Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: 1. Глава 1

Chapter One. Discussing the Fate of the Hero of the Elf Queen

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//...All that was left was a blinding white light.....

Touching the control crystal with her fingertip, Sivila extinguished the three-dimensional image projected in the air above the center of a huge round table made of perfectly polished light wood. At this table, the entire Supreme Council of the Forest was gathered. Absolutely all of the Supreme Hierarchs were present. Each of them was not alone but with his closest advisors, assistants, and deputies. All of them were seated on podiums at the edges of the huge hall specially designed just for extended meetings of the Supreme Council. In addition to the Supreme, almost all masters of magic who had reached the level of magister were also present. Those who were not present in person were watching the meeting through dedicated communication channels.

As soon as Sivila extinguished the memory projection, the magical lights in the room immediately lit up, illuminating the faces of nearly a hundred elves and elven women. Very pensive, gloomy, or tense faces. Having put away the storage crystal in a special cell in a separate small box, the queen carefully closed it, and then said in a voice amplified by a special amulet:

"That's where his memory stops. There are no other memories that come after that, he just doesn't have any."

There was a very tense silence in the room. The joint report of Sivila and Third, devoted to the report on their operation, took more than ten hours. And that was not counting the short breaks for rest, answers to urgent questions that arose during the report, as well as the speeches of the specialists involved in the work. Almost the whole day was spent with them. As the Forest's Supreme Leaders discovered the full extent of the problem, they had more and more questions. Before the last part of the report was delivered, Sivila had to ask her colleagues, including her crowned husband, to refrain from asking questions until the finale. Otherwise, it would take even longer. And so, at last, the report was finished. But alas, it was only the beginning. For now, the assembled Supreme Forest Leaders had to decide together one very important question: what to do next?

The silence that had been hanging and somewhat prolonged, during which everyone present was thinking about what they had seen, was broken by a heavy and deep sigh, full of endless fatigue. All those sitting at the table and in the stands involuntarily turned their eyes to one of the elves present in the hall. He was sitting at the table with the Supreme Hierarchs but in relative solitude. Separated from everyone else. He was dressed in discreet clothes of light gray colors, which were very old-fashioned even by the standards of elves. His long and straight dark hair was gathered in a ponytail, and among them were clearly visible gray (sic!) strands. He pressed his palms to his face, rubbed his temples, and said in a quiet voice, in which he felt infinite fatigue:

"Still, it was naive to hope that it would be possible to leave them in the past, and spend the rest of eternity in peace..."

With another tired sigh, the elf took his hands away from his face. A very old face, not typical of elves. If all the other male elves present in the hall could be given the appearance of twenty to twenty-five at most, this elf could be given a good forty. There were fine wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes, but it was his eyes that stood out the most. Cold dark gray eyes that had seen a lot in a very long life, even by the standards of elves. Too much. They had long since lost the brightness that was textbook for the firstborn. And now those eyes were fixed on the Head of the Secret Guard. He, to his credit, endured the gaze without blinking, though he pulled himself upright.

"Why wasn't it reported at once?" The question was asked in the same quiet and infinitely tired voice, which, however, was perfectly audible to everyone in the room.

But Third answered promptly, like a cadet to an instructor:

"The possibility that we had encountered an isekai was not considered by me and my analysts during the operation as one of the possible options. The reason for this was the very high degree of isolation of this world, which excludes almost a hundred percent guarantee the accidental entry of isekai from outside. It also makes it extremely difficult to summon isekai from within. And makes it almost guaranteed impossible to conduct it covertly. On the basis of this, my analysts and I, as well as specialists involved in the operation, considered other versions as more probable."

There was another infinitely tired sigh in response, after which the not-young elf spoke in a steady voice:

"No gifted person can reach the heights of the level of archmagister, let alone archmage, and go unnoticed. The growth of power will inevitably leave traces, as perfection requires constant overcoming of oneself. So, it could not a priori be any of the inhabitants of this world, and this version could not even be considered. With the group of gifted practicing those Schools of Magic you encountered, the situation was exactly the same. So, this version could also be safely discarded at once."

As the non-young elf carried on his speech Third's face became even more devoid of emotion than usual.

