Chapter 143 Half-Elf
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Half-Elf… a child born from human and elf parents, forever branded as an accursed existence. In countless stories back in Ayumu’s original world, they were written as tragic figures, treated unfairly and pushed to the margins. Normally such things would stay confined to fiction, never stepping outside the boundaries of imagination. Yet in this otherworld Ayumu had teleported into, elves were real, their long, pointed ears proof enough. And so the matter of Half-Elves was no mere fantasy—here, it was a living, breathing reality.
Their features were distinct: more adept at handling magic than humans, carrying reserves of mana greater than any ordinary man or woman, while their bodies—though not as slender as pure elves—were sturdier, stronger, more capable. But this gift came twinned with a curse, for it was precisely what drew suspicion and hostility to them. Humans saw them as dangerously proficient in sorcery, beings who, if they ever snapped, might unleash something terrifying, something beyond human control.
This distrust only deepened under the rule of Lukurusa Theocracy, where Aria herself was venerated as a goddess. Having once triumphed over the old Yugan Empire in the final war against demi-humans, the Theocracy secured dominance over the vital strategic resources of this world: mithril, magic stones, and more. They monopolized supply, wielding not just religious power but financial and economic leverage over every human nation on the Demi-human Continent. Add to this the notorious elf temperament—aloof, arrogant, impossibly difficult—and it was little wonder humans bristled at their very presence.
Even more galling was the hypocrisy. The Theocracy exalted “austere purity” as its national creed, yet many elves displayed an obsessive greed for wealth, clutching gold with a zeal that put merchants to shame. This glaring contradiction earned elves a reputation worse than any other demi-human race, and from that dark stereotype sprang the prejudice against Half-Elves. When people heard the word “elf,” they imagined pride, selfishness, exclusion, and avarice—and with that image already planted, it was the Half-Elves who bore the brunt of contempt.
But what of the elf lands themselves? Surely there, Half-Elves would find acceptance? No—there, too, they were despised. In Lukurusa Theocracy, their physical strength set them apart from the slender elves, yet in the refined art of sorcery they lagged behind, unable to master advanced body-enhancement magic. Pure-blooded elves, able to achieve such feats with ease, scoffed at them as half-baked failures, fit only to be ridiculed. Worse still, elves prided themselves on being a superior race, convinced they had built a civilization loftier than any “lowly” people. To them, Half-Elves—with their “tainted” human blood—were filthy, an offense to their very senses. Even Quarter-Elves, children born from Half-Elves and humans, suffered the same fate. Persecution and exile were common; fleeing from villages under duress or being driven out outright was no rare tale.
Thus it was that Myucel—a girl with eyes the deep violet of amethyst and hair a soft flaxen hue—grew up beneath the heavy weight of this reality. She, too, was a Half-Elf, and her life had been nothing if not a string of hardship.
* * *
Myucel had come to the Imperial Capital of Keldan with her chest brimming with hope. Her roots lay in the Great Forest straddling Nelrearia Saintland and Lukurusa Theocracy, where she lived with her parents. Her father, a well-known philanderer and a fool of sorts, had nonetheless won the heart of her elf mother, who found his antics charming. Their lives had been short, struck down by misfortune, but before her death her mother had passed down to Myucel the traditional elven knowledge of pharmacology. With it, she learned to craft plasters and ointments, selling them to scrape together a living. It was never easy.
The remedies themselves were valued, yet Myucel’s Half-Elf heritage poisoned every transaction. Buyers were few, and those willing to deal often forced her to sell at pitiful prices, exploiting her desperation. Still she carried on, traveling from village to town, peddling her handmade medicine and stocking up on essentials. It was during such errands that she began overhearing hushed conversations. Locals would mutter with bitter expressions, not about her, as she first feared, but about something else entirely: how, in the old Imperial Capital of Keldan, the oppressed People of Birene were said to be living well. “We, the faithful, worship Goddess Aria with all our hearts,” they complained, “and yet the world is unjust.”
The words struck her. She already knew the People of Birene were treated as colorless vermin, persecuted much like herself. The idea that they had found a place in Keldan where life could be better—it shocked her, but also set her heart aflame. If they had a place there, then perhaps she, a Half-Elf, might too. Perhaps Keldan could be a refuge, a home free of unjust treatment.
Her heart raced at the thought, pounding with restless excitement. She couldn’t sit still. Though memories of her forest home tugged painfully at her, she packed up, abandoned the house filled with her parents’ memories, and braved the journey. She dodged thieves, endured fear and exhaustion, yet clung to hope until at last she arrived in Keldan.
Reality was merciless. Thirsty, hungry, she approached a food stall to buy bread and water. That was when it happened.
”Uwaa?! You’re a Half-Elf!”
Her hood must have slipped, her ears glimpsed. The Birene shopkeeper, who moments before had smiled at her, cried out in horror. At once, voices erupted around her. “What?! A Half-Elf?” “How terrifying!” “So scary…” One by one, people recoiled, shrinking back as if she carried a plague.
(Why… why is this happening?) Myucel thought, heart pounding in disbelief.
”We don’t sell to half-demons like you!” one man spat.
”Yeah! Get out of this town—now!” another shouted.
Their rejection crashed over her like a wave, cruel and absolute. Trembling, she stammered, “P-please… don’t bully me…” Her eyes brimmed with tears as she turned and fled.
She had believed—truly believed—that perhaps in Keldan, she might be accepted. But no. It was the same here. She never should have come. She never should have left her parents’ home, that house of memories she would never see again. Hours ago she had entered Keldan filled with hope, and now those hopes lay shattered, nothing but pale illusions.
And yet, she could not return. Her travel funds were nearly gone. The road home was closed to her.
”Heh heh heh… looks like someone’s in trouble…”
The voice slithered out of the shadows. Myucel turned and found herself surrounded by leering faces. “Well, well. Look at that—a young Half-Elf girl,” one of them said, grinning wide.
”Geh-heh-heh, this is our lucky day! The lord’s been cracking down on us lately, we were about ready to call it quits. But looks like we’ve got one last payday!”
She hadn’t even realized, in her frantic flight, that she had stumbled into a half-abandoned district, crumbling and unsupervised. Rough-looking men, clearly remnants of some criminal gang, had her boxed in on all sides.
”A-ahh…”
She was no weakling—her arrows and magic made her a formidable fighter. But the crushing despair, the rejection she had just suffered, robbed her of all will. She collapsed to her knees, powerless.
”Oh? Not going to resist? All the better for us,” one of them sneered.
And so, stripped of strength, her spirit broken, Myucel was taken away into the clutches of the criminal underworld.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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