The last thing I recall was the satisfying thump of my boots on the mundane suburban sidewalk. Then, the whole world became upside down of shattering glass and screeching metal. You know how it is—Truck-kun arrived, right on schedule. No dramatic flash of light, just a very efficient, very heavy vehicle intent on rearranging my molecules.
It sent me flying. I got quite well-acquainted with Asphalt-san, who I must say was a fantastic conversationalist, though a bit rough around the edges. We bonded over my sudden, terminal velocity descent. Then, darkness.
When the light came back, I was an elf. A girl elf. With ears so pointy they could spear a fish. The good news? I hit the Isekai Jackpot: a ridiculously enormous mana pool and, most importantly, the same great scientific mind I'd carried over from my previous life.
The bad news? Elf society.
I kept my head down for the first ten years. Absorbing the local knowledge, observing the frankly stagnant lifestyle. It was all "Nature this," "Sacred Grove that," "Respect the cycle of life." I was being subjected to the same script, the same boring rituals, day in and day out. It was a loop. A slow, green, irritating loop.
On my tenth birthday, I snapped.
It wasn't a psychotic break; it was a decision. A decision to insert a little bit of chaos into the system. A little... trolling.
The scent of pine and ozone was quickly replaced by smoke and screaming.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!"
Elder Fyren was practically vibrating with rage. His ancient, leaf-embroidered robes stood out sharply against the vibrant orange light of the fire behind me—a fire that was rapidly consuming what was, moments ago, the Sacred Grove's central altar.
I turned, giving him my best, most utterly cute, saccharine, and remorseful-looking pout.
"Oopsie!" I said.
That got me kicked out. Immediately. Violently. Every single "Elf Land" slammed its delicate, moss-covered door in my face. Well, except the Dark Elves. Honestly, they seemed mildly intrigued. Something about my particular brand of "sacrilege for the sheer fun of it" appealed to their aesthetic, I guess. Plus, they look cool. A bonus. I think.
As I was being escorted to the territorial border, a new, shimmering notification materialized right in front of my face.
[TITLE ACQUIRED: HERETIC
The Elven Gods have deemed you a Heretic.
- People will find you mildly irritating.
- You are compelled to annoy others.]
"Neat," I muttered, touching the title with a gloved finger. A little social debuff? Compared to endless lectures about the purity of water spirits, this was a major upgrade.
Did I regret turning a millennium-old religious relic into a bonfire? Absolutely not. Elf society is boring. It's nature, nature, nature, and that's just a cover for willful stagnation. I wanted technology. I wanted progress. I wanted big, beautiful explosions that shook the very foundations of this antiquated world.
So, I left. I wandered. I got into trouble. I nearly died more times than I care to admit—mostly due to angry peasants, not monsters. It was during one of my narrow escapes that I stumbled, quite literally, upon the glorious cacophony of Dwarf territory.
Ah, my people. They forge powerful weapons. They engineer steam engines. They build better technology. Sign. Me. Up.
They lived in massive, multi-tiered caves carved out of mountains, a dizzying, exciting blend of natural stone and industrial smoke. It was here I met Balin, a master runic engineer. He must have pitied the strange, fire-starting elf girl who kept showing up outside his workshop with half-baked blueprints for a
'mana-powered repeater crossbow.'
He took me under his wing. Which is a musket prototype i build but he doesn't know that.
Balin taught me runes, the true principles of engineering (not just the wood-and-string variety of the elves), and the delicate art of enchantment—the works. He had his flaws, sure, but he was everything my actual elf-father wasn't: a creator, a destroyer, and someone who liked me more than a damn tree. He was almost a father-figure.
He also thought me something that i will never forget if it doesn't work use more gun. Such insight truly a master craftsman.
I got better. I got brilliant. Eventually, I hit a roadblock: I needed rarer materials. Think crystallized dragon scales, elemental cores, the kind of things that only drop off a Boss Monster. Loot that a girl tinkering in a cave can't exactly procure.
Then, the news arrived: The Hero has been summoned.
I packed my minimal possessions, threw my enchanted wrench set into a satchel, and left. Did I say goodbye to Balin? Probably not. I think I left a note on a stack of explosives I promised not to detonate. That counts, right?
I went straight to the Capital. The Hero Party wasn't there. Naturally, I employed a few—shall we say—unconventional tactics to speed up the process of finding them.
"Tell me, where are they?"
My voice was a low, pleasant murmur, utterly contrasting with the terrifying tableau: me, casually holding the man's ankle as he dangled, five stories up, over a cobblestone alleyway.
"I—I don't know! I don't know! I swear!" he pleaded, his face a mask of terror.
"I asked you again," I said, my voice dropping to a deep scary voice, "where. Are. They?"
I slowly loosened my grip. The skin around his ankle creased with the sudden shift. He let out a shriek that died as quickly as his descending momentum.
"The B-Baron's estate! They're at the Baron's estate! Training! Please! I told you! Let me go!"
"Sure, why not," I said, grinning.
I watched the flicker of hope ignite in his eye, and then, just as swiftly, I let go. His choked, final scream was quite brief.
"Anyway," I sighed, dusting off my leather gloves. "Let's go."
The Hero Party was about to get an extremely irritating, gear-obsessed, chaos-fueled elf girl for a new member whether they liked it or not.
"wait where is that?" i said before sighing.
"time to kidnap another" i said before finding another person to kidnap.