CHAPTER 618

【 THE HARVEST FESTIVAL 】

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A sharp cry of an eagle rang out, carrying far across the open sky. High above, the bird rode the wind with effortless strength, its wide wings cutting through the air as it surveyed the vast land below.

The mountain range in the distance stretched endlessly in every direction, its ridges rising and falling like the rolling backs of giants. Dense forests blanketed the slopes, extending as far as the eye could see, their colors shifting under the touch of autumn. Deep greens mingled with flashes of crimson, gold, and violet, transforming the landscape into a vast patchwork of vivid hues.

A cool breeze swept over the treetops, scattering leaves in slow spirals and filling the air with the clean scent of the season. The rivers wound through valleys like silver threads, their waters glinting in the light, while lakes shone like still mirrors in which reflect the sky.

From time to time, herds of magical beasts moved in the distance, following the bends of the rivers in their steady migrations.

Altogether, these sights wove together into a vibrant and picturesque landscape.

This was the Elven Forest in autumn, an earthly paradise, resplendent in beauty no matter the season.

The eagle soared onward, its wings gliding with effortless grace as it passed over glittering lakes and winding rivers.

Below, roads began to appear, some meandering through the trees while others cut straight across the land. They threaded through the forest like veins of stone and earth, stretching onward toward distant horizons.

The eagle pressed forward on its flight.

Soon, a myriad of shapes emerged among the greenery. Clusters of buildings came into view, their forms rising above the treetops, while tiny figures bustled along the newly paved dirt roads.

At last, a verdant hill rose before the eagle, blocking its line of sight. With a sudden beat of its broad wings, it climbed higher, circling upward with practiced ease.

Its piercing cry echoed once more across the air as it rose above the hill.

From afar, faint voices drifted to its sharp ears, blurred by distance yet alive with the pulse of a thriving community.

Golden sunlight spilled across the land, momentarily dazzling the eagle’s vision. When its eyes cleared, the creature beheld a breathtaking sight—a splendid and flourishing city rising proudly amidst the ocean of green.

Elegant white buildings gleamed in the light, their straight lines and graceful arches arranged along wide roads paved with pale stone bricks. These roads converged upon the heart of the city, guiding countless figures toward its center.

The streets bustled with life. Merchants, travelers, and citizens alike moved in steady streams, all flowing toward the city’s grand central plaza.

At that moment, the plaza was already overflowing with people, packed so densely that their movements rippled like waves upon the shore. Suddenly, a thunderous cheer erupted from the vast crowd as countless eyes turned skyward, wherein an enormous shadow loomed overhead.

A colossal creature floated into view, its massive ellipsoidal form blotting out the sun and momentarily darkening the city below.

Startled, the eagle gave a sharp cry and beat its wings frantically in an attempt to escape.

But it was too late. With a triumphant roar that shook the air, the colossal beast unfurled its wings, each spanning dozens of meters. In a swift motion, it lunged forward and easily caught the mountain eagle in its jaws.

The crowd erupted once more, their cheers and whistles echoing like rolling thunder as the black dragon soared above the city, its scales gleaming darkly in the golden light.

“Meryer! Meryer!”

The name resounded in unison, a chant that shook the very plaza with its fervor.

This was Florence, one of the most prosperous cities in the Elven Forest.

And today was the Harvest Festival, the most celebrated day of the year amongst the elves.

The legendary dwarf Tonglu sat in the honored guest seats in the plaza. Watching the black dragon soar above and hearing the excited cheers of the elves all around, his expression revealed a hint of astonishment.

“I did not expect a black dragon would be so revered amongst you elves…”

“Well, the dragons are our reliable allies, and some of us Chosen Ones have formed partnership pacts with them,” replied Little Salty Cat, who was seated beside him in the guest area and tasked with hosting the dwarven delegation.

“How surprising. To think that even the proud race of dragons would show such favor toward you elves,” Tonglu remarked quietly.

With that, he pulled his gaze back from the skies and turned toward the plaza, where countless elves had already gathered.

The tens of thousands of seats that had been empty just the day before were now completely filled, and still they were not enough.

Many more elves had climbed into the roadside trees, taken positions on rooftops, or crowded into the surrounding streets.

Everywhere he looked, tall and slender figures filled the city to the brim.

Tonglu had once fought side by side with the elves and had witnessed the vast numbers of their Chosen Legion. The petite lass beside him had also spoken of her race’s growing population. Yet, even with that knowledge, the sheer scale of the scene before him left him in awe.

Such grandeur…

Such a vast assembly of people…

The last time he had seen anything remotely comparable was during the final battle of the war between the Holy Maniya Empire and the Aries Kingdom, where he had served as a mercenary.

Not even the coronation of the current Empress of the Holy Maniya Empire had drawn a crowd of such magnitude.

And yet, here it was before his eyes.

The endless sea of spectators filling up the plaza and the surroundings were not humans—whose numbers were always vast, but elves—a race that, only a few years prior, had been widely regarded as nearly extinct.

