"Do you know what ice cream is? You put milk and sugar into a drum-like ice cream machine, then use ice-element magic to control the temperature. After spinning it for a while, you get this cold, sweet dessert."
"If you've never had it, you should try it—everyone loves ice cream."
"So here's my question: to dogs, are humans basically ice cream machines?"
"What the hell are you even talking about!? I give up, I surrender—just stop already!"
The plaza of the City was as crowded as ever today, but something unusual was happening.
People had voluntarily cleared out a circular space, and at its center, an intense "duel" was underway.
There was no physical combat—this was purely a battle of words.
The victory conditions were simple: say anything you want, but as long as you leave your opponent speechless, unable to refute, mentally shattered, or win over the audience—you win.
And the defending side was…
The elves.
Yes—the same elves who had arrived in Bedford City a few days ago.
Standing at the center as the "final boss" of this verbal duel was a small, underdeveloped figure. Thin and frail, wearing thick glasses, her expression completely blank—
The emotionless elf girl.
"She's insanely strong! Who's next? Someone shut her up!"
"These arrogant elves have been causing chaos all over the city these past few days. Our dignity's on the line—damn it, I'm definitely going to win!"
"I'll go. I'm a well-traveled bard!"
Seeing the next "challenger" step forward, the emotionless elf girl pushed up her glasses and asked calmly, like an old sage:
"What part of the black ape slaves who are good at picking cotton is the whitest?"
"Heh, that's easy," the bard sneered. "Their teeth are the whitest."
"No. Their masters are the whitest."
"…What!?"
The bard froze.
In the northern regions, barbarian tribes were known to enslave black ape monsters for labor—and those tribes indeed had the fairest skin.
Th-that actually makes sense!?
"Ahem…" the bard coughed awkwardly, trying to recover. "Let's talk about something more… mature, alright?"
"Okay."
The elf girl nodded.
"How many gold coins do you earn per month?"
"Ohhh!" The crowd erupted—this topic was indeed very "mature."
"Uh… what?" The bard froze again, instinctively calculating… only to realize he barely earned a few silver coins a month.
"Do you have debt?" she continued.
"…Yes."
"Have you paid it off?"
"…."
"Can you pay it off? Will you borrow more? Are the things you buy with borrowed money truly meaningful to your life?"
She adjusted her glasses slightly.
"By the way, I own the patent for hardening potions. I earn at least a few gold coins every month."
"STOP, STOP, STOP!"
The bard looked like he had taken critical damage from an invisible attack. His face turned pale as he frantically waved his hands, instantly regretting steering the topic toward "maturity."
He couldn't take it anymore.
But—
"Let's do one last round. Picture interpretation."
He pulled out a painting.
"This was drawn by a friend of mine. A count's guard is comforting a child whose father died in a drunk carriage accident. If you were the guard, how would you comfort the child? I'll go first."
In the painting, the guard held the crying child, pointing into the distance—trying to distract them from the shattered carriage behind.
"Oh, my poor child, don't worry. Your father made a mistake, but his sins should not be yours to bear. As a follower of the Holy Light, I will take responsibility and raise you, allowing you to bask in—"
The bard spoke passionately…
…and somehow transitioned into singing, like it was a stage performance.
His voice was good.
But everything he said felt cliché. Old-fashioned. Predictable.
After patiently waiting for him to finish, the elf girl raised her hand, mimicking the guard's gesture, and said flatly:
"Look, kid. That's the orphanage you'll be going to."
"PFFT—!"
Someone in the crowd spat out their drink immediately.
A follower of the church trembled, staring in disbelief while muttering prayers.
Then—
Laughter exploded across the plaza.
Once one person started, more and more people burst out laughing.
"Y-you—!" The bard pointed at her, completely speechless.
He was stunned.
How could such a cute little girl say something so brutally cold?
And that wasn't comforting at all! Wouldn't that just make the kid jump off a building!?
"This doesn't count! Sure, you made people laugh the most, but that doesn't meet the conditions—!"
Just as he tried to argue—
A desperate voice suddenly rang out:
"Liznai! What are you doing!?"
"Oh?"
The emotionless elf girl—Liznai—turned her head.
Everyone followed the sound—
But before they could see anything, a gust of wind swept through.
In the blink of an eye, not only was the speaker gone—
Liznai had vanished as well.
"…Did a ghost just show up?"
"Did that voice sound familiar to anyone?"
"…Wait… wasn't that Stella?"
