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“No, it’s better to say that it confuses me even more… If what you’re saying is true, and these Forest Elves have a tradition of eating their own kind, how can they be peaceful?”

On the way to Holy Tree City, Nizemar asked in confusion after hearing William explain the source of the Forest Elf’s cannibalism custom.

Cannibalism was a heinous act, one that could never be justified. How could a race that engaged in such barbarism ever be considered peaceful?

However, the Presiding Judge suddenly chuckled. He immediately waved his hand and said,

“Don’t mind me. I just thought of a joke.”

“Joke?” Nizemar asked, intrigued.

“Yeah, you probably haven’t heard it before. I have to think of a way to adapt it in a form you can understand…”

As the Presiding Judge spoke, tapped his forehead as he thought of a way to explain it to her.

“Ah right, here’s how it goes… As the Holy Church War raged on near the end of the Golden Age, a prominent religious scholar from the Kos Empire journeyed to the remote Ravenwood forest. There, he encountered a local druid, who listened with shock as the scholar recounted the staggering death toll on the Seething Plain. In disbelief, the druid asked, ‘How do you plan to finish all the corpses left behind?’ The scholar sneered in response, ‘We are civilized beings. We do not partake in the barbarous act of cannibalism.’ The druid was even more stunned by this revelation. Why had they killed so many people if they weren’t going to eat them? It was truly a barbaric act.”

The Presiding Judge let out a deep chuckle, and Nizemar couldn’t help but wonder if she should join in.

As the laughter subsided, she tentatively spoke up.

“I think I understand, Presiding Judge. You’re saying that the Forest Elves’ customs make them avoid wars…”

“Exactly. Whether the corpses are those of their enemies or their own, the Forest Elves must deal with them. And in a war as large as one in Ravenwood, the Forest Elves would struggle to dispose of them before they rot. Unless absolutely necessary, the Forest Elves would never involve themselves in a large-scale conflict. This was the reason why wars were so rare in their history.”

They didn’t want war because they couldn’t finish consuming the corpses. That was new.

Nizemar found the new perspective indescribable.

…

Back to the present, Nizemar scowled as she gazed upon the center of the Canopy Temple, where the Holy Communion ritual was being held.

The Presiding Judge had explained that it was precisely because of the Forest Elves’ extreme funerary culture that they respected life more than humans or other races, and had a deeper understanding of death.

Though it made sense, as someone who had lived in the ‘civilized world,’ Nizemar still found it hard to accept such a brutal and bloody scene.

However, she was a former relic hunter for the Church, and the current designated oracle of Holy Spirit Kane. She was no stranger to all forms of killing, so she kept her composure.

But someone else was not so fortunate.

“What the hell are they eating… ugh,” muttered a voice behind her, causing Nizemar to turn her head.

The girl kneeled on the ground, wracked with heaves as she spewed gastric juices onto the temple floor. Her headscarf lay discarded beside her.

The Forest Elf with the wolf head tattoo didn’t hesitate. He dropped to one knee beside the girl. Nizemar’s senses told her that he was deliberately blocking the temple’s clergymen from seeing her.

He gently patted her back, his voice low and urgent as he whispered, “Elise, quickly wrap the headscarf around you after you’re done. You’re too conspicuous…”

He said it very softly, but Nizemar still heard it.

The temple was normally a quiet and solemn place, filled only with the prayers of the clergymen and the gnawing sounds of the Holy Communion ceremony. But the girl’s vomiting shattered the peace, drawing the attention of everyone present.

“Stop vomiting. Hurry up and close your eyes. Don’t let them see…”

Nizemar heard the Forest Elf’s soft whisper again.

The girl clenched her jaw and gave a determined nod. She reached for a handkerchief and wiped the grime from the corner of her lips. With closed eyes, she picked up the headscarf beside her and wrapped it tightly around her head once more.

Nizemar watched as the girl’s hands trembled, yet her actions were smooth and fluid, as if her closed eyes didn’t affect her at all.

“Why would they eat it directly…” the girl asked in a shaky voice as she got to her feet.