Their numbers, if not in the tens of thousands, were surely well over one hundred thousand.

What struck Tonglu even more was not only their number, but also the fact that every elf was dressed in a splendid expensive looking attire. Each figure also radiated an unmistakable aura, and by his estimation, even the weakest among them possessed the strength of an intermediate Iron-rank expert.

Such a gathering was a testament to the profound strength and heritage of the elven race, and Tonglu could not help but admire it.

Powerful, prosperous, confident, and optimistic.

This was not the image of a declining race, but of a people in the midst of resurgence, standing proudly as they reclaimed their lost glory in the world of Seigües.

Basking at the center of it all, the legendary dwarven warrior couldn’t help but form a deeply complex expression.

In his eyes flickered reverence, envy, yearning, and expectation all at once, as though centuries of his people’s history were reflected in that single gaze.

Nor was he alone in such feelings. The same emotions could be read in the faces of the entire dwarven delegation, each one silently measuring the glory of the elves against the struggles of their own kind.

Among the honored guests, the delegation from the Underground Hermetic City-State Alliance also sat in quiet awe.

At their head, the dark dwarf known as Firebeard stared at the majestic elven city before him, his expression filled with shock.

As the first faction to come into friendly contact with the elves, no one understood their former state better than them, the hermetic alliance—especially Firebeard himself. He had personally seen what they were like only a few years ago, weakened and on the brink of collapse.

The progress they had made in such a short time was nothing less than astonishing. This pace of recovery could only be described as miraculous.

Firebeard still clearly remembered his first visit to the Elven Forest, when Florence still lay in ruins.

Yet now, a mere three years later, this once-holy city of the elves had fully regained its former splendor.

It seemed like the Elvenkind had truly returned to their former glory.

Even the most obtuse observer, upon witnessing today’s celebration, would be forced to acknowledge this truth.

“I wonder when our dwarven race will once again see such prosperity,” Tonglu remarked softly as he gazed at the flourishing scene before him.

“Wow… the elves are really amazing! Yesterday there weren’t even half this many people, and now this plaza’s completely packed. I didn’t think so many would show up overnight,” said the young dwarven prince beside him, speaking in a quieter tone. The boy’s face carried a mix of excitement, curiosity, and just a hint of sadness.

He could not help but think of their dwarven capital, which was growing ever more desolate, and of the glory once recorded in their histories.

“It’s only natural that all the elves would show up,” explained Little Salty Cat with a cheerful smile. “Everyone has been waiting for the goddess’s blessing, after all. It is said that during today’s festival, the Goddess Herself will bestow her grace.”

“The blessing of the goddess…”

At her words, the honored guests grew thoughtful, their expressions gradually turning solemn.

Yet many others could not conceal their joy, their faces alight with anticipation.

Almost instinctively, countless eyes turned toward the Temple of Life at the edge of the plaza, and to the beautiful, sacred statue that stood before it.

It bore the likeness of the goddess Evé, sovereign of life and nature, who was said to embody the divinity of the elves themselves.

For most, the turning point of the elves’ could be traced directly to her appearance in the mortal world. From that moment on, their decline halted and their fortunes shifted upward with astonishing speed.

Of course, rumors still spread throughout Seigües—some claimed she was not a newly ascended deity, whilst others whispered that her power might carry traces of corruption. Yet none of these speculations changed the fact that her coming had reshaped the destiny of the elves and altered the balance of the entire realm.

As the Goddess of Life, receiving Her blessing was regarded as an extraordinary fortune by any sentient being.

Curing old illnesses and mending long-standing injuries were considered only the simplest of Her gifts. According to many accounts, She was also capable of extending lifespans, awakening hidden potential, and even improving one’s chances of advancing further along their path.

For this reason, the gathered guests watched with eager anticipation.

At that very moment, the resonant tolling of a great bronze bell echoed from the temple tower.

“Dong… Dong… Dong…”

The sound was deep and melodious, carried across the plaza by magical amplification arrays woven into the tower’s structure.

Each toll seemed to calm the heart, washing away restless thoughts, and as it rang out, the once-bustling clamor of the gathered crowd gradually gave way to silence.

“Dong… Dong… Dong…”

The solemn chimes continued on without pause until a total of one hundred and eight strikes had sounded. Only then did the reverberations gradually fade into the distance.

One hundred and eight tolls.

This was the sacred ritual of the elves, a tradition passed down through countless generations, with each strike said to symbolized ‘blessing.’

When the final toll faded, the vast assembly stood utterly still.

Breath was held, conversation ceased, and all eyes turned to the Temple of Life in hushed anticipation of what was to come.

“It has begun,” Little Salty Cat whispered.

No sooner had she spoken, a series of thunderous bursts erupted all around the plaza.

To the astonishment of the visiting delegations, the sky lit up in a dazzling display of magic, forming one vivid image after another overhead.

