The Shitty Elf and the Shitty Dwarf (1)

I lie sprawled across a large branch of an equally large tree, biting into a fruit.

With a pleasant crunch, a light tartness and sweetness spread through my mouth.

This fruit, known as an Apua, is said to be an ingredient in an elixir of rejuvenation, and humans supposedly trade it for stacks of gold coins.

But in this forest, I can eat as much of it as I like.

"Spirit of the wind."

Having finished my Apua fruit, I mutter that and toss away the remaining core.

The next instant, a swirling wind grinds the core to dust.

Thus, the flesh nourishes me, and the core nourishes the earth.

And if I spit out the seeds, they may sprout if I'm lucky.

When I let out a great yawn, a bird that has flown down from the sky settles on my chest and gives a high, chirpy call.

When I gently hold out a finger, the bird rubs its face against it as if nuzzling up to me.

The bird understands perfectly well that I would never harm it.

That's because I'm an elf, one of a people that lives alongside the forest.

More precisely, I'm apparently a High Elf, a kind of elf even closer to the spirits, but as forest dwellers go, I don't think there's much difference.

After all, neither elves nor High Elves are all that different; they're both creatures with little capacity for change.

"Yeah, honestly, I'm bored."

I mutter to myself as I laze around, though there's no one in particular I'm speaking to.

When I'm hungry, I eat fruit. I don't exactly hunt, but I hone my skills by drawing my bow, and I converse with the spirits while peeking into the world's truths.

An elf's life is truly an ideal slow life, but... after doing the same thing for 120 years, even I finally grew bored.

For the record, I'm probably around 150 years old this year, but I didn't become self-aware until around thirty, so I count 120 years from that point.

Of course, the other elves and High Elves live such a life without questioning it, loving the forest and seeming to have no complaints.

To them, this is simply normal, and they never even consider any other way of living.

But although I was born deep within this forest and had never once ventured outside, I'd known about other ways of life to compare it to from the moment I became self-aware.

That's right: I'm a reincarnated person from another world, carrying the memories of a previous life.

My previous life was as a human, and in the world where I lived then, elves were nothing more than fictional beings.

That world, Earth, was rife with terrible conflicts, but it was also overflowing with entertainment, art, and culture.

Because I know that hectic world of frequent conflict, I can appreciate how wonderful the elves' slow and peaceful life is.

But because I also know a world overflowing with culture, I've finally reached my limit with the lack of stimulation in elven life.

Above all...

"I could really go for some meat."

I'm fed up with a life of nothing but fruit.

The instant I mutter this, the bird perched on my chest flies away in a panic.

Ah, what a clever bird.

But it's not as if I meant to catch and eat that bird.

After all, if I used fire in this deep forest, the other elves and High Elves would come racing over to complain.

If I'm going to eat meat, I want to grill it, and if I want to grill meat, I'll have to leave the forest.

In other words, once I leave the forest, I can grill meat and eat it, then live a stimulating life full of all sorts of things to see.

"All right, I've had enough of the elven way of life. It just wasn't for me... No, I mean, this whole thing wasn't really my thing."

I spent more than a hundred years trying to fit into High Elf life, behaving the way I was supposed to, but I was finally reaching my limit.

High Elves are said to live for more than a thousand years without aging, and after their bodies perish, their souls become spirits that drift through the natural world until the end of the world.

The thought of living the same way for another 850 years—or of continuing until the end of the world—honestly gives me the chills.

If I have such a long lifespan, I'd rather go out into the world, see all sorts of things, eat all sorts of things, experience all sorts of things, and become a spirit or whatever only after I've had my fill.

I head for the river running through the forest, pick up stones, and smash them against each other over and over until I make a stone knife.

There are no worked metal products in this forest.

The official excuse is that while it's fine for metal to sleep underground as ore, the trees are frightened by metal products that have been worked.

In truth, the rule probably exists because elves detest dwarves, a race skilled at smithing.

I mean, trees might be frightened by axes and such used to cut them down, but there's no reason they should fear cutlery like spoons and forks.

So if you want a blade in the forest, you either chip and sharpen a stone like this or make one by shaving down the fang or bone of a large beast.

However, while stone blades are one thing, the fangs and bones of large beasts are precious, and only mature elves and High Elves are permitted to possess them.

That's because if an immature elf or High Elf becomes consumed by greed, they'll start killing beasts needlessly.

Exactly—in other words, someone as greedy as me would never be allowed to have one.

Well, none of that matters anymore.

Once I leave the forest, those customs will have nothing to do with me.

I watch my reflection in the flowing water as I use the stone knife to hack off my own hair.

Long hair is supposedly a symbol of High Elves' nobility, and cutting it short was forbidden beyond merely trimming it, but honestly, I've always found it bothersome.

Still, if I cut it too short with such a crude knife, I won't be able to fix it if I make a mistake, so for now I'll leave it about shoulder length.

If the High Elf elders saw me like this, they'd lecture me for three days and three nights.

And for decades afterward, they'd keep bringing it up and muttering complaints at me.

I have no intention of putting up with that, so I'd better leave the forest at once.

I cut my hair.

It was such a small thing, yet my heart felt considerably lighter.

There isn't anyone in particular I want to say goodbye to before I leave.

I do have biological parents, but High Elf children are raised by the entire settlement as young shoots.

So even my biological parents are no closer to me than any of the other High Elves in the settlement.

It's not that I had no close companions, but they wouldn't understand even if I told them I was leaving the forest.

Well, it can't be helped. So be it.

This need not be a final farewell, and if fate brings us together, we'll meet again.

They probably won't realize that I've disappeared for about a month.

Having settled that in my mind, I set off briskly toward the outside of the forest.

I carry a bow and arrows, a vine-woven bag stuffed with Apua fruit, and my stone knife.