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Chapter 6
“I don’t know how they ended up wandering into our territory, but surely their existence is precious to the beastkin as well. Isn’t this quite the opportunity?”
In games too, whenever such a chance arose, I always took action.
Sometimes I’d capture them as hostages and use them as bargaining chips.
Other times, I’d rescue them, earn their gratitude, and collect favors later.
Of course, I only chose the latter when the other party was kin—or someone I could call an ally in some way.
“If we save them, then the elves and the beastkin will be crossing a river we can’t come back from.”
Esyllia placed a hand on Eldmir’s shoulder.
“Er, even if relations between races are poor, harmony can be achieved if both sides put in the effort. Attacking just because the other is an enemy is not the only way. Think, Er. Think of how all the races lived in the First Age. How our ancestors lived.”
“…I wonder if the beastkin even remember that age, or if they’re capable of such effort.”
Esyllia smiled warmly.
“That is what true harmony means, to extend tolerance even for that.”
“That’s not harmony. That’s just bending to their will.”
“If I bend first, then the other side will eventually bend toward us too, Er. You called it an opportunity, didn’t you?”
She turned her gaze toward the beastkin.
“Perhaps it really is an opportunity. A chance to shift from violence to unity.”
Elves never initiated battle.
The elven way was always to match their opponent.
Thus, elves were known as a non-aggressive race.
Even if harmony led them into conflict, they never forgot the memory of the First Age.
And that was precisely why they had been the first race to fall—because they tried to harmonize with all others.
“Like in the First Age… is that what you mean?”
“Yes. Like in that time when all races lived in harmony and happiness.”
Delusional.
Just saving a few girls now isn’t going to magically mend centuries of enmity between elves and beastkin.
No—Esyllia probably just wants to save those girls, nothing more.
“That’s an illness, Mother. Not just you, but all elves. Among all the races, elves are the only ones who long for that era so desperately.”
There were individuals who reminisced or admired that age.
Some groups or organizations did, too.
But no other race clung to it as a whole. That was why elves were the first to fall.
“I don’t believe this choice will lead to anything good for the elves. Harmony with beastkin? They won’t even dream of it. The only reason I’m following your choice is simply because…”
Eldmir trailed off. For some reason, he couldn’t speak the rest of what was on his mind.
Why? He had only meant to say, because it’s my mother’s wish. So why couldn’t he?
Instead, he felt a faint whisper in his ears, telling him it wasn’t that, that he had another reason. The thought left his mind tangled.
It was only a fleeting thought, but enough to leave him unsettled. Countless other ideas flashed through his mind like lightning. What is this feeling? What is the thought slipping out of my grasp?
Eldmir swallowed his confusion and sighed.
“Let’s go. If we’re saving them, we need to heal that warrior immediately.”
He waited for Esyllia to descend first. Not only because he wasn’t fluent in beastkin tongue, but also because it felt wrong to casually approach those with whom they’d nearly come to blows a moment ago.
Reflecting on that, he realized he was still too soft. With a wry smile at himself, Eldmir followed behind Esyllia.
Such was this world.
One never knew when the moment would come to kill another—or to die oneself.
Even when this world had been just a game, Eldmir had experienced countless deaths.
He had to be prepared.
The beastkin, sensing Eldmir and Esyllia’s presence, bared their teeth and claws in wary defense. Their tails puffed up, low growls rumbled from their throats.
The wolfkin warrior, though barely clinging to life, forced himself upright, stiffening his tail.
Esyllia raised her hands to show she meant no harm.
“We are not your enemies, children of Kelga.”
Kelga—the beastkin’s god, the first beast.
“Do you think they understand the common tongue?” Eldmir muttered quietly.
“We are beastkin, not beasts, elf.”
“Ah.”
It wasn’t Esyllia who answered, but the wolfkin warrior himself, struggling to speak, each syllable forced with a labored breath.
Yet what truly shocked Eldmir was not the reply itself.
The warrior hadn’t spoken in the common tongue—he had spoken in Elvish.
A beastkin, speaking Elvish? Even a little? Eldmir found it not only surprising but fascinating.
