Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 628: I Was an Elf Who Lived One Thousand Years Ago With Trash Talent, but I've Been Revived

Llewellen set aside the dwarven music box, exhaling in a mix of pain and amusement as magic continued to flood into him. He imagined, decades or even centuries from now, someone finding the last recording he’d made. If the dwarves ever came to reclaim this place, or if the elven empire breached in search of something… what was the likelihood of them knowing how it functioned? What was the likelihood it wasn’t tossed aside, or found by someone who had no understanding of its value?

Statistically, quite low.

But it didn’t really matter. There was nothing else for him to do but die, overflowing with magic. He could already feel it cracking free of his body, pushing aside organs in its bid to escape a vessel too small to hold it. He had finally found an A-rank ascension that suited him, yet as if the world was thrusting him back into place, he still lacked sufficient expertise to carry it out without perishing.

There was no pain as he leaned up against the stone walls. He had cut away pain with an improvised spell so that his last moments might be those of peace. There had been so much he had wanted to do. So many problems that he’d intended to solve, so many branches of magic left unexplored. He hadn’t spent his life in vain, despite his shortcomings. Yet it still didn’t feel like enough. The ideas coming to him never ended, but he was to die long before he could put any of them out into the world.

He felt a warm blanket cover him as blood started to escape his body, and when he exhaled, he felt it pour out across his chin. The rising power came to his neck, and then shortly after to his head. Then…

Llewellen was standing, feeling all of his limbs devoid of the sluggish power that had been coursing through them moments before. In abject surprise, he whipped his head about. It was the same room, yet now was covered in blackness that was undoubtedly traces of the magic he’d absorbed. And yet… standing there just ahead of him were three humans, of all things, bathed in blue spell light as they stared at him in wonder.

One of the humans was an old man with yellow teeth and eyes. Another had tan skin with golden tattoos, whose eyes were also yellow. The human in the back was dressed as decadently as the emperors he’d met in the lifetime, and struck quite the tall figure. But upon further inspection, she wasn’t a human—partially hidden behind her long white hair were elven ears. They were considerably less large and sharp than his. They might’ve been of a different heritage.

The woman stepped forward. “Llewellen?”

He flinched when he heard his name from this person he didn’t recognize, then looked around at everything, including his own body. Upon further inspection, this wasn’t his body. Most jarring was the androgyny, as this form lacked any parts denoting sex. But other things were subtly different, too—unrecognizable arms, legs, et cetera.

He had been so resigned to death it was difficult to feel fear, much less process what was going on. But this woman… she knew his name. That meant they all likely knew more, too. He looked at them.

“Am I safe?” He asked.

The woman nodded. “You’re in no danger.”

“I died…” he said with certainty. “…so you must’ve brought me back, somehow.”

The well-dressed woman stepped forward. “You’re right. You’re no longer in any risk of suffering from what afflicted you. I’m Anneliese, Queen of Vasquer. I’m acting on behalf of Argrave, my king. That’s Garm, and the last is Durran.” She put her hand to her silver breastplate. “We hope to bring you out of this place.”

The tattooed man began to speak, saying, “We brought you back to—”

elven woman stopped him from saying more. “You died, Llewellen. I’m not sure how long ago

enough to accept the fact that he’d been brought back from the brink since he couldn’t deny things as he saw them. But the passage of time? He couldn’t even begin to imagine how much things could change in one thousand years. The fact that this woman was so ridiculously tall and possessed of shorter ears was something to evidence that. She

dwarven music box I made is missing. You brought me, in particular, back. Royalty is here for this event,” he stated his observations, then crossed his arms. “While I’m very much curious

looked surprised at his deductions, scratching his head of black hair. The old man flashed his teeth in a wide smile, as if it

Do you know of Gerechtigkeit?”

met in his long journeys known only as the Alchemist had mentioned something of the sort. There were some among his people who spoke of a doomsday prophecy bearing that name, too. Still,

best

stolen; if detected on Amazon, report

must

#####

was still spinning as he sat in a chair. Night had

it, had felt invulnerable. It felt as though nothing could topple their reign. Independent sentiments existed only in the slaves, and they lacked expertise or power enough to shatter a continent-spanning empire. Forget declining—the empire

elven empire’ simply because it had fallen

time. Not just him—every single one of his people had been killed. That woman he’d met was wife to a human king, which was entirely unthinkable in the time he came from. He wasn’t displeased by this development. Llewellen may have been one of the elves, but he had no special attachment to them—he had, after all, lived his earliest years as a slave. He’d spent more of his years in human

thing that made his head spin the most—or more accurately, made a grin grace his face—was the reason that they had gone through such lengths to

of creating psychic magic. He wasn’t a particularly joyful person, but hearing that was enough to somewhat suppress the feeling of existentialism that

an opportunity to put all of his theories to paper in what time had been

new acolytes. And now, he was born again. People recognized his work—respected his work, more than anyone. It might as well

“Hey.”

to where the voice came from. An elf with an appearance he was more intimately familiar with sat across from him, with tan skin, white hair, and quite large ears. She looked rather like some people he’d met before. As a matter of fact, it

told me you came from the ancient elven empire,”

if she was a hallucination. Anneliese had said every last one of his

She tapped the table in irritation.

off-balance by her intensity. “You’re one of my

looked pleased he had said that, but her words were somewhat harsh. “What else would I

we had perished,” Llewellen

at the price of keeping the knowledge of the imperial family alive. He’s dead now. Argrave killed him. He’s Anneliese’s friend. Or husband, whatever. I’m her friend. He’s kind of,

Llewellen covered his face. “So… we’re the last, then.” He exhaled. It was of such large scope it was difficult to comprehend. “I’m