"There are literally two artifact-givers in this world, capable of endowing an entire School of Magic with the knowledge of at least a master. But neither in our Eternal Chronicle nor in the Great Manuscript of Neirat's Academy no such knowledge as you have encountered. Not to mention that everyone here knows perfectly well what risks and difficulties such a way of acquiring knowledge carries. And the fact that both of these artifacts are under extreme control, constant surveillance, and protection. So, this version could be safely discarded as well. As well as the version of the presence in this world of an unknown artifact-giver, capable of granting such knowledge even less."

Without interrupting his speech, the old elf made a pass with his hand, and a small flat box made of polished dark wood appeared in front of him out of nowhere.

"There have never been any adepts of the School of Soul Magic in this world. This, as well as many other things we made sure of at the stage of organizing the Exodus when we were just considering this world for our branch's resettlement. And I dare hope that you are still making every effort to ensure that they do not appear?"

Third did not say anything, but nodded faintly. His interlocutor, satisfied with the answer, continued:

"Well, that's good. But in that case, you must have realized that a Soulcatcher or a Soulweaver could only appear in our world from the outside. And the appearance of such powerful entities, given the peculiarities of this world, had almost no chance of going unnoticed by us. So these versions could be safely discarded as well."

Opening his polished wood drawer, the old elf began to carefully pull out small storage crystals that glowed dimly.

"Not to mention the fact that if it was a truly empowered Soulcatcher or Soulweaver, and only such a one could do what you encountered, there would be no investigation of you. In the first case, most likely our souls and not only our souls would already be imprisoned in his reliquary, and our bodies would be his obedient puppets. In the second case, he wouldn't need to bother with all those Schools of Magic. For a true Soulweaver, they are unnecessary crutches. He can easily turn his victims into submissive toys without them, so that not only the victims themselves would not know about it, but also from the outside, no one would understand anything, even if they look at them point-blank."

Placing a few dimly glowing crystals in a row in front of him the old elf closed his drawer.

"As for the possible trace of one of the Demon Lords. Granting knowledge of even one school of magic at the Archmagister level would be very expensive. Provided, that the Infernal Lord can bestow the necessary knowledge at all. The souls of such strong gifted - the prey for demons extremely desirable, but very rare. The price for several such gifts will be exorbitant. I highly doubt that someone managed to secretly sell to demons the inhabitants of the entire kingdom, comparable in size and power to the greatest of the Fallen Kingdoms of the North. So this version could be safely discarded as well."

Gently taking one of the storage crystals in his hand, the old elf gently squeezed it, causing the crystal's glow to intensify.

"But an isekai, even one with such a gift as the Tablet, which allows you to fill in the lines in your soul like a student fills in his scrolls, could well have done what you have encountered. Yeah, it couldn't have been summoned into our world unnoticed. Nor could one who had already entered the force arrive unnoticed. But to my great regret, isekais from another world can not only be summoned. They can also be sent. In this case, when the whole burden of overcoming the barrier between the worlds is taken by the one who sent them, as in our case, their arrival is not easy to notice. Since upon arrival, such an isekai will be still weak, and therefore extremely unnoticeable....."

Still clutching the already brightly glowing crystal-storage device in his hand, the old elf was silent for a few seconds, thinking about something of his own, or listening to the images from the crystal. Then, in a sudden sharp and decisive voice, in which there was no trace of fatigue, he said:

"So here we are. An isekai sent to our world by an entity powerful enough to give him the Tablet. And an unknown prodigy to whom this isekai fell into the hands of, and through whom he, as far as we can tell, also received the Tablet. Let us begin with this “Guardian of Balance.” I'll tell you right away that all her pathos about the world balance, the huge potential of this hooman, and his true purpose is most likely complete nonsense."

A brief gesture with his hand and two dozen images appeared in the air above the table, projected by a young elf from the crystal he held in his other hand. The elves in the room, including many of the Supreme, looked at them with interest. All of the images showed similar scenes. In the center were men and women of a wide range of ages, from very young to gray-haired elders, mostly human. The vast majority were simple everyday people, judging by their discreet clothing. And each of them stood before someone obviously very powerful.

