The morning light outside seemed to have grown stronger, dispersing some of the thin mist lingering in the forest.
She took a deep breath to calm her heart and quickly left the area surrounding the Patriarch’s study.
The clan grounds were gradually awakening.
A few dark elves, nursing hangovers, crawled up from the ground rubbing their foreheads; seeing Celia, they greeted her lazily.
“Celia!” A crisp voice called out to her.
Celia turned back to see a dark elf girl slightly younger than herself skipping toward her.
Her silver hair was tied in a brisk ponytail, and her violet eyes were sparkling.
“I heard you had a great harvest hunting yesterday? Did you run into any interesting prey?”
“No, Aila,” Celia let out a helpless sigh.
“Just some ordinary earth dragons. Nothing like the ‘prey’ you’re thinking of.”
“What a pity… Oh, right! Have you heard? The Orc tribe is arriving next week!”
Aila leaned in closer, lowering her voice, though she couldn’t hide her excitement.
“You’ll be participating this time, right? The Wolf-tribe sister I met last year was so nice; I really hope she comes again this year.”
Celia felt the tips of her ears grow warm again.
That faint “Okay” she had uttered in the Patriarch’s room seemed to still echo in her ears.
She pursed her lips, her voice dropping lower than usual: “…I’ll probably, well, take a look.”
“Really?!”
Aila’s eyes lit up instantly, as if she had discovered a new continent.
“You’ve finally seen the light! I told you, adulthood is right around the corner. No dark elf can hold out forever!”
“Aila, I have things to do.”
Aila blinked.
“Alright, alright. Go on then, I’m going to check out those new arrivals from yesterday!”
Celia watched Aila turn and run light-heartedly toward the other side of the camp—the area where captives were temporarily held.
She shook her head.
She continued toward her own treehouse, but her mind was in a state of flux.
Next week… the annual visit from the Orc tribe was the grandest and most “practical” celebration in the clan, second only to the pilgrimage back to the Elven Holy Tree to worship their ancestors.
Deep within her mind, the system interface—which had accompanied her since her reincarnation but remained shrouded in a layer of mist—was still displaying a countdown.
15:43:43
The time was finally approaching.
Memories flooded back at an inopportune moment, taking her back to when she had first crossed over.
In her previous life, Celia was a male.
A very ordinary male who kicked the bucket due to an accident.
When she opened her eyes again, she had become an infant.
At that time, when her tiny body was lifted up, what came into view was a face of breathtaking beauty yet complete strangeness.
Pointed ears, long silver hair, and deep golden eyes filled with tenderness.
“Look, my little daughter, how beautiful.”
Wait, I’ve become a girl?
An elven female?
What the…
Please let this not be some H-manga; I don’t want to turn into some babbling plushie.
As she grew, Celia discovered that certain aspects of this world did indeed subtly overlap with some of the “unfortunate” genres from her blurry past memories.
Her unmarried dark elf kin were passionate and direct in their pursuit of desire.
But another crucial racial trait allowed Celia to breathe a sigh of relief: the dark elves’ interests were specifically directed toward females of other races, especially beautiful ones.
Toward their own kin, they lacked the impulse for conquest; their relationships were more akin to sisterly intimacy.
Therefore, the scenes of openness Celia had witnessed since childhood usually featured her kin interacting with captured foreign females or visitors from friendly races.
It was hard to imagine how a race so preoccupied with “lewdness” and population raiding hadn’t been wiped out by a coalition yet.
It wasn’t until later that Celia gradually understood.
Many of those seemingly abducted foreign captives had actually stepped into dark elf territory voluntarily.
Sylvia was indeed a “human trafficker,” but those women might have “lost their way” on purpose.
It all stemmed from the unique soul contract of the dark elves.
Every dark elf could only craft one ancient scroll in their lifetime, to be burned and pledged beneath the Mother Tree.
It allowed them to share a life with a partner, pouring in all their passion and loyalty.
