Cenara's home was on the northern side of the city, where nearly half the residential buildings were located. The other half lay in the west.
To the east was the commercial district, the south held storage and manufacturing zones, and the center of the city housed administrative buildings.
The northern and western residential zones were the most affordable, but even the cheapest housing came at a steep price—no less than twenty gold coins a month. Compared to most cities, that was astronomical.
There were two reasons for this.
First, high elves were vastly wealthier than other elven races—and incomparably richer than humans, orcs, or any other species.
Second, the city of Eldrinvar itself was exceptionally prosperous, even by high elven standards, thanks to its access to the largest dark elemental resource point in the continent.
Despite the abundance of these dark, poisonous elemental crystals, their value remained high. A gold-rank dark elemental crystal could sell for tens of thousands of gold coins. This was cheap compared to light elemental crystals of the same rank—but still a fortune for most mortals.
Dark elemental materials were harvested from the edge of the Dark Forest and sold in large quantities. Those who mined the resources sold them on the open market, earning massive profits since the cost of extraction was so low. But they couldn't keep it all—anyone using city land to reach the Dark Forest had to pay a heavy tax. The taxes collected were then distributed among the city's permanent residents. This system brought in tremendous wealth—and was the main reason why the people of Eldrinvar lived in such luxury.
High elven society operated differently from most others.
Their government was minimal—barely existing, in fact. There were few guards, fewer soldiers, and no inspectors to enforce laws. But they weren't needed. High elves followed the law to the letter, without oversight. Because of this, the cost of governance was almost nothing. Yet taxes were anything but low. In fact, they were steep. As a result, the government often ran large surpluses—and simply redistributed the excess wealth among the people.
There were no nobles among the high elves. Every citizen was considered equal and received a share of the revenue generated in their district.
In any other society, such a system would crumble instantly. Why work if you were already wealthy? Where was the incentive? Such systems elsewhere had always led to stagnation, shortages, and collapse.
But high elves were different. They were among the most lawful races in existence. A law had been passed long ago: any citizen receiving assistance from the government must also contribute through labor. And thanks to their extraordinary sense of order and discipline, very few tried to cheat the system—even though no one actually watched to enforce it.
So the government continued distributing wealth, and people kept working. The result? Even a dark elf server working in a small restaurant earned more than a renowned human blacksmith in a major city.
In human cities, land was often owned by nobility, and taxes from resource extraction went to the coffers of bloated bureaucracies, militaries, corrupt nobles, and greedy officials. Few places were like the high elven cities—where everyone shared in the wealth.
Of course, both humans and high elves had their strengths and weaknesses.
Humans were less lawful, but more diverse. There were good humans, evil humans, lawful, chaotic, neutral—all shades existed. High elves, by contrast, were nearly all strictly lawful.
This difference brought pros and cons. Human societies were turbulent, unpredictable, and inventive. They birthed new ideas, new technologies. High elven cities, on the other hand, ran like finely tuned clocks—orderly and harmonious for centuries. But such rigidity came with a cost. Innovation was rare, and new ideas were slow to take root.
High elf society was far more uniform than that of other elves or other species. Most high elves were proud to the point of arrogance, looking down on other elven races and certainly on humans.
The Elven Empire, however, was not a high elf dominion. High elves made up less than ten percent of its population. The rest were dark elves, wood elves, moon elves, sun elves, storm elves, frost elves, ember elves, shadow elves, dusk elves, crystal elves, star elves, tide elves, etc
Still, high elves held enormous influence. Most of the empire's upper ranks—district judges, city elders, and council members—were high elves. Their wealth and uniform support for their own ensured that the most powerful knights and mages often came from their ranks.
But the Elven Empire didn't exist to serve high elves alone. If they tried to dominate the other races, rebellion would follow. Especially from the dark elves, who were far less obedient and far more prone to defiance.
To prevent internal strife, the Empire adopted a unique legal system.
Laws weren't universally enforced. For instance, anti-discrimination laws applied only to high elves and wood elves, and not to others.
The Council of Elders had a two-step legislative process: proposal and ratification.
A law, once proposed, had to be ratified either by an 85% popular vote or an 85% council vote. If it failed, it didn't disappear—it simply couldn't apply to the entire empire. In such cases, each elven race could choose to adopt the law for its own people.
That's exactly what happened with the anti-discrimination law. Dark elves opposed it, so it failed empire-wide ratification. But the high elf and wood elf elders voted to apply it in their own cities.
This strange legislative process resulted in a patchwork of inconsistent laws across the empire. But it worked. Most districts were still dominated by a single elven race, so regional laws rarely conflicted.
Besides, the Elder Council's power was limited. Its authority only extended to individuals of Mythic rank and below. Any law that affected Ultra-ranked beings or supernatural resource points required approval from the Immortal Council—and that approval almost never came. The Immortal Council rarely allowed regulations that might slow the extraction or sale of those high-value resources.
Made up of Extreme-ranked and Super-ranked beings, the Immortal Council held absolute authority. They had the power to abolish the Elder Council entirely, should they ever choose to.
But in practice, they rarely involved themselves in day-to-day affairs. Apart from consistently blocking attempts to regulate supernatural resource points, they seldom interfered. Technically, they could overrule the Elder Council on any matter. But in reality, they hadn't done so in tens of thousands of years.
So for all practical purposes, the Elder Council held absolute power—at least within the bounds of its domain.
...
"Come in," Cenara said with a smile, stepping aside to let Edric enter.
As he walked in, Edric couldn't help but think, "High elven women really are too beautiful."
Cenara was more stunning than any woman he had seen—whether on Earth or even on the Silver Flower Island. And she wasn't an exception. Most women in the city were just as enchanting. Even the men were unnaturally attractive, though Edric had no particular interest in that.
"Fortunately, I'm immune to such temptations," he thought proudly. His [Mental Fortitude(Black)] skill was too powerful to be swayed by beauty alone.
Once inside, Cenara didn't waste time. Without a word, she stripped bare.
She was thirsty—burning with desire—and had no intention of waiting. It didn't even cross her mind that the human man she brought home might refuse. In her experience, no man ever had.
As a silver-ranked knight, she wasn't concerned about safety either. To her, Edric was just an ordinary man—nothing to worry about. She hadn't really thought it through.
"Well, let's see where this goes," Edric smirked, deciding to play along.
He didn't resist as Cenara pulled him toward the bed.