In one picture, it was a mighty winged warrior, clad in grotesquely huge armor, decorated with gold chasing, and carrying a flaming sword. On another, a young maiden in snow-white robes, who could easily be mistaken for the Heraldess of the same Sun-face, appeared before the young man. On the third, a very young girl in an incredibly cute dress appeared before an elderly elder. She had fox ears on her head and nine incredibly fluffy tails behind her back. But all these creatures had one thing in common: each of them reeked of ostentatious power and pathos.

When everyone had appreciated what they had seen, the old elf gestured briefly to light another one next to those images. It was from the memories of an isekai that he had just seen. It was first-person but blended in very well with the rest of the images.

"According to the archives that have survived since the time before the Exodus, on average, nine out of ten of those who were sent to the other world, rather than those who had been summoned purposefully or who had come to the other world by accident, were ordinary commoners in their homeworld. And they told stories similar to what we have seen in the memories of this Cyril. In an average of three out of four cases, they were instructed by all sorts of “deities” to kill a certain Demon King who threatened the world they were sent to. And whom only he or she can kill to save everyone."

He said the last phrase, allowing himself to add a subtle sarcasm to his voice. And Sivila understood him perfectly well. Any demon deserving to be called an Overlord or, if you like, a King, if he managed to organize a real invasion into the real world, is a threat of natural planetary scale. And it requires appropriate efforts. If we're talking about an invasion and not a raid, even if it's a large-scale one. An isekai, who yesterday was a simple commoner, even having received the Tablet, will not solve anything here.

"But, according to the same archives, only in one case out of five, there was a really serious problem in the world where such “saviors” were sent, for the solution of which their abilities could be useful. I emphasize: “could be useful”. This does not mean that the problem could not be solved by the efforts of the locals, and there was no way to do without the help of an isekai from outside. On top of that, these sent isekai were not always useful, even in places where they could be really helpful. In the same four out of five cases where no help was needed, and such “saviors” were not needed at all, they, again in nine out of ten cases, caused only problems. Very big problems, often affect most of the inhabitants of the world to which they were sent by the various “Guardians of Balance”. Those who wish can see for themselves."

The images of “deities” and the “sent” isekais disappeared, replaced by others. The new ones were much more varied but of a much darker tone. And unlike the first, they were not static. Each image changed step by step, telling its own story.

One depicted a huge hall of a palace as large as the Royal Palace of the Forest. The luxurious room, decorated with tall columns, tapestries, statues, reliefs, and paintings, was covered with blood and the bodies of the dead. Among the dead, most of them were wearing obviously very expensive and high-quality armor, but there were also some ordinary servants. The walls, floor, and even the ceiling bore the marks of a brutal battle, with the use of battle magic. In the center of it all stood a young man with a haughty, but by human standards, quite handsome face. He looked disdainfully at the defeated figure in obviously very expensive clothes, once trimmed with snow-white furs, lying at the foot of the throne in a pool of blood. Beside him, in the same pool of blood, a massive golden crown gleamed.

Behind the young man, in the hands of several armed men, wearing the same magnificent armor as the many dead men, a very attractive woman by human standards was struggling helplessly. On her head was a much more modest golden crown, and she was wearing a revealing and obviously very expensive purple dress. And next to the haughty man, a little behind, stood another man, noticeably older, and also in armor. And his gaze, directed at his companion's back, is not kind at all.

The image changed, and there on the floor next to the murdered ruler lay the young man who had just looked at him scornfully. His murderer, in turn, is passionately embracing and kissing a woman in a purple dress who had just been in despair. One of the royal guards holding her is dead, and the other is dragging aside the corpse of his comrade, who was killed by a blow in the back. But in the next image change, the young man, who had just kissed passionately, finds himself lying on the floor next to the other two dead, in a pool of blood. And above them stands a rather smiling woman in a purple dress, with a stiletto dagger in her hand. Her satisfied gaze is not on the dead. But at the crown lying in a pool of their blood. Another change of image, and now she is sitting on the throne, in the same hall, but already cleared of blood and corpses, surrounded by many people saluting her. And with the coveted crown on her head.

Another image showed various battles one after another. The locations changed, from fields to riverbanks to various ruined and captured cities. One thing remained the same. The army under a red banner with a golden sword in the center, and the man who was at the head of this army every time. Though no, he too was changing, turning from a very young boy into a mature man. And then into a completely gray-haired but still strong old man, sitting on a huge throne in an equally huge hall, surrounded by many courtiers. And in front of him on a wide table was a map of the whole continent, all covered with symbolic figures of soldiers holding a red banner with a golden sword. There was not a single piece of land over which it did not fly.

