Clearing the Game at the End of the World

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People often say that elves are closer to trees than humans.

Branches that extend from a giant tree called the World Tree.

A custom that prioritizes the consciousness of the World Tree and the community connected to it over the happiness of the individual.

Living a life close to a still life, not rushing due to their nearly century-long lives, and not enjoying stimulation.

Therefore, change is rare among elves, and once it occurs, it is said to significantly impact the life of that elf.

Just as a small scratch on a young tree becomes a large knot in a giant tree decades later, an event engraved in an elf's life becomes inescapable.

Therefore, Professor could not easily speak.

Her right arm and left leg were loosely empty. Around the one remaining eye, there were irregular scars intertwined like a child's scribbles on a drawing paper, and of the remaining hand, only three fingers were intact.

[Ah, child blinded by the light. Try telling me in front of me that humans and elves can live together amicably.]

Considering the meaning of her words, it wasn't hard to guess where those wounds had come from.

‘Human… it can only be seen as wounds inflicted by humans. And inflicted quite viciously. Considering what that deer bastard said before, if elves are treated too harshly as slaves, they wither away and die. That an elf has survived in such a state up to now… could it be spite? A grudge that takes priority over her own life?'

The atmosphere in the village wasn't so hostile, which he was internally grateful for, but an unexpected complication was present here.

‘…Persuasion might be difficult.'

Elves do not change. If one wishes to force change, they must either deliver a shock significant enough to carve away past turning points or elicit empathy… How can one surpass memories that have reduced a person to this state?

Plan B, that is, initially kidnapping and then persuading them to serve as a guide, also seemed quite unsatisfactory.

That elf matriarch, judging roughly, looked well over 65.

‘Those kids lingering around me earlier, who looked about 5 to 7 years old, were said to be 25. If I consider that to be about five times their apparent age… Madness. Isn't that a demon over 300 years old. That's why this village in the middle of the Blueline can remain intact.'

She hadn't shown any great abilities yet, and if one were to ask if there was any reason to be so nervous just because she was old, it would be because they didn't understand this town.

In GG, regardless of time and place, if there's an old man who looks like he can make a difference, it's a common saying to be cautious.

If he's a swordsman, he'd be almost a separate being in the game world, having succeeded in detaching himself from the world through decades of trial, wielding a ‘delete key' known as an aura;

If he's a wizard, even if he remains in a low hierarchy with crappy visualization, he would have accumulated mana worth decades, and his output alone would be on par with wizards two steps higher;

As for the spirit master, it's like ‘learning through each other' where the spirit master learns from the spirit and the spirit from the life of the spirit master. As this relationship continues over a long time, the spirit can read the spirit master's thoughts and react without any commands or directives. When they become as one in such a way, the spirit affinity increases rapidly, making it easy to summon higher-level spirits…

If an elf is 300 years old, they could probably communicate with a spirit king from a distance.

Kidnapping such an elf?

Probably the entire nearby mountain range would rise and bury our party in a spectacular display.

‘Petty issues like rights or a sense of crisis won't have any effect. Something big is needed, at least something significant enough to surprise the matriarch…'

No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn't come up with a way to persuade an old elf who had been imprisoned and tortured simply for being an elf.

As the silence dragged on, deep furrows formed on the matriarch's wrinkled forehead.

"You seem troubled."

"….The weight of the matter is as heavy as the years that have accumulated. It’s not easy to speak lightly of it."

"It has always been like that with your kind. Instead of simply saying you have come out of necessity, you twist and turn your words hundreds of times, enjoy speaking at length, and in doing so, often fall into confusion. If you have brought some thoughts, lay them out plainly. Do not try to deceive with a slippery tongue."

Damn. If I play games, I’m out. Now I can only act as a mere messenger….

But with such a stern demand from the other side, I couldn't just ignore it and start unraveling tales. Reluctantly, I pulled out a piece of fancy paper sealed with preservation magic from within and handed it to the matriarch.

"….What is this?"

"This is a personal letter from the archbishop, called the emissary of light. He is looking forward to a day when the ancient past will be corrected and the light will shine anew on all humanity."

"The church wants to correct the past…. Who?"

"….Excuse me?"

