Pillar of Yita

Nevade’s Fairy Residence is not widely known among travelers and adventurers—only frequented by returning regulars and occasionally stumbled upon by strangers. Discussions sometimes pop up in the community but are quickly drowned in the sea of posts, disappearing without a trace.

The treehouses in the forest here always face a new day in the monotonous peace of routine. Whenever the morning dawn crosses the green vines, sauntering past the terrace, spilling its golden brilliance into the hall—

it often signifies the start of a new business day for the inn.

So each day passed over a century, with time etching marks on the inn’s wooden railings until the new planks grew old, sprouting mushrooms and moss.

The elf Ariel, stepping on the creaky spiral stairs, arrived on the terrace, greeting the early-rising guests. He nodded in response to their greetings, moving behind the curved wooden bar, placing each tool in its handy position, arranging them meticulously.

The elf carefully observed for a while, then raised his hand to shake the bell above the bar.

That seemed like a signal. Little creatures flew in from all directions, chattering: ”Ariel, you’re early today!”

”Is it the same as yesterday?”

”The guests haven’t gotten up yet!”

”Still need more sleep.”

The little fairies are as noisy as a hundred sparrows, but to those who adore them, their chatter isn’t less than the song of a nightingale.

Ariel glanced at them, waved his hand, and the little fairies dispersed swiftly. Sunlight pierced through the window, and the elf wiped the table, lifting his gaze to witness the unchanged daily scenery—not much different, yet reassuring.

Gradually, guests also approached the hall. As the day’s first tasks began, the little fairies loudly announced the guests’ orders, using magic to orderly deliver wooden plates to each table.

But they never possessed the quality of patience, often messing up due to sudden whims—spilling soup in the rush, delivering wrong dishes, or other such mishaps.

Luckily, people have long grown used to it, calmly ordering again, and over time, it even became a kind of sight here. People always have a limit of tolerance for cute things, and if it were humans doing it, they would likely get a severe reprimand.

So ’racial discrimination’ indeed exists in the Otherworld—

only this day differed exceptionally.

In the dim light of the hall, adventurers were discussing travel plans in small groups—where rare mythical creatures appeared, where boss-level life forms refreshed, where there were tales of treasures, where rare quests and strange people were.

The true and false information circulating in the community reflects here, becoming one of the conditions guiding people’s next actions.

But as the light changed slightly outside the door, people instinctively paused, looking in that direction. The elf Ariel also lifted his head, surprised to see a lady standing outside the door—she wore a white shirt, straight pants, her left hand holding a coat draped over her shoulder.

A small Magic Guided Reactor hung at her waist, adorned with a prismatic dark green crystal, exquisite and strange. Her right hand naturally hung down, without any carried weapon, and merely wore a glove resembling dragon scales, silver metallic.

Each metal knuckle appeared rather sharp.

She was lifting her head, observing the inn, and a buzzing golden copper sphere flew over her shoulder, turning with her gaze.

Suddenly, the hall fell silent.

People uniformly paused their actions, watching the scene—some even raised their hands—these were Invokers, activating their recording systems, documenting the scene.

”It’s Nether!”

”It really is the Queen, why is she here?”

”Has she returned to the First World?”

Nether glanced at everyone and smiled gently.

She walked towards the bar, coming before the elf, and said, ”I’m here looking for someone.”

The elf Ariel nodded: ”They’re in the back.”

Nether nodded in gratitude, then carried her coat through the hall towards the back.

Leaving only the crowd in the hall buzzing with discussion, those who captured the scene hurriedly posted the video on the community, titling it with an eye-catching headline: ’Construct Queen Appears in the First World’.

’Does the God Slayer have thoughts on the Southern Alliance too?’

The discussion atmosphere in the hall turned lively—

even the natives were inquiring all around about the woman who appeared earlier. Just at that moment, the hall’s door darkened again, and with previous experience, people looked up, still curious:

Why is Nevade so lively today?

What they saw was a teenage boy, carrying a disproportionately large backpack, standing at the door curiously looking at everyone—he took a couple of steps back, glanced up.

Then he asked everyone: ”Um, did I come to the right place?”

”Is this the Fairy Residence Nevade?”

Don’t be fooled by this boy’s naive face; his voice might be bright and tender, but those familiar with him know his ID.

He’s the first Nightingale of the Rose Cross Army, the Thief Handwasher, although he has a baby face, he only looks young, but is actually twenty-six—more renowned for his cross-dressing skills.

Claimed to be Eteliria’s top cross-dresser, with countless fans, appealing to both genders.

Of course, his primary work is also outstanding, being unparalleled in the domestic role of Nightingale, also one of the trump cards of the Rose Cross Army.