Chapter 8: The Age of Mortals

“Sorry, I can’t answer your second question, because I only possess one-eighth of elven blood, and both of my parents are no longer alive.”

Marlon answered plainly.

Put another way, Marlon had no clear knowledge of the exact origins of the elven blood flowing through his veins—matters like this, as a traveler from another world, had never sparked his curiosity enough to investigate.

The elven man, who had been sitting upright all this while, furrowed his brow slightly—this was clearly not the answer he had hoped for.

Fortunately, Marlon quickly continued, “As for your first question… once, a priest of the God of Knowledge and Thought ran a free academy on my street for several years.”

This answer stemmed from memories left behind by Marlon—known in this world as Ester. In this foreign realm, the national education system was only just beginning to take root. The dominant institutions were still schools established freely by priests of gods like the God of Knowledge and Thought, flourishing all over the land.

In this world, gods truly existed.

Even though the great war of the gods thousands of years ago had caused many to fall, and the fervent devotion of mortals had waned over time—leaving the remaining gods’ glory and majesty far inferior to the untamed darkness of pre-civilized eras—their influence on the mortal realm was still everywhere.

Indeed, the thirty-thousand-year Age of Swords and Magic was known among mortals as the Dark Age. In contrast, starting four thousand two hundred years ago, when the magic-crystal steam engine was invented, the world entered what mortals called… the Age of Light.

At the thought of this, Marlon’s lips twitched involuntarily. Even the numbers alone—thirty thousand and four thousand two hundred—spanning countless mortal lifetimes and cycles of life and death, made it possible to feel just how arduous it was to advance civilization in a world where gods truly existed.

Of course, Marlon’s thoughts soon returned to the present.

Hah… luckily, I wasn’t sent back to the Dark Age of swords and magic.

“You seem to be pondering something interesting,”

The elven man’s voice spoke again.

Though soft and gentle, there was a subtle power in his tone that compelled Marlon to answer truthfully.

This power drew Marlon’s gaze back to the elven man, and instinctively, he replied, “Oh, I was just feeling somewhat grateful… grateful that I came to this Age of Light.”

Having said it, Marlon shook his head as if waking from a dream, puzzled at how easily he had almost revealed so much.

In his distraction, Marlon didn’t notice the fleeting look of surprise in the elven man’s eyes.

“For mortals, compared to the Dark Age, this truly is the finest of times.”

The elven man quickly hid his surprise, then slowly stood. With a graceful bow, he gestured invitingly, “Come, try this pot of Olsen milk tea. I find it quite delightful. Then we can chat at leisure.”

Originally, the treehouse had only a single chair for the elven man, but as he raised his hand to invite Marlon, two luxurious high-backed chairs, ornate with intricate golden elven patterns, silently appeared out of thin air.

Perhaps it was magic, or perhaps a legendary storage pouch—but Marlon’s eyes followed the elven man’s hands closely, though he saw nothing unnatural.

“No need to worry about those bank robbers outside—they won’t get in here.”

The elven mage said this with a calm smile, his tone casual yet brimming with confidence.

After a brief hesitation, Marlon helped the now-breathing-easier minotaur boy Ester to the table and sat down.

By then, the elven man had poured two servings of double-strength Olsen milk tea.

“You’re a high-level… mage, aren’t you?”

The warm milk tea gave off an enticing aroma, but Marlon didn’t drink—he asked instead.

Glug, glug—

The aroma proved irresistible for Ester, who drained his cup in two swift gulps, even licking his lips afterward with lingering pleasure.

Unfortunately, the elven man had no intention of refilling the cup.

Marlon turned to look at the minotaur, puzzled, only to find the boy constantly blinking those large, round eyes at him.

Trying to hint at something?

Thinking this, Marlon observed Ester’s rugged face—its expressions far from nuanced—and slowly discerned what the boy was trying to communicate.

“Yes… and no.”

At that moment, the elven mage, who had not yet revealed his name, tilted his head slightly and gracefully resettled himself.

 “Why do you ask?”

The elven mage continued, clearly intrigued by Marlon’s question.

“Because I think you could easily take care of the few robbers outside. They’re wielding high-caliber, powerful military steam firearms—one misfire could easily hurt innocent people.”

Marlon thought for a moment, then answered truthfully. With his own safety guaranteed, he still wanted to help those outside.

His reasoning was simple: this mysterious elven man, surrounded by priceless artifacts in his treehouse, had no guards nearby—his own strength must be formidable!

“Innocent people? Hah…” The elven man merely smiled. He gracefully lifted his cup, sipped lightly, and asked, “Young man, have you ever heard of King Lusomes?”

Marlon shook his head.

“King Lusomes was crowned emperor in the year 2943 of the Dark Age by the nobles and state priests of Aushan. At the time, nearly all citizens welcomed his rule, for before ascending, he was a general undefeated in battle, bringing home spoils and glory for the empire.”

The elven man paused, setting down the cup with a third of the milk tea remaining, and continued in a tone dripping with irony:

“Yet this long-anticipated King Lusomes, in only seventeen years, completely destroyed the once-prosperous Aushan Empire. Nearly all who had supported him were slaughtered. Driven to madness, he set the imperial capital, Goldenflower City, ablaze… Young man, tell me, in this story, who counts as innocent?”

Marlon’s face registered slight shock, thinking of the Gaul emperor who once said, “After I die, let the floods come as they may.”

“So if there’s a killer, then all are accomplices, and no one deserves sympathy. There are no innocents… isn’t that right?”

The elven mage spoke slowly, his gaze fixed on Marlon, as if expecting him to object.

“…No!”

Under the elven man’s expectant eyes, Marlon furrowed his brows and said the words firmly.

After all, he wasn’t a child—he was an adult with his own worldview.

“That’s right. There are no purely good people, nor purely evil ones. Only mortals wandering between good and evil.”

“Since all are mortals… who can guarantee they won’t err? Who can avoid unwittingly aiding a killer? But think from another angle—aren’t there countless events even bloodier and crueler than those in history that never came to pass, thanks to the influence of these mortals? So then, how can we claim those outside aren’t innocent?!”

Getting carried away in the debate, Marlon tugged at his collar and continued to articulate his differing perspective:

“Even gods shouldn’t simply watch mortals, limited by their own thinking, be left to self-destruction. Isn’t guiding them through education a far better path?!”

“In my view, it is precisely through the guidance of a few wise individuals, correcting errors step by step, that mortals have gradually emerged from the Dark Age to reach this Age of Light…”

Even Marlon realized he was digressing.

This awareness triggered a cautious instinct within him… Why had he almost unreservedly spilled so many of his thoughts?

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