In the Silvermoon High Court, inside the verdant elven palace, the young Elven King Aldarian sat upon an oak chair, staring blankly at the magic mirror before him.
Having witnessed hundreds of meteors plummet from the heavens to effortlessly obliterate the Githyanki army, Aldarian was at a loss for words.
For a moment, he had suspected it was a mere illusion.
Unfortunately, from what he knew of this lich, his lies were never displayed out in the open.
Everything he showed you, everything he patted his chest to guarantee, was undeniably real. His true deceptions were hidden so well that you wouldn't even notice you had been conned after the fact.
Unless this lich was intentionally playing reverse psychology, it meant the elves had vastly underestimated him before.
Aldarian looked to either side. Seated throughout the grand hall were the upper echelons of the elven race; practically the entirety of their elite had gathered here.
"Everyone, that lich deliberately showed us this. What are your thoughts?"
Silence fell over the room. The sight of hundreds of falling meteors was simply too shocking. While elves enjoyed long lifespans, those who hadn't lived through the Demonic Dragon War had never witnessed a spectacle of this scale either.
Yet with the Elven King asking, they had no choice but to bite the bullet and answer.
"Perhaps... we could add a little more to the magic materials we send him each year, to foster better relations."
Aldarian looked at the elf who spoke. He appeared middle-aged, but he was already eight or nine hundred years old. He served as the Silvermoon High Court's Chancellor of the Exchequer, responsible for the ten million worth of magic materials sent to Anbaixiu each year. By now, roughly half of the first shipment had been delivered in batches, so they could easily toss in a bit extra with the remainder.
Aldarian glared at the elf and asked, "All you can think of is throwing more money at this lich as a bribe? Have we elves fallen so low that we must fawn over others like this?"
"Well..." The old elf could not help protesting, "Your Majesty, most of our young and able elves have had their mana sealed. This is our weakest hour."
Aldarian let out a cold snort and retorted, "Do you think I don't know that? On my first day on the throne, I read through the roster of those suffering from mana addiction hundreds of times! I know exactly who they are, how old they are, and where they reside in the Silvermoon High Court! But their mana was merely sealed—they aren't dead! They can live normal lives without using mana! Are you treating all of them like bedridden invalids?"
Aldarian rose agitatedly and raised his voice: "Over this past period, I have been inspecting every corner of the Silvermoon High Court, and I discovered a grave issue! Just how have you all been caring for these mana addicts? Aside from telling them to get plenty of rest, do you know how to do anything else at all?
"Elves are sentimental by nature, and those afflicted with mana addiction have essentially been crippled. Telling them to rest—are you afraid they won't have enough time to brood? They are already wallowing in self-pity over the loss of their magic, believing themselves to be useless, and you actually leave them at home to rest as if they truly are good for nothing? Is there no work left to be done in the Silvermoon High Court?"
The elven dignitaries hung their heads under the scolding. None had expected this to ignite the Elven King's fury; truly, that lich was heinous beyond measure.
Under Aldarian's furious glare, most of the elves kept their heads down, not daring to speak. Young and lacking seniority though he was, this Elven King had already established his authority through his prior deeds. None of these old fogies had any right to pull rank or rely on their age before him.
Still, elves were a race of noble virtues. They held no resentment against Aldarian, for what he said made perfect sense. Under his guidance, they began considering new angles.
Soon, someone suggested, "We could assign tasks that require no mana to those sealed elves. If mana forging furnaces cannot be used, ordinary furnaces can still achieve results. Furthermore, alchemy and the cultivation of magical ingredients—much of that requires no mana either."
"Indeed. Though it may take far more time, it is far better than letting them become useless. Even without mana, we elves can still become warriors."
With someone breaking the ice, various proposals were soon put forward.
Aldarian did not speak again. Although many of the ideas sounded utterly fantastical and purely wishful to him, this atmosphere was far better than the lifeless gloom from moments ago.
The elven race had never feared crisis. Backed by the mighty Elven Gods, no matter what dead end they reached, as long as they preserved their pride, the elves would not perish. The only true danger was if the elves gave up on themselves, forcing the deities to bring down punishment.
Once their discussion wound down, Aldarian said, "You can deliberate on those suggestions later at your leisure. Returning to the original question: how should we respond to what the lich has shown us?"
This time, there was no silence. Someone promptly replied, "Your Majesty, in truth, we need not worry overly much. A few hundred Meteor Swarms are not insurmountable; our Silvermoon High Court also possesses an abundance of grand magic on that scale."
