"Fighting for your race? What do you mean?" I asked.
"The Dark Elves are currently at war with the White Elves. We have always been a race defeated by them for hundreds of years," the Great Elder retorted, his head turned and looked at me firmly.
"There is no truce between us. Dark Elves continue to be displaced to the furthest point in this place," the Great Elder continued.
Short explanation, but enough for me to know why they wanted to make me a weapon for their fight. I see this no longer as coercion but as an opportunity to annihilate the entire race in the demon realm.
Actually, it might fall into the responsibility of a First Ranger, but since I want to be a part of them one day, there's no harm in doing as they tell me to.
"Don't you guys have any shame?" I asked, pulling up a wooden chair with my eyes fixed on the older man sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Sorry?"
