This was my second time visiting Alvenheim. Unlike Helium, where my frequent exchanges with Cecily made visits feel familiar, Alvenheim was a different story.

Cecily, as a princess, had fewer restrictions on her movements, but Arwen, being a queen, was bound by her responsibilities.

Even though Siris occasionally acted as a messenger, she was just that—a messenger, not a servant. She would even fetch books from the sanctuary upon request.

So, visiting Alvenheim, not as an ordinary person but as Zenon, felt undeniably strange.

Even in Helium, my visits were always under Cecily’s or Garz’s guidance, never as Zenon the writer.

That alone was enough to evoke a strange feeling, but Alvenheim decided to add another layer of weight to the situation.

"So… who are you again?"
"I am Beatrice Starseeker, the Commander of Alvenheim's Warrior Division. I oversee the Guardian Forces of Alvenheim."

A woman with long, golden hair cascading behind her ears and emerald-green eyes shimmering like auroras introduced herself to me.

Her clear, resonant voice carried a hint of warmth, her gaze brimming with admiration as she addressed me.

Like all elves, she possessed breathtaking beauty. Her slender figure was accentuated by a light white combat uniform, and the sword at her waist suggested she specialized in swordsmanship. Judging by her elegant appearance, her style likely mirrored her refined demeanor.

"And this person is…?"
"Haas Stormhoff, Commander of Alvenheim’s Mage Division."

The man who spoke had shiny, light-green hair tied in a neat ponytail. He wore a simple robe and round glasses, exuding an air of intellect.

With a gentle smile that softened his otherwise sharp features, his beauty was so striking that I had briefly mistaken him for a woman.

I alternated my gaze between the two commanders, both of whom had been accompanying me since the start of my journey, and greeted them with a slightly bewildered tone.

"I-It’s nice to meet you. As you already know, my name is Isaac Ducker Marshalle, better known as Zenon, the author of Zenon’s Biography. Are you both really commanders?"
"Yes, we are."
"Though it feels like an undeserved honor to hold such a position."

Beatrice responded with confidence, while Haas spoke with humility. Their contrasting personalities were apparent from their replies.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the contrast as I recalled our rushed departure. There hadn’t been any time for introductions when we teleported to Alvenheim for safety. It was only upon arriving that I learned their identities.

"The position of commander—it's what I think it is, right? The highest-ranking individuals in the military, known for their unparalleled skill?"
"Correct."
"Indeed, though mastery of magic has no true end."

Beatrice's curt reply contrasted with Haas’s modest tone. I nodded, suppressing a laugh.

As I understood it, the title of "commander" in Alvenheim was reserved for those at the pinnacle of their respective fields. It wasn’t just about raw combat prowess; leadership, strategic acumen, political skill, and popularity were all factors.

To put it simply, if a regular knight could be likened to a tactical weapon, a commander was on the level of a strategic asset.

Their positions carried immense prestige both domestically and internationally. Yet here they were, assigned to protect me, and not just one but two of them.

Considering there were only five commanders in Alvenheim, over a third of their military's top echelon had been dispatched solely for my security.

'But they both look so young…'

Currently, we were waiting in a reception area for distinguished guests after passing through immigration procedures. Once Arwen gave the signal, we would head toward Yggdrasil.

Although I could head straight to Elodia, Arwen’s official residence, the plan was to take a leisurely walk there. This wasn’t just about meeting Arwen but also about Alvenheim making a public display of their gift to me.

Apparently, this gift wasn’t solely Arwen’s idea but something initiated by the citizens themselves—a strange yet endearing example of “elven communism.”

I glanced back and forth between the two commanders. Their gazes were anything but ordinary, likely because they knew I was Zenon.

One of them practically sparkled with admiration, while the other radiated curiosity. It was intimidating, to say the least.

Breaking the silence, I decided to ask a question, albeit a slightly impolite one.

"This might be a dumb and rude question, but… may I ask it?"
"If it’s from Zenon, no question is unwelcome."
"Indeed, I’d be honored to hear it."

Thank goodness. It seemed my rapport with elves in general had smoothed things over. Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I asked cautiously.

"It might be because I’m human, but I find it hard to guess your ages. You must be quite old to hold such positions, right?"
"Not particularly. I’ll be turning 250 next year."
"I, on the other hand, have witnessed 651 springs in my lifetime."
"...I see."

Their responses reflected their respective generations. Beatrice, a "new generation elf," gave a straightforward answer, while Haas, a "traditional elf," used a poetic phrasing typical of his kind.

The distinction between new and traditional elves stemmed from the racial war 300 years ago. Beatrice hadn’t experienced the war, but Haas had.

I couldn’t help but stare at Haas in awe, knowing he had witnessed events that would fill history books. Elves, like a certain race from a famous manga, aged slowly, only starting to show signs of aging around 800 years old.

Most traditional elves I’d met were rigid and dogmatic, but Haas seemed different.

"It’s hard to guess the age of an elf, even more so than humans."
"I’d say the same about you, Zenon."
"Excuse me?"

What did he mean by that? I looked at Haas in confusion, unsure of the intent behind his statement.

With a kind smile, he continued, leaving me flustered.

"Unlike me, whose body and soul age in harmony, Zenon’s body and soul seem out of sync. Doesn’t that make you harder to gauge?"
"...Ah."

What sort of misunderstanding was this? His words eerily struck at the truth of my essence, tinged with surprising goodwill.

Accustomed to dealing with traditionalists like Firren, I’d assumed older elves were indifferent to me. Apparently not.

Though flustered, I forced a smile and replied nonchalantly, though a bead of sweat rolled down my temple.

"That’s… an interesting perspective. Why do you think that?"
"In my hundreds of years, I’ve observed that you’ve experienced a world far broader than mine. Your stories, initially dismissed as fiction, depicted unimaginable concepts. You humanized the demons, criticized the Council’s corruption… who else could dare to imagine such things?"

Well, when he put it like that, I didn’t have much to say. Writing fantasy required a certain level of cultural advancement, and web novels demanded even more.

Even I had been culturally shocked by space war games in my previous life. How much more so for people in this world?

Resorting to a wry smile, I let Haas’s observations slide. He seemed to take that as confirmation, smiling faintly as he nodded.

To shift the conversation, I turned to Beatrice with another question.

"Then, when I arrive at Elodia and meet Arwen, what should I expect?"

Beatrice’s eyes widened slightly before curling into a grin. Her voice, though clear and elegant, carried an undeniable vigor.

"Since it’s a gift from Alvenheim, we’ve made thorough preparations, but we’re open to accommodating anything you desire."
"Would it be possible to visit the sanctuary?"

The sanctuary, famed as the first library, housed an immense collection of books. For a bibliophile like me, it was a literal "sanctuary."

Though I’d previously relied on Siris to fetch books, I wondered if I might now enter freely.

"Of course. And beyond that, the queen’s…"
"Ahem. Starseeker?"
"Ah, my apologies."

Beatrice had almost let something slip, but Haas intervened just in time. While a bit disappointing, I decided not to press the matter.

Instead, I broached a more daring topic.

"What about… the World Tree? Could I approach it?"

Haas's expression didn’t falter, but Beatrice’s brows lifted slightly.

"The World Tree… you mean?"
"Yes."

The World Tree, a sacred symbol given to the elves by the goddess Hirt during the Demon War, was said to reject anyone with even a trace of malice.

Its dew alone was enough to serve as a key ingredient for elixirs, making it a treasure beyond compare.

Even Arwen couldn’t approach it without the clergy’s permission. I doubted they’d allow me, but to my surprise…

"Of course. The priests would gladly welcome you. You saved the World Tree from corruption, after all. Who could refuse you?"

I could hardly believe it. I’d longed to see the World Tree up close, and now that wish would be fulfilled.

Excitement bubbled within me, though I assured myself I wouldn’t disturb its leaves or dew. This was purely a chance to witness its grandeur, like visiting a world-famous landmark.

"It’s time. Shall we head out?"
"How long will it take to reach Elodia?"
"Not too long. Just a short walk."
"Good to hear."

At least, that’s what I thought—until I stepped outside.

"What… is this?"
"It seems the citizens have gathered to catch a glimpse of Zenon."

The sight of a street, split in two like a red carpet, greeted me. People thronged on either side, their excited chatter filling the air.

Knights stood in formation to hold back the crowd, and the capital’s center

had essentially been cleared just for me.

I hadn’t even stepped out yet, and the atmosphere was already overwhelming.

"Do I really have to walk through this?"
"It’s necessary. The citizens need to see that their gift is being delivered to you."
"It’s not about that…"

Clearly, Arwen intended to humiliate me. But skipping the procession wasn’t an option either.

Clenching my eyes shut, I reluctantly stepped forward.

"It’s Zenon!"
"Where? Where?"
"There! The red-haired one!"
"Wow!"

Cheers erupted, mingling with the sound of applause. My face flushed as the commotion intensified.

'...I’ll never get used to this.'

How did other heroes endure such things? As someone who preferred solitude, walking through this crowd was mortifying.

"Why not wave? They’ve all come to see you, after all."
"Indeed. A simple gesture would delight them."

Arwen, just you wait.

***

At that moment, Arwen, waiting in Elodia…

Zap!

"Hiiik?!"
"Your Majesty, are you alright?"
"Ah, yes. It’s nothing. I just felt a sudden… tingling sensation."

Out of nowhere, a peculiar jolt coursed through her body, startling her.

'What was that? Something feels… strange.'

A sudden warmth flushed her face, and she tilted her head in confusion, trying to make sense of the sensation.