Chapter 628: I Was an Elf Who Lived One Thousand Years Ago With Trash Talent, but I've Been Revived

Chapter 628: I Was an Elf Who Lived One Thousand Years Ago With Trash Talent, but I've Been Revived

Llewellen set aside the dwarven music box, exhaling in a mix of pain and amusement as magic continued to flood into him. He imagined, decades or even centuries from now, someone finding the last recording he’d made. If the dwarves ever came to reclaim this place, or if the elven empire breached in search of something... what was the likelihood of them knowing how it functioned? What was the likelihood it wasn’t tossed aside, or found by someone who had no understanding of its value?

Statistically, quite low.

But it didn’t really matter. There was nothing else for him to do but die, overflowing with magic. He could already feel it cracking free of his body, pushing aside organs in its bid to escape a vessel too small to hold it. He had finally found an A-rank ascension that suited him, yet as if the world was thrusting him back into place, he still lacked sufficient expertise to carry it out without perishing.

There was no pain as he leaned up against the stone walls. He had cut away pain with an improvised spell so that his last moments might be those of peace. There had been so much he had wanted to do. So many problems that he’d intended to solve, so many branches of magic left unexplored. He hadn’t spent his life in vain, despite his shortcomings. Yet it still didn’t feel like enough. The ideas coming to him never ended, but he was to die long before he could put any of them out into the world.

He felt a warm blanket cover him as blood started to escape his body, and when he exhaled, he felt it pour out across his chin. The rising power came to his neck, and then shortly after to his head. Then...

Llewellen was standing, feeling all of his limbs devoid of the sluggish power that had been coursing through them moments before. In abject surprise, he whipped his head about. It was the same room, yet now was covered in blackness that was undoubtedly traces of the magic he’d absorbed. And yet... standing there just ahead of him were three humans, of all things, bathed in blue spell light as they stared at him in wonder.

One of the humans was an old man with yellow teeth and eyes. Another had tan skin with golden tattoos, whose eyes were also yellow. The human in the back was dressed as decadently as the emperors he’d met in the lifetime, and struck quite the tall figure. But upon further inspection, she wasn’t a human—partially hidden behind her long white hair were elven ears. They were considerably less large and sharp than his. They might’ve been of a different heritage.

The woman stepped forward. “Llewellen?”

He flinched when he heard his name from this person he didn’t recognize, then looked around at everything, including his own body. Upon further inspection, this wasn’t his body. Most jarring was the androgyny, as this form lacked any parts denoting sex. But other things were subtly different, too—unrecognizable arms, legs, et cetera.

He had been so resigned to death it was difficult to feel fear, much less process what was going on. But this woman... she knew his name. That meant they all likely knew more, too. He looked at them.

“Am I safe?” He asked.

The woman nodded. “You’re in no danger.”

“I died...” he said with certainty. “...so you must’ve brought me back, somehow.”

The well-dressed woman stepped forward. “You’re right. You’re no longer in any risk of suffering from what afflicted you. I’m Anneliese, Queen of Vasquer. I’m acting on behalf of Argrave, my king. That’s Garm, and the last is Durran.” She put her hand to her silver breastplate. “We hope to bring you out of this place.”

The tattooed man began to speak, saying, “We brought you back to—”

The elven woman stopped him from saying more. “You died, Llewellen. I’m not sure how long ago precisely, but it was at least a millennium.”

His heart throbbed violently in shock—it, at least, still functioned as it ought to, despite his new and unusual body. It was difficult enough to accept the fact that he’d been brought back from the brink since he couldn’t deny things as he saw them. But the passage of time? He couldn’t even begin to imagine how much things could change in one thousand years. The fact that this woman was so ridiculously tall and possessed of shorter ears was something to evidence that. She called herself ‘queen,’ however, and not emperor. As far as he knew, no such title existed in this region.

“You know my name,” he said, looking between them all. “You know how much time has passed since I came down here, roughly. The dwarven music box I made is missing. You brought me, in particular, back. Royalty is here for this event,” he stated his observations, then crossed his arms. “While I’m very much curious about the details, I imagine you have a reason to bring me back other than charity.”

The tattooed man looked surprised at his deductions, scratching his head of black hair. The old man flashed his teeth in a wide smile, as if it was expected.

“You’re right—we do. Do you know of Gerechtigkeit?” Anneliese asked.

“Anneliese said we had perished,” Llewellen said, half a question.

“She left out some details,” the woman said. “Erlebnis took me in and preserved me, at the price of keeping the knowledge of the imperial family alive. He’s dead now. Argrave killed him. He’s Anneliese’s friend. Or husband, whatever. I’m her friend. He’s kind of, but not really.”

Despite her rapid, poor communication, he understood her. Llewellen covered his face. “So... we’re the last, then.” He exhaled. It was of such large scope it was difficult to comprehend. “I’m Llewel—”

“I’m Onychinusa,” she interrupted. “I already know you. They said you were alive during the days of the empire. Is it true?” She spoke quickly.

“Yes,” Llewellen nodded. “I was a slave there for most of my life.”

Her expression crumpled like she’d been hit in the face by a wooden plank. “Oh. Um...” She gripped the table. “Was it as great as...? I mean, no...” She shook her head. “The empire, what was it like for a... hmm...”

Llewellen realized why she’d come—to learn about her heritage. She had been intending to ask him if the empire was as grand as others had made it out to be, yet his remark about his being a slave had thrown a wrench into her questionings. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You’d like to know what the empire was like?”

“I know what it was like. I can read,” she defended.

“But you’ve never lived in it,” he pointed out neutrally.

“...no,” she said meekly.

“Then I can tell you.” Llewellen smiled. She seemed terrible at communication—not unexpected, given how she claimed to have survived where others had died. He would need to be patient with her, for her own sake. “But first, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

“Why? That’s hardly pertinent.” She narrowed her eyes.

“It will help me better explain the context of the empire,” he subtly misdirected. In truth, he was merely curious about this strange woman who’d appeared in his room.

“Technically, I’m royalty,” she said proudly. “My grandfather was Emperor Balzat I.”

“Really?” Llewellen raised his brows. “I met him quite a few times. He consulted me for a project.”

“Really?!” She repeated his own words, her excitement twice what his had been. She leaned in closely. “Can you...?”

“Certainly.”

What a strange fate. What a strange world. But... this new life, even if brief, held a great deal of promise.