Flowering Period of an Elf

"What are you worried about?"

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

"If you're worried about 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 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 physiological knowledge concerning demi-human races.

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

"Our souls are pure and independent. Only when a soul has fully matured does it bloom like a flower, producing the instinctive urge to seek a mate."

"It also signifies complete physical maturity."

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

"But human blood catalyzes the process in half-elves, bringing it forward dramatically. It usually erupts sometime between the ages of sixteen and twenty."

As she said this, Hill's eyes grew somewhat unfocused.

"Elven love is pure, but also extreme."

"Before the Flowering Period arrives, elves are as oblivious to love as stones. We appreciate beauty, but never develop any worldly desire to possess it."

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

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

"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."

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

"You mean—Cecilia—"

Hill nodded.

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

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

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

"It could be a month, or perhaps only a week."

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

Professor Gideon suddenly understood, convinced he had grasped Hill's concern.

"No wonder you're so anxious."

"You're afraid Cecilia will miss her Flowering Period because of this internship and won't be able to marry later, leaving the Rosenthal family without an heir?"

"After all, that's a great noble family. They certainly care about that."

"That's not it at all!"

Hill slammed her fist into her palm with a sharp smack.

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

"Haven't you read those knight novels?"

"A rich young lady hides her identity to travel and train, meets some slick-tongued, blond-haired thug of an adventurer, gets completely fooled by his sweet talk, and ends up running away with him to roam the world!"

"Those blond punks are the worst!"

At the thought that her fresh, tender cabbage might be rooted up by some wild boar, Hill's blood pressure soared. She wanted nothing more than to rush over and throw every male creature who approached Cecilia into the moat.

Watching Hill teeter on the verge of exploding, Gideon's mouth twitched.

So that was what you were worried about?

But Hill soon took a deep breath as if comforting herself, and the tension in her expression eased a little.

"Still—half-elves have extremely demanding standards when choosing a mate."

"There has to be a profound resonance between their souls. It isn't as though just anyone can catch their eye."

"Cecilia's standards are so high. She shouldn't be that easy to lure away—right?"

Even as she said that, uncertainty still seeped through her voice.

Precisely because finding a mate was so difficult, the elven race held a grand Twin Moon Festival within their clans to prevent their people from dying alone, forcing all elves in their Flowering Period to attend matchmaking events.

Just then.

Cecilia, who had already reached the step of the mana-powered transport vehicle in the distance, seemed to sense something.

She turned around and spotted her aunt in the corner at a glance through the crowd, still struggling with her worries.

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

That smile shone especially brightly beneath the morning sun, so pure that it held not the slightest trace of impurity.

She raised her hand high and waved vigorously.

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

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

"Come back safely."

She prayed silently in her heart.

As long as she came back safe, even if she really brought a blond man home—

No! A blond man was absolutely unacceptable!

If that bastard really dared to lay a hand on her, she would blast him into scraps 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 an opportunity to convince Aunt Morwenna to let her accompany 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 fright.

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 covered in dark green herbal dust.

His linen shirt had long since lost its original color, covered in medicine stains of varying shades. His entire body gave off a strong, pungent sour herbal smell.

The smell was overpowering.

The moment Flora came close, it made her dizzy, and she instinctively covered her nose.

She could not understand it.

How had Lance survived in that sealed attic filled with such a high concentration of medicinal fumes?

How much mental resilience did that take?

Seeing the concern in the young 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 carry away the goods as quietly as possible before leaving with a worried heart.

As the door closed, Lance did not even have the strength to change clothes. He simply washed his face, then collapsed onto the bed.

He slept so deeply that he lost all sense of time.

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

Once he returned to the attic, the frenzied 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 even more so for the silver coins that were almost within reach,

Lance forcibly stretched his working hours to eighteen hours a day.