The Supreme Elf [ 1 ]

° Kingdom of Rowandel - Present Time °

The road leading to the royal capital through the northern Klogen Forest was a full fifteen-hour walk from the city.

A trade caravan moved steadily along this path, loaded with heavy goods piled high onto wagons—fifteen in total—all specialized for transporting everything from fine leathers to raw magical commodities and medicinal herbs.

At the front of each wagon marched a Deki Mooston beast—a creature resembling a chick, but enlarged to nearly 150 times its original size. Despite its fluffy appearance, genetic enhancements had given it powerful raptor-like legs, sharp teeth, and talons in place of wings.

Leading the caravan were three wagons moving in perfect synchronization, forming a triangular wedge—like the tip of an arrow. These were the frontline wagons, designed for protection and coordination.

The caravan owner—the merchant funding the entire operation—usually sat in one of the rear wagons. Passing through this forest, especially at this time of day, often meant encountering bandits or wild beasts. For that reason, the majority of the hired guards—mercenaries paid handsomely by the merchant—were stationed in the three leading wagons.

The most experienced knights, however, often stayed with the merchant himself or in the wagon next to his for added security.

> "Man, the internet's so slow—these assets are taking forever to load…"

> "What did you just say? If we get ambushed by a pack of beasts or bandits and end up dying, Fabian, I swear I'll never play this game with you again. You said that right after we accepted the mission!"

"Chill out, bro. Everything's fine. There haven't been many attack reports lately since the Mage Union started patrolling this region for their research. My girlfriend works as an office assistant at the Mage Union, and she told me they marked this whole zone as a safe area for travel and hunting."

In truth… the group of "mercenaries" seated in the three leading wagons weren't actually locals of this world. They were beginner-level players—newcomers to the game world.

"Oh, for God's sake... Wouldn't it have been better to choose random zone teleportation instead?! I should've been level ten by now—damn you, Fabian…"

Joshua reached for the hilt of his sword, ready to smack Fabian across the head. But since Fabian had chosen the Tank class—a frontline warrior build—the hit barely registered.

-0.000001

-0.000001

In the early days of the game, all players were forced to start from scratch: no resources, no connections, no guidance. Building your own kingdom was a brutal, solo journey filled with trial and error. But that's what made it a legend—those who rose from nothing were admired by all.

Now, however, times had changed.

Due to the high risks beginners faced—lack of experience, poor gear, and limited access to information—new players had stopped spawning in random zones. Instead, most chose to migrate directly to existing player-run kingdoms, hoping for safer starts and easier gains.

But this safety came at a price.

With more newcomers crowding the established kingdoms, competition for even the most basic jobs had become brutal. Wages had dropped so low that even after two full hours of grinding, you couldn't afford a single loaf of bread.

Worse still, climbing the ranks became nearly impossible.

Choosing a random starting point now, ironically, offered more opportunity than joining a powerful kingdom… unless you were unlucky. Some players were cursed from the start—whether by game mechanics or sheer bad fate—and found themselves with no option but death.

Because of this, the number of new players choosing random starts plummeted to near extinction.

Meanwhile, the ruling players—the elite who owned vast in-game kingdoms—saw their influence and wealth skyrocket, both in the game and in real life.

That's why Joshua and Fabian were so desperate for money: they needed enough gold to access the temple, advance to level six, and break through the Sixth-Level Barrier.

And so, here they were—two hopefuls reduced to working as guards in a twenty-person caravan… only to walk away with crumbs after the lion's share went to the elite NPC knights.

The true horror of this world only deepens as you level up.

Progressing to even the second level—let alone anything beyond—becomes an increasingly brutal ordeal. The sheer volume of resources required to ascend is staggering, and leveling up is the lifeline of any player hoping to survive, let alone thrive.

Staying at the same level while your peers continue to surpass you isn't just frustrating—it's soul-crushing.

And the developers? They never adjusted this design. Why?

Because it serves a very simple purpose: engagement.

Thousands of hours are needed per player—hours that drive the game's economy. And when progress slows, that's when the money starts flowing. Players are funneled toward microtransactions, pay-to-win boosts, and exclusive offers that promise to save them from the grind.

Even those who claim they play "for fun" eventually get swept up in this savage race.

Not because they want to—but because they feel they have to.

The pressure to keep up, to brag, to not fall behind friends or streamers or guildmates... It's psychological warfare. And it works.

That's capitalism, dear player.

The rich get richer.

The poor get poorer—desperately clawing toward the illusion of wealth, chasing something that was never meant for them in the first place.

Without luck, timing, and connections, hard work alone crumbles.

And when that truth finally sinks in, even the most innocent of hearts start to understand…

what must be done.

Being cruel, wicked, and dishonorable is a crime—sure.

But being naïve?

Being stupid in a world like this?

That's an even greater crime—against yourself before anyone else.

Virtues like honor, chivalry, diligence... they look noble on paper. But out here? In the filth of this world?

They lose every time to filthier tactics: deceit, theft, betrayal.

This world doesn't reward goodness.

It eats it alive.

To survive, you don't just acknowledge the ugliness of reality—you adapt to it.

You realize the truth isn't in what's right, but in what's yours.

And what's yours… is often carved out of someone else's dreams.

Or their corpse.

Hehe ^⁠_⁠^

You get it now.

That's why people like Fabian and Joshua didn't think twice before accepting the job—even though they knew it was unfair.

But in a world like this… when you have no power, no money, and no connections, you don't really have a choice.

