■ The Outcast □
Before diving into the main story, we explained how we ended up here.
The declaration of war from Elven Wood and the information warfare in preparation for it, as well as the method by which we tracked her down to where she was hiding.
After hearing all the stories, she suddenly snapped her fingers as if something had just occurred to her, and looked at Dorothea sitting next to me.
“You’ve changed quite a bit since I last saw you. At first, I didn’t recognize you.”
Upon hearing that, I tilted my head in confusion.
“What was I like back then?”
“You used to give off a much sharper vibe… almost like a wild beast, if you will.”
“Wow, sorry for being so fierce back then.”
Clang!
After hearing Glinda’s assessment, Dorothea put down the beaker she was holding and curtly replied.
“I guess that means I’ve improved a lot now. Why are you being so prickly about it?”
As I said this while stroking Dorothea’s hair, she swatted my hand away as if annoyed.
“Hey, don’t touch my hair. It’s hard to fix afterward.”
While the two of us were bickering, Gabriel, who was sitting nearby, asked a question.
“By the way, why are you living alone in such a remote place? It seems like there’s some kind of backstory here.”
Glinda, upon being questioned, gave a wry smile before answering.
“I have nowhere to return to.”
“Return to?”
“I was exiled from Elven Wood because they claimed my overwhelming strength disrupted the harmony of nature.”
She said this calmly while looking at us with steady eyes.
Just how strong must someone be to get exiled from the Elf society, known for its conservative tendencies?
Out of curiosity, I asked her:
“If I may, what was your rank originally?”
After hesitating for a moment, Glinda answered.
“Originally, 8th Tier.”
I spat out the tea I was drinking right back into the beaker.
…That’s practically at the level of one of the strongest on the continent, isn’t it?[[#]]8th Tier.
In the hierarchy system, which consists of ten levels, the 8th Tier is among the uppermost ranks.
And I reached the 7th Tier, gaining abilities beyond normal standards, understanding that advancing through the tiers meant getting closer to godlike power.
In other words, reaching the 8th Tier essentially equates to becoming a demi-god.
“So, does ‘originally’ mean you’re no longer at that level?”
At my question, Glinda nodded and replied.
“After being exiled from my hometown, I deliberately lowered my own tier. Sometimes, having too much power can be toxic not only to the owner but also to those around them.”
“Is that even possible?”
The idea of voluntarily lowering an already achieved tier was unheard of.
“It’s difficult, but not impossible. And considering how rare it is for anyone to attempt such a thing, it makes sense that you haven’t heard of it.”
“…I see.”
Since someone better than me claims it’s possible, I decided not to press further and moved on.
Instead, I asked another question.
“How long has it been since you left Elven Wood? If you haven’t visited recently, you might not have the information we need.”
Glinda shook her head, negating my assumption.
“Though it has been quite a long time since my exile, the information from back then hasn’t changed much. Elves live anywhere from 500 to 1000 years, so compared to short-lived races, their policies and organizational structures change very little. At most, the Archon might have changed.”
“Archon?”
“The governor of Elven Wood, elected every hundred years. Only the most capable and honorable elves can reach the position of Archon through elections. They can serve up to three consecutive terms, but usually, influential families take turns.”
…So, roughly like a president?
It became clear that the elf society is quite different from human society.
We, until recently, still relied heavily on bloodlines to determine our kings.
Glinda pushed up her glasses with her finger and continued.
“The total population of Elven Wood, including children, doesn’t exceed 100,000 people. Due to rapid civilization development, the social structure has become polarized, and more elves are avoiding marriage, leading to a significant decrease in newborns. Even though elves were always considered a race with fewer offspring, this trend has exacerbated the population decline. Given their long lifespan, the effects aren’t immediately noticeable, but after a few thousand years, the size of their population will noticeably shrink.”
“Huh, I see.”
“And among them, about 3,000 individuals are combat-ready. Generally, the elven army functions more like a militia, but there is a mandatory service period of 30 years. During this time, eligible elves enlist and receive combat training from Equites (Knights) for 30 years. Afterward, there is a reserve duty period of 70 years, making a total of 100 years of service to the nation. After that, they receive a national defense pension.”
