Chapter 477 - 437: You Are Good, But You Are Only Human

Chapter 477: Chapter 437: You Are Good, But You Are Only Human

"I am," Velin answered calmly.

The Elf Knight, clad in dark gold armor, ignored Velin and turned first to Elrond at his side.

The Knight removed his helmet and pressed a hand to his chest in a slight elven salute to the high-ranking advisor.

"Lord Elrond, good day." The Knight’s voice was gentle and respectful. "I apologize for interrupting your official duties, but I bear an urgent military order from the Duke."

Elrond stared at the star-leaf paper in the Knight’s hand. Its wax seal was already broken, revealing the "Storm Sigil" that only Duke Angry Wind himself could use.

The advisor’s mind was reeling.

’A meeting?’

’Why?’

’How could the Duke possibly know these humans exist?’

A whirlwind of questions ensnared Elrond’s thoughts.

Ever since the Duke left for the Wall of Sighs front, all channels of information from the rear converged in his hands. The situation on the front was in constant flux; not even he, the regent minister, knew the Duke’s real-time location. Only the handful of Giant Eagle Knights responsible for direct communication knew his coordinates.

And yet, in yesterday’s routine report, he had deliberately erased all information regarding the Haitian Delegation.

His original plan had been to use cold shoulders, delays, and that humiliating treaty to drive away these short-lived creatures. By the time the Duke returned in half a month, it would be a trivial matter, long since dealt with and not worth mentioning.

He certainly had the authority. As the highest-ranking official left in charge during the Duke’s absence, he had the right to filter out such worthless "trash" on the Duke’s behalf.

’Especially this pack of despicable humans...’ Elrond’s gaze swept over Velin, the loathing in his eyes nearly spilling over. Thirty years ago, if not for a cowardly human ambush, his eldest son would not have died tragically on a border patrol. He would never allow these filthy, short-lived creatures near the Duke—not even for a single step!

’But now... what was this military order?’

’Who could have possibly gone over his head? A subordinate reporting in secret?’ The thought had barely formed before he crushed it. ’Absolutely impossible.’

Under the rigid hierarchy of the Evergreen Council, every elf was required to spend fifty years studying etiquette, then another fifty years mastering history and law, before finally being permitted to undertake duties befitting their station.

One could scour a thousand years of history and not find more than a handful of such madmen who would disregard hierarchy and defy convention.

"Captain Isarel," Elrond said, suppressing the storm raging in his heart as he attempted to dissuade the Knight in the tone of an elder. "Might there be some misunderstanding? These humans are merely..."

"There is no misunderstanding, my lord."

The Knight, Isarel, cut him off softly. His tone, though still gentle, was firm. He held out the star-leaf paper for Elrond to see; the Duke’s handwriting upon it was beyond doubt.

"This is a summons of the highest order. The Duke gave specific instructions that this human, Velin, must be brought to the front lines immediately. If you interfere, I will be forced to invoke wartime regulations and hold you accountable. Please do not make this difficult for me, my lord."

Elrond looked at the script, his expression growing darker, but he offered no further resistance.

Only then did the Knight turn to face Velin.

"Velin Klein, come with me. A Giant Eagle awaits."

Velin glanced at the stone-faced Elrond, lightly flicked his sleeve, and a faint hint of regret touched his lips.

"It seems we won’t be needing that signature after all."

East.

Ever eastward.

As the Giant Eagle soared over the endless Forest Sea, the scenery below began to change drastically.

The once-verdant forest gradually faded, giving way to vast swaths of charred, dead trees and dark red earth. A pungent stench of chemicals, decay, and ash filled the air.

This was the Ironwood Line—a true meat grinder.

Velin saw a massive fissure in the ground, dozens of kilometers long, that had been blasted open by the Mage Corps of the Holy Second Empire. The chasm was filled with twisted metal wreckage and stark white bones.

And on the other side of the fissure stood a magnificent defensive line, a mixture of living thorns, black iron, and giant stone. Countless war-treants, each twenty meters tall, stood like sentinels behind the line, their bodies laden with arrow towers and catapults.

Fortunately, they landed on the periphery of the battlefield.

The Giant Eagle landed in an open area before the command post.

There was none of Moon Shield Castle’s luxury here—only the grim reality of war.

The command post was a semi-subterranean bunker constructed from ironwood. A wave of blood-scent hit him as he walked through the entrance.

Duke Angry Wind sat at a map table at the far end of the hall.

He was even taller than the rumors claimed.

A mane of silver hair spilled over his shoulders. A vicious scar ran from his forehead to his chin, marring the inherent elven beauty of his face but adding a fearsome, intimidating presence. He wore a battered suit of Mithril plate armor, riddled with blade marks and scorches.

"Sit."

The Duke didn’t even look up, merely pointing to a wooden stump across from him.

Velin sat as instructed, his back straight, his expression as serene as if he were in his own study.

"The tactic on the note." The Duke paused, raising his head to fix his golden eyes on Velin. "’Use Flying Knights to climb to extreme altitudes, bypass the front line, and conduct a concentrated bombing run directly on the Empire’s rear logistics centers.’ An interesting idea."

"Merely a parlor trick," Velin said, his tone even.

"It is a parlor trick," the Duke snorted, tossing the note into a nearby brazier. "But slipping that note into my urgent military dispatch without anyone noticing—*that* is the real talent."

The flames consumed the star-leaf paper, illuminating the Duke’s inscrutable expression.

"Speak, human. You went to great pains to get here. What do you want?"

