The Elven Cultivator

In the clearing outside the treehouse, Romance had been waiting for some time.

She was leaning against the gnarled roots of an ancient oak, tossing and catching her War Axe out of boredom.

The weapon, weighing over ten pounds, felt as light as a feather in her hands, flashing with a cold light as it flipped through the air.

Seeing Anton emerge, she snatched the axe by its handle and walked up to him. "Kept behind again? Darian is really taking an interest in you."

"I'd rather he wasn't so interested," Anton said, shaking his head.

His focus had always been on cultivation; learning Magic was just a cover. If Darian hoped he would shine in the world of Magic, he was doomed to disappointment.

'This can't go on. Darian seems to have noticed something. I need to find a chance to bring things out into the open. That way, I won't have to be so secretive anymore.'

Anton mused.

Seeing Anton lost in thought, Romance didn't disturb him. She just walked by his side as they left the training grounds.

She was the only one in the Clan who knew Anton harbored a secret.

Although she didn't know the specifics, she chose to trust Anton and never pried.

The two of them stepped onto a winding arboreal walkway.

Sunlight filtered through the layers of leaves, casting dappled golden light on the ground below.

The sweet fragrance of ripe Honeybell Flowers filled the air. Now and then, a Songbird would flit past, its call as clear and crisp as shattering jade.

As they neared the residential area, Anton saw a group of Elves in the distance, heading out.

The four or five Elves at the front wore well-made, standard-issue leather armor engraved with vine patterns. Leaf-bladed shortswords hung at their waists. They were clearly members of the Forest Guard.

Following them were a dozen or so elven men and women. Some wore plain leather armor, others gray-blue robes. Anton recognized many of their faces from the training grounds.

"It's some of the older students from the training grounds." Romance lowered her voice, nodding with her axe handle toward the group. "Eleanor's there, too."

Anton followed her gaze.

Eleanor Silver Moon walked in the middle of the group. Her emerald-green hair was tied back with silver thread, and she wore a circlet woven from silver-leaf grass and morning-dew flowers.

She had delicate features and a graceful gait, possessing a natural, indescribable air of nobility.

Anton was all too familiar with the granddaughter of the Clan's Great Elder.

It wasn't just that Eleanor was famous among the younger generation. Darian frequently used the prodigy as an example to motivate him, constantly, and not so subtly, encouraging him to focus more on his Magic studies. Anton was sick of hearing it.

"Where are they off to?" Anton asked casually.

Romance thought for a moment. "Probably for practical combat training. I heard one of the instructors mention it a few days ago."

Among the Elf Race, one is considered an adult at 100 years of age.

Most Elven Clans have a custom of holding a coming-of-age ceremony, which includes an assessment on the same day.

Only those Elves who pass the assessment can join the Guard.

Those who fail are relegated to support roles, handling logistical duties.

The Silver Moon Clan was no exception.

For the young Elves of the Clan, joining the Forest Guard was an honor in itself.

Because of this, all Elves began taking practical combat courses after turning 60 to develop real fighting skills in preparation for the assessment.

Their opponents in these practical sessions included Extraordinary Creatures captured from the outside, as well as invaders taken prisoner within the Silver Moon Forest.

Lizard-men, for example.

'Practical combat courses…'

An idea sparked in Anton's mind.

'This might be a good opportunity.'

'When he'd shown his martial arts to Romance before, he'd had the idea of creating a persona for himself as a 'dual magic-and-martial cultivator.' Thinking about it now, it seemed quite feasible.'

'Dual cultivation wasn't as simple as using martial techniques with one hand and Magic with the other. It was about perfectly integrating the two to create entirely new magical combat techniques.'

'It was remarkably similar to the divine martial techniques of his cultivation system.'

'Furthermore, combining different Magic and martial arts resulted in different magical combat techniques; the variations were endless.'

'This meant that every dual-cultivating Warrior had their own unique fighting style.'

'If he could establish this 'dual cultivator' persona, then in the future, no matter what martial arts he used, he could pass them off as long as they weren't too outlandish.'

'Even his Techniques could be explained away.'