"Who is the emissary of light you speak of? Ashelion? Dematis? Or is it Cornelius?"

Who are those people? I'm not sure about the last two. Ashelion was…. perhaps one of the hero units in World 2 who went around bashing undead with a staff?

"….It’s Saint Norman."

"Norman, Norman… Ah, yes. Twenty years ago, when children arrived here, there were those among them who mentioned that name with tears of blood. When our children fled to the guards from slave traders, it was he who made the guards hand them over to the merchants, wasn’t it? That man… now he talks of reconciliation? How dare?"

Crack! Crunch!

RUMBLE!

As if in sympathy with her emotions, thick tree trunks grew inside the small wooden house, shaking everything around.

"No matter how much you bow your heads and speak of repentance, the branches that have already perished cannot sprout anew! Do you really think we can forget that blood-stained past and laugh and chat with you again? If that’s the conclusion the ‘most thoughtful race' has come to, it’s not just funny but utterly ridiculous! Elves do not forget! A piece of paper, a few drops of ink may hold power in your human territories, but to us, they only appear as an insult, trying to evade a gruesome past!"

Whoosh!

The personal letter from the bishop, held in the matriarch's remaining hand, burned to ashes before its seal was even broken.

‘Damn it! What should I do? What should I do! At this rate, I'll end up as fertilizer for this village!’

The roots grew wildly as the party members, sensing the grave atmosphere, began to prepare for battle. Seeing this, the elves drew their arrows.

At this critical moment, the image of Archbishop Norman, his eyes burning with the memory of his past sins, surfaced in Professor's mind.

A believer who was more devout than anyone else, leading the forefront of racial discrimination despite knowing it contradicted the will of God, bound by a guilt of his own making, yet never hesitating to move forward.

[If I ever return to the light and stand by Ro Haram, I cannot confidently ask if I lived as a tool fitting His will.]

What had moved him to step forward, unwavering even in agony? What had compelled him to act contrary to the doctrines he had believed in all his life?

The ground trembled.

"Speak! How will you repay for the countless bloodshed?"

There was nothing to gain for the bishop by doing so. His only aim was to prevent others from enduring the past he had faced.

"What we propose is… the future! A future where much more blood will be shed than the many tears and blood you have shed so far, a promise that the unchanged world will change if we continue on this path!"

Dududududu!

The matriarch remained unflinching amidst the immense trembling.

Her one eye sparked interest at Professor's words.

"The future, you say! Are you proposing an undefined future as compensation? Compensation for us who have been hunted for hundreds of years, who have suffered for decades under your ‘seedlings of light,' a worthless ‘future' promise? Do you think that makes any sense?"

Duduk, tududuk!

‘Uuuuugh!'

Her roar was overpowering. Like a rabbit before a lion, an instinctive fear in the presence of a far stronger being.

‘If I falter here… I'm truly done for!'

All diplomatic rhetoric flew out of his head. What came to mind was the death that awaited if he remained overwhelmed here, and the rueful eyes of the archbishop recounting his past.

"That's why we bring someone who can sign on this ‘worthless' promissory note! Those papers and few drops of ink that you say are worthless here, but conversely, in the human world, a single letter like that can start wars, making hundreds of thousands die without knowing why! If a few words can lead humans to discriminate against elves, then a few words can also reverse it! Why can't you see that simple fact even after experiencing it firsthand!"

"….Vain words. You're just trying to escape this moment! Do you have evidence? Evidence that these words aren't just coming from your head, but are a tangible reality?"

Crack!

"Evidence? Right, let's talk about evidence! It's right here in front of us! The fact that you are hiding here now is the evidence! I have seen with my own eyes a man who acted against his own emotions and beliefs, solely for the sake of others! The current state of you and the world is the result of his actions!"

The archbishop. He was just a believer who worshiped the light. Amid the countless tragedies that came into his life, he neither heard the voice of God nor found answers in the scriptures.

That's why he had decided to shoulder the sin himself.

Despite knowing he would suffer for his sins all his life, he acted without a moment's hesitation. He elevated the order to an unchallenged position with the support of powerful nobles and merchants, allowing countless believers, once considered mere tools of war by the aristocracy, to lead lives sustained merely by their faith.

