At the light of dawn, I rise.
I crown myself with twigs, leaves, and dirt. It does share some semblance of a crown, but it is just wood in the end. In terms of symbolism, mine looks shallow.
I didn't let that bother me.
I might even look funny, but as long as I can get into character, that's enough.
Trudviar leads the way, and I follow. We are on our way to the nearest village— the Clearwater Village with a population of about 30 elves.
They are the second biggest village next to Yoretree. Here in the Lorekleim Forest, Clearwater and Yoretree are the most dominant villages.
Trudviar sneaks a glance at me and that didn't escape my observation.
I smile at Trudviar as if we didn't experience any human raid of the sort.
"Tell me Trudviar, how did we lose?"
Trudviar didn't even need to think twice as he gives me an answer. "We lack warriors. It has been always the weakness of our kind. We might have longer lifespans than them, and maybe even more skillful than them, but they still outmatch us."
I bitterly smile. That is exactly what I was thinking, except... "Trudviar, we aren't that hopeless..."
The elf kind has been an ethnic minority in the whole continent of Ezelea. In other continents, maybe there are elf kingdoms too just like the human counterparts. But it works very differently in this continent.
Elves are livestock here. Too aware of where I stand, I choose to follow the common ways of an Ezelean elf. To hide and cease to exist is the village's motto.
I imagine other elf villages sharing the same ideal. So I can only think of their fates if not worse than ours will be suffering just all the same.
"Trudviar... The elves are incredible marksmen as hunting are parts of our daily lives. We climb trees, coexist with nature, and have excellent senses."
Coming from an elf like me, it doesn't sound so convincing yet Trudviar can only believe in these words of self-praise.
After all, the elf I am describing is Trudviar himself.
I continue with my unbridled words.
"Rarely do elves need warriors to fight for them since we already have plenty of strong hunters."
I gaze at the curved elven sword that Trudviar wields to cut down the leaves impeding our path.
"Tell me Trudviar. How did you survive? Did you fight with your sword or your bow? I believe the answer to be there..."
In a cryptic manner, I lead Trudviar's thoughts to his own. I am not exactly wrong with my suspicions as guerilla warfare should be an elf's bread and butter. Yet, we miserably lost.
Trudviar grits his teeth as thoughts of the battle occur to him. "Our elf brothers and sisters fought on the trees, they engaged the enemies like how they would hunt their prey. They fought like elves... but the enemy seems to be more versed in fighting on our home ground. Were we outmatched in the very thing we do best?"
I shake my head, denying the conclusion he arrives at. "No, we lost on gear. We have sticks, and the enemies have iron. I might not be a fighter, but I am well-read."
I emphasize 'well-read' particularly to enforce my claim.
In my past life, I might not have any degree in my name but I was able to finish High School with high honors.
In my idle living as an elf in the prior century, the only hobby I have is appreciating the arts. This world doesn't have that much entertainment after all.
My arsenal consists of knowledge from a civilization different from this world, and the various knowledge I was able to gather in the past century from books, poems, and all kinds of art.
Other than this, I can manifest fake confidence.
"Trudviar, we lost because we are primitive. We didn't seek development thus we are lagging behind. Humanity is stepping all over us not because we are weak, but because we lack ambition."
There is no way I would think of elves as weak. For a very long time, this race was able to survive. They aren't extinct yet and were able to endure this long.
However I say, we should stop enduring.
"Trudviar, let me tell you why you survived. It is because you chose to wield that sword... You didn't fight with sticks, instead, you had your metal."
I assume it was at least steel. I don't know how to differentiate simple iron from steel, but the beautiful and sleek craftsmanship of the sword he is carrying is leagues above the iron weapons that the raiders were using.
I can tell because I am carrying an iron sword by my waist. Something the dead generously gives up to me.
Trudviar sighs in defeat at my sound reasoning. "This sword was my father's heirloom. I now carry it... This is certainly a divine sword as it was able to cut the raiders' swords..."
Trudviar turns to me and offers me his curved sword by its hilt. I hold the sword to admire its curves.
Using his hatchet to clear the way, Trudviar continues to lead me forward.
The curved sword is certainly elven. I recognize the patterns in its hilt and the runes on the guard. I often see these 'marks' in various elven literature that was on my bookshelf.
If only elves aren't so primitive and had a kingdom all of the elfkin can rely upon, I wouldn't be suffering like this.
Maybe there really has been an elf civilization before us, one that was able to build a kingdom of its own.
"We are here." Trudviar calls to me.
I return him his sword, and from a distance, I can see smoke rising up from under the thick vegetation where Trudviar is pointing at with his hatchet.
Receiving his sword, Trudviar rushes forward like a gale. I follow his trace with immediate wariness.
If there are still raiders there, we might be put in danger. However, that may also be a chance for us.
I arrive at the Clearwater Village heaving and suffering from shortness of breath. I see Trudviar idly standing on my path. He looks in despair at the numerous heads on pikes.
I freeze at the all-too-familiar sight.
It has long come to me that this isn't the work of ordinary raiders. Only hate would fuel someone to do something as vindictive as this.
Bandits and slavers are all businessmen in the sense that they don't kill the goose that lays the golden egg.
Raids are militaristic in nature. Whoever is behind these raids must be aiming to gain something. Is it for repute? Or is this just mindless slaughter? Something like genocide for the fun of it?
"The tyrant will pay..." These words involuntary come from my mouth. I shudder at the thought of not accomplishing anything.
If I don't have any elves to recruit, how would I raise an army?
I observe the bloody lake. I see the toppled huts and burning structures. This ruination is quite similar to what my village has become.
I see bubbles rising up from the lake. At the sign of this, I remove my flimsy crown of twigs and immediately jump to the lake.
I dive under, and I see the shadow of a woman. A log of wood is pressing on her. I try to lift it, but I am powerless.
Still... I am not alone.
Trudviar follows me deep under, and with his help, we were able to successfully lift the wooden debris.
I and Trudviar help the drowning woman, and with our support, we lift her as we paddle and kick the water.
Shortly after, we return to the dirt and ash of the ruined village.
"She is not breathing..." Trudviar checks her pulse and finds out the lack of it. He easily admits to the defeat and backs off.
Hope is bleak.
However, I am not one to give up yet. This world might be 'fantasy' in nature, but it is too primitive.
I hold my hands over her chest and start pushing in a certain rhythm. Chest compression, chest compression, chest compression— I tell myself this like it is some mantra.
Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation sounds fancy, but CPR is quite common knowledge in my old world.
I pinch the woman's nose and tilt it to an angle according to my teacher's instructions back when High School.
I put my lips into hers, and start blowing some air.
After repeating the same process over and over again with steady counting in my mind, I was able to successfully resuscitate her.
At the sign of her waking, I immediately retreat from her.
She gargles some water and spits it from her mouth. She is hardly breathing, red-eyed, but alive.
Trudviar looks at me in shock and then with respect. At this point, he must be thinking of my feat as some divine knowledge.