Aldarian countered, "How many days has that lich been at sea? And how many years did it take to build the magic circles of our Silvermoon High Court?"
"Well... we may lack the means to attack, but our defense is more than adequate. As long as the Silvermoon High Court stands, the elven race will have ample time to change everything."
Aldarian said with satisfaction, "Good. You are finally sounding like elves again. But do not overlook this detail: no matter how formidable that lich is, he could not possibly cast magic of such magnitude solely through his own power. Look closely at the accuracy of those meteors—it was terrifyingly high, which must be the power of a divination wizard.
"Then what could possibly support him in wielding such immense mana? Has nothing occurred to you?"
Someone immediately replied, "Your Majesty, do you mean... the Weave?"
Elves possessed a powerful innate talent for spellcasting; they were born with mastery over one or several cantrips, and becoming a wizard was second nature to them. The attendees were all elites, so they naturally caught on to many clues.
Though Anbaixiu had tried hard to conceal it, the surging torrent of mana that accompanied the Hundredfold Meteor Swarm had still left distinct traces.
Undoubtedly, something extraordinary was controlling this mana for him, forming a system akin to the Weave.
The Weave was the magnificent system created by the Goddess of Magic to pacify wild magic and allow wizards to cast spells with ease.
This lich seemed to possess a Weave of his own.
This aligned with the conclusion the elves had reached when attempting reverse-engineering earlier: the seal placed on those suffering from mana addiction closely resembled a miniature Weave, allowing the afflicted to balance their runaway mana.
Yet their reverse-engineering efforts had made little headway. They knew the sealing scrolls utilized this principle, but as to the specific details and how it was actually applied, the elves remained completely in the dark.
Aldarian said, "I can be certain this lich has once again acquired some forbidden knowledge, very likely from some deity. And given his character, so long as the gold coins are plentiful enough, he would bundle himself up and sell himself. Everyone, prepare yourselves well. The continent will soon face war. In whatever form it takes, we must protect the elven race."
All the elves rose to their feet and responded in unison.
Aldarian waved his hand to dismiss the assembly, then closed his eyes to rest his mind.
Before long, a white-haired elder stepped inside. This was Aldarian's grandfather, the former Elven King Hildas.
"Well done. You are far better suited to be the king of the elves than either Catherine or myself," Hildas said with a sigh of emotion.
Aldarian did not open his eyes, merely replying with a look of exhaustion, "Suitability means nothing; it remains an uphill battle regardless. Grandfather, we do not know what kind of future we will face, and the gods refuse to grant me even the slightest hint.
"I cannot fathom it. Since that lich dealt with the Githyanki, I imagine the dragons overseas won't pose a problem either. Then where does the trouble lie? With a lich constantly running around saving the world, what else could possibly plunge it into total ruin? Grandfather, if we cannot uncover the true cause, the elven race will be in grave danger."
Aldarian was unlike his two predecessors. His grandfather had earned great military distinction, fought in the Demonic Dragon War, and become a hero alongside Arthur Ryan, which led to his ascension. Catherine had practically been handpicked by the Elven Gods as the next Elven Queen, taking the throne without obstacle.
To put it bluntly, neither of them had the makings of a true leader.
Only a race with a foundation as grand and deep as the elves could endure the bungling of two consecutive monarchs. Aldarian might not beat either in combat, but he was a true politician and a competent king.
Aldarian saw further than any other elf.
The world would inevitably plunge into the fires of war—that was an established future. Yet from where those flames would ignite, and in what manner they would spread, Aldarian had no idea.
Hildas consoled him, "When war arrives, all we elves can do is strive to be prepared. Did you not handle things admirably just now? Do not vex yourself so. You are our Elven King; you must look after your health."
Aldarian opened his eyes and looked at his grandfather, giving a bitter smile. "In any other circumstance, I believe I could manage. But Grandfather, have you ever considered a possibility: what if this grand war is ignited and driven by that very lich?
"If it is this lich who wishes to destroy everything, how could our elven race ever withstand him?"
Hildas wanted to say that the elves remained powerful and feared no foe, but when it came to that lich... Hildas could not bring himself to believe with confidence that the elves could hold their ground.
The strength the lich displayed wasn't necessarily overwhelming, but he always struck a devastating blow from an angle no one could anticipate.
Take those Githyanki: they certainly never expected to run into hundreds of meteors along their route, every single one finding its mark.
Against an enemy who defied all common sense, how could the elves resist?
At present, the only thing offering Hildas any comfort was Anbaixiu's recent conduct—he genuinely seemed to enjoy saving the world.
Chapter 387