The penultimate image showed a senile old man lying in bed, surrounded by many people, whose facial features gave away his children and grandchildren. The last change of images showed a vast continent of the unknown world, on fire and torn by war. At the head of many of the flames was the face of one of the descendants of the deceased elder, holding his version of his father's or grandfather's banner. But some had nothing to do with the deceased. They were holding other banners. Those that hung over defeated armies and captured cities.

In another image, a young human girl, not too pretty, a little overweight, with short hair gathered in a bundle at the back of her head. She was walking down the street of a busy city, dressed in clearly distinguished and alien clothing. The image changed continuously, showing two pictures. The way the girl actually looked, and the way others saw her. And those were, as the halflings say, two very big differences. In the eyes of others, there was a real beauty walking through the city, dressed in the discreet dress of a townswoman, which, however, very favorably emphasized her figure. Such a beauty would probably be accepted to serve in the Forest even without training. Even if she turned out to be a complete fool, at least she could be a breeding mare for the dynasties of servants being nurtured. But alas, it was an illusion. A splendid illusion, but an illusion nonetheless.

Next came a series of very explicit images with the same plot. The same ugly-beautiful girl in the company of another male admirer. Or female. Very quickly, each new companion became noticeably richer than the previous one. The last image was more like explicit pornography. Or a big celebration in the best traditions of the dark relatives of the firstborn. The spacious room, with many beds, sofas, and just mountains of cushions, was filled with couples or small companies copulating. Among those having a good time were representatives of various races, including the firstborn, each of whom, regardless of gender, was the center of attention. But for the most part, the people who were fucking were still human.

And at the head of all this debauchery, on a throne formed by five naked young men, sat a very satisfied, judging by her face, now quite a mature woman. Her real appearance had become more pleasant, for which she probably had access to expensive healing and cosmetic alchemy to thank. Her illusion appearance, on the other hand, had not changed. Although, this was most likely a consequence of the fact that the image could not fully convey the effect of the adaptive illusion-witchcraft. Banal for security reasons. The seductress was also completely naked, except for the elegant crown on her head. There was only one detail that spoiled the whole orgy. If you looked closely, each participant, except for the woman sitting on the living throne, wore an elegant but recognizable thin energy collar around their neck. It was translucent, bright pink in color, and from it stretched a thin thread to the right or left nipple of the seductress.

And there was something like that in almost every image. The subjects were different, but at the center of each was an alien from another world. And everywhere, in one way or another, they were the source of problems of varying magnitude. Only in two images was the situation different. In one series of pictures, a young girl, with short blond hair, in armor shining in the sun with a sword burning with fire, stood on a high fortress wall surrounded by dozens of warriors in similar armor. Some of them were kneeling, clasping their lacquered fists to their chests. Then she, at the head of a detachment, repelled an attempt to storm the same walls. The attackers were also human, but the key word here is “were”. Traces of the distortions typical of those who had fallen under the influence of demons or Ancient Deities of a dark nature were visible to the naked eye. Her sword burned through the enemies one by one, and the attack was stifled.

Next image. A jubilant crowd of people carries a smiling girl literally in their arms across the town square. Around her are ordinary townspeople, and soldiers, many of them hastily bandaged, but the girl's gaze is directed at only one man. A tall man in armor covered in dents, claw marks, and gouges. Half of his face is covered with a bloody bandage, but the surviving eye stares fixedly at the celebrant. The images change again, and here she is in a snow-white dress, standing in some obviously huge temple at the altar, holding the hand of a man in the same white clothes, who is taller than her by a good head. He has a dark patch over his left eye, and his stern face is covered with scars, but his smile is warm.

One more shift. An old woman sitting in a chair, surrounded by many children of different ages. The last change of the frame, and, apparently, in the same temple as before, a crowd of people stands near a huge sarcophagus made of white stone. On its lid is a relief, an exact replica of a girl in her youth. She is wearing the same armor and holding a sword in front of her with both hands.

