I Became the First Prince: Legend of Sword's Song

Chapter 194

True Soul Song for Her (7)

Arrogance was indeed the natural temperament of elves, and wickedness was evidently in their nature.

The elves were terrible egoists who did not sympathize with the pain of others.

Nevertheless, elves in the eye of the public were somewhat arrogant, yet beautiful, good, and gentle, like angels. Very few were aware of their evil nature because the elves were good at hiding their wickedness. They appeared as beneficent and beauteous, their expressions innocent, and their voices as soft as the spring breeze. Their speech was gentle, and their attitudes humble.

It was no easy thing to grasp: That an ugly nature was hidden behind all of that. And so, the elves were able to conceal their innate wickedness. For some reason, the elves didn’t show their feelings. If their inner thoughts are ever expressed, it is done so intentionally. Those emotions the elves reveal result from facial expressions and gestures that they have created by rote and learning over the years.

Their angelic appearance and refined manners are the inevitable results of their efforts, and they are able to hide their true souls. However, elves aren’t good at hiding themselves from others from the moment of their birth. They are too pure in their intent and clumsy at hiding it from an early age, like all living things in the world.

The truth of it is that the days allotted to other races are too short compared to elven lives, and during the short lifespans of humanity, the rat-like compassion and goodwill elves give to humans never wear out. And so it is that humans remain faithful to the character and nature they imagine the elven race to have.

Although there are individual differences, it takes about fifty years for an elf to craft this veneer of benevolence fully. However, that is the case for an ordinary elf; High Elves are far different. They are creatures with lifespans three to four times longer than normal elves, and it also takes them longer to completely develop the hypocrisy and sophistication unique to elves.

The High Elf in front of me was a hundred-and-fifty years old.

I looked at him again, and beneath his uplifting expression, I saw his unhappy eyes. He had the natural elven character and arrogance, though not yet the hypocrisy and the prowess to hide it.

And such a creature stood before me, arrogant. Laughter flowed from me. Where did this guy come from?

However, my laughter did not last long; I soon fell into thought.

In order for young High Elves to come into the world, they must obtain permission from other High Elves. I didn’t understand: They must have known this damned elf wasn’t ready for the world, but they still gave him a mission and sent him outside. And this as an envoy to a human prince who has been aggrieved by the elves.

It wasn’t normal. I repeatedly devised theories and finally found the answer.

“Is he a sacrificial sheep?”

It was a gift from the insidious elves to me, so that my hatred and anger arising from Sigrun’s actions may be subdued; so that my wroth and resentment is not directed toward the entire elven race. The offering was obvious, and I asked the High Elf a few questions to confirm it. I asked what his mission was and what he was to do after the mission.

In response, he conveyed the regret of his clan for Executioner Sigrun’s errors. He added that it was his duty to remain under my command – to strengthen the friendship between the elves and Leonberg. He also said that he was asked not to place his own life above his mission to restore the lost trust and to follow any orders.

I became more convinced of my speculations. The king of the elves had even kindly added that one order so that I could not misunderstand his intentions: Whether you grill him or boil him, whether you eat him as porridge or alive – do whatever you want.

“Good. I don’t accept your apologies, but I’ll be grateful for the help.”

My personality was such that I did not refrain from accepting gifts, so I decided to accept this one. The High Elf looked at me questioningly after my sudden change of attitude. His reaction was unique compared to other elves I’ve known.

“Your name is?”

“We are the Swordsingers, and I am the Captain of the Whispering Winds, Arnand.”

I looked at the guy as he spoke of affiliations that I didn’t even ask for.

“Good. Arnand. I will allow you to enter.”

“Thank you,” he said after a while.

I didn’t know what would happen to him in the future. He might be slaughtered like a mouse, butchered like a pig.

“It’s up to you whether you’ll be thankful,” I said as I laughed at Arnand, my heart like a butcher’s looking at a plump pig.

* * *

Both groups of guests were equally unexpected, yet their treatment was utterly different. The dwarves of the Iron Legion were greeted with enthusiasm by the rangers, and I also welcomed them as friends and distinguished guests. Their freedom to do whatever they wanted inside the citadel was guaranteed, and their lodgings and meals were in no way poor. We took utmost care of them.

It was a different case for the elves.

Their lodgings were a temporary barracks set up under the courtyard walls, and they could not leave the yard without my permission.

“If anyone has contact with the elves, they will face severe punishment.”

The rangers on the walls and spires watched them day and night. And so, their freedom was limited, and they were thoroughly quarantined. A lot was said for a while concerning my actions.

“This is too much… Neglecting those who come to help the kingdom?”

“I know. It is right to repay good faith with good faith.”

