Mage Legend

The shores of Holy Land Heather see ships arriving every day, and increasingly more frequently. It's not just the well-known nations—Holy Pate, Haisas, Yim—even the usually conservative Tarrenan and the four major lords from the south have sent emissaries across the sea. For a time, Holy Land Heather seems a bit overcrowded. People from different places try to speak in the most standard Common Language, but the influence of accents is unavoidable, and of course, there are those local terms only understood by locals. The elves, known for their elegant pronunciation, now find themselves amidst such a cacophony of accents that it's enough to give them headaches.

Before the meeting began, very few knew the true intention of the Elf Queen in calling this meeting, and those who did were completely tight-lipped, as if guarding a huge secret. So most emissaries could only gather together, discussing the scenery and hardships of their journey or boasting about their local specialties. Many didn't even bother to introduce themselves to each other, not wanting political interests to entangle their current conversations, at least not before the meeting began. They just appreciated Heather's scenery and, upon finding someone nearby who shared the same aesthetic viewpoint, started chatting.

Only Morgan's attention had already shifted from conversation to the delicious food before him. It was his second time in this forest as pure as pearls, and with Wislin, Anna, or Lynch not around to stop him from enjoying the fine wine here. Now, the red-bearded dwarf raised a bottle of blue fruit wine, holding a handful of Elf Cookies, loudly blessing Lady Hernfurry with eternal health.

"If Wislin saw you like this, he'd be very embarrassed," Lynch, dressed in long elf robes, with his face half-hidden in a white hood, quietly approached behind the dwarf and said, "After all, you are still an Honored Knight of Holy Pate."

"Pff... pff! Lynch, why are you dressed like that?" the dwarf mumbled, not because he was drunk, as the elf's fruit wine wasn't that strong; anyone shoving five Elf Cookies into their mouth at once would end up like that.

"I'm called Wizde now, my dear friend. Also, I have something important to tell you," Lynch leaned in slightly, whispering next to Morgan's big beard, "Each Elf Cookie can make an adult not need to eat anything else for several days, and as far as I know, the best chefs of the Elf Kingdom will be hosting the banquet today."

"Really, really?" Morgan immediately put down the food in his hand, vigorously wiping the cookie crumbs off his beard. "Why didn't anyone inform me, that's truly unacceptable. Lynch, if I see Wislin or Anna, I'll definitely tell them to check out your strange appearance."

"They won't recognize me." Lynch flicked his fingers lightly, performing a Transformation Magic. In an instant, he transformed completely into an elf, with green eyes and pointed ears, even his flowing hair seemed to have genuinely experienced the passage of time, ensuring no elf could detect any clues.

With Lynch's innate linguistic talent, he didn't even need to rely on spells to speak the most authentic and fluent Elf Language. The mage gently placed a hand on his chest following elf etiquette, then floated away like a leaf gliding down a calm stream. Morgan watched Lynch's movement, unable to fathom how the mage even mastered the way elves moved.

"Although I still prefer walking with my feet firmly on the ground, the elves' little tricks are still quite impressive," Morgan's eyes drifted back to the half-empty bottle of fruit wine and the half basket of Elf Cookies. "Alright, although mages are also good at impressing people, he wouldn't keep staring at my back, would he? No matter how clever he is, he couldn't understand the true capacity of a dwarf's stomach..."

By the afternoon, all attendees had arrived at the elven Holy Land. They traveled by sleek little boats or rode handsome horses; no one wanted to appear chaotic and unsightly in the elegant realm of the elves. Everyone listened to the elves' graceful songs drifting through the forest, and on terraces woven from white branches, they watched the red sun slowly sink behind the milky lake. Most of them held golden wine glasses filled with wine brewed from berries collected within the forest. Despite the shadow of war looming over everyone's forehead, at this moment, only one emotion could move their hearts—relaxation.