After a brief hesitation, Eldmir lowered his head respectfully.
“My apologies, wolfkin warrior. I intended no insult.”
This time, he answered politely in the common tongue.
“……”
The wolfkin stared at him wide-eyed.
Even the catkin girls nearby hesitated, claws still bared, startled by Eldmir’s unexpected sincerity.
At last, the wolfkin warrior managed to nod weakly, still gasping for breath. The sight left Eldmir conflicted.
Had he really been ready to kill such helpless people just moments ago? Unilaterally?
“As long as you respect the laws of the forest, we will treat you as guests,” Esyllia said warmly.
The catkin girls exchanged bewildered looks, then all turned to the wolfkin warrior.
Seeing their sisterly unity, Eldmir almost laughed but quickly schooled his expression.
“What… scheme…?”
The wolfkin managed to rasp out. Esyllia lifted her hand.
“Athir.”
―Tch. This isn’t my specialty, the spirit grumbled, but still obeyed her will, gathering its power.
Light flared from its body, then a flame burst forth, flying into the wolfkin warrior.
The catkin girls panicked, scattering. One even lunged at Esyllia, mistaking it for an attack.
“Calm down, little… kitten.”
The girl was maybe ten years old at most.
Her wild strike was easily caught by Eldmir, who seized her wrist and restrained her gently. Even so, she had surprising strength for her size—perhaps fitting for a beastkin—but it was nothing compared to Eldmir’s.
Still, it startled him. Even a child of the catkin had this much raw power?
The girl shrieked and struggled, but Eldmir spun her lightly and spoke calmly:
“Look, child. We’re not attacking your protector.”
The flame that entered the wolfkin warrior burned steadily, but not like normal fire. It was the flame of a spirit—capable of burning only what it intended, even abstract concepts.
And now, it was burning away the very concept of his wounds.
Not searing flesh closed, but erasing the wounds themselves.
“Meow…?”
Realizing this, the catkin girl’s eyes widened. Her strength faltered, and Eldmir gently released her. She immediately scampered back to her protector’s side.
“Will you be able to heal him fully, Mother?”
“Not completely. The wounds are too deep. Even if the healing flame burns away all it can, aftereffects will remain.”
Of course. The healing flame wasn’t omnipotent.
“We didn’t come to harm you,” Esyllia said again. The wolfkin warrior, regaining a bit of color, caught his breath.
“…We accept your goodwill.”
The catkin girls erupted in protest, chattering nervously in beastkin tongue. Eldmir understood every word—as a reincarnator, he could comprehend any language, though he wisely chose not to reveal this.
After listening patiently, the wolfkin warrior replied in the same tongue, quiet but firm. The girls fell silent, uneasy but obedient.
Essentially, he said that without elven help, his life would end here.
Eldmir seized the opening.
“To leave this forest, you will need our help.”
“…And why should we trust you?”
This time, the eldest-looking catkin girl stepped forward, speaking in the common tongue. She seemed in her mid-teens.
“This is the elves’ forest. You are travelers within it. So long as the forest permits, you are our guests, and we are bound to treat you as such. That is our only purpose here—we bear no hostility.”
Esyllia’s calm words carried a gentle warmth that only she possessed. The girl’s wary expression softened slightly, though doubt lingered.
Watching her, Eldmir suddenly voiced a concern:
“You were fleeing from orcs, weren’t you? Then, what are the chances those orcs followed you here into the forest?”
Based on his past-life experience, Eldmir knew the odds were high.
For orcs to enter the elves’ forest meant they were willing to risk open war with elves—a suicidal act. Yet orcs were often fools.
He remembered, back when he played as an orc, that unless it was for full-scale war or reconnaissance, he never entered the forest. Even then, he only slipped in alone, careful not to be caught.
If caught? Death was certain.
Still, there had been times when hot-blooded young orcs had nearly charged into the forest recklessly—and he, as a player, had to hold them back.
Which meant, now, that the current orcs might also be unable to restrain their recklessness.
And that was the danger.
Most orcs, unless they were chieftain-level, were simply idiots.