The price for all these deeds was his own conviction—the cost of altering a scripture to proclaim, "Shine your light equally upon all people," thereby denying his life and faith.

This was not done for personal satisfaction. It was done to protect others, to reach out to those within arm's reach, to risk everything to change the world.

"Unforgettable, right? Yes! I've been through it too, I know! If we're counting the times cut, I'm hundreds of times more expert than you! Even having achieved my revenge, the faces of those bastards who cut off my arm and stored it in a glass jar are vivid before my eyes. How could I forget! Don't forget! I never told you to forget, and it would be impossible to forget anyway!"

The pressure felt like a rock pressing down on his body, causing his words to swirl futilely around his mouth. He needed to articulate more clearly, to convey his message more definitively.

Half walking, half crawling, he approached the Matriarch. Idrasil's arrow was aimed at his head, but the confused woman ultimately couldn't release the bowstring.

Thunk!

As he moved forward, his foot catching on the wooden floor, he finally managed to meet the Matriarch's remaining eye—the profoundly glowing, unfathomable, solitary eye.

"To not even think about forgetting, nor about revenge. If so, are we supposed to live like this? In such a wretched state? We, who have lived beyond the lifespan of your short-lived race."

"If you truly care about the branches of the World Tree. Your sacrifice might make a better world for many elves to live in from now on. This moment could be the starting point for that changed world."

"….Impudent human."

Thrum, thrum… thrummm.

The vibrations that had shaken the small wooden house ceased, and the oppressive sensation squeezing his heart vanished as if it were a lie.

After glaring at him for a long time, she sighed, her wrinkled face inscrutable.

"….As always. You humans twist your words terribly. Just bury my feelings and blindly cooperate for the future of the elves. You could have just said that."

"Ha! It was too heavy a matter to state outright. If you unravel it lengthily, it reaches the ears of the listeners better, and the speaker feels less burdened."

"Yes, it's a bit ambiguous…. But to go further here would be a bit too much for a test."

.

.

.

.

.

.

Eh?

"A test…. you say?"

"Yes, even though it's a small village, I too lead people under me. Did you think I, as a leader, don't know how to distinguish personal feelings from practicality?"

"No, just a moment ago the house itself was alive, moving, and the glare and killing intent in your eyes were so intense it was suffocating—"

"Then, as a hero of the grand Ro Haram Order, shouldn't you be able to handle at least that much? If it were a test, and they had sent a mere weakling overwhelmed by that extent, would it not mean that the Order's will is just that—feeble?"

Ssshhkkk—

Naturally, wooden limbs grew and attached themselves to the Matriarch's empty arms and legs, and she rose smoothly to stand before me.

"Shall I tell you an interesting fact?"

"….It doesn't sound like it will be very amusing."

"Elves do not easily exile their kin. No matter how much disgrace they might bring upon themselves with humans, or even if they bear a child with them, the Mother Tree always embraces its branches. Like new shoots on a wounded limb."

Huh? What? Wasn't this a gathering of elves who had been captured by humans and had suffered greatly, only to be rejected even by their homeland?

"Then, why…."

"Our essence has undergone too many changes to mix back into the Mother Tree."

Shrrrrr—

With a wave of her hand, the house's wooden tendrils dispersed, and the ceiling and walls were absorbed into the tree's trunk.

What unfolded before me was the vastness of nature as seen only from the treetops, with the forest’s life awakening to the rising sun.

The vibrations earlier seemed to have been caused by lifting the tree-based house upwards.

"Elves share each other's emotions and consciousness. We have become too entangled with humans—as enemies, companions, and lovers—and so we've become impurities that cannot blend into the consciousness. They may beckon us to return, but if we did, we would bring the unique chaos and unrest of humans to the other branches, hence we had to leave and settle elsewhere."

….My head was spinning strangely. This feeling. This infuriatingly familiar sensation. The mix of frustration and awe when I realized I had been tricked by President Young's schemes—could it be…?

"….Just to ask, where did all those injuries come from?"