In an instant, the heavens above the square were awash in brilliant color.

Elemental sparks twisted and intertwined, shaping themselves into living patterns—towering mountains, flowing rivers, endless forests, and graceful elves—ever-shifting, ever resplendent.

The spectacle only grew more elaborate with each passing moment, until the entire sky became a vast canvas of rainbow light, a display so immense that it seemed to envelop the entire city.

“How beautiful!”

The young dwarven prince’s eyes shone as he gazed upward at the magical fireworks.

Magical fireworks were not an unusual sight in the world of Seigües.

However, a display of this magnitude, crafted with such refinement and lifelike detail, was exceedingly rare. Even seasoned travelers among the guests, who had witnessed countless wonders across the realms, found themselves holding their breath in awe.

Among most sentient races, the number of mages in their ranks was limited, and their status was often high and lofty. The stronger ones, in particular, regarded their power as far too precious to waste on mere entertainment. As a result, firework displays were typically relegated to lesser mages.

However low-ranking mages had only meager reserves of magical power and modest skill. Therefore, the fireworks they produced were usually simple bursts of light, lacking variation or artistry.

That was why today’s spectacle was something entirely different.

For many in the audience, it was the first time they had ever seen magic used with such grandeur for celebrations.

Only the elves were capable of such a feat.

Highly attuned to mana, every elf carried the natural potential of their Silver lineage. What was scarce and treasured among other races was, to them, as common as food and drink.

For this festival alone, tens of thousands of elven mages had assembled, with a significant number of Silver-ranked spellcasters among their ranks. Their collective power could have rivaled that of a great army, yet it was directed solely toward celebration.

This display revealed the true heritage and depth of the elven race, leaving the audience astonished.

The fireworks display lasted for nearly fifteen minutes, dazzling and enchanting the crowd. When it finally ended, music drifted through the plaza, gentle and melodic.

From the central stage, elves clad in ornate attire emerged one after another, beginning the ceremonial performances.

These were native elven believers. They wore the traditional clerical gowns of their people and moved in perfect harmony as they performed the ancient ritual dances of the elves.

Their movements were fluid and graceful, swaying to the rhythm of an ethereal melody.

As the most renowned artisans in the world, the elves held a natural mastery of beauty and expression. The sight of their elegant dance, accompanied by the otherworldly hymn, captivated the foreign guests.

For a time, the crowd was spellbound.

Tonglu was no exception.

Yet he noticed that many of the elven spectators, particularly the Chosen Ones, reacted in much the same way.

Even the elven maiden, Little Salty Cat, who was seated beside him, watched in rapt fascination.

Observing their behavior, Tonglu found it rather strange—as if even they themselves were witnessing this for the very first time.

Still, Tonglu did not dwell on this for long.

Whilst enjoying the performance, his gaze soon shifted to the massive magical crystal screen erected in the plaza, upon which the stage was projected clearly for even distant viewers to see.

“What a marvelous magical device,” he murmured in admiration.

The traditional ritual dances of the elves did not last long.

As the performance ended, the music suddenly shifted. A new sound filled the square, unlike any Tonglu had ever heard before.

Several new elves ascended the stage. Unlike the priests who had departed, these performers wore extravagant costumes and carried magical amplifying devices, raising their voices in exuberant song.

The style was unlike any elven music Tonglu remembered—wild, unrestrained, and bursting with energy—played on instruments he had never seen before.

And yet, it was undeniably beautiful.

The rhythm carried an infectious quality, a beat that seemed to reach directly into the heart, making it impossible not to sway along. Slowly but surely, the energy rippled outward, spreading among the gathered elves until the entire plaza was alive with movement, clapping and swaying in unison with the music.

The fiery atmosphere and driving rhythm even reached Tonglu, who was already well over a hundred years old. Before he realized it, he found himself nodding along to the beat—until he caught the dwarven prince giving him a curious glance. Startled, Tonglu coughed, straightened his posture, and flushed with embarrassment at being caught.

Unbeknownst to him, what he had just experienced was a performance inspired by rock and electronic music from Earth.

And this was only the beginning.

The stage now belonged to the players. Every major guild had prepared its own program, each counted as part of the Harvest Festival celebration—and their assigned “festival quest.”

The unique and modern singing act was only the first.

What followed stunned even the native elves and left foreign guests wide-eyed with excitement: dazzling choreographed dances, jugglers wielding blades infused with magic, and staged duels where martial and magical skill blended seamlessly.

Each performance brimmed with novelty and creativity, drawing inspiration from grand shows of Earth, adapted into elven aesthetics, and further elevated by the touch of magic.

As the festival went on, the atmosphere in the plaza only grew more fervent, reaching a peak of exhilaration and joy.

“No wonder the elves are famed for their endless artistic innovation,” Tonglu said in admiration, his voice tinged with genuine respect, as he watched the spectacular show unfold before his eyes.

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