In the second series of images, the center of the plot was from the beginning a grown man, at the head of a large and well-armed squad, walking across a virtually barren land. But this was no ordinary desert. There was a sense of something wrong in the mutilated few plants and rare animals. Irrational. One look at the remnants of living things was enough to realize. It shouldn't be like this. Such a thing could either be the consequence of a monstrous battle using the most powerful magic or a consequence of an equally monstrous magical cataclysm. Judging by the remnants of strange-looking battle golems and chariots made of metal, it was the former.

The image changed. The same man, surrounded by his companions, was conducting a ritual, the center of which was a natural rupture in space in the middle of a small valley littered with piles of dead iron. The rift was surrounded by flashes of poisonous green light. The same green lightning was striking the remains of golems and chariots, or rocks. It was clearly a magical anomaly, not doing the world any good. Another change of image. New location. New anomaly. New ritual. And so frame by frame. But with each new frame, the landscape changed. Gradually, normal plants and animals began to appear. Not many at first, but more and more. In the final image, a visibly aged man, surrounded by several companions, looked down at the slowly reviving land from the top of the hill.

After waiting for everyone in the room to fully appreciate the archival images the old elf continued:

"So I'm inclined to believe that all the words of this “Guardian of Balance” are nothing more than idle chatter, designed to impress a juvenile fool, and intended to instill an exorbitant sense of his greatness. Or to aggravate the already existing one. There is no question of any “world balance”."

Her spouse, who was sitting relatively close to Sivila, kept his gray eyes on the images and slowly raised his right hand and asked:

"And how much can we trust the memory of this hooman? Given the hands he's been in."

Turning to Jardal, Sivila bowed her head slightly:

"The question is more than appropriate. Honorable Master Gileas, you have the floor."

The Forest's best specialist in dealing with memories, who was seated on the podium behind the Elder Enchantress, rose to his feet, coughed, and spoke in a lecturing tone:

"The memory of this hooman is like a patchwork quilt. Even on the least in-depth inspection, I found many traces of deleted memories, of varying degrees of magnitude. Completely removed. Not distorted, not hidden, but removed. Completely. However!"

Making a gesture with his hand, Gileas re-lit the last memory of the hooman, the display of which Sivila had ended her report.

"This is a special memory. For obvious reasons, I checked it first and most thoroughly. I can say with absolute certainty: that it is absolutely static. It doesn't just not react to any attempts to interfere with it. It's as if it doesn't exist at all for all the memory techniques I know. While the rest of his memories are quite manageable. I suspect even if you erased its memory completely this fragment would remain. I can't be sure why, but I'm going to assume that this “Guardian of Balance” has something to do with it."

Making another hand gesture, Gileas highlighted the fragment of the memory where Cyril had gotten his artifact:

"Also, I note that the characteristic mental traces at the site of the deleted memories are absolutely identical. Which is highly likely to indicate that an artifact of the highest class was used on him. I daresay that this is the artifact that this hooman received from the Guardian of Balance. To summarize, I'm inclined to consider this particular last memory to be authentic. This is also supported by the fact that this mysterious Master did not delete it, like the other memories of this hooman about his stay in our world. Although this memory should have been one of the first to be deleted if that is what we are talking about. As for the rest of his memories, I cannot fully guarantee their authenticity without a thorough examination."

When he finished speaking, the Forest's best expert in working with memories bowed briefly and took his place on the podium. With a barely perceptible nod, the young elf who took the next storage crystal in his hand took the floor again.

"Thank you, honorable Gileas. I suggest that the question of the Guardian of Balance be considered closed for the time being. We can check our archives, but I will assume that her appearance and demeanor are nothing more than an image created specifically for this particular hooman. Therefore, I suggest we move directly to him."

The image of a human's last memory was replaced by an image of him lying on a medical bed in the center of the ritual circle.

"Let me say right off the bat, I strongly do NOT recommend the most obvious and easiest option to solve the problem. If it had been called for, I would have been the first to suggest getting rid of it immediately. But he was sent. And that's the problem. According to the archives we have at our disposal on isekai, if he is killed in his current state, there is a high risk that this Aurial will send us another one. And it is not excluded that she will deliberately set him negatively towards elves in general, and our Forest in particular. Everyone understands how it can turn out, especially if he is thrown to the same Islands or the Caliphate. Therefore, I strongly recommend NOT killing him."