"It was her!"
Ignoring the commotion, the wind rushed through several alleys before finally stopping in a dark corner.
"Hah… hah…"
Stella panted heavily, her face flushed red. She grabbed Liznai by the shoulders and shook her.
"What were you saying just now!? How can you say things like that in public!?"
"But they were laughing," Liznai replied calmly. "Also, you're hurting me."
"Ah—sorry!"
Stella quickly let go—then froze.
Wait.
She's the one who should be apologizing!
Telling dark jokes in public would ruin the elves' image!
And this person is my own kin—this is so embarrassing!
She puffed up her cheeks and glared at Liznai, trying to pressure her.
Liznai simply removed her glasses and returned a deadpan stare, completely unfazed.
In the end—
Stella surrendered first.
"…Sigh. Where are the others? And how did you all get here so fast?"
"We've been here for a while."
Liznai looked her up and down.
"You're still the same. You never look me in the eyes when you talk. Still haven't gotten over your inferiority complex?"
"That's because your dead-fish eyes are terrifying!"
"Call it inferiority if you want. It's fine. I came to help you this time. Clearing the dungeon should help you regain confidence."
"…Thanks, I guess. But I've already cleared it, so you can go back wherever you came from."
"Really?"
Liznai clearly didn't believe her. She pointed at Stella's tattered outfit.
"Then why do you look so miserable? Your waist is exposed. How indecent. If you can't afford more fabric, I can lend you some."
"This is normal outside the forest! It's called sexy—sexy!"
"With those two tiny bumps?"
"…Ugh."
Stella immediately shut up.
She could never win against Liznai.
With a faint smirk, Liznai walked ahead, hugging her book.
"Let's go see Aunt Wienma. Everyone's waiting."
"…Okay."
"But change your clothes first. Your waist and calves are exposed. Too indecent."
"I told you, this is normal!"
The two walked through the streets, gathering the scattered elves:
They found Melga drunk in a tavern.
Found the cool elf guy performing in a theater troupe.
Found a gourmet elf sneaking into houses to eat potted plants.
Every single one of them argued with Stella—after all, these were all her old rivals.
Damn it… does no one here count as a friend…? she thought bitterly.
After finally gathering all the scattered elves—like collecting dragon balls—
Liznai brought Stella to a large mansion, the elves' temporary base.
"Is Aunt Wienma here…?"
Stella felt nervous.
Wienma was kind—but also extremely strict.
She'd rather argue with Liznai all day than face her aunt.
Still… she had no choice.
She pushed the door open.
A fragrant floral scent filled the air instantly.
Wienma sat elegantly on a sofa, flipping through Roger's manuscript. She lifted her gaze slightly.
"Aunt…"
Stella forced a smile.
She really wished she had someone to rely on right now—but no one was there.
Wienma looked her up and down, then spoke:
"Why are you dressed so indecently?"
"…."
Most elves were quite conservative.
Too tired to explain, Stella blurted:
"I learned a magic where less clothing means higher defense."
"I see." Wienma nodded.
Then she bent down, pulled out three leaves from under her skirt, and handed them over.
"Wear these. Higher defense."
Stella froze.
She could tell—
Her aunt was already getting annoyed.
"I'll help you put them on."
Two vines shot out from Wienma's sleeves, reaching to strip her—
"I WAS WRONG!"
"Hmph."
Soon, the hall filled with elves.
Stella stood in the center, feeling immense pressure.
For a moment, she even considered running away.
Then Wienma spoke:
"Stella."
"Yes!" she snapped upright.
"Relax. There's no need to be so tense. I've already heard about your achievements from Guildmaster Sid. Very impressive—you didn't disgrace your mother."
Her gaze softened.
"I know how dangerous that dungeon is. For you to accomplish so much there… you must have worked very hard. You must be tired."
Physically, yes… but you people are exhausting me mentally, Stella thought silently.
"I've brought greetings from the Queen—your mother."
Wienma took out a green envelope.
Just as Stella reached for it—
"But before that… why don't you tell us about Sein?"
"…?"
"I'm very interested in it," Wienma smiled. "If possible, I'd like you to act as our guide and take us there. It's been a while since I've had some exercise."
Stella's expression went blank.
So all that scouting she did earlier… had actually become useful.
She could finally show off in front of her rivals.
But first—
She had to warn them.
"Up ahead… is hell."
Anyone who gets involved with Sein…
Will face suffering.