"Ho ho ho. This one? I've roamed the world for nearly 300 years; do you think a scar originates from just one place? This eye… was damaged by an arrow when I was with the eighth prince who cried out to correct the empire. My arm was given to one of the seven deadly knights, the black undead knight, 70 years ago. And this leg that I lost is my pride! It was taken in place of the life of the great hero of the Princess family who quelled the uprising of the dead! She was such a dear fellow. Human lives burn out as quickly as they shine bright."

"….Well, among those injuries, were there any from imprisonment or torture?"

"Me? I am an elf who left the forest of my own accord. I had enough skills to earn the branches' non-worry. I've never once said that I suffered unjust hardships at the hands of humans, you thoughtful child?"

‘….I got played! Because it's a village of exiled elves, I unwittingly thought all those injuries were due to humans!'

The Matriarch approached with a surprised expression and patted my shoulder with her wooden prosthetic arm as if it were alive.

"It's been decades since we had a visitor, and I apologize for being so fierce all of a sudden. I'll make amends."

"No, someone who doesn't hold a grudge against humans…. Why would you act like that towards me? I mean, from what I've heard, you seem to rather like humans?"

At my bewildered words, the elder, with a face full of deep scars and wrinkles, smiled broadly.

“Well, it's an opportunity I've been waiting decades for; it can't end with just a small promise, can it?”

“…Yes?”

The elder, in response to my question, stretched out both arms made of skin and wood toward the vast rainforest.

“You clearly said it yourself. ‘To create a world where elves do not shed meaningless blood as they do now.’ You spoke of that priest who poured out his personal feelings and beliefs to protect the believers within his fold; it means you’re offering the same level of effort and dedication. Isn’t that right? Don’t even think it was just something you said in passing. Though it’s a small branch, the ground we stand on now is part of the real Tree of Life, grown from a branch of that very tree. Every rooted being in the world was listening to your words. Sometimes, words themselves have power.”

“!!!!”

Shhh—

I felt it. An unfamiliar mana that I had never experienced before seeped into every corner of my body and then dispersed without a trace.

“…Covenant?”

“It’s more like a vow to oneself. Don’t worry too much. It doesn’t force much, nor does it have negative effects. But if you find yourself lost in such confusion that even you cannot fathom your path… today’s vow might just gently take your hand. Ah, take this back. It will be more useful in your hands than in mine. As you said, though it’s just paper and a few drops of ink, it can change the world.”

Whoosh!

As flames erupted from the elder’s fingertips, the air wavered, and the archbishop’s letter, thought to be nothing but ashes, reappeared.

“You seem very confused, let me explain properly. I, El Farna, an ancient branch of the Tree of Life, standing at the end of the Mother Tree, swear. The branches of Caneran, after a long wait, will not reject the hand of man. We pledge to root ourselves in every land without discrimination until the day the Champion of Light seeks refuge with the Tree of Life, and until then, we will cooperate.”

As she finished speaking, the wind whirling around the tips of the giant tree’s branches twirled around her. A sensation similar to what had penetrated my body earlier. This too was a covenant. The exiled elves here, without any need for negotiation, had been waiting from the start for someone like me to reach out to them.

It was both ludicrous and incomprehensible, prompting me to ask.

“Why are you so favorable towards humans? After all, it’s the changes they caused that drove you from your homes to live in such harsh places.”

“Haven’t I said? Elves are beings of memory.”

Nostalgia filled the face of the elder, El Farna.

“Those who are hurt and bear grudges have returned to their homeland. They have grown deeply affectionate towards the Mother Tree and their community through the years of loss. There’s only one reason elves exile other elves. It’s when something becomes more important to them than even the Mother Tree or their precious other branches.”

“…Really?”

“Yes. All elves born in Caneran are half-elves. We’ve already deeply embraced human passions in our hearts and keep those companions in our memories. Now do you understand why the village branches have been so welcoming to you?”

With a playful smile on her face, Professor could only nod dumbly.

“Don’t try to understand everything. Sadness, joy. Resentment, nostalgia. It’s too complicated to entangle. Even for elves, it’s overly complex. Just think of them as elves who have come to love humans and can no longer break away, hiding here in this remote place but unable to forget their affection for humans.”

Now that I think about it, this elder, this elf, didn’t seem to have a single elf-like trait. From her manner of speaking, to her way of thinking, to her actions.

They had already become more human than elf. More complex than any other race, just like humans.

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