Edric picked up his fork and gracefully cut into a small piece of meat, eating with the elegance expected of 'his kind'.
"Being a high elf is boring. If it weren't for [Mental Fortitude (Black)], I might've died of boredom already!"
He sighed inwardly.
The past three years had been agonizingly dull. Thalindral—clean, beautiful, full of places high elves considered fun—was a city of grace and order. But from Edric's perspective, it was a lifeless place wrapped in a polished cage. Despite being an ultra-ranked knight, he was still human at his core, and to him, the city was far too repetitive.
Everything was spotless. Everything followed rules. Every building, every street, every person—so refined, so formal. It was a paradise for high elves... and a prison for him.
He hadn't done much during these years. He simply lingered, letting time pass and his experience accumulate. He was just waiting—waiting until he had enough XP to purchase a super-ranked skill and finally dig deeper into the Dark Forest, to find the Dark Crystal and complete the first part of the task.
"High elves are peaceful because they value law... but that same lawfulness makes everything so dull and predictable. Nothing ever changes. Nothing's fun."
He exhaled quietly and ate another small bite.
It wasn't just him. Everyone in the restaurant looked as if they were performing a sacred ritual—every movement precise, every bite measured. Conversations were sparse. Most only spoke after finishing their meals, as though even speaking while dining would offend some unspoken etiquette.
"I wonder... would they have protested if they knew I was human?"
He glanced around subtly.
"Maybe. They probably would have, if my appearance and clothes didn't fit their idea of 'high class.'"
For over three years now, Edric had lived among them, posing as a high elf. His disguise was flawless.
After finishing his meal, he placed a tip on the table—exactly 50%.
Tipping wasn't a law, but it might as well have been.
A 10% tip was insulting. Only the rare, bankrupt high elves dared leave that little.
25% was standard for the lower class—though, to be clear, even the poorest high elves were wealthier than most other races.
50% was the norm for the middle class, and most high elves fell into this category. Middle-class high elves could outspend human nobles with ease. Even though food in Thalindral's restaurants was far more expensive than in other lands, their income made up for it.
Everyone, even those on the brink of bankruptcy, could still afford to eat out daily.
The upper class—those with significant income—tipped 75%.
The elite—mayors, district judges, high-ranking officials—offered 100%.
More than that was rare. Only merchants and tradesmen who were filthy rich ever dared tip beyond 100%.
Edric, keeping to the image he had crafted, paid the regular 50%, then stood and left the restaurant.
His steps were poised and graceful. His appearance immaculate. Long, silken hair combed clean, shining as if washed with enchanted potions. His expression was cold and composed, his features as beautiful and refined as any high elf.
He blended in perfectly.
In most human cities, even washing one's hair with plain water every few days was considered a luxury. That was one of the reasons so many humans—especially those from working-class families—kept their hair short. Maintaining long hair was simply too much of a burden.
It was even harder for men, who typically worked outside doing physical labor. Their hair would collect dust, sweat, and grime, and it often got in the way. Because of that, in many human settlements, only nobles or extremely wealthy men could afford to keep their hair long. Over time, long hair became a symbol of status and refinement.
But here, in the high elven city of Thalindral, everyone—man or woman—had long, flowing hair. They adorned it with elegant jewelry and styled it in elaborate shapes that shimmered like works of art.
As Edric walked down the polished streets, he moved with the same grace as the elves around him—calm, composed, as though he were the highest noble in the world.
Even now, after three years, the way people looked still struck him as strange. Especially the men. Delicate as porcelain, slender and elegant—they could easily be mistaken for women.
"It's really hard to tell if they're men or women just by appearance. If I were an ordinary person, I definitely would've confused the two."
He smirked to himself.
As an ultra-ranked knight, Edric's vision was enhanced far beyond the human norm. He could see beneath clothes, discern body structures, and instantly tell the difference. But for a regular person, there was little chance of figuring it out—unless they came across one of the rare female high elves with a fuller chest, which made the distinction more obvious.
Hair, clothes, skin tone, jewelry, height, even their body shapes—all of it looked nearly identical between the sexes.
"It's peaceful... but dull. Still, it suits my purpose for now. I just need to waste a few more years until I get enough XP to unlock that Super Digging Skill."
As he made his way home toward the northern part of the city, Edric passed by a few high elves sweeping the streets with utmost care. Not that there was much to sweep—no one littered, and there were no trees or plants that might drop leaves or petals. Even so, dust gathered, and that alone was reason enough for them to clean.
"Now that I think about it, it's kind of strange... there's no greenery in this city," Edric mused.
After about ten minutes of walking, he arrived at his home. It was a luxurious property, located near the city center—a privilege granted by his wealth. In Thalindral, that was no small feat, especially considering the city wasn't exactly small. It took nearly two hours to walk from one end to the other.
There were no horses or carriages allowed in the city. Animals were considered dirty, and the high elves would never allow filth to stain their perfect streets. Instead, they used magic puppets to transport goods and restock shops. These puppets were expensive, but high elves had more than enough money to afford them.
As Edric walked through the softly glowing streets under the night sky, he was reminded of Earth.
Most human cities in this world grew pitch black once the sun set. But Thalindral was different. The streets were lit by magical lamps—warm yellow lights that gradually shifted into a gentle white as the night went on. In some communities, the lights were shut off after midnight to preserve a sense of calm. In others, they remained lit until dawn.
Even among the law-abiding high elves, disagreements still arose from time to time. One such issue was lighting at night. Some believed the street lights should be turned off once people went to sleep, while others insisted they should remain on at all times for safety and aesthetic reasons.
The city of Thalindral had no official stance on the matter. The Mayor hadn't passed any laws regarding it, leaving the decision in the hands of local communities. Each community handled it in their own way.
Thalindral's governance was layered. At the top stood the district judge, who held the highest authority within the city. The judge appointed the mayor, the police chief, and other key figures. The mayor handled broader citywide matters and also selected the members of each local community council. These councils, in turn, were given the power to decide on any issue not already addressed by a higher level of government.
The structure was strictly top-down. Sovereignty belonged solely to the National Council of Elders, the supreme rulers of the Elven Empire. No other authority had the right to pass binding laws without explicit permission from this council.
This system stood in sharp contrast to human empires, where nobles often had independent authority and could create their own laws without the king's consent.
Still, the National Council of Elders had passed overarching legislation allowing lower governments to enact local laws, provided they didn't conflict with those from higher authorities. The hierarchy of elven governance was simple: at the top was the National Council of Elders, who held dominion over the entire empire. Beneath them were the district judges, followed by city officials, and finally the local community councils.
Then there was the Immortal Council—a mysterious body entirely separate from the mortal government. They answered to no one, and no mortal law bound them.
While the National Council of Elders had legislated on many matters across the empire, they intentionally left smaller, localized issues—such as lighting policies, minor trade rules, or community customs—for mayors and councils to manage.
If a local or city law happened to contradict a law from the National Council of Elders, the district judge would step in. It was their role to decide whether the local law could be justified given the circumstances, or whether it should be struck down. There were no appeals. The judge's decision was final.
In theory, that meant a district judge could allow a mayor to enforce a law that conflicted with national law. But in reality, that never happened. Judges were selected from among the most disciplined and law-abiding high elves—those with impeccable records and absolute loyalty to elven order. No judge would willingly uphold a law that contradicted the will of the elders.
The lack of an appeals process wasn't seen as a flaw. In the eyes of the high elves, it simply wasn't needed.
Soon, Edric reached his house. He stepped up to the door, opened it, and quietly slipped inside.