Two days had passed since the war, but the Gray Elf Queen still looked grim. The defeat had left her deeply frustrated—and afraid of the newly risen Undead Empire to the south.
That behemoth had faced a coalition of several powers and driven it back single-handedly.
Though Greenhide Daniel had ambushed the Silver King during the battle, in all honesty, the coalition's chances of winning on strength alone had been slim even without it.
Gray Elves were long-lived by nature. An ordinary Gray Elf could live twenty times as long as a human.
As one of the strongest Gray Elves, Alexia had lived far longer still. She had survived from the time the Mist World entered the Terminal Stage until now, yet for the first time, she felt that her survival—and that of the Gray Elf Tribe—was under threat.
At that moment, a female Gray Elf entered the luxurious treehouse. She lowered her head and knelt on one knee. "Your Majesty, the Undead Empire has withdrawn its troops."
Alexia breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but outwardly she merely nodded. She could not show any uncertainty in front of her subordinates.
In truth, she had been worried for the past two days. Even after the battle ended, troops had kept pouring in from the rear. In less than two days, the army had swelled from 150,000 to 200,000. That hardly looked like preparation for a ceasefire, and she had begun to suspect Green's earlier assurances were only a delaying tactic.
Queen Alexia had even resolved in secret that if she saw any unusual movement across the lines, she would immediately order the Elven Mother Tree moved.
Fortunately, it did not come to that. News of the enemy's withdrawal finally put the Gray Elf Queen's mind at ease.
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