I Am The Game's Villain

Chapter 468: [Event] [Elven Utopian War] [10] Elyen Kiora

Elyen Kiora, the illustrious capital of the High Elves, stood as a beacon of elven majesty and tradition. It was a city born from necessity, chosen by the High Elves after their exile from Sancta Vedelia, the sacred homeland they had been forced to abandon. Despite its origins rooted in desperation, Elyen Kiora had grown into a city of unparalleled beauty, one that rivaled even the Kingdoms of Sancta Vedelia.

Unlike Vanadias, the forest city sculpted seamlessly into towering trees, Elyen Kiora was a declaration from the High Elves, laid bare under the sun.

The architecture combined natural elegance with refined craftsmanship. Wide bridges of pale marble spanned tranquil canals, their surfaces adorned with carvings of vines and mythical mana beasts.

Yet beneath this breathtaking sight lay a harsher reality. Unlike the multicultural sanctuaries of Sancta Vedelia, Elyen Kiora was a city exclusively for elves. High Elves dominated its population. Interspersed among them were Blood Elves, and Dark Elves. But regardless of lineage, they shared one unifying trait: they were all elves.

No other race lived in Elyen Kiora-at least not willingly, and certainly not freely. Non-elves, when present, occupied a far darker role in this gilded society. Slavery was an open and accepted institution. High Humans and Halves-those of mixed heritage-were the most common victims, taken as spoils of conflict. They were bought, sold, or gifted as commodities, stripped of their dignity and reduced to mere possessions.

The streets, though lively with elven families and friends laughing and conversing, carried an undercurrent of silent despair. Human slaves, dressed in tattered garments and adorned with iron collars, trudged behind their masters. Their wrists bore the marks of shackles, their postures stooped under the weight of both physical and emotional burdens. Heads bowed, they dared not meet the gazes of their elven overlords, their eyes clouded with resignation and despair.

The elves, for their part, seemed blissfully indifferent to the suffering around them. Couples strolled arm in arm, discussing the latest news or mostly the progress of the war, while their human slaves followed in silence. Children played in the plazas, their laughter ringing out as their caretakers-often enslaved humans-stood quietly to the side.

The war had torn through their lives like a hurricane, leaving devastation in its wake. Many of the enslaved humans had not even seen the conflict coming; one moment they were tending their fields or raising their families, and the next, they were swept into the chaos of battle. Before they could grasp what was happening, they were shackled, branded as spoils of war, and sent to Elyen Kiora to serve the worst people they had ever met.

To the High Elves, humans were beasts of burden-inferior creatures to be used and discarded. They were openly referred to as a ʼlower raceʼ, their humanity denied by those who considered themselves superior. It was not uncommon to see an elven noblewoman walking her slave through the streets as though they were a pet, the collar around their neck, symbol of ownership. Others were forced to carry goods or kneel for hours in submission, their suffering ignored by passersby.

Elyen Kiora was beautiful, yes.

But for anyone who wasnʼt an Elf-or even for Elves from Sancta Vedelia or other lands-the city presented a disturbing spectacle. A paradise for some, a nightmare for others. And among the crowds of High Elves moving gracefully through the streets, one figure stood out.

He had long, white hair, tied haphazardly into a ponytail. His sharp features and pointed ears marked him as a High Elf, blending seamlessly with the rest of the cityʼs residents. The leather armor he wore suggested the guise of a knight or mercenary-likely someone traveling in search of coin or adventure.

But the truth was far more dangerous. That ʼHigh Elfʼ was none other than Amael Idea Olphean, Heir to one of the great High Human Houses of Sancta Vedelia. An identity that would certainly send shivers of hatred and fear through the hearts of the High Elves if revealed. ***

I clenched my teeth as I strolled through Elyen Kioraʼs bustling streets. It had been two days since I arrived, slipping unnoticed. Two days of breathing its air, of blending in with its people, of witnessing its reality. And even after all that time, there were some things I would never grow accustomed to.

On one side of the street, happy families of High Elves walked arm in arm. On the other side, the despaired forms of Human slaves trudged in silence. Collars encircled their necks, cuffs bruised their wrists, and their worn-out clothing barely covered their trembling forms.

I turned my gaze away. My eyes had grown cold as I observed the scene, but I dared not act. Not here. Not now. I was deep within enemy territory.

