Chapter 7: Elves and Magic

“Probably a bank employee reported it! My father said that all banks have warning crystals connected to the nearby patrol stations.”

The young minotaur boy, observing from a distance with uncontainable excitement, casually revealed the reason why police had swarmed the scene immediately after the robbery: “My dad used to complain that those bloodsucking bankers give the central police a huge sum of some sort of tribute every year. Then the street patrols all change their routes—around the banks, you see them everywhere, but elsewhere, they vanish without a trace.”

“I see.”

Marlon nodded, finally beginning to understand why, even after living in the slums since his arrival in this world, he had never seen a patrolling officer.

“Oh no, this is bad! Those damn robbers are heading this way!”

At that moment, Ester suddenly leaped up, grabbing the seemingly oblivious Marlon and running out of the Great Treehouse.

In fact, Marlon had already noticed the reason for Ester’s sudden action—the swarming riot police had blocked the path the robbers had intended to escape after looting the bank, forcing them to retreat while fighting toward the area where The Light of Eshilia Restaurant was located.

But with only police wielding low-powered steam firearms, they could barely contain the five robbers, who coordinated seamlessly and carried heavy steam guns. Relying on the terrain and their sturdy, armored steam police vehicles, they could barely encircle the robbers, let alone prevent them from charging toward The Light of Eshilia Restaurant.

“Ester, there’s no time! Upward, we go upward!”

Marlon shouted, and almost simultaneously, a projectile—larger than a small wine glass, fired by either the bank robbers or the police—whistled in a spiral, shattering the treehouse floor and spraying wood splinters into the stomach of a panicked blond male diner, leaving a fist-sized blood hole!

A gentleman does not stand under a precarious wall, and Marlon certainly had no desire to be caught in a firefight and end up riddled with bullets.

But the problem was… The Light of Eshilia Restaurant was far too close to Sols Bank, and those damn robbers were moving far too fast.

It felt as if the robbers’ feet were coated in a thick layer of oil.

If he ran downward now, Marlon thought there was a ninety percent chance he would collide head-on with the robbers before even reaching the spiral staircase—a situation far beyond a simple “good morning” passing.

Ester, however, was no fool. Gritting his teeth, he unleashed the natural brute strength of the minotaur race—he hoisted Marlon and, charging wildly, shot out of the treehouse, ascending the spiral staircase in a single breath and covering a distance of at least four to five hundred meters!

When Marlon, nearly sick from the rough ride, was finally set down, he was astonished to find himself in the treehouse perched atop the great oak, part of The Light of Eshilia Restaurant.

The treehouse was small, no more than twenty square meters, with thick velvet curtains surrounding it to block all external light.

Thanks to the doors flung open by Ester, Marlon could clearly see the luxurious interior.

First, the floor was covered in a pure white, plush carpet, not a single stray hair, its value far exceeding that of Ester’s 200-rand motorcycle.

In the center of the treehouse stood a small round table, emanating a fresh scent of grass and wood, with a casually arranged set of white porcelain tea ware with gilded enamel accents—undoubtedly even more valuable.

And in the northern corner of the treehouse stood a crystal orb of expensive-colored glass, projecting a soothing musical and dance program—a magical version of a home theater system.

If Marlon’s memory of Lister was correct, this device was supposed to be a precious military-grade item called the “Campaign Reconnaissance Command Projection Crystal System” in the army.

But what caught Marlon’s attention most was the elf seated elegantly at the round table, holding a tall-waisted white porcelain enamel teacup, curiously observing him and Ester—a male elf whose exact age was indiscernible.

“Good morning, boy whose veins run with elven blood.”

As Marlon’s gaze fell on himself, the elf seated calmly inclined slightly and greeted him politely.

However, compared to Marlon, Ester—a towering minotaur—seemed invisible to the elf, as if he didn’t exist.

It appeared this elf had a slight tendency toward racial bias.

“Good morning, esteemed sir. I am Marlon, Marlon Lister, and this is my friend Ester Stonehoof. We arrived here due to an unexpected incident… I apologize for disturbing your morning tea.”

Marlon inclined respectfully, thinking that racial biases were others’ concern, and it wasn’t his place to argue, especially after clearly disturbing the elf.

Exhausted from his exertions, Ester had no strength left to speak, slumping onto the soft carpet and panting heavily, unable to join Marlon in greeting the elf.

“It’s alright. At least you’ve shown me that today is a bright and sunny day,” the elf said kindly, glancing at the treehouse doors flung open by Ester, which quietly closed again. “I heard a commotion below. Can you tell me what exactly happened?”

Once the doors closed, the chaos of gunfire and shouting below was completely blocked, leaving only the ethereal sound of a female voice singing.

The singer, a projected image of an elf girl sitting by a babbling brook, came from the “Campaign Reconnaissance Command Projection Crystal System” in the corner.

Marlon, however, was not captivated by the projection or the song. The moment the doors silently shut behind him, a word from the realm of fantasy sprung into his mind.

Mage…

In this steampunk world, the mages who once stood on equal footing with arrogant nobles had not vanished, though their numbers were now rarer than pandas due to the magical goddess’s slumber.

But a mage capable of closing two heavy ironwood doors from four or five meters away—what level of skill was that?

Marlon had no answer. After all, the original owner of his body had grown up in the slums, and though he had some basic knowledge from his deceased parents, he had no opportunity to learn the secrets of mages.

Enough thinking—just don’t offend this elf mage.

With that thought, Marlon organized his words and vividly recounted the recent bank robbery to the elf mage.

“You seem to have received excellent education. If convenient, could you tell me the specific family name of your elven bloodline?”

Unexpectedly, after Marlon’s account, the elegantly seated elf mage’s attention was not on the massive bank robbery that had almost affected The Light of Eshilia Restaurant.

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