Hard, humiliating work is still better than nothing—because no one can guarantee a better opportunity is waiting… or that any opportunity will come at all.

The caravan came to a sudden halt midway through the road — a short break for the exhausted "Moston" beasts, and for anyone who needed to relieve themselves.

Joshua stepped down from his wagon, sword in hand, eyes scanning the area cautiously.

His character genuinely needed to pee — the game, in all its brutal realism, didn't overlook such details.

Even something as small as that, if ignored, could impact the character's mental state… weakening focus and lowering combat performance.

As Joshua glanced around, he casually unfastened his trousers and relieved himself. After finishing, he adjusted his clothes and turned back toward the caravan, humming a lighthearted tune as he walked.

But then—his foot hit something.

The humming stopped.

His steps slowed.

He turned his head with a hesitant, almost pleading motion—hoping, praying, it was just a dream or a trick of the mind.

He stepped again. Another bump.

Same spot. Same sensation.

"…Wh-What the…?"

He froze.

Slowly, cautiously, he looked down—and his breath caught in his throat.

Poking out from beneath a thick patch of grass was a pale hand, unnaturally white against the dirt and fallen leaves. At first, he thought it was just another corpse—maybe someone mauled by monsters.

But when he pushed aside the foliage, his eyes widened.

A body lay there.

It was an elf—an androgynous beauty, unconscious, bruised and bloodied, with wounds scattered across their limbs and torso. Despite the filth and the dried blood, their features were still striking.

He hesitated, then knelt and pressed two fingers gently against the side of their neck.

A faint pulse.

"An elf… They're still alive…"

Joshua's eyes darted around the forest suspiciously. Someone had to be nearby. Or something.

He turned back toward the body, slowly brushing aside a strand of the elf's long, silver hair. His gaze lingered for a moment on the pointed ears, the torn clothes, the unnatural calm of the unconscious figure lying helpless in the dirt.

"What happened to him…? God, he looks like he's on the brink of death…"

Joshua leaned in closer, his brows furrowing as he examined the elf's pale face and shallow breaths. For a moment, he thought about taking the stranger back to the caravan—maybe get help, maybe save him.

But then, his eyes dropped to the elf's hand… and everything changed.

His gaze locked on the delicate fingers—long, elegant—and then shot back up to the faint golden shimmer around the tips of the elf's ears.

His mouth fell open. He gasped.

"An… High Elf...?! No way…"

Panic and awe crashed together in Joshua's chest.

The High Elves.

The true sovereigns of the magical world. Beings of immense power, rarity, and mystery. The head of the Mage Guild, the Archmage of the Sorcerers' Union—both were High Elves. Kingdoms offered untold riches just to have one serve under their banners.

And this one was lying in the dirt—barely alive?

How did he even get here? High Elves rarely left their secluded domains. Their numbers were dwindling due to their low birthrate. Their long lives and intense magic affinity made them almost divine… and their women were so overwhelmingly dominant in personality and status that they were the ones who chose mates, not the other way around.

Just bringing him back as a rescued traveler might earn Joshua unimaginable rewards.

Sell him? He could be worth a fortune.

Return him to the Elven domain? Maybe gain their eternal favor.

Or… or take him straight to the Sorcerers' Union and become someone of note.

The possibilities swirled in his mind like a storm.

This was the kind of opportunity people prayed for—and he wasn't about to waste it.

Without hesitation, he opened his system panel and quickly navigated to the in-game shop. He purchased a Low-Tier Healing Potion.

With shaky hands, he uncorked the vial and gently tilted the unconscious elf's head back, pouring the potion slowly between his lips.

A faint glow traced the worst of the wounds, and Joshua watched in awe as several cuts and bruises began to close—though not all. The potion helped… but clearly, it wasn't enough.

Joshua spaced out for a moment, lost in thought, before snapping back to reality.

Then he returned to the caravan, glancing around cautiously.

He leaned into Fabian's ear inside the carriage and whispered in a low, urgent voice.

"Listen carefully... get the largest storage bag you have, or a spatial ring, or anything that can hide something human-sized..."

Fabian frowned, glancing suspiciously at his friend's serious expression. He leaned in and whispered back, eyebrows raised.

"...Did you kill someone?"

0.000001-

0.000001-

Joshua smacked him across the head with the hilt of his sword, clearly irritated.

"You idiot—kill who?! Just do what I said, and stop asking questions. Please."

Fabian nodded in confusion but obeyed. He opened his in-game marketplace for warrior-class items and browsed quickly until he found a spatial ring with decent capacity. He bought it instantly, emptying out his in-game wallet to pay the cost.

Then, from inside the caravan, he pulled out one of the larger travel bags—big enough to hold a grown adult—and stored it within the ring.

Joshua was watching him closely the entire time.

Just as Fabian secured the bag, Joshua suddenly stopped and pointed toward something off the road.

Fabian turned to look—and froze.

There, lying amid the grass and leaves, was a figure. At first, it looked like a corpse. But then Fabian saw the details more clearly: the long, elegant ears… the striking, ethereal features… the distinct ring on his hand...

"A High Elf…!"

Fabian's breath caught in his throat.

Of course he recognized it. The slender ears, the faint magical glow, the almost divine presence… It was unmistakable.

High Elves were almost legendary, and this one—this one looked eerily similar to the top two most famous magical avatars in the game. Fabian didn't know what had happened, but he knew one thing for sure:

This was big.