Even with my carefully altered appearance-my hair a few shades lighter, my features subtly shifted to mimic the refined beauty of a High Elf-I still drew attention. My mana was clearly potent, and the illusion of being an extraordinary High Elf had worked a little too well.

I could feel the gazes following me, curious and even heated ones. High Elf women blushed as

I passed, while some men looked on with wide-eyed admiration that sent a chill up my spine. It was quite strange, to say the least.

What the hell was wrong with these people?

I thought I had done a decent job with this face.

Maybe I overexaggerated?

Well, I didnʼt expect Elves, who are so used to beauty, to be struck by my appearance.

I had always assumed they were immune to such things.

With a sigh, I reached for the artifact pendant hanging around my neck-the one I had, stole -uh, borrowed from Bryelle. [You stole it.] ʼI just picked it up off the ground.ʼ [You only gave back one pendant.] ʼI needed it, so I borrowed it!ʼ

Regardless, the pendant was working wonderfully. It masked my presence as a Half High Human, allowing me to move freely in Elyen Kiora. A feat like that wasnʼt easy, especially for someone like me.

The city itself was undeniably beautiful, almost mesmerizing. But I hadnʼt come for sightseeing.

Despite Elyen Kioraʼs splendor, the reality beneath it was far from this majestic. These people -these so-called paragons of refinement-had launched an all-out war on Sancta Vedelia. They enslaved its people, even children, tearing apart families as if it were sport.

And yet here they were, laughing and shopping in the streets as if nothing was amiss. No one would guess they were in the midst of a war just by looking at their carefree smiles.

Just how racist can these guys possibly be?

Everywhere I looked, the same behavior played out. I kept telling myself there had to be exceptions-maybe not all High Elves were like this. But after two days, I hadnʼt seen a single shred of proof. ”Walk, you little brat!”

A sharp cry snapped me out of my thoughts.

I turned toward the commotion.

A High Elf, clearly drunk, was glaring at a young boy. The child couldnʼt have been older than six. Shackles bound his wrists, and he struggled under the weight of a barrel nearly as tall as he was. It was filled with liquor-its pungent scent reaching my nose making me grimace so I couldnʼt even imagine how it was for the boy.

Bruises marred the boyʼs frail body, some fresh and purple, others older and fading. His steps wavered, each one a struggle to keep the barrel balanced on his back. ”Canʼt even carry this?!” The High Elf barked, lifting the barrel with a single hand.

He was shamelessly using mana. ”I—Iʼm sorry...” The boyʼs voice trembled as tears spilled down his dirt-streaked face and bowed his head in submission.

But the Elf wasnʼt satisfied. ”You Human trash are completely useless!” He snarled, raising the barrel.

I widened my eyes as I realized what the Elf was about to do.

This bastard!

Without thinking, I stepped forward, appearing in front of the boy just as the Elf swung the barrel. -Splash!

The barrel shattered on impact, drenching me from head to toe in liquor. The sharp, pungent scent stung my nose, and I could feel the liquid soaking through my clothes, chilling my skin.

The High Elf, stunned for a moment, quickly recovered and glared at me. ”You just wasted-” ”Shut up,” I snapped coldly. ”...!” His eyes widened, and he froze under my glare, instinctively stepping back. ”Now,” I said, advancing on him, ”why did you throw your barrel at me?” ”W-What?! Youʼre the one who came into my-” ”I asked a question, you little trashbag.”

The Elf staggered back. He turned as if to flee, but I was faster. My hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of his finely tailored shirt. With one swift motion, I hoisted him off the ground as though he weighed nothing. ”L-Leave me!!” ”As you wish,” I replied with a smirk, tightening my grip before hurling him with all my strength.

His body arced through the air like a sack of discarded garbage, landing with a loud sound in the middle of the road. Dust kicked up around him as he groaned pathetically, sprawled on the ground.

A rush of satisfaction coursed through me, and I couldnʼt help but smirk at the sight of him lying there like the trash he was.

But my moment of triumph was short-lived.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that wiped the smirk clean off my face-a grand carriage coming to an abrupt halt just in front of the Elfʼs crumpled form.

The carriage was unlike anything else on the road. Its pure white exterior gleamed under the sunlight, adorned with golden embellishment.

The bypassers, who had been watching our quarrel with awe and amusement, now shifted their focus entirely. ”Itʼs the Princessʼs carriage!”