When one thought of visiting an elven land, a certain fantasy naturally sprang to mind: visions of graceful, ethereal beings, noble and prideful, living in harmony with ancient forests and untouched beauty.
Unfortunately, this romantic ideal was utterly and ruthlessly shattered for Arthur and his party the moment their flying boat touched down on the docking platform of the floating island inhabited by this world's elves.
Olivia, her eyes wide with the wonder of a commoner who had only ever heard tales, exclaimed in surprise. "Brother, look over there! They're elves! Real elves!"
In her innocent fantasy, born from stories and songs, she expected the elves to be exactly as described: noble and proud.
But her excitement curdled into shock and visceral disbelief within seconds. Her gaze fell upon a scene that destroyed every preconceived notion.
Several male elves, their elegant features a stark contrast to their actions, were actively fawning over a group of corpulent noblewomen.
The elves helped the women, whose opulent gowns strained at the seams, into a garish, luxurious sports car.
With a roar of anti-gravity engines, the vehicle lifted off the dock and shot straight up into the sky, stopping to hover ostentatiously right above the cloud layer.
Almost immediately, the distinct, high-pitched moans of one of the women began to echo down shamelessly, audible even from their distance.
The rhythmic, heavy slap of skin on flesh followed a moment later, leaving no doubt as to the activities transpiring in the sky-borne vehicle.
Merlin's face instantly darkened, turning a shade of profound disgust.
"How shameless!" he spat out, his voice tight with a mixture of outrage and disgust.
His clairvoyance, an ever-active habit of his curious mind, had already flicked on the moment the car ascended.
He'd gotten the full, uncensored visual of exactly what was happening inside.
That was precisely why he was so furious, he hadn't just heard it; he'd been an unwilling, all-seeing witness.
Bedivere, standing beside him, couldn't hold back.
His well-known calm and humble composure cracked in an instant as a burst of genuine, helpless laughter escaped him at the sight of Merlin's profound suffering.
After all, the magus's habit of voyeurism was a hard one to break.
It might have been bearable if the women were beautiful. Unfortunately, they were ugly women who resembled someone like Zola, the mob protagonist's stepmother.
"Yeah, well… consider this our first real adventure, I suppose," Arthur chuckled, though his own expression was one of wry lament as he watched Merlin's face grow even darker. "How novel. Truly."
"Perhaps," Merlin replied, his tone shifting into something low and sinister, "we should summon Morgan and bring her here. Immediately."
At the mere suggestion, Arthur and Bedivere shared a look of pure dread and shuddered in unison.
They knew exactly what would happen if Morgan le Fay, the proud and volatile half-fae sorceress, ever witnessed the degraded state of the elves in this world.
After all, the fae and elves shared a kind of sibling relationship in the grand taxonomy of magical beings.
For Morgan, who wore her fae heritage with immense, ferocious pride, the sight of elves—their noble cousins—degrading themselves, acting as literal prostitutes for human coin from fat, repulsive nobles, would be an unforgivable blasphemy.
Her rage would be apocalyptic, and Merlin's suggestion wasn't a solution; it was a sinister plan to unleash a purging wildfire upon the entire island, and they all knew it.
Of course, to a creature of faerie, the simple acts of sleeping around or using flesh for pleasure were utterly meaningless concerns.
After all, faeries—distinct from the more benign "fairies" of children's tales—could be considered the direct opposite: vicious, amoral, and deeply degenerate beings driven by primal whims.
What was truly offensive to Morgan, and to the fae as a whole, was the concept of an elf selling themselves for money.
For a race that wore its pride like armor, such a transactional debasement was the ultimate, unforgivable insult.
Throughout the entire conversation, to be honest, both Stephanie and Olivia were deeply confused about Morgan's identity and the precise context of what they were discussing.
However, that didn't stop Stephanie from forcefully inserting herself into the dialogue, her noble upbringing giving her a sense of authority on matters of "lesser" races.
Her voice cut into the conversation, dripping with pure, aristocratic disdain as she explained the elves' origins from a human noble's point of view.
"Actually, they are completely inferior compared to us humans. They go on and on about their ancient pride and their sacred traditions, but the historical truth is far uglier. They sold themselves to human nobles for gold and influence long ago."
"And now, after all that, they still have the sheer nerve to claim that humans were created by them as some kind of progenitor race. The arrogance is insulting." She scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive.
Olivia, always more curious than scornful, was genuinely intrigued by the idea. "Did they? Create humans, I mean?"