Having circled all the Supreme Hierarchs sitting at the table with an attentive look, and finding no objections, the old elf continued:

"Also, I strongly advise against the second most obvious option. Now, to subdue his mind would be extremely easy even for a competent adept of the School of Mind Magic. But I urge you to refrain from any drastic methods of mental influence. At most, first-stage influences. But even those, if possible, I would strongly advise against. The reason is the same. That he is sent, not called."

A stingy hand gesture and three three-dimensional images reappeared above the table but from another storage crystal.

To my great regret, some of the archives devoted to the isekai were lost during the Exodus. But even in those that have survived, there are three different and guaranteed confirmed cases of sent rather than summoned isekai suddenly breaking free from the control of their masters. Please read them.

Two of the images were of young men. One of them wore an elegant navy blue robe embroidered with silver space-themed patterns. In one hand he held a similarly elegant dark wood staff, and in the other a crystal glass, judging by its color, of wine. He was, judging by the interiors, in a luxurious palace, surrounded by influential nobles among the people. The second young man was dressed in fine armor, obviously of elven work. He was kneeling before a pair of highborns seated on luxuriously carved thrones of white wood. The third image showed a young human girl, wearing colorful and very revealing robes. In some ways, they resembled the outfits that the rich inhabitants of the Caliphate liked to see on their concubines. Despite their frankness, they were more than suitable for her, emphasizing her high large breasts, and narrow waist, but at the same time lush hips and buttocks. She, surrounded by similarly dressed girls, was sitting on cushions in a room that looked like a typical harem and chatting cheerfully with them.

"To understand. All three cases took place in worlds where the appearance of an isekai was not something out of the ordinary. Yes, it was not a common occurrence, but it was quite usual. As a rule, they were purposefully summoned. But there were also sent guests. In all three cases, the isekai were promptly detected by the local inhabitants, including one of the branches of our people, and just as promptly taken under control. In the first stages according to the archives, everything went more than successfully. All three aliens were completely under the control of their masters, successfully acting for their benefit.

The images changed. Now all three people were in the thick of battle. The girl and one of the young men were hurling streams of fire and lightning at their enemies. The second young man was captured at that very moment, as he slashed several opponents with a single blow. Even though they were all wearing armor.

"Well aware of the dangers the Tablet holders could pose, the owners of all three were careful to avoid even the slightest risk of rebellion or disobedience. Regular checks and inspections were carried out. The widest range of measures was used: alchemy, mental magic, and artifacts. Control was complete."

The images changed again, becoming quite explicit. The young mage was kneeling in front of a not the prettiest and well-fed woman. She was sitting in a luxurious chair with her legs spread wide and the hem of her dress pulled up. Without showing any distaste for the process, he polished her lower lips with his tongue, burying his face in her thick dark hair. His gaze was fixed on the small pendant that the woman was slowly swinging above him. The pupils of the tongue-working man moved in time with the jewelry. The second foreign man was lying on the floor of the bedroom by the luxurious double bed, completely naked, methodically satisfying himself with one hand. On the edge of the bed next to him sat an elf dressed in a nightgown with her arms folded across her high chest. She looked down at the human lying at her feet with a bored expression. Her bare feet were down on the man's face, which at the same time with self-satisfaction covered them with kisses. It was hard not to recognize in this picture one of the classic techniques of mental processing, widely used by the firstborn on humans and other lesser races.

In the third image, also completely naked, a girl sat cross-legged in a semi-dark room in front of a wide, low brazier. A thin column of smoke rose from the smoldering embers. The girl's eyes stared fixedly at the smoldering embers while another woman sitting behind her, a noticeably older woman, said something in her ear. She accompanied her words with a massage of her shoulders, which flowed smoothly into a massage of her breasts.

"But in an instant, quite suddenly, all three aliens broke free, fully aware of their situation and all that was being done to them. No tabs, no blockages, no compulsions, no restraints worked. Even the hidden control artifacts that all three carried with them at all times, or were implanted in their bodies, were useless. The consequences were dire."

The images changed again. One showed the flaming ruins of a huge palace or castle in the middle of the city. All the adjacent buildings were also badly damaged, or completely destroyed, many already in flames. The source of this disaster was a human figure floating high in the sky above the city, with huge clots of flame and lightning bolts shooting down from it.