'One good thing about the Elf Race was that there wasn't much internal strife. As long as he could come up with a plausible explanation, his fellow clan members wouldn't probe too deeply.'

'If he were in a human city, he would have to guard his secret with his life, never revealing the slightest hint.'

The more Anton thought about it, the more feasible it seemed.

'This cover story probably wouldn't last forever. His secret would be exposed sooner or later as his power grew. But that was fine. By then, he figured he'd be strong enough not to fear anyone's covetous gaze.'

Romance, oblivious to Anton's thoughts, continued, "I heard Eleanor plans to challenge the Wind-speaker's trial during her coming-of-age ceremony. If she succeeds, our Clan will have another Wind-speaker."

Anton raised his eyebrows in surprise.

'Funny, he had the same idea.'

He didn't say anything, but he was also planning to challenge the Wind-speaker's trial.

For the Elf Race, the title of Wind-speaker was roughly equivalent to that of a great warrior in a Beastman tribe—a title bestowed upon the brave and powerful.

Every young Elf who earned the title of Wind-speaker was a prodigy who stood above their peers.

It was both an honor and a testament to one's strength.

In the ancient traditions of the Elven Clans, some senior Wind-speakers even had the right to sit in on Elder Council meetings. Though they were only observers, it was still a sign of immense recognition.

Of course, the Wind-speaker's trial was also hellishly difficult.

The last person from the Silver Moon Clan to earn the title of Wind-speaker had been the previous Clan Leader, who was long since deceased.

Ever since, Elves from the Silver Moon Clan had challenged the trial every year, but none had succeeded.

Anton's reason for wanting to challenge the trial wasn't for the glory, but for an extremely tempting privilege granted to Wind-speakers: they could freely come and go from the forest.

Even members of the Forest Guard weren't allowed to leave the forest at will outside of missions.

Wind-speakers were the sole exception.

For that privilege alone, Anton was determined to claim the title of Wind-speaker for himself.

「At the same time.」

Up ahead on the arboreal walkway, the group of Elves had also noticed Anton and Romance, and their gazes turned toward them.

Anton and Romance were quite well-known in the circles of the younger Elves.

At first, it was for their unconventional behavior, but later, it was for their outstanding talent.

To say nothing of Anton with his Super Magical Physique, Romance had also been praised by her combat instructor as a natural-born Warrior. Rumor had it she had already broken through to the Black Iron Tier, making her stronger than many older Elves.

"Oh, it's Anton and Romance."

Hearing Laila's voice beside her, Eleanor turned to look. Her gaze fell upon Anton, and she instinctively frowned.

Laila, seeing this, covered her mouth with her hand and chuckled. "You're still hung up on what the Great Elder said."

Eleanor let out a soft huff and didn't deny it.

Laila found this even more amusing.

Her friend was outstanding in every way, her only flaw being an overly competitive spirit.

She had once accidentally overheard the Great Elder casually mention to Darian that Anton's aptitude surpassed even his own granddaughter's, and she had held onto those words ever since.

Ever since, she had treated Anton as a rival, constantly comparing herself to him, regardless of what he himself thought about it.

"Anton hasn't done a thing, yet he's suddenly saddled with you as a rival. Isn't that a little unfair to him?" Laila teased.

Eleanor's brow knitted as she said in a low voice, "He clearly possesses the extremely rare Super Magical Physique, yet he's completely unfocused, not concentrating on Magic. Someone like that is unworthy of Grandfather's praise, and I refuse to admit I'm inferior to him."

Laila's smile faded. She sighed to herself and said no more.

She knew Eleanor's ambition was to become a Clan Leader like her father and lead the Clan back to its former glory. She had put in an unimaginable amount of effort toward this goal, waiting for the day she would finally earn her grandfather's approval.

Who would have thought that Anton would suddenly appear and throw a wrench in her plans.

What made it even harder for Eleanor to accept was that Anton didn't seem to appreciate his gift at all. In her eyes, it was a criminal waste of a god-given talent.

"Let's go."

Eleanor averted her gaze and quickened her pace.

She silently vowed that she would pass the trial and become a Wind-speaker. She would show her grandfather who was truly the most outstanding.

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