Chapter 44: The Elf’s Flowering Stage
"What’s troubling you?"
Gideon asked tentatively, his hands behind his back.
"If you’re worried about her safety, I’ve already made a special request to an old friend over there. He’ll arrange for the most reliable people to look after Cecilia."
Hill bit her lip, her expression conflicted.
"Have you heard of the Elven Flowering Stage?"
"The what?"
Professor Gideon paused, taken aback.
As a Caster who specialized in the Combat Molding System, he was completely clueless when it came to such obscure knowledge of Sub-human Species physiology.
Hill gazed at the distant crowd and explained in a low voice:
"Unlike humans, Elves don’t feel the desire to procreate at any given time."
"Our spirits are pure and independent. Only when a spirit has fully matured will it blossom like a flower, creating the instinctual urge to seek a partner."
"This also marks complete physiological maturity."
"A Pure-blood Elf typically reaches this stage around the age of eighty."
"But for a Half-Elf, the human blood acts as a catalyst, causing it to occur much earlier. It usually bursts forth suddenly between the ages of sixteen and twenty."
As she spoke, a distant look came into Hill’s eyes.
"An Elf’s love is very pure, and also very extreme."
"Before the Flowering Stage arrives, an Elf is like a stone, incapable of understanding romantic love. We appreciate beauty, but we feel no worldly possessiveness."
"But once the Flowering Stage begins, if this flower of the spirit is not picked, it will close forever."
"From then on, that Elf is destined to a life of solitude, forever unable to fall in love with anyone."
"But if someone manages to enter her heart during this period, the Elf will love only that person for her entire life, faithful until death."
Hearing this secret lore, the expression on Gideon’s face shifted from confusion to shock.
"Are you saying... Cecilia is..."
Hill nodded.
"Based on her age, Cecilia should be right in that window of time."
"For the Elf Race, this window lasts for about three to five years. If a soul-compatible partner isn’t found, the flowering period will end on its own."
"But a Half-Elf’s flowering period is even shorter."
"It might be a month, or it might be just a week."
"That’s why so few Half-Elves in this world ever successfully have children. The time they have to find a partner is just too short."
Professor Gideon had a moment of realization, thinking he now understood the source of Hill’s distress.
"No wonder you’re so anxious."
"You’re afraid Cecilia will miss her Flowering Stage because of this internship, won’t be able to marry, and will leave the Rosenthal Clan without an heir?"
"After all, they’re a Great Noble family. They’d certainly place a lot of importance on that."
"Of course not!"
Hill slammed a fist into her palm with a sharp SMACK.
She ground her teeth. "I’m afraid some good-for-nothing blond punk will come and whisk my Cecilia away!"
"Haven’t you read those Knight novels?"
"The young lady from a rich family goes on an adventure incognito, runs into some slick-talking, blond-haired scoundrel of an Adventurer, gets completely twisted around his finger by his sweet-talk, and ends up getting spirited away to wander the world with him!"
"Those blondies are the absolute worst!"
The thought of her fresh, tender little cabbage getting rooted up by some wild boar made Hill’s blood pressure skyrocket. She wished she could rush over right now and throw every male creature that got near Cecilia into the moat.
Watching Hill on the verge of a meltdown, Gideon’s mouth twitched.
’So that’s what you’re worried about?’
But Hill quickly took a deep breath, as if to console herself, and her expression relaxed slightly.
"However... a Half-Elf’s Flowering Stage has extremely strict criteria for choosing a partner."
"There must be a high degree of resonance on a spiritual level. It’s not like just anyone can catch her eye."
"Cecilia has such high standards. She wouldn’t be so easily whisked away... right?"
Even as she said it, her tone was filled with uncertainty.
It was precisely because finding a mate was so difficult that the Elf Race held the grand "Double Moon Festival," a mandatory matchmaking event for all Elves currently in their Flowering Stage, to prevent its people from ending up alone for life.
Just then, Cecilia, who had already reached the boarding step of the Magic Energy Transport Vehicle in the distance, seemed to sense something.
She turned her head and, looking across the crowd, immediately spotted her anxious aunt in the corner.
Not wanting her elder to worry, a brilliant smile blossomed on the young woman’s face.
In the early morning sun, that smile was exceptionally dazzling, pure without a single trace of impurity.
She raised her hand high and waved it energetically.
Infected by Cecilia’s vibrant smile, much of the gloom in Hill’s heart instantly dissipated.
She raised her hand as well, waving goodbye to her niece.
"Come back safe."
She prayed silently in her heart.
’As long as she comes back safely, even if she really does bring back a blond punk...’
’No! A blond punk is absolutely out of the question!’
’If some bastard really dares to lay a hand on her, I’ll blast him to smithereens with a High Tier Bursting Fireball!’
...
Four days passed in the blink of an eye.
It was only on the last day that Flora finally found a chance to persuade Aunt Mowenna to let her come with the movers to find Lance.
When she arrived to pick up the last batch of custom hemostatic ointment, she was startled by the sight before her.
The Lance behind the door looked like a monster that had just crawled out of a swamp.
His once-neat black hair was now a tangled mess, and his face was caked with dark green herbal dust.
His linen shirt had long lost its original color, covered in Potion stains of various shades. He emanated a strong, pungent, sour smell of herbs.
The stench was overwhelming.
The moment Flora got close, the fumes made her so dizzy that she instinctively covered her nose.
She couldn’t understand.
How on earth had Lance survived in a sealed attic filled with such a high concentration of medicinal odors?
What kind of mental Resilience did that take?
Seeing the worried look in the young woman’s eyes, Lance just gave a weary wave of his hand.
"I’m fine."
His voice was as hoarse as if he had swallowed a handful of sand.
"The goods are all here. Let me get some sleep."
So as not to disturb his rest, Flora could only direct the workers to carry the goods away quietly, then left, fraught with worry.
As the door closed, Lance, without even the strength to change his clothes, simply washed his face and collapsed face-first onto the bed.
He slept so soundly he lost all track of time.
It wasn’t until the sun was high in the sky the next day that he slowly opened his eyes.
Only he knew what kind of hell he had gone through for the past four days.
After leaving Mowenna Potion Shop that day, he had rushed to the Adventurer’s Guild to process his resignation, then swept up all the raw materials he could buy on the market.
Once back in his attic, the frantic brewing began.
He had originally planned to work twelve hours a day, which was already the limit of a normal person’s mental endurance.
But he had underestimated the workload of nine hundred units.
In order not to break the contract, and more importantly, for the Silver Coins he was about to receive,
Lance had brutally forced himself to extend his workdays to eighteen hours.