The second one depicted an easily recognizable residential mansion in one of the classic elven styles. A very spacious bright room, with large windows, literally flooded with light, looked terrible. Most of the furniture had been destroyed, there were blood spatters and the bodies of slain firstborns on the walls and floor. Many of the slain were dressed in civilian clothes, and only a few elves had weapons and armor. In the center of the shattered room knelt a young man, pierced by nearly two dozen arrows. And in front of him, three bodies lay in a row on the floor. A tall elf with thick brown hair, dressed in a house dress. A look of amazement froze on her still beautiful face, and a bloody stain spread across her chest, near her heart. Beside her lay two half-blood children, a boy, and a girl, also killed by a single stab to the heart.

The third image showed a similar picture, only the scene was not an elven mansion, but a harem. Among almost two dozen bodies of women of different ages mutilated by battle magic, there was a corpse of a human man of a respectable age and no less respectable size. One of the walls of the building had been broken through with fire magic, judging by the melted edges. The city was visible through the breach, the fires of dozens of fires rising above it.

After waiting for everyone to assess what they had seen, the old elf continued:

All three cases of controlled objects being off the leash had exactly one thing in common. The objects had reached a certain level of power. The Tablets of each of them differed from each other, and as a result, the levels written in them also differed. But the overall degree of power was roughly the same or quite comparable for all three of them. At the same time, there was nothing similar with the summoned or accidentally arrived isekai, even those who had achieved much more power.

After extinguishing the images, the elderly elf carefully put the storage crystal back in its place, then spoke again:

"Yes, there were cases when controlled summoned isekais broke free of control. However, according to the information available in the archives, in each of these cases, there was stupidity on the part of their handlers, who did not prevent the loss of control in time. Or purposeful interference on the part of quite specific adversaries, but which could also have been prevented. There is no record of a summoned isekai suddenly escaping from guaranteed control without any preconditions."

Third, who had been listening intently, suddenly stepped forward and asked, arching an eyebrow defiantly:

"What about the Hentai King case?"

Hitherto as unruffled as the head of the Secret Guard, the older elf twitched sharply, a shadow running across his face. He responded just as sharply, with a short curt reply:

"No proof!"

There was silence in the hall. Sivila frowned and looked from one to the other, not understanding what was going on and what Third had just mentioned. The queen, used to always being as much in the know as possible, didn't like it. The consolation was that, judging by the faces of her kin, she wasn't the only one who didn't understand what it was about. However, no explanation followed. The young elf cast a cold glance at Third:

"Returning to the three cases of breakdown mentioned. As a result of the investigations, it was concluded that the reason for such a momentary and complete loss of control was the intervention of those who sent these isekais."

Iardal, who had been listening intently to the elderly elf, asked thoughtfully:

"Are they offended that their fun was ruined?"

The king received an affirmative nod in response:

"Quite a possibility. Thus, I strongly advise against repeating the mistakes of our relatives."

The old elf accompanied his words, once again carefully circling his kin with a cold look of dull, not Elvish eyes. No one objected to him. Except that what he offered was not an answer to the question that had not been asked aloud. Pressing her hands to her temples, exhausted by the past report, Sivila asked:

"What NOT to do, we have heard. And I believe everyone here agrees with you as having real experience in dealing with isekai. But what do we DO with this person? Leave him as he is? Try to utilize him. If so, in what way? But much more importantly, what do we do with Master? The threat from him appeared to be an order of magnitude greater than we had feared. Given what we discovered in his lab, his possession of the Tablet is now virtually certain. Which means his power will continue to grow."

Leaning forward, the queen looked carefully into the dim eyes of one of the oldest inhabitants of the Forest and asked bluntly:

"What shall we do, First?"

* * *

Tadam, Brinar has rested, and is back at the quill! The first chapter of the continuation of the story of the Elf Queen is ready. And the next chapter is just around the corner. During the writing of Goblins and Amazons a lot of writing has accumulated, so the updates will have to come out often at the beginning.

My traditional thanks to all those who read, give likes, comment, and correct mistakes.

Внимание! Этот перевод, возможно, ещё не готов.
Его статус: идёт перевод

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86674/577592

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP