Suicide Mission

This is a suicide mission.

And I have to make sure that it is clear to my every companion that what we are about to do is a suicide mission. Holding a vial of murky dark liquid in my left hand, I start my sales presentation. "Ladies and gentlemen, what I have in my hand is a Berserker Potion. After intake, you will lose ten to a hundred years of your lifespan. As it is a prototype, we aren't exactly sure of its side effects, but hey… we at least have the estimates! In the worst-case scenario, you will just casually die."

My very dry humor isn't making anyone laugh. As all of the elves know, I am quite the eccentric type of person. The elves have been exposing themselves to stressful situations for quite a long time since the night raid in Lorekleim, the night raid on the bandit village, the night raid on Jeremy barony, the infiltration on Zaun manor and now they are at the highest tension possible… and they will just get more stressful as we attack the Urden county.

"Ahem," I cough awkwardly. I don't know about being a salaryman, but I am just trying my best. "After intake of this potion, it will theoretically grant you tenfold of your natural abilities! I don't know what else it will do as it is a prototype. The good news is with this thing, you can vent as much as you want in the next 12 hours without exhaustion!"

I stand on a crate speaking loud and clear. From above, I see the various expressions of the elves listening to my words. I erase my foolish expression and don my kingly arrogant façade.

"Even with this kind of divine potion, it is not clear whether we can overcome the county just like how we did in the Jeremy barony. The Count's soldiers are five times bigger than a baron's. We did manage to kill an estimable 300 of them, but what about the remaining 700 who are aware and ready for us?

"Drinking this Berserker Potion would reduce your lifespans and may even have unknown effects that would only cause you more pain. Is it worth it? Our chances for victory are vague, but I am not saying it is entirely hopeless. If we throw all of ourselves into the inferno, we can at least kill a lot of humans.

"I don't dare boast, but I at least had confidence we can kill the Count if we put our hearts and mind to it. I am telling you this because I want to give you a choice. If you don't wish to die, then leave…"

I still my breath waiting for my elf kin's decisions… and suddenly… I hear the clanging of metal. It starts from a single elf, and then another… and another.

"So, you all lot want to die, huh?"

It is the tale of the century. I want to laugh at my own foolishness. Indeed, this is so laughable I cannot begin where to criticize. I am not so delusional to think of myself as invincible.

This is not just revenge anymore. This is the gamble of the lying King. There is no uncertainty of victory, only a desire to make the world know that the Elves have now a King! We have been hiding for a long time to lay the groundwork.

It has been my end goal from the beginning to make the world know of the wrath of the Elves. It had me thinking long and hard about how to achieve the most impact. My revenge will not just end in this county but will usher a gale beyond the Beyronald Kingdom.

I might die in the coming battle. But that is fine too because tales of my deeds will spread to the world. The elves in oppression will learn of my name, the first elf King to rise among the human feudal lords.

I don't desire to die as a martyr, I just hope to drive my vengeance like a blade to the metaphorical heart of human history. I will become the stain that will remind future generations of how there was once an Elven King.

My false bravado is what has been driving me since the beginning. It serves as my useful tool of vengeance. The desire for 'revenge' doesn't motivate me a little bit as this revenge is just a 'state' of things… another goal to accomplish… another scheme for me to fulfill…

Imagine the millions of humans being reminded of the story of revenge, my revenge, and in the future, they will refer to me with fear… I relish the thought of their grimace as they realize the 'possibilities' of the second coming of Arthram Fae Zorun.

It will be torture to them.

I know that this risks the existence of elves as a whole and might even put my kind to extinction, but I have done the proper preparations already. At this point, I already fear no one.

"Forgive me, elders, but I cannot have anyone of you participate in this…" I tell the nine elder warriors and the old alchemist.

It was almost dawn, and I had the apt number of horses for the old timers to ride with. "From now on, I shall bestow the surname 'Zorun' to Kara. She will be my successor from now on… I only ask that the ten of you return and tell our story. Kara will know the way."

The elderly elves are reluctant to follow my orders. Even the old alchemist is reluctant, but I made up my mind. "You lot are useless to me. You wouldn't even survive a Berserker Potion, so don't waste your lives! You dunderheads."

"I am an alchemist—" Allenwood tries to reason but I cut him off with a look.

I only realize some time ago that I actually had this intimidation factor to me. Acting 'Kingly' is rubbing into my personality too much I reckon an intangible aura or something must be surrounding me.

That aside, before I forget, I ask the old-timers to deliver a message for me to Kara. "A feudal government has its flaws, but it is undeniable that it is a more advanced government than what the elves currently have… It wouldn't hurt to try experimenting with it."

I turn around from the old timers and leave them to their own. I still have a war to participate in. With exactly just 31 elves in our group, we proceed on our march… It might even be our last march.

I sigh recalling the past century. The peaceful days. My insistence on not working, and being lazy as usual. The Yoretree village's usual bustle. I wonder what the afterlife like for elves is. I still have so much to teach Kara… but I have no regrets.

That lass is very talented, and the knowledge I impart to her isn't so simple either.

My little army arrives at the foot of a mountain. This mountain is what separates the three territories of Urden, Zaun, and Jeremy from the other territories of Fendra province. This is Larson Mountain, and from here, we abandon our horses only carrying the minimum with us. We proceed on a not-so-difficult trek with Zeraya leading the way.

I chase her. I had some thoughts before our march, and most often, the idea of having her return with the elders to Kara tempts me. I am no simp. But if you do like a girl, as a guy, surely the thought of protecting her would cross your mind.

Ignoring the fact that Zeraya is stronger than me, her half-elf blood might not survive the Berserker Potion, as obviously, she would have a shorter lifespan than an ordinary elf.

"It was my first kiss…" I suddenly tell her trying to find a topic for us to talk about. I see Trudviar from my peripheral vision who is just behind us frowning.

Zeraya hums softly with a smile. Suddenly there is pink air in the atmosphere.

I can feel Trudviar's judging gaze at me from my peripheral vision. He seems to be telling me to just get a bed already.

Zeraya then tells me. "It was my second kiss by the way." And then she accelerates forward leaving me behind. Her victorious smile is the last thing I see as Trudviar pats my shoulder.

"Tsk tsk tsk… We are about to die, and you are busying yourself with romance? Are you that desperate?" Trudviar scolds me.

For some reason, I feel an overwhelming sense of loss and defeat.

Uncle Trudviar is such a bastard. If the afterlife were real, I would make sure to give him a visit and kick him on the balls after this.

My heart is at ease, and my mind is calm.

It is time to raise the flag of war.