The Paranoid Elf Queen Turned Me Into Her Sister

Volume 3, 28 ~ The Sea of Flowers and the Heart’s Field

The song of the Swan’s Elegy was sung in a voice like a yellow oriole passing through an empty valley, both as melancholy as a moon orchid in shadow and as warm as drifting spring rain, soothing the earth’s countless scars, healing the soul’s wounds, like tender green buds climbing over broken walls—spring returning, life abundant.

The soft voice and sweet tone were like a single dewdrop falling into a clear spring lake, sending ripples across the emerald surface.

A pure, spotless song stirred waves in the heart, embedded itself into every soul, washing away filth and evil, polishing the window called “heart” until it shone crystal clear.

The Elf girl, through her song, shared the untainted heart she carried. Her voice, tender and intoxicating, strummed the strings of every heart present, as if they were standing in a lush thicket, gazing up at the endless azure sky and the vast sea of falling blossoms.

Butterflies danced; rare beasts hid among the trees; nature lived in harmony, all flourishing together.

This stunning world was not an illusion—it was a reflection of the Elf girl’s heart.

Elves were created by the Mother of Forests and Life from Divine Blood and morning dew. They were meant to be this pure and clean, like this sea of flowers—unstained by even a trace of dirt, untouched by any foreign destruction or pollution, as if it were an otherworldly paradise.

Even the darkest, cruelest, most ruthless heart, when pulled into this dreamscape of the heart, would forget its greed and obsessions, enthralled by the dreamlike beauty of this infinite, earthly paradise.

This was not illusion magic. It wasn’t like those crude, forceful illusions that dragged someone into a fake dreamscape.

This was empathy—using one’s own heart as the blueprint to make those around resonate. As long as even a sliver of beauty or yearning for beauty remained in someone’s heart, as long as there was a shred of hope for the future, empathy would draw it out and magnify it, until all who felt it recognized her in that same moment.

Not every Elf could do this. To unleash empathy so powerful, one’s heart had to remain pure, untouched by the stains of the Mortal Realm.

Teresa’s voice wasn’t loud. Yimi could hear it only because Teresa’s heart wave pried open the door to Yimi’s heart, letting her hear Teresa’s inner voice.

Through this, Teresa’s flower of the heart took root in the grudges’ hearts, sprouting and blooming. Their turbulent, unstable emotions gradually calmed; their thirst for destruction and jealousy of the living ebbed with every ripple.

This was not suppression by brute force. The sea of flowers soothed their restless rage and healed the battered, scarred doors of their hearts.

The conglomerate of grudges was no longer overwhelmingly aggressive. Immersed in this tranquil heartscape, the obsessions and desires that sustained their very existence diminished, and they could no longer maintain their form.

“Old dreams shattered, the lonely garden stands apart from the world, the evening wind in the courtyard sways the abandoned swing, the sea of clouds carries the swan’s tears…”

“She heard your weeping.”

“She touched your sorrow.”

“She embraced all that you are.”

“Memories flow with the hues of late autumn, the swan weeps…” Teresa softly sang.

Her chant was like a hymn, yet carried the innocence and purity of a lullaby. Though the Imperial soldiers could not understand Elvish, they were still swept up by the tide of emotion, understanding its meaning.

Many Imperial soldiers felt shame—they were mortified for the dark thoughts they’d held toward Teresa earlier. In this immaculate sea of flowers, they felt as if they themselves were conglomerates of filth, their mere existence sullying this field of blossoms.

Yimi stared blankly at Teresa, who was gently holding the grudges as she sang the elegy. In that moment, Yimi was certain—Teresa could not possibly have been the culprit of that tragedy.

As an Elf herself, Yimi understood well what such a clean heartscape meant. With her own sensitivity, she absolutely didn’t believe someone capable of unleashing empathy like this could have slaughtered her own kin.

Then who was it? ………

Now that she thought about it, there was something odd about her memory.

