Chapter 190: The Elven Sacred Ground—Elfo Sagrado (3)

“Come on, have a seat.” Arkemis pulled out a chair and gestured with an inviting smile.

Ketal eased into the chair, sinking into the plush softness of its expensive cushion. The chair’s craftsmanship was impeccable—each curve, each detail, evidence of the High Elves’ aesthetic sense and skill. Arkemis deftly opened the bottle of elven liquor, and instantly, a fragrant aroma wafted out, floral and sharp, filling the room with a hint of some wild, ancient forest.

“The scent is wonderful,” Ketal remarked, breathing it in deeply.

“This is a rare vintage—something only High Elves are allowed to drink. Consider it a privilege,” Arkemis teased, pouring the liquor into crystalline glasses that sparkled in the lamplight.

“I appreciate the honor. Connections like these are worth cherishing,” Ketal replied, his eyes glinting with warmth.

Their eyes met, a momentary silence passing between them. In that pause, Arkemis regarded Ketal with quiet intensity.

Ketal...,

she thought, her heart unexpectedly heavy. For the first time, she found someone who felt truly

right

. Someone she could imagine walking beside for years—perhaps forever.

Being a High Elf meant living in unbroken solitude. They were born in their perfected forms beneath the World Tree, and apart from the tree itself, nothing else truly mattered. Bonds of friendship or even familial affection did not exist for High Elves.

Only the High Elf Queen, wielding the authority and charisma of her station, could exercise any real influence over the others—and even that was often no more than a gentle suggestion. High Elves ultimately followed only their own will.

Arkemis had always disliked that aspect of her people. She had dreamed, ever since she was small, of a life like those told in human fairy tales—a life with friends and laughter, with shared meals and whispered secrets. She wanted to experience genuine camaraderie, to have people she could rely on and who could rely on her in return. More than anything, she wanted a family. She wanted to know what it meant to have a child.

The mechanics of it were no mystery to her—she knew the biological details as well as anyone. She was no naïve girl, after all. However, the

meaning

was what eluded her. It was not the outcome—bearing a child—that she truly wanted, but the process. She longed for love—a deep, passionate, mutual affection where feelings flowed freely and each person was transformed by the other.

For that, she had chosen Ketal. He was the only one who saw her, not as an oddity or as a mere embodiment of power, but simply as herself. He talked to her easily. He listened, truly listened, and when she spoke of her dreams and frustrations, he understood. He accepted her being a High Elf without any of the awkwardness or reverence that others often showed. Even the natural intimidation he had to have felt in her presence never stopped him from treating her as an equal.

He’s a good man

, Arkemis thought, watching Ketal raise his glass. Even if his aura was daunting—so intense that it made even other strong elves falter—he was, at his core, someone who made her feel seen.

However, there was one problem: Love, as she well knew, could not be one-sided. All her feelings would mean nothing if Ketal did not share them. With a pang, she thought that he probably saw her as a close friend rather than as a potential lover.

Still, she had time. Their bond was genuine, and she believed that if she took things slow, she could help their relationship deepen. That had been her plan—until she heard about Ketal’s journey with Aquaz. The very idea of a rival sparked a fierce sense of urgency within her.

If I don’t do something, someone else will!

she thought. If she was honest, Ketal was a remarkable man. He was strong, intelligent, and once someone managed to overcome his intimidating aura, he was deeply charming. She could easily see someone else falling for him, just as she had.

So, tonight, she resolved to be bolder. She would try to shift his feelings—maybe not to love, not yet, but at least to a deeper affection.

Arkemis smiled sweetly and poured Ketal a glass. “Here you go, Ketal.”

Ketal accepted the drink, savoring the aroma before taking a sip. The liquid slid down his throat, smooth and sweet, leaving a subtle burn and a lingering floral aftertaste. He let out a low exclamation of pleasure. “This is extraordinary.”

“Delicious, right?” Arkemis said, pleased.

“Do all High Elves drink this sort of thing?”

Arkemis shook her head, lips curling in a playful smirk. “Not often. Even the finest liquor gets boring if you drink it for centuries. Want another?”

“Gladly.”

The evening drifted on, relaxed and warm. As Arkemis refilled their glasses, she squeezed her fist under the table, trying to work up her courage.

Alright. I can do this.

She had no real experience with romance or seduction. She’d never even tried to flirt before. However, over her long life, she had read enough romantic novels to fill a small library. She knew all the lines, all the tricks—at least in theory. The way the mood was developing, everything seemed to be going well.

Okay, what was I supposed to do next? How do I take it from here?

However, reading a thousand books and living the story were very different things. As the alcohol warmed her, Arkemis realized how little practical experience she actually had. She tried to lean back in her chair, crossing her legs and adopting a pose she had seen countless times in novels—a pose meant to exude elegance and allure.

Ketal regarded her with amusement. “Arkemis, is something wrong with your posture?”

“H-huh? No, not at all!” she said, flustered.

The truth was, her attempt at seductive elegance was awkward—like a marionette whose strings had gotten tangled.

“Isn’t it... alluring?” she asked him, attempting a sly smile.

“You look like a broken wooden doll,” Ketal replied, deadpan.

Arkemis immediately straightened, blushing furiously. She tried to remember more tricks from her books and attempted several, but each came off even more forced and unnatural.

“Uh, a toast... to your beautiful eyes?” she ventured weakly.