Velin produced an exquisite crystal vial and a piece of shimmering, iridescent cloth from his coat, placing them on the table.

"Your Grace," Velin began, "this is the ’High-Purity Mana-Replenishing Potion,’ newly developed by the Duchy of Haiti. And this is ’Mithril-Wool,’ capable of resisting third-circle evocation spells. I hope to trade these supplies for..."

"Enough."

The Duke cut him off impatiently.

He reached out a large, scarred hand, picked up the vial, and swirled it gently in the firelight. The purple liquid sloshed within the crystal, perfectly clear and without a single impurity.

"Well-refined," the Duke offered a frank assessment. "Much purer than the sludge those bungling Imperial Alchemists brew. This cloth, too. The craft of spinning Mithril thread is exquisite. It could certainly stop a few fireballs."

Velin’s heart skipped a beat. But in the next instant, the Duke’s wrist flicked.

The precious potion he had just praised was unceremoniously poured onto the packed earth at his feet. The purple liquid seeped into the ground, giving off a wisp of green smoke.

Seeing Velin’s stunned expression, the Duke didn’t even bother to explain. He simply tossed the empty vial back onto the table with a sharp CLATTER.

"But so what?"

The Duke uttered the words in a tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather.

He gestured behind him.

Several Druids in simple robes were gathered around a Moon Well, which glowed with a silvery light, filling flasks with its water.

"See that? Our Moon Well provides an endless supply of water with no side effects. Our Starlight Robes might not be much more durable than your Mithril cloth, but they are light, breathable, and..." He paused, his eyes glinting with arrogance. "Our Mages have been using them for centuries. They’ve grown accustomed to them."

"Your wares are good, human. But they are merely ’good.’ To the Evergreen Council, they are not necessities. They aren’t even worthy of being considered substitutes."

Velin’s brow furrowed.

’If the Duke had called it trash, Velin could have refuted him with data. But the Duke acknowledged its quality, only to deny its relevance.’

’Faced with the inertia of millennia, humanity’s paltry technological advances were not enough to spark any desire for change in the elves.’

Velin silently retrieved the spurned Mithril-Wool from the table, his movements still unhurried and composed.

"The supplies were merely a gift to open discussion," Velin said, looking the Duke directly in the eye, his voice steady. "The real deal is a strategic alliance. The Duchy of Haiti is suffering under an Imperial blockade. The enemy of our enemy is our friend. We can tie down the Imperial army on their flank, relieving the pressure on the Ironwood Line."

"Tie them down?"

The corner of the Duke’s mouth twitched into the barest hint of a smile.

It was the look an elder gives a child swinging a wooden sword, boasting that he will slay a dragon—a look of tolerance for naivete, but also of pure condescension.

"Boy, you think too highly of yourself."

The Duke rose slowly to his feet. His movements were unhurried, yet an oppressive presence, like a collapsing mountain, descended upon Velin.

"We’ve been fighting the Empire for thirty years. In that time, I’ve seen countless humans like you. You are greedy, short-sighted, and fickle. You’d make an alliance with me today, only to sell my secrets to the Empire tomorrow for a handful of resources."

He walked over to Velin, looming over him. The thick stench of blood was almost suffocating, but Velin remained seated on the stump, his posture perfect, his breathing even.

"In the eyes of an elf, humans are not worthy of being allies."

The Duke extended a finger and tapped lightly on Velin’s chest, as if testing the durability of some fragile object.

"You don’t even qualify as enemies. You’re just locusts."

"You breed too fast, consume too fast, destroy too fast. Wherever you go, forests wither and rivers turn foul. To the Evergreen Council, the Empire is a wolf that must be slain. As for your Haiti... you’re nothing more than a swarm of flies that hasn’t buzzed over yet."

"I don’t deny you’re clever, boy. You have courage and you have cunning. If your ears were pointed, I’d make you my chief advisor..."

The Duke turned, settled back into his massive chair, and waved a dismissive hand. The gesture was neither rude nor forceful; it was like brushing a fallen leaf from his shoulder.

"But alas, you are one of the short-lived. Unstable blood flows in your veins. I see none of this so-called ’credibility’ you speak of."

His gaze went past Velin, settling on the elven soldiers outside the tent polishing their weapons. "Even if I were to be swayed by your little trick and chose to pull you out of this filthy mire, my soldiers would not permit it. My people would never permit it."

"The conflict between humans and elves is more than this thirty-year war—it has spanned centuries. The bodies of their fathers are buried beneath every inch of this soil. This bone-deep hatred, this crisis of trust that has stretched for centuries between our two peoples, cannot be erased by a few cartloads of wool, a few vials of potions, or some self-satisfied tactical trick."

"Take your wares and leave. Do not set foot on my line of defense again."

The negotiations had failed.

There was no room left for negotiation.

This wasn’t merely a matter of interests; it had become a matter of irreversible historical inertia.

And yet, no trace of despair showed on Velin’s face.

He simply narrowed his eyes, his mind racing as he reassessed the situation. The arrogance was expected. The refusal was expected. Even this insurmountable racial hatred had been factored into his calculations.

Velin did not rise to leave. Instead, he leaned forward again, lowering his voice until only the two of them could hear, and made one final request of the imperious Duke.

Duke Angry Wind raised an eyebrow. A flicker of surprise crossed his weathered, scarred face.

"Very well."

The Duke nodded slowly and leaned back in his chair. He looked at Velin as one might look at an ant trying to topple a great tree.

"But it is futile, human."