Why, as time passed, had other memories begun to fade, while this one remained so sharp and clear? As if it had been deliberately planted, to make her remember deeply.

As the lullaby ended, bidding farewell to the morning dew and the swan’s tears, the grudge’s body could no longer hold together.

Enveloped by Teresa—her platinum hair shining brilliantly in the sunset, her warm, jade-like body radiating heat, the peaceful sea of flowers, and this clean, unsullied song—the conglomerate of grudges had lost all desire to kill.

It was as if they had returned to their mother’s arms, listening to soothing tones in their cradle.

Their form shrank. Their twisted expressions gradually relaxed. Like drowsy children, they dwindled from human-sized, to child-sized, and at last became a small puddle of murky water that could fit in a hand.

“You have suffered.” Finishing the final verse, Teresa opened her eyes, bent down lightly, and held out her hand. A single flower bud rested quietly in her palm.

“May you sleep for a while?”

The mud quivered slightly, but didn’t respond.

Teresa sighed softly.

She didn’t intend to force them. Even after all this, these grudges still insisted on an endless vendetta, even though she couldn’t stop it.

It was also her own limitation—she couldn’t awaken the last trace of goodness in their hearts.

Just as she thought that, the puddle of mud suddenly stirred, then, like water splashing onto earth, seeped into the flower bud. The bud shook slightly, emitted a faint, dim glow, then grew still.

Looking at the ruins and rubble all around, it felt as if nothing had ever happened.

“… Thank you.” Teresa half-closed her eyes, bowing her head as she whispered thanks.

She looked at the flower in her hand. Soon, it would take root again, sprouting and blooming here.

But this flower had been repaired by her afterward—some parts were no longer original. Its structure might not be as sturdy as before, and the capacity it could hold would certainly be much smaller than the original Corpseblossom.

To be honest, Teresa didn’t even know if what she had done now was the right thing.

Empathy let others resonate with her heart—but it also let her feel others’ hearts.

For example, she could feel the guilt of those human soldiers nearby for the impolite thoughts they’d had toward her earlier. And she could feel the grudges’ resentment and hate.

For a fleeting moment, she even thought, For such a rotten nation, maybe destruction is best. But reason quickly reminded her—

If the Empire fell, true law would vanish. Without a governing body with authority, the land would splinter into warlords—and the people would suffer even more.

And besides, the innocent were not only “them.” How many ordinary families had done nothing wrong? They only wanted to live.

To let the grudges run free would only bring more misery to the innocent—and breed yet more grudges.

But Teresa also now knew—even these grudges, made of nothing but negative emotions, still held a tiny spark of longing for goodness and the future. She had drawn that longing out—just enough. Without that, her empathy would have failed.

When the dust settled, Yimi slowly walked over. After this battle, without a Domain to protect her, her clothes were in tatters. The dress Teresa had bought for her earlier—the hem was shredded, the bodice torn in many places, even the white stockings on her feet were full of holes. She looked like a “battle-damaged” version of herself.

But an Elf was still an Elf—even with her clothes in rags and dust on her face, it didn’t diminish her beauty. In fact, it added a strange new charm.

Seeing Teresa holding the flower bud, staring silently at the sunset, Yimi didn’t disturb her. She simply stood at her side, also in silence.

She could feel it too—the sealed spirits inside the flower bud were pitiful. Closing her eyes, she could almost still hear their desperate wails.

Were the Gray Elves of back then also wrapped in such despair, birthing resentment and grudges in endless cycles of pain?

When those Elves became part of the Demon Race, did they feel the same way, standing on the opposite side from her?

Teresa wondered, but no answer came. No one would step forward to give her one.

That one fragment of memory—she still couldn’t recall.

So she would have to find it herself. Find the truth of those days. Find—that Gray Elf girl…

She was lost in thought. Yimi was waiting. But the scene wasn’t frozen. After Teresa sealed the conglomerate of grudges and stood silent for a while, the Imperial soldiers began to grow restless.