Everything sounds absurd based on elven standards.
A 30-year military service followed by a 70-year reserve duty period—I would’ve bitten my tongue and committed suicide.
“For now, this is the basic information I know. Is there anything else you’d like to ask?”
“How about the average combat strength of the Equites?”
“That varies greatly from person to person. While it depends on individual aptitude, Equites are selected from elves talented in combat and trained over hundreds of years. Naturally, they end up stronger than ordinary humans or even most demons.”
“In other words, they’re an elite few.”
“To put it that way, yes. Though for elites, they do have a relatively large number.”
I regret asking now.
If I hadn’t known, I could’ve fought blindly, but now I feel even more overwhelmed.
There’s nothing we can do but gather as much strength as possible before the actual battle begins.
I could already foresee our forces suffering heavy casualties if we clash with insufficient numbers.
‘If quality doesn’t work, we’ll rely on quantity.’
When we return, I’ll have to ask the Demon King if we can mobilize Orcs or Goblins.
We continued our conversation.
It was mostly Q&A style—me asking questions and her providing answers—but she made a sincere effort to explain everything she knew.
Though I appreciated it, given that our visit likely felt like a bolt from the blue to her, I wondered why she was cooperating so willingly.
Glinda smiled faintly when I asked.
“I’m no saint either. This is personal revenge against those who exiled me.”
“…”
This woman looks too gentle to squash even a bug, yet she harbors quite a vindictive side.
Dorothea mentioned earlier that she freely dishes out sharp criticism when something displeases her.
Looks like judging someone’s character solely by appearance is indeed unwise.[[#]]”Thank you for today. Your help has been invaluable.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Feel free to come again if you have any more questions.”
We left Glinda’s house late at night.
Given how mysterious the elven society remains, I had many personal curiosities that needed addressing.
Glinda offered to treat us to dinner, but I couldn’t bring myself to accept a free meal, so I promised to visit again next time.
As we headed back to the Demon King’s Castle,
Camilla, riding on Gabriel’s back, asked a surprising question.
“Lord Partarth, do you think we stand a chance in the war against the elves?”
It was unexpected.
Camilla had remained silent throughout my conversation with Glinda, barely speaking at all today, making her sudden inquiry all the more puzzling.
However…
“I think it’s fifty-fifty. The elves’ strength is formidable, but ours isn’t weak either. If we succeed in forming an alliance with the dwarves, our chances of winning will increase.”
There’s no need to be unnecessarily afraid before the fight even begins.
If the enemy is strong, we simply prepare more thoroughly.
As I gazed forward, replaying the information I gathered from Glinda today,
I could see the Demon King’s Castle gradually coming into view.
And far beyond it stood the colossal tree—the World Tree.
Our conflict with the elves was slowly approaching.[[#]]Nídavellir.
A massive kingdom occupying the eastern part of the Western Continent.
The primary inhabitants of the kingdom are dwarves, and commerce and industry have developed to an extreme degree, making it a capitalistic powerhouse.
For a thousand years, the king Motsozgnir has ruled the dwarves across generations.
And the current Motsozgnir, Dvergar, gritted his teeth as he recalled the blue dragon that had visited not long ago.
‘You mangy bitch, those are the gems I painstakingly collected!’
Greedy dragons have been exploiting the dwarves for centuries, acting as their eternal nemesis.
But how could the dwarves possibly deal with walking natural disasters like dragons? Every time a dragon came, they were powerless to stop it from stealing their treasures.
‘Those days of oppression and humiliation are finally over…’
Dvergar stared lovingly at the enormous weapon before him.
A decisive weapon crafted specifically to slay dragons.
The moment he laid eyes on this monstrous creation, he named it “Dragon Slayer.”
Its discovery was purely accidental.
An old vault containing unpublished designs by the legendary dwarf genius Nakamura was auctioned off, and being a huge fan of Nakamura, Dvergar immediately purchased it.
It might very well be one of the best decisions he ever made.
‘Gabriel, next time you come around, I’ll make sure to punch a hole through your massive body.’
Dvergar chuckled wickedly as he caressed the body of the Dragon Slayer.
