Two years had passed since Mira left for the Capital.
Two years of silence. Two years of strange, uninterrupted peace. Two years during which the forest... ceased to be just a forest.
In that time, Mira had turned eleven. She sent letters home once a month, completely filled with wild stories of her training and battles. Zenkhald had turned ten, growing into a remarkably calm, well-mannered boy—at least, on the outside. As for the elves, they were now between ten and twelve years old. They had long since stopped crying. Instead, they had started thinking... dangerously rationally.
Zenkhald's daily routine was simple and consistent. Mornings were for family breakfast with his parents. Days were spent "taking walks" in the forest—which actually meant training the elves, maintaining the magical barriers, and supervising General Rheim. Evenings were dedicated to reading in his room. Nights were for patrolling the woods to ensure no bandits dared cross into their territory.
He lived a quiet, even life. But... things were changing. And the catalyst for that change was the elves.
They had somehow turned into an economic phenomenon.
One afternoon, Zenkhald was calmly practicing his sword forms when one of the older elves, a boy named Tiel, came sprinting up to him.
Tiel was completely out of breath. "Teacher! We have... PROGRESS!"
Zenkhald raised a skeptical eyebrow. "With your magic?"
"No! With our economics!!"
Zenkhald froze. ...with what?
He followed Tiel into the woods to the elven camp and stopped dead in his tracks. The ragged tents were completely gone. In their place stood a neat row of sturdy wooden houses. Right at the entrance hung a large, freshly carved wooden sign:
ELVEN FOREST BUSINESS CLUSTER (Founded under the guidance of Guru Zen)
Zenkhald choked on his own saliva. "I... did not give you that title..."
Tiel ran up, absolutely beaming. "Teacher! We have prepared a long-term development strategy! Would you like the full report?"
Zenkhald braced himself. "...Go ahead. Try not to terrify me."
The elf unrolled a massive parchment scroll.
"Elven Plan Part One: Money," Tiel began seriously. "Teacher, we need money. Money equals opportunity. Opportunity equals power. Power equals safety."
Zenkhald stared at him. "You are... dangerous."
Tiel puffed out his chest proudly. "Yes! We learned from you!!"
I gave them exactly one piece of advice at the very beginning: 'You have a purpose,' Zenkhald thought in horror. I DID NOT TEACH THEM TO BUILD EMPIRES.
"Elven Plan Part Two: Open a Shop," Tiel continued. "We decided to start small! We are opening a shop in the nearest village! The shop will sell medicinal herbs, wards, and magical candles!"
"Do you even know how to make candles?" Zenkhald asked.
Every single elf in the vicinity shouted in unison: "NO! But WE WILL LEARN!!"
"Elven Plan Part Three: Total Market Domination. We will make our goods BETTER and CHEAPER than anyone else. Then... we will take over ALL trade locations in the district. And then... we march on the Capital!"
Zenkhald rubbed his temples. "Are you telling me... you are going to become a trade empire?"
The elves nodded so vigorously they nearly fell over. "Yes!!" "It is the best way to gain power without starting a war!" "If we have all the money, even the nobles will have to respect us!" "And Mira-sama will be so proud!!"
Zenkhald sighed quietly. It is... strangely logical. Very, dangerously logical.
Over the next year, the forest began to fill up.
Half a year later, more elves arrived. Then, a few months after that, even more. Rumors that there was a hidden sanctuary in the woods where outcast children were taught magic and swordplay spread rapidly through the underground.
Before long, the original seven elves became sixty. Then eighty. Then well over a hundred.
They built more houses. They laid down paved paths. They installed magical streetlamps. They had essentially created a hidden mini-city, completely invisible to anyone without Zenkhald's explicit permission.
As the population grew, the toy army adapted. General Rheim officially became the "Commander of Defense." His recruits were given formal titles: the Gray Wolf became the Head of Intelligence, the White Wolf was appointed Head of Security, and the Owl took the title of Head of the Analytical Department.
"Are you serious?" Zenkhald asked, staring at the toys.
The Owl tilted its head. "We operate with significantly higher efficiency than humans."
Is this something I should be terrified of? Zenkhald wondered. Or should I be proud?
Shortly after Zenkhald turned ten, it was finally time for him to leave for the Academy.
The elves gathered in the center of their hidden city, standing in perfectly straight ranks like a small, highly disciplined army.
"Teacher..." Tiel stepped forward. "You are leaving for the Academy in two months? We heard... the Capital is dangerous. Please... come back alive!"
Zenkhald felt a strange tightness in his chest. He had never expected to be important to anyone. He certainly never expected over a hundred young elves to look up at him with such absolute, unwavering faith.
"I... will return," he promised softly.
The elves bowed deeply.
"Teacher, we will continue to develop our city," Tiel declared. "So that when you return... it will be great." "We will make so much money!" "We're going to buy a mansion in the Capital!" "We will become famous!" "We will make the world respect us!"
Zenkhald offered a crooked smile. "Just... try not to start a revolution while I'm gone."
The elves exchanged confused glances. "...Could you provide the exact definition of 'revolution'?"
"DO NOT START ONE," Zenkhald ordered firmly.
"Ah! Understood!" they chorused. (They completely did not understand).
On his final evening before leaving, the elves threw him a farewell party.
There were glowing magical lights, freshly baked cookies, a strange little coordinated dance, and a song that was sung very loudly and incredibly out of tune.
This is... terrible, Zenkhald thought as he listened to the screeching chorus. But... it's nice.
At the very end of the night, they approached him with a gift: a small, expertly balanced dagger they had forged themselves.
"Teacher," Tiel said softly, holding out the blade. "Let this protect you... while we cannot be by your side."
Zenkhald took the dagger. His fingers traced the cold metal, and for the first time, what he felt wasn't just duty. It wasn't just respect.
It was affection.