Gran sent the able-bodied soldiers to care for the wounded. Though there were few—the poison flames had killed most instantly—he still left half the men to tend those merely grazed by the fire.

At this moment, one could only sigh: in the face of power like this, humans really were like ants—a single gust of wind could kill swaths of them.

Once post-battle duties were assigned, Gran, with two personal guards, walked slowly toward Teresa.

He deliberately stepped loudly so she would notice his presence, to ease the awkwardness of starting a conversation.

“How should we address this Elf Lady?” But when they reached Teresa and Yimi, they found the two golden-haired girls seemed not to notice them at all—like they weren’t even there—just as they had been, and this made Gran feel awkward. He had no choice but to speak first, breaking Teresa’s thoughts.

“My surname is Galnorin,” Teresa said—she didn’t reveal her true name.

“Oh? In that case, would it be proper to address you as Lady Galnorin?” Gran asked cautiously.

The Elf before him, fathomless, had just fought that monster as an equal. He didn’t want to offend her with a single wrong word and draw her ire.

“Yes.” Teresa nodded calmly, finally turning her gaze to Gran.

Under Teresa’s direct gaze, Gran’s heart trembled. Scholars rarely cared about their attire, and Gran’s usual scruffiness was no exception—but now, he found himself straightening his clothes, unwilling to look so unkempt before this dignified lady.

At the very least, he had to look passable—to show respect.

“This gentleman, you need not speak Elvish with me. I can speak the common tongue.” Just as Gran searched for words, Teresa spoke gently, her polite smile like a sweet spring.

“Oh—oh! I see—sorry about that.” Gran scratched his head awkwardly, giving up on his clumsy Elvish.

He had studied Elvish, but with its difficulty, and his busy duties, he’d only learned bits and pieces. He’d never spoken with an actual Elf before. His misused words and ugly pronunciation, to Teresa, sounded as bad as the thick-accented Elvish of the Gray Elves.

“Lady Galnorin, thank you for drawing your blade for us. This was originally a matter for us Imperial soldiers.” Gran offered a solemn thanks.

At his side, Yimi cast him an indifferent glance.

You know it was your problem? You couldn’t even handle your own problem.

“No need for formality. We had a common goal. And you also helped quite a lot—sacrificed many soldiers.”

“As for that, I will see to it.” Gran sighed and shook his head. “Defending the nation is our duty. Death in war is inevitable.”

Later, he would personally deliver compensation to the families of the fallen. More than that—his legion had a strict rule: if a soldier died, the commander must personally visit the family, apologize, and comfort them.

That was why his men fought and died for him, unlike other legions who, when losing, fell apart as morale collapsed.

“You are a qualified Imperial soldier.” Teresa’s melodious voice praised him sincerely. It wasn’t just her observation—she felt his heavy guilt and grief as a commander through her empathy.

Emotions—one might hide them from oneself, but not from an Elf.

“Giving this flower to you puts me at ease.” Teresa placed the flower bud in Gran’s hand.

“This is?” Gran frowned slightly. Of course, he had seen her use this flower to seal the mud earlier.

“This flower bears your Empire’s negative emotions. It was damaged earlier for… certain reasons.” Teresa set it lightly into his hands.

“I repaired it—but only by copying its original form. How much resentment it can still hold, how long it will last—I can’t say.”

“Resentment?”

“People’s grudges and hate don’t vanish. There is simply an object that absorbs and stores them, so it seems like they disappear,” Teresa explained.

“But even the grandest dam can collapse if it bears too much weight. You’d best take care.”

“My suggestion: place this flower somewhere no one goes, to avoid damage and new disasters.” She explained everything she needed to. The rest was for Gran to digest.

Teresa turned away, leading Yimi.

Never underestimate the Divine Child’s capacity for learning. About the Corpseblossom, a few words couldn’t explain it all—but for him, it was enough.