"No," Stephanie stated flatly, rolling her eyes as if the question itself was absurd. "Whatever delusion of grandeur they're spouting, it's a total fabrication. How could a race that debased itself for coin possibly be the creator of humanity? The logic collapses under its own weight."
Merlin, ever the font of unsettling and specific knowledge, chose that moment to add his own commentary with a darkly amused tone.
"I've also heard a particularly sordid bit of their biology. Apparently, a male elf can only successfully impregnate a female elf. However, a female elf can, under certain conditions, be impregnated by a human male. It's why male elves have become such fashionable, exclusive slaves in the capital, prized possessions for noblewomen seeking a trophy without consequence."
"Meanwhile, a female elf who bears a human's child is considered utterly disgraced by her own kind, cast out and shunned."
He let out a dry, contemptuous chuckle. "Huh. What absolute nonsense. Since they're all slaves in the grand scheme of things—slaves to their biology, slaves to human wealth—what's the point of such a hypocritical hierarchy?"
Suddenly, the group's attention was drawn to a commotion at the edge of the elven enclave.
Their collective gaze fell upon a young elf boy and an elf woman, both being violently driven out.
A crowd of other elves was hurling stones and curses at them, their faces twisted in disgust and rage.
"Look," Merlin said, his voice a mischievous whisper filled with dark amusement. "There's your living proof. The hypocrisy, made flesh and blood."
Sir Bedivere was immediately outraged by the sight. "Have they lost all sense of decency? What honor is there in bullying a child and a defenseless woman? My king, allow me to—"
Before the knight could finish his sentence, Arthur was already moving.
A wave of tangible, menacing force—his crimson draconic aura—unleashed from his body with a palpable thrum of power.
It didn't just intimidate; it struck the mob of elves with physical impact, throwing them backward to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
Only the cowering elf boy and his mother, whom Arthur shielded instinctively, were left untouched and safe amidst the chaos.
The fallen elves scrambled to their feet, their faces contorted with shock and hatred as they glared at Arthur and his group.
The one who seemed to be their ringleader snarled, wiping dirt from his mouth. "What is the meaning of this, human boy? Do you have a death wish? Do you want a fight?"
Arthur wasted no time on banter.
In a blur of motion too fast for the eye to follow, he slashed the flat of his invisible sword through the air.
A precise, controlled wave of compressed force shot forward, not aimed to kill, but to punish.
It struck the condescending elf directly across the eyebrows and the bridge of his nose.
A sickening crunch of cartilage was followed by an eruption of blood.
The elf screamed, a raw, guttural sound of agony as he clutched his deformed face. "ARRGH! My eyes! My eyes! I can't see! HELP ME!"
The other elves, who had been ready to attack, froze at the sight of their leader's instantaneous and brutal mutilation.
The sheer, casual violence of it, the absolute lack of hesitation, drained all their courage.
They didn't need a second warning; they turned and fled for their lives, abandoning their bleeding companion without a backward glance.
Stephanie, who had watched the entire exchange with a cold, approving gaze, stepped forward.
She looked down at the writhing, bleeding elf with pure contempt. "Are you deaf, or just stupid? He told you all to leave. That includes you. Scram!"
The injured elf flinched violently at her sharp tone. "H-Hikk!"
In a blind panic, still clutching his ruined, bleeding face, he stumbled to his feet and fled, his pained panting echoing as he disappeared into the woods.
The elf boy and his mother were left standing in the sudden silence, casting a complicated, uneasy look at their saviors.
Their eyes held not just gratitude, but deep-seated worry and fear of further repercussions.
Before they could stammer out a thanks or a question, Arthur spoke, his voice stern and offering no false comfort.
"I will only help you this once. What happens next is your choice. You can stay here, in this place that hates you, and remain weak. Or you can follow us. You can learn to become strong, to stand on your own feet as adventurers, and carve out a future where no one can pelt you with stones again."
He did not wait for their answer.
Without looking back, Arthur turned and began to walk away, his posture one of absolute resolve.
Merlin, Sir Bedivere, Olivia, and Stephanie fell into step behind him without question, following his lead.
Left alone in the clearing, the two elf figures—mother and son—looked at each other, their expressions a turmoil of fear, desperation, and a fragile, burgeoning hope.
After a long, silent moment of hesitation, they shared a single, determined nod.
Together, they began to follow the retreating backs of the strange, violent, and powerful humans, stepping onto a path that led toward an unknown and perilous future.