Several southern knights and commanders came to me, suggesting that I improve the treatment of the elves. They found it unfortunate that I did not show chivalry and philanthropy toward the beautiful elves.

“They are those who do not need it and end up using you for showing it. Vigilance and surveillance must never be neglected toward their kind.”

After I heard their request, I explained the elves’ insidiousness and warned them not to be fooled by the angelic appearance of elves. After that, I asked them, again and again, to be on the lookout for the elves’ snake-like nature.

The southerners were not completely convinced, but they did not dare ask me to improve the treatment of elves anymore. There were more important things to be thinking of. While I made sure that I did not need to hear more stories about the elves, the dwarves completed the installation of iron cannons on the east, west, north, and south walls.

The wizards from the White Night Tower also finished their preparations. Meanwhile, news came that the enemy reinforcements who had reached the border had begun marching. The Charitable Lion Citadel quietly prepared to meet the foe.

“Paladins are a threat, but the real problem is the imperial wizards. The knights and soldiers of Leonberg have no experience in dealing with wizards.”

Meetings were held every day, and the most prevalent topic was that of imperial wizards.

The power of magic was very unfamiliar to the kingdom’s army because the Empire long ago dried up the seeds of battle magic in Leonberg. Even those knights and commanders who did not feel the others’ fear expressed vague anxiety and concern about such an unknown power.

“Unlike our allied wizards, who have trained for at least two to three years, the imperial wizards have devoted themselves to magic for at least ten years to a few decades. That’s my biggest worry – will our allied wizards be able to counter the enemy’s magic properly?”

Even while we had wizards on our side, most of the commanders distrusted their abilities.

It was natural; as they said, the training period of our wizards was only a few years compared to that of the enemy wizards, who had spent decades honing their craft.

But I believed in Ophelia. Where magic was concerned, she was a very arrogant being, knowing no compromise. If she has sent these sorcerers to the front, it meant that they had reached a level where they could play a part in the war. Of course, saying this would not convince the commanders. The name of ‘White Night Mage’ might have been famous all over the world four hundred years ago; no one knew of it now. So, I came up with another countermeasure.

I recited an old legend, omitting some parts, for the commanders.

“The faeries are the best at magic and herbalism, while the dwarves are the best at crafting and metallurgy. When it comes to battle and hunting, the orcs are the most outstanding. In terms of power and wisdom, the giants are the greatest.”

The commanders had confused faces as they heard me recite – all of a sudden – a legend they had never heard. However, they soon realized that ‘faerie’ meant ‘elf,’ and they became excited.

“Elves are natural enemies of human wizards.”

Elves are born with spirits that can achieve the completion of magic faster than anyone else. In some cases, they have the special ability to intervene in the forming of magic and even twist the results of it. To manifest magic in front of such elves, you have to be at least a mage-class wizard, having woven at least six circles. Mages don’t fall from the sky, however. Even if there were imperial wizards that have reached such a level, the number facing us would only be one or two.

And if that number remained constant, I was sure the wizards could be held in check. The leader of the elves was a High Elf, after all, even if he was young.

“In addition, we have the iron cannons installed by the dwarves on the citadel. The power of such cannons is as good as flames and thunderbolts generated by wizards.”

I lauded the might of the Iron legion in front of the commanders. Although they remained dubious, I saw that some of their anxiety had been relieved for the first time. It was really frustrating that the soldiers of a citadel guarded by dwarves and faeries were afraid of wizards. After I had explained things to the commanders, I gave them their orders and ended the meeting.

After I had held a meeting with words that didn’t match my temper, I felt exhausted, as if I had been in battle for three days and nights.

Once the commanders had left me alone, I heard a blunt voice.

“It’s frustrating that I can’t see you.”

I turned my head, and there stood Percival, who had attended the meeting in his capacity as a guest.

“That’s what Malcoy said.”

Before I could ask why it was frustrating, Percival told me that it was his commander’s words. And then I saw Malcoy: His face looked a bit clogged up as if he had eaten a basket of sweet potatoes without water. Percival struck Malcoy on the shoulder.

“Tell me. Why are you not saying what you want to say?” I asked.

“What can I say if the subject is so low?” replied Malcoy.

“Because he didn’t like to see all the citadel commanders or the Crown Prince being so frustrated,” came Percival’s blatant words, and they made an impression on Malcoy.

I urged Malcoy to correct his slackness, step up, and speak his mind. He reluctantly came forward as I repeated my demand.

“Everything is too passive,” Malcoy said, and much of what he went on to say were criticisms of the Royal Army’s response.

“They play a card game, and when the opponent shows a card, they look at their hand and try to play a countering card. They don’t think to move first but are in a hurry to follow their opponent. So, it becomes important to do well all the time. Because you are on the defensive, I understand to some extent, but Leonberg’s army is taking too much currently.”

