C2 Marry the Princess of Devil Clan!

Herant returned to his seat, seemingly oblivious to the shattered porcelain on the floor. Without a second thought, he fetched a new cup for Doyle and filled it with tea.

This Dew Tea, a royal family exclusive, was as delightful as a kiss from the dew itself, and Doyle was particularly fond of it.

However, today his mind was elsewhere, consumed by an anxious wait for his father's response.

Herant played the part of a teasing villain with ease, leisurely blowing on his tea to dislodge a stray leaf, in no rush at all.

He glanced at Doyle and spoke with a serene assurance, "I know you have a taste for beautiful women. Rest assured, the Princess of the Devil Clan is every bit as lovely as Melanie."

Doyle's tension eased. The Devil Clan and the elves were indeed different.

Unlike the upper echelons of elf society, where beauty had its bounds, the Devil Clan's attractiveness ranged widely. Their most handsome could rival the finest among the elves, while the ugliest knew no bounds.

To put it simply, if the spectrum of beauty for upper elves was 80-100, the Devil Clan spanned the full 0-100. With such a vast disparity, it was only natural for Doyle to feel unsettled.

Even with his father's reassurances, he couldn't help but worry.

Concerned about his future happiness and well-being, Doyle shamelessly and boldly broached a delicate request with his father. "Royal Father, it's not that I distrust you, but the stakes are high. Could you perhaps swear a minor oath to the great Moon God?"

Herant's lips curled into a smile, his eyebrows arching ever so slightly. "Oh? You would pressure your father into an oath over such a trivial concern?"

"That's a slight against the great Moon God."

Doyle was well aware that he lived in an era rife with feudal superstitions, where gods were not only believed in but were an objective reality.

His faith wasn't blind; rather, it carried a hint of pragmatic materialism.

He ceased his internal critique and fell silent.

As if discerning his son's unease, a knowing smile played on Herant's lips. "I am your father. Not only do I have to consider the empire and our people, but I also wouldn't deceive you. You've been a lover of beauty from a young age—a trait we share. There's no shame in that."

"I assure you, I've taken your tastes into account. And should you truly find yourself unsatisfied, there are pleasures to be found beyond the confines of home."

"Within these walls, maintain your marriage, but outside... consider the long journey of life and the beautiful vistas along the way. That, too, can be its own romance."

Doyle stared at his father, astonished by the candidness of his words.

Herant's expression settled back into its usual calm, as if the previous statement had no bearing on him, and he remarked nonchalantly, "Political marriage is separate from affection. If there's mutual dissatisfaction, seeking one's own emotional and physical solace elsewhere isn't out of the question."

"But one thing remains unchanged: the marriage itself."

"Go now, my child. Don't neglect your training. You know the empire is in a precarious state, and both it and our people need you."

His father lifted his teacup but didn't drink, a clear signal that the audience was over.

With nothing left to say, Doyle rose, bowed, and departed slowly.

His father was right; the Elves Empire was in dire straits.

The elves had once thrived in the Gaia Continent, at the heart of the world. At the height of their power, they shared dominion over the land with the Devil Clan, the Chu Dehe River marking their boundary.

The Gaia Continent, with its prime location and abundant resources, was an ideal habitat for beings of higher intelligence.

The elves, strong as individuals, had sat on the throne of rulers for ages, eventually succumbing to the disease of affluence.

They grew complacent, reluctant to bear children, and sought after various ephemeral spiritual opiates.

Blinded by their own splendor, they failed to see the half-beastmen they scorned in the southern mountains growing in strength.

As the half-beastmen rose, the elves were driven from the Gaia Continent.

The combat prowess of the half-beastmen was modest; an adult elf could easily dispatch five to ten of their warriors.

The adage 'one elf equals ten beasts' was common knowledge.

But the sheer number of half-beastmen was overwhelming.

Elven couples, living disease-free, could reach two thousand years of age, yet typically only had one or two children.

Half-beastmen, reaching maturity at fifteen and menopause by forty, could produce a brood each year, leading to a terrifying population explosion.

Ultimately, the half-beastmen, numbering over three billion, engulfed the Elves Empire, which had less than thirty million inhabitants.

Thankfully, the smaller continent of Lundberg, a tenth the size of Gaia, could still accommodate the elven survivors.

Between Lundberg and Gaia lay a mere ten-kilometer-wide land bridge.

Atop this slender passage, the Elves Empire constructed an almost impregnable defensive line, leveraging the terrain to their advantage.

Named after the legendary elven craftsman Knoch, at the heart of this line stood the Warren Stronghold, the city said to be unassailable.

This unassailable defense line halted the half-beasts' expansion.

The Elves Empire was secure, at least until the half-beasts' navy came into its own.

It made perfect sense for my father to seek an alliance with the Devil Clan across the northern sea to safeguard our empire and people.

The Devil Clan's navy is without equal.

Once both friends and foes, the Devil Clan and the elves were driven from the Gaia Continent by the half-beasts. In the face of a shared enemy, their alliance was unsurprising.

Trading a son for a marriage with the Princess of the Devil Clan to forge an impregnable alliance seemed like shrewd business.

Back in my room, I, Doyle, sat at my desk, sipping water to steady my emotions.

I understood my father's strategy; it was sound.

So sound that I couldn't conceive of a better option.

As a disinterested third party, I might even commend such a political union.

But the thought of being the prince on the auction block soured my mood.

It's easy to be detached when it's not your concern, but when it is, you're instantly on your feet. Such is the nature of the elves—or so I mused.

Yes, this is all for the Elves Empire, for our people, but I am not an elf!

I'm just a human youth who stumbled into this world from another.

If I'm not welcome here, I'll find my place elsewhere. I could always seek refuge with humans...

But then my thoughts ground to a halt.

Where would I find humans to take me in?

This world... it has no humans.

Perhaps the presence of elves, the Devil Clan, half-beasts, and various other demi-humans stifled the evolutionary potential of the ancient apes, leaving no room for humans.

Only a cousin of humanity exists here.

If humans are the triumphant branch of ancient ape evolution, then the Jehu of this world are surely the branch that faltered.

The Jehu, or Fur people, bear a strong resemblance to humans with their facial features and body hair, but their crude and uncouth behavior, driven by instinct, sets them apart.

Despite their intelligence, they prefer to live in the nude.

They lack love, shame, marriage, and family, reproducing more like animals than humans.

To me, even the half-beasts seem closer to a civilized society than the Jehu.

The thought almost made me hurl my teacup across the room.

Wang Defa!

Who's human? Who's claiming to be human? Show yourself!

I am the esteemed Third Prince of the Elves Empire, the illustrious sage, His Highness Doyle Seurat!

Though the Jehu may look like humans, I refuse to acknowledge them as such.

They're nothing but under-evolved monkeys!

That's the label I've assigned to the Jehu.

I've come to a realization: in this world, I am among the elven elite.

Whether I accept it or not, that's the stark reality.

Lost in these thoughts, I was interrupted by the maid's voice.

"Master, your elder brother has arrived."