The Elf's Flowering Period

"What are you worrying about?"

Gideon stood with his hands behind his back and asked tentatively.

"If you're worried about her safety, I've specifically asked an old friend over there. He'll arrange for the most reliable people to look after Cecilia."

Hill bit her lip, looking somewhat conflicted.

"Do you know about an elf's Flowering Period?"

"What?"

Professor Gideon froze for a moment.

As a spellcaster focused on combat evocation, he truly knew nothing about such obscure demi-human physiological knowledge.

Hill gazed at the distant crowd and explained softly, "Elves aren't like humans, able to feel the urge to reproduce anytime and anywhere."

"Our souls are pure and independent. Only when a soul has developed to complete maturity does it bloom like a flower and develop the instinctive urge to seek a mate."

"This also marks complete physical maturity."

"Pure-blooded elves usually enter this period at around eighty years old."

"But human blood accelerates the process for half-elves. It often erupts suddenly between the ages of sixteen and twenty."

As she said this, Hill's gaze grew somewhat distant.

"Elven love is pure, but also extreme."

"Before the Flowering Period arrives, elves are as ignorant of love as stones. We appreciate beauty, but we feel none of the possessiveness of the mundane world."

"But once the Flowering Period arrives, if that flower of the soul is not picked, it will close forever."

"From then on, that elf is destined to remain alone for life, never able to fall in love with anyone again."

"But if someone can enter her heart during this period, then that elf will love only that one person for the rest of her life, until death."

Upon hearing this secret, Gideon's expression shifted from confusion to shock.

"You mean—Cecilia, she—"

Hill nodded.

"Judging by her age, Cecilia should be within that period right now."

"An elf's window usually lasts three to five years. If they fail to find a soul-compatible partner, the flowering season naturally ends."

"But a half-elf's flowering season is even shorter."

"It might be a month, or it might only be a week."

"That's why so few half-elves in this world successfully bear descendants. The time they have to find a partner is simply too short."

Professor Gideon suddenly understood, believing he had grasped Hill's concerns.

"No wonder you're so anxious."

"You're afraid Cecilia will miss her Flowering Period because of this internship, never marry afterward, and leave the Rosenthal family without an heir?"

"After all, that's a great noble house. They really do care about such things."

"That's not it at all!"

Hill suddenly slammed her fist into her palm with a crisp smack.

She gritted her teeth. "I'm afraid some good-for-nothing blond brat will run off with my Cecilia!"

"Haven't you read those knight novels?"

"A rich young lady hides her identity and goes out to gain experience. Then she meets some smooth-talking, blond-haired hooligan adventurer, gets completely taken in by his sweet talk, and finally runs away with him to wander the world!"

"Those blond brats are the worst!"

At the thought of her fresh, tender cabbage possibly being rooted up by some wild boar, Hill's blood pressure soared. She wanted nothing more than to rush over and toss every male creature who came near Cecilia into the moat.

Seeing Hill on the verge of going berserk, Gideon's mouth twitched.

So that's what you're worried about?

But Hill soon took a deep breath as though comforting herself, and the expression on her face relaxed slightly.

"Still—half-elves are extremely demanding when it comes to choosing a mate during their Flowering Period."

"There must be a deep resonance between their souls. It's not as though just anyone can catch their eye."

"Cecilia's standards are so high. She shouldn't be that easy to run off with... right?"

Even as she said it, uncertainty still colored her tone.

Precisely because choosing a mate was so difficult, the elves held a grand Twin Moon Festival within their clan to prevent their people from dying alone, forcing all elves in their Flowering Period to attend matchmaking gatherings.

Just then,

Cecilia, who had already stepped onto the running board of the mana-powered transport, seemed to sense something.

She turned around and spotted her little aunt, still tangled in worry in the corner, through the crowd.

Not wanting her elder to worry, the girl broke into a dazzling smile.

That smile appeared especially brilliant in the morning sunlight, so pure that it held not the slightest trace of impurity.

She raised her hand high and waved it vigorously.

Infected by Cecilia's energetic smile, much of the gloom in Hill's heart immediately dissipated.

She raised her hand as well and waved farewell to her niece.

"Come back safely."

She prayed silently in her heart.

As long as she comes back safely, even if she really brings home a blond brat—

No! A blond brat is absolutely unacceptable!

If that bastard really dares lay a finger on her, I'll blast him into dust with the highest-tier Explosive Fireball!

Four days passed in the blink of an eye.

It was not until the final day that Flora found a chance to persuade Aunt Morwenna to let her come with the porters to find Lance.

When she came to collect the final batch of specially made Hemostatic Ointment, the sight before her gave her a tremendous fright.

Lance, standing behind the door, looked like a monster that had just crawled out of a swamp.

His once-neat black hair was now tangled into a messy clump, and his face was covered in dark green herbal powder.

His linen shirt had long since lost its original color, stained with blotches of medicine in varying shades. His entire body gave off a strong, pungent, acidic herbal smell.

The smell was far too overpowering.

The moment Flora approached, the fumes made her dizzy, and she instinctively covered her nose.

She couldn't understand it.

How had Lance possibly survived in this sealed attic filled with such concentrated medicinal odors?

How much mental resilience would that take?

Seeing the worry in the girl's eyes, Lance merely waved his hand tiredly.

"I'm fine."

His voice was hoarse, as though he had swallowed a handful of sand.

"The goods are all here. Let me sleep for a while."

Not wanting to disturb his rest, Flora could only direct the workers to move the goods as quietly as possible before leaving with a worried heart.

As the door closed, Lance didn't even have the strength to change clothes. After quickly washing his face, he collapsed headfirst onto the bed.

He slept so deeply that he lost all sense of day and night.

It was not until the sun stood high the next day that he slowly opened his eyes.

Only he knew what kind of hell he had endured over those four days.

After leaving the Morwenna Potion Shop that day, he hurried to the Adventurers' Guild to complete his resignation procedures, then swept up every raw material available on the market.

Once he returned to the attic, the frantic brewing began.

Originally, he had planned to work twelve hours a day, which was already the limit of what an ordinary person's mind could endure.

But he had underestimated the workload of nine hundred units.

To avoid breaking the contract, and for the silver coins that were almost within reach,

Lance had forcibly extended his working hours to eighteen hours a day.