I frowned at Malcoy’s words. I knew all too well that the kingdom could be destroyed at the end of the war. So, I was waiting for an opportunity for a reversal. I could not deny Malcoy’s view of things, however, knowing r that our response was being dragged along by the movement of the imperial forces. I crossed my arms and jerked my head at Malcoy. “Continue.”

“It shouldn’t be like this. Even if you win ten times and defeat thirty legions, the kingdom will not be able to go on the offensive later if things go on in this manner.”

“So?”

“You have to act first. You have to make the Empire move along with the kingdom,” Malcoy said as he looked straight at me.

His was a provocative look as if saying, ‘There is a way, but I don’t know if you can pull it off.’

“Do not uselessly provoke me, and continue with what you are saying.”

Malcoy’s face grew dark at my reprimand, and he spoke on.

“We have to shift to the offensive.”

“You know what the situation is right now?”

“I know. I heard all the boring details today. Some legions of the Northeast Imperial Army and about twenty newly arrived reinforcement legions are all marching towards the border.”

“And while knowing that, you tell me to switch to the offensive?” I asked with a frown, and Malcoy laughed.

“The enemy is probably thinking like this,” Malcoy said as he started pointing to different spots on the map and explained the parameters of an operation. Without realizing it, I listened to his explanation, my arms wide over the map and my mind wide awake.

“That is all. It is entirely up to your Highness to decided whether to accept it,” said Malcoy, and the Malcoy who had explained his operation with such passion no longer existed. He told me he had said his piece with a shy face and that the rest was up to me.

And I made my choice.

“After explaining it to me, can you do it in front of others?”

After I had heard his excellent proposal, I knew there was no reason for a boring war.

“That is something I can do,” replied Malcoy, “but they won’t be very happy. Maybe they’ll think the imperial commander is trying to trick them.”

“But I’ll do it myself,” he said, and I immediately summoned the commanders. They all looked confused at the sudden call, and they glanced at Malcoy. He got up from his seat, his face showing his hesitation, and began explaining to everyone how we could take on the Empire. And when his briefing was over, Leonberg’s commanders wore complex expressions. Some noted that, not so long ago, the man planning the operation was a prisoner of war. Others were suspicious of the fact that a prisoner had devised such an operation when they had failed for days and days to come up with any viable measures.

“What do you think?” I asked. “Do you think it’s a good opportunity to outwit the Empire?”

Even though the emotions appearing on each individual’s face were different, their answer was the same: “It’s worth trying.”

“If we succeed, the tide will be reversed.”

Malcoy was rather embarrassed when the commanders expressed their support for his operation, and this was a natural reaction for him to have. Percival once told me that even when his superior served as legion commander, he was often ignored when his counterparts planned operations due to his origin and young age. Moreover, he wasn’t even a legion commander right now, but a man freed from a rugged pit, little different than a prisoner.

It was surprised him that his opinion was considered; it was maybe the first time for Malcoy that others accepted his strategy. An indescribable emotion emerged in Malcoy’s eyes.

The moment that I saw his face, his joy of being recognized by people for the first time, a memory passed through my mind. Whenever I lifted the banner I had claimed at the end of a battle, I experienced the same dizzying, uplifting exultation that I saw in Malcoy’s gaze.

It wasn’t difficult for me to guess Malcoy’s interior; he would be embarrassed but proud and positive. And I was sure that he didn’t expect this, believing that men only gave their lives for those they knew. I guessed that Malcoy would be content with his present emotions, with the moment.

Instead, he enthusiastically devised several more operations on the spot.

Some were not accepted, and others were adequate enough to be supplemented and implemented.

Malcoy constantly gave opinions, his mouth moving all the time as he spoke with the commanders. I exchanged glances with Percival, who touched his lips.

‘Didn’t I say he’d come over soon?’

‘Right. You were right,’ I also curled my mouth.

The prince of a ruined realm who hated war no longer existed. All that remained was an avid novice commander who had just begun to gain recognition for his abilities.

“So what would you like to call the operation?” Malcoy, who had been talking for a while, suddenly asked.

“Operation name? Do we need something like that?” one commander asked.

“It is essential for security, and a correction of the old-fashioned operational system.”

It seemed that laughter would burst from me at any moment. The man who had been bad-mouthing war a while ago was now, in a ridiculous voice, asking for an operation name. I managed to swallow my laughter, and a thought struck me.

“If you want a name for the operation,” I said, still questioning the need for a name but offering one regardless, “it will be called Operation True Soul Song.”

There was no better name; it was a song for those who chose death instead of life.