Seeing the elves running wildly all over the city as if they had not gone shopping in several lifetimes, Ciri was very unhappy.
Since the Wild Hunt were the enemy, naturally she could not be happy to see them doing well. Her little mouth pouted enough to hang an oil pot from it, and even the chopsticks she was using to pick vegetables from the hotpot seemed to lose their strength. "Why did you give them extra lifespans?"
"I didn't give them anything. Death is a destined fate, not something I can change just because I say so. Have you seen Wilson Pictures' Final Destination? When someone is meant to die, there is no escaping it. It was more or less like that."
Propping himself up with one hand as he sat beside the hotpot, Deathstroke leaned back slightly and answered the girl with a smile.
"So you tricked them?" Ciri immediately cheered up, wearing the expression of a fox that had stolen a chicken. "You didn't give them any lifespan at all? You just said it?"
"That's right. They have no way to verify it anyway, do they?" Deathstroke poured more wine for the two women, and the three of them raised their glasses. Wiping his mouth, he continued, "Elves live far too long. An extra three hundred days is like humans getting a few extra minutes. No one can feel it. I said it, they heard it, and that was that. Saying the Flying Scroll could reward lifespan made it seem more impressive, didn't it? Heh."
There were two rewards for clearing the first stage. Since one of them had seemingly come true, people naturally would not doubt the other, less conspicuous one.
As for elves genuinely feeling some youthful power? That was purely psychological. This was not