“Hm?” Ketal looked at her, puzzled.

“N-no, never mind...”

Despite her embarrassment, the atmosphere did not turn awkward. If anything, their long familiarity—formed during those long days together in the Denian Kingdom—made even these missteps comfortable. They simply laughed them off and moved on to easier topics.

“How is your alchemy research going?” Ketal asked her, settling back with his drink.

“It’s... coming along. I’m starting to see the outline of what’s possible. There’s a lot of potential,” Arkemis replied, though privately she sighed. This wasn’t quite the conversation she’d hoped for, but at least she could talk to Ketal about anything.

Ketal took another sip and then asked her, “I heard your sacred ground is under attack by evil, but everything looks untouched. Even the nearby villages look unharmed, apart from the one that was burned. Is your Queen really that powerful?”

Arkemis’s face fell, and she drained her glass before answering. “The Queen has been protecting us. The dark mages have attacked over and over again—they’ve even tried to burn the forest itself. But every time, the Queen repelled them. She is... well, there’s no one like her. She’s more than just a Hero—she’s a force of nature.”

Ketal nodded, impressed. “That’s remarkable.”

A silence settled. Then Arkemis turned the question back on him. “What about you, Ketal? Tell me more about your journey.”

Ketal smiled and began to recount the events that had led him here—from traveling with the priests of Kalosia, to defeating bandits along the way, to facing off against the dark mages. He spoke of the struggles, the victories, and the losses. Arkemis listened, rapt, completely absorbed by his stories. For someone who had always longed for adventure outside the sacred ground, Ketal’s tales were irresistible.

Eventually, the conversation turned to Ketal’s blessing. When he mentioned meeting Kalosia and receiving a holy relic, Arkemis stared at him in disbelief.

“You met Kalosia? And you actually received a holy relic?”

“Sure did. Look,” Ketal said, cheerfully holding up his wrist. The obsidian bracelet shimmered faintly, its surface suffused with an unmistakable holy radiance.

Arkemis gaped at it. This was no ordinary artifact—by all rights, it should have been locked away in a temple and venerated by the faithful.

“Was there... no problem?” she asked him, unable to hide her concern.

“None whatsoever,” Ketal answered.

“Really? That’s a relief. I’ve always heard that there was conflict between the gods and the beings of the Demon Realm. I was a bit worried, since you’re technically one of those beings, that something bad might happen...”

Ketal’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Arkemis shrugged. “It’s a story from long, long ago—almost a legend, even for me as a High Elf. Supposedly, back in ancient times, the gods and the Demon Realms clashed, shaking the world to its foundations every time they fought. After several of those battles, things finally calmed down. But I thought maybe it was a risk for you.”

Ketal considered this. “But the beings of the Demon Realm can’t even leave that place, right? At least, not until recently. It doesn’t make sense for there to have been any conflict.”

“I don’t know the details, either. Like I said, it’s practically a myth. Still, since you seem to be fine, maybe it was all just a story.” She paused for a moment, then brightened. “Maybe the dragons would know more. Some of the ancient ones have been around since before the ancient emperor’s legend.”

“Dragons, huh?” Ketal mused, eyes darkening for a moment. “Do you know where they are?”

“No idea,” Arkemis admitted. “They haven’t shown themselves for a very long time. Maybe the Queen would know?”

Ketal’s eyes glimmered dangerously for a second, but Arkemis missed it.

“Oh, that reminds me!” she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “I did some research on your body’s unique qualities.”

“My body?” Ketal echoed, bemused.

“Your body is incredibly special. You know that, right?”

She described, in detail, how she’d tried to analyze the mysteries of his form. The density of his flesh, his ability to endure the highest-level attacks—even the assaults of Epic spirits—without flinching. It was a puzzle she could not ignore, so upon returning to the sacred ground, she had scoured its archives for any clue.

At last, she’d found a possible answer.

“I think it might be due to something you’ve built up over time—what some call Karma,” Arkemis explained.

Ketal stroked his chin, considering her words. They were eerily similar to what Lubitra, the demon of the Devil’s Mountain, had said to him once.

“J

ust what have you built? What have you accomplished, to reach such a realm?”

He remembered asking Lubitra what that meant, but the demon had never answered. Now, Arkemis seemed to have solved the riddle.

“Your body isn’t just tough—it’s like the embodiment of Myst itself. It can endure powers and abilities that would destroy anyone else,” Arkemis continued. “There are a few examples throughout history of people whose bodies became vessels of power. Have you ever heard of that legend, where a person exposed to a beast that’s killed many humans becomes paralyzed with fear?”

“I have,” Ketal replied. Even on Earth, there were stories—tales of emperors whose aura made others bow, of saints whose kindness changed the world.

“It’s like that. When a person accomplishes something great, or builds up enough Karma, they gain a presence that matches their deeds. In your case, your achievements have literally changed your body, made it something beyond what it once was.”

Ketal pondered this new perspective. In his old world, such concepts were more like metaphors or intuition—here, they seemed to have tangible reality.

Arkemis hesitated, looking thoughtful. “Still, there are parts of it I can’t explain. Even emperors or saints, no matter how great their aura, never reached the point where their bodies became like yours. How much would someone have to accomplish, how many miracles would they need to perform, for their very flesh to become the embodiment of Myst?”

She took a deep breath, then asked him, “Ketal, what exactly did you do in the White Snowfield?”