“Don’t say a word,” the Forest Elf with the wolf head tattoo whispered. He looked up at Nizemar, who was studying them with concern, and offered a bitter smile. “This is my friend’s first time in Ravenwood, so she’s not aware of the funeral customs here. It’s understandable that she can’t accept it. To be honest, as a Forest Elf, I can’t accept it either. I even signed the Reformists’ proposal to abolish the Holy Communion referendum.”

Nizemar nodded and remained silent.

She didn’t know how to respond, her understanding of the Forest Elf today nowhere near as extensive as the Presiding Judge’s from a thousand years ago.

But her nod was a sign of agreement—this burial custom needed to be abolished.

Quayle Wolfspeak, the Forest Elf, noticed her lack of response and probed further.

“Is this really your first time in Holy Tree City? It’s rare for humans to remain so calm after witnessing the Holy Communion ceremony for the first time.”

But Nizemar didn’t answer his question. Instead, she cut straight to the heart of the matter.

“Do you know why the tree spirits’ clones asked us to come to this temple?”

She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The Presiding Judge had ordered her to wait for his return and not cause any trouble, but she sensed trouble brewing.

“They probably want to repatriate the stowaways,” the Forest Elf named Quayle replied.

Then, his eyes locked onto Nizemar’s as he continued, “Since your guide isn’t with you, they might treat you as a stowaway.”

As Quayle spoke, he observed the change in the woman’s expression.

Unfortunately, the other party’s expression didn’t change at all.

It was as if the other party didn’t know what stowaways and guides were.

Quayle had a plan. He was going to use this to cause the other party to panic and then take the opportunity to suggest that he pretend to be her guide. Then, he would make the Wild Hunt mistake the woman in front of him for the wanted successor of Silence, Elise. This would cause a huge commotion and divert the Wild Hunts’ attention, allowing the real Elise to escape the encirclement and get others in the organization to help her.

But Quayle realized his plan—a plan he spent a grand total of half a minute to come up with—was stuck at the first step.

“Stowaways will be branded with the mark of a Burner. Unless a magic chanter at the level of Great Sage Yeats or Hero Kane unseals the curse, they won’t be able to enter Ravenwood Forest for the rest of their lives because of the curse,”

Quayle reminded her of the severity of the matter. “Do you understand what I mean?”

“What did you say?”

Quayle was about to strike while the iron was hot upon noticing her waver, but she interrupted him first.

“Equating Yeats with Lord Kane?”

...

Quayle was stunned by the sudden seriousness in the other party’s tone.

Was this truly all she cared about?

As Quayle struggled to process this, the prayers of the temple’s clergymen came to a sudden halt.

Suddenly, the vines at the other end of the temple began to shift and move, forming the shape of a door.

Through this door walked an old man, dressed in a robe made of animal skin and feathers. His skin was rough and textured, like tree bark, and his hair was filled with branches and leaves.

This was a forest druid, the oldest of the Ravenwood clergymen, and he was followed by several Wild Hunts.

Nizemar’s gaze couldn’t help but be drawn to him.

Nizemar couldn’t put a name to the Forest Elves covered in tattoos, but she knew one thing for sure based on the crash course the Presiding Judge had given her on their tattoo customs. These warriors were killers.

Their bone weapons and armor, combined with the smell of blood emanating from their bodies, were a dead giveaway. But it was their emaciated figures that truly gave them away. Only by constantly staying hungry could they dispose of corpses according to Forest Elf custom after a massacre.

As the warriors approached, Nizemar surreptitiously glanced at the two guides behind her.

She knew there were no way for leaks about her and the Presiding Judge’s visit, and they hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary.

...

So, this couldn’t be directed at her.

But the guides were another story.

Nizemar decided not to get involved. After all, the Presiding Judge had ordered her to wait for his return.

So, she leaned slightly to the side.

It was then that the man performing the Communion ceremony in the temple dropped the flesh and blood of his wife and crawled to the druid as soon as he saw the forest druid enter.

“Sir, Sir… My wife was killed by the empire’s ambassador. Please, please seek justice for her!”