Mage Legend-Chapter 329 - 20 episodes Bluff_2

"Welcome, my guest." A voice speaking in the Common Language sounded: "Although you appear pure and unblemished, you too come from the world of darkness. Welcome to my tower, Zilvra."

Zilvra looked up to see a tall figure descending the stairs, with the pointed ears of an elf distinctly visible, though clad in the luxurious attire common among human nobility. From his voice, the accent of the Elf Language was still clear, only slightly hoarse.

However, his face was completely ruined, crisscrossed with scars like haphazardly dug trenches, leaving his entire visage in shambles. Zilvra surreptitiously calculated the pattern of those scars, realizing they appeared more self-inflicted.

An elf who would take a blade to his own face now possessed the assistance of the Undead Magic Bead, embodying both madness and danger. Zilvra exhaled lightly, adopting the tone of a Dark Elf: "Male reptile, is there no seating in this place of yours, forcing me to stand?"

Fyyian’s fingers trembled as if touched by boiling water. Yet his voice remained calm, the deep tone reverberating through the castle: "Young lady, I have always been occupied with my own affairs, never having the time to sit down and rest, so there is naturally no need for any seating. To be honest, I don’t even have a bed."

"Then I hope today you can postpone your great ’affairs’ to listen to the advice of a potential ally," Zilvra said. "It is worth sacrificing some of your time."

"If it weren’t for sensing that dark aura emanating from you, the undead outside would have already torn you to pieces. Such a death would leave your soul forever in pain, tormented in the flames of hell, with only desperate cries echoing from a parched throat. Miss, is that what you wish?"

"Put away that arrogance and pride, male!" Zilvra knew instinctively that now was not the time to show weakness. Since she wanted to present herself as a ’potential ally,’ she naturally needed to demonstrate confidence and strength. So, she said: "The Undead Magic Bead once belonged to us Dark Elves, granted by the Spider Goddess to the devout first family. When we wielded it, your kind of arrogance and pride were nowhere to be found! Now, the Drow offer you an alliance suggestion, and you foolishly seek to boast before the rightful owner of your sole source of power; it baffles what you rely on. If not for the elves, I would not waste words with you here."

The man hesitated for a moment, then smiled—if one could call the pieced-together expression on his face a smile, Fyyian indeed smiled.

"Your words are sharper than your weapons—at least in the presence of my undead army," he said. "I am quite eager to hear what you mean by this so-called alliance."

While Zilvra was narrating a non-existent pact to the mysterious man, Lynch was sitting in the elves’ small theater, savoring the unique mead found here.

The Elf Queen had entered a meditative state, frequently taxing her powers with spells, leading to her current fatigue. Lynch had not had the chance to meet Lady Hernfurry but had received her message. All preparations were proceeding according to the mage’s plan, with nothing worth worrying about. Thus, Lynch had seized the rare opportunity to visit the small theater.

Elves cherish beautiful poetry and melodious music, and in their lives, the small theater is as indispensable as the nobles’ balls and the dwarves’ festive bonfires. One description of elven life says: These elves who live among the branches spend one-third of their time creating, one-third singing, and one-third appreciating. The small theater is a place where they can engage in all three simultaneously, making it particularly popular.

However, the shadow of the last war still hadn’t lifted, and the impending threat of the undead grew more pressing, leaving the elves with little leisure time to sing here. The theater, named "Heather Harp," was much quieter than usual. Many visitors here were simply taking a short break and couldn’t stay for long. Currently, only Lynch’s group could truly relax.

Soka was the most content among the three, lying comfortably on the smooth and clean wooden table, carefully suppressing burps. Elf Cookies were the most delicious thing she had ever tasted, as soft as a cream cake, with an aroma richer than that of a fruit pie. Little Soka, like a gluttonous caterpillar, nibbled at the Elf Cookies Lynch had procured for her. Even so, she ate too much and now was barely able to move.

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