheritance yet."

Velin tapped a spot in the center of the map.

"This is the Emerald Throne, the nominal leaders, the Moon Language Clan. They hold the legal authority of the nation, but their military power is limited. Compared to the other great lords, all they really have is the official seal."

His finger slid to the edge, to their impending destination.

"And here is the Ironwood Line. The lord here is Duke Angry Wind, a typical hardliner. He controls the Council’s most elite army and has never gotten along with those noble lords at the capital who do nothing but drink dew and play the harp."

"A land of rival lords?" Caroline raised an eyebrow. "Sounds a lot like the Empire’s situation before."

"It’s even more serious than that."

Velin leaned back in his seat, his hands clasped over his knees.

"The Empire at least had an emperor who could order executions. In the Evergreen Council, if the Lord Speaker wants to mobilize Duke Angry Wind’s troops, they have to argue about it in the Council for three months first, and even then, it depends on the Duke’s mood."

"And that is our opportunity."

Velin’s voice dropped, taking on a persuasive, magnetic quality.

"A board of directors that’s divided and at odds with itself is the easiest to leverage by a small, external shareholder. As long as the chips are right."

"Is that why you brought ten carts of silk?" Caroline gestured behind them. "To give clothes to those beauty-loving long-ears?"

"No."

Velin wagged his finger.

"That’s for the ’mascots’ to see. The bargaining chips for Duke Angry Wind... I brought those in my head."

The carriage jolted violently.

The light outside suddenly dimmed.

It wasn’t that night had fallen; the trees had changed.

The sparse shrubs and miscellaneous trees that had lined the road were gone, replaced by a world filled with a... suffocating green.

Towering, colossal trees.

Each one would take five or six people to encircle. Their crowns soared into the clouds, blotting out most of the sun. The air was so humid you could wring water from it, filled with the fresh scent of vegetation and a strange fluctuation of Magic Power.

They had reached the boundary marker.

It was a massive white rock, engraved with a line of text in both Elvish and the Common Tongue.

[Ahead lies the Realm of Evergreen.]

"Stop the carriage."

A cold, clear voice came from high up in the canopy.

Without any warning, three fletched arrows thudded into the ground two meters in front of the carriage, forming a triangle pattern. Their tails were still quivering with a hum.

The terrified driver yanked on the reins, and the horses whinnied uneasily.

Caroline pushed open the carriage door, but before she could speak, she saw several green figures drop lightly from the treetops.

They were elven rangers.

They wore close-fitting leather armor and leafy camouflage cloaks, and they carried longbows of an exaggerated design.

Even by human standards for an "Alien Race," one had to admit these guys were handsome.

The leading male elf pulled back his hood, revealing a head of platinum-blond hair and pointed ears. His skin was so fair it seemed to glow, and his features were as delicate as a doll’s, but his eyes...

...were filled with indifference.

The kind of indifference one has for a pebble on the roadside or a pile of rotting leaves.

"A human caravan?"

The elven ranger glanced at the convoy’s flags, his tone flat. "The short-lived species are not welcome here. Turn back, or die."

"We are envoys of the Haiti Duchy." Velin stepped out of the carriage and adjusted his collar, his movements calm and composed, neither servile nor arrogant.

He took out a document bearing the seal of the Haiti Council and presented it with both hands.

"We have come under orders to call upon Duke Angry Wind on a matter of great importance."

The ranger, who had looked impatient just a moment ago, paused.

He eyed Velin suspiciously, then reached out a leather-gloved finger and gently pressed it against the document’s wax seal. As a faint trickle of Magic Power flowed into it, the unique magical emblem of the Haiti Council on the seal gave off a soft, ethereal glow—proof of identity that could not be forged.

After confirming its authenticity, some of the contempt in the ranger’s eyes receded. He truly had no right to refuse an audience for a formal envoy from a Duchy on his lord’s behalf.

"Wait here."

He turned and whistled into the forest.

A moment later, a giant owl swooped down with a flutter of wings, snatched the document, and flew deep into the woods.

The wait wasn’t long, but the atmosphere was painfully awkward.

The rangers did not lower their guard, keeping their arrows aimed at the convoy. They couldn’t even be bothered to speak to the humans, simply gathering together and conversing in quiet Elvish, letting out occasional soft laughter that reeked of superiority.

Caroline bit her lip, her hand unconsciously resting on the shortsword at her waist.

’This feeling of being stared at like a monkey in a zoo is really infuriating.’

"Patience."

Velin’s voice, soft and reassuring, sounded beside her ear.

"Their arrogance is both their privilege and their weakness."

Half an hour later, the owl returned.

The lead ranger took the token the owl dropped—a wooden plaque engraved with a storm emblem.

The way he looked at Velin changed again. Though still cold, the blatant disdain had at least lessened.

"The Duke will see you."

He waved a hand. "Follow us. Don’t wander off, and don’t touch anything. Every tree here is older than your great-grandfather. You can’t afford to replace them if you break them."

The convoy set off once more, this time under elven escort, toward the destination of their journey—Moon Shield Castle.

The convoy traveled east for three days. After passing through the outer defenses, the scene before them opened up.

This was not a fortress in the human sense of the word.

There were no walls, no moat.

Countless ancient, massive trees, their roots and branches intertwined, formed a natural barrier. Exquisite wooden houses and covered bridges were built between their trunks, with glowing vines weaving among them like ribbons.

This was Moon Shield Castle.

They saw elven children chasing each other playfully among the branches, beautiful as porcelain dolls, their laughter crisp and clear. They saw elven artisans sitting beneath the trees, using Magic Power to guide vines and weave them into sturdy armor, their movements as graceful as if they were playing a harp.

Everything was as beautiful as an oil painting.

But in this painting, there was no place for humans.

As the convoy passed, the children stopped their games to stare at them with curious yet wary eyes. The artisans paused their work, covering their noses in disgust. A few female elves even backed away as if fleeing a plague, pulling out scented handkerchiefs and fanning them vigorously. The undisguised contempt in their eyes suggested that a single glance at this group of short-lived species would soil their noble sight.

"What a... friendly place," Caroline sneered, pulling the carriage curtains shut tight.

The convoy finally stopped before a magnificent treehouse hall.

The main doors were open, flanked by two rows of an honor guard in silver plate armor, standing at attention with their weapons.

Although they were an honor guard, they radiated a deadly aura.

These elven soldiers were all over six feet tall. The long spears in their hands glinted with a cold light; they were clearly not just for show.

An elf in a dark green robe stood on the steps.

He held a staff inlaid with emeralds, wore a standard professional-looking fake smile, and spoke fluent Continental Common.

"Welcome to the Ironwood Line."