However, within the ancient clauses of this unique contract, there existed a tacit loophole: it did not forbid writing multiple names.
Like the powerful Sylvia, who signed the same contract with both her Orc wife and her Elf wife, her love for both was profound, exclusive, and unreserved.
Because of this near-eternal commitment and extreme emotional investment, the dark elf contract held a fatal attraction for certain foreign women seeking an absolute sanctuary.
The so-called “captives” were sometimes merely a mutually understood excuse to reach this soul bond.
But the dark elves didn’t always have such a good reputation.
Ancient books passed down in the clan depicted a far more distant era when the dark elves’ expression of desire was far less refined than it was today.
It was said that if they encountered a desirable target in the wilderness or on the battlefield, their style was often direct to the point of cruelty.
If they liked what they saw, they took it.
Freedom?
Can you even beat me?
Then why are you talking about freedom?
This was also the reason they huddled in this dense forest.
According to the elders, because of their flamboyant and reckless behavior, they made countless enemies.
A thousand years ago, they were eventually surrounded, nearly pushing the entire race into an abyss of no return.
It was at this moment of life and death that Sylvia stepped forward.
With unmatched strength, she turned the tide, not only repelling the surging waves of enemies but also pointing out the only path to survival for the faltering clan: leading the entire race to swear fealty and join the Elven Empire of that time in exchange for protection.
Celia seriously suspected it was only because Sylvia successfully wooed the Elven Queen’s sister that they were allowed to join.
As a price, the dark elves signed an ancient contract with the Empire that continues to this day, promising to restrict their range of activity and accept certain constraints of Imperial law in exchange for this forest to recuperate and relatively peaceful years.
The torrent of time washed away old hatreds.
A thousand years was long enough—long enough for those tooth-grinding enemies to turn into blurry symbols in history books.
The hostility that once covered the continent gradually faded as generations passed.
And the Great Magic War that swept across the continent fifty years ago became the key turning point that completely overturned the dark elves’ reputation.
At that time, the Demon Realm struck with ferocity, and the dark elves threw themselves into the front lines without hesitation.
Their powerful magical talent and unpredictable combat styles became the decisive force in many battles.
Celia’s two mothers remained forever on the charred battlefields of the Ash Plains.
After the war ended, scarred survivors brought back stories.
These stories, through the strings and voices of bards, were given a legendary halo.
Following merchant caravans, they drifted across mountains and city-states, taking the entire continent by storm.
The bloodthirsty and cunning shadow casters became allies of wisdom and courage, and their uninhibited nature was sang as the incarnation of romance.
This sudden turn for the better in their reputation left many dark elves themselves somewhat bewildered.
In the clan grounds, Celia often heard dark elves who went out to buy supplies grumbling upon their return:
“Yesterday at the human market, that shopkeeper actually gave me a bag of apples for free just because I was wearing the clan emblem… I was thinking, didn’t I use to rob this place?”
“That’s nothing… Last time I spent the night with a human mercenary, she actually said with tears in her eyes the next day that she wanted to ‘take responsibility’ for me. It scared the life out of me.”
…
Celia returned to her wooden house and pushed open the heavy wooden door.
From her cousin Ashriel’s room, that rhythmic creaking sound was still echoing.
Her pace did not falter for a second, her face remained calm and waveless, and her gaze didn’t even shift a fraction toward that closed door.
Sixty years was enough to turn any sound into an ordinary part of the household.
As long as these things didn’t fall on her, she was fearless—watching a “movie” and “performing” in one were two different things.
13:28:56
Deep in her consciousness, that floating line of numbers was unmistakable.
Almost there, she whispered in her heart.
But the more anxious she felt, the slower time seemed to pass.
She simply stopped looking at the numbers and endured until nightfall.
The buzzing sound grew louder and louder, nearly drowning out all the noise in her ears.
Until—
00:00:59
The final minute.
58, 57, 56… 10, 9, 8…
Celia slowly closed her eyes.
It’s finally here.