Since that day, a part of the Elves no longer called themselves "Children of the Sacred Tree," but arrogantly renad themselves as "Heroes who Conquer the Sky and the Divine."
In the ancient Eastern kingdom, there is an old saying — when heaven wishes one to perish, it first drives them mad.
And in Elven proverbs, there’s a similar saying: "When the fruit ripens, it’s not far from falling."
The entire Elf Empire embarked on such a mad path, and its end was easily predictable.
Only destruction.
Thus, at a ti when the Empire was at its most prosperous and glorious, they paid a painful price for their arrogance.
The Empire’s "Judgnt Day" had arrived.
On that day, the sky was exceptionally clear, not a single cloud in sight.
On that day, the great city-state, claid to "never fall," plumted from the sky.
It was not destroyed upon crashing to the ground, but instead disintegrated in mid-air, directly obliterated by the awakened and enraged Ancient Gods.
As a race ruling an era, the Elf Race had Saints, and quite a few.
Saints, the pinnacle of existence.
Though Saints were still mortal, they possessed strength comparable to the Divine.
However, they were mistaken.
In the face of those beings, the power they were so proud of was far from adequate.
The awakened Ancient Gods on that day were far more nurous than they imagined!
The Elves finally saw reality clearly.
When divine punishnt descended, all fantasies shattered like papier-mâché.
It wasn’t the Empire enslaving the Gods, but the Gods hunting the Empire.
On Judgnt Day’s battle... Most of the Elf Race’s Saints were dead or wounded, with only a few managing to escape, taking the remnants of their kin back under the protection of the Elven Sacred Tree.
An entire era of high Elves perished up to ninety-nine percent, strong ones withered, which directly led to the rebellion of the Dark Elf faction, ascending once again, until roughly recovering in the second millennium of the Era of Faith.
Those Mages and scholars who delved deep into the "Divine Domain" were nearly wiped out, every scholar involved in core projects was marked, suffering precise strikes from the Divine, with only a handful of lucky survivors.
To this day, thousands of years have passed, and so of them still hide in the Star Realm.
Occasionally in the Star Realm taverns, one may encounter elders claiming to be remnants of the Elf Empire, disguising their pointed ears with transformation magic, hiding from pursuers whose existence is uncertain.
Even for Elves, such a ti scale is exceedingly long.
Sufficient to make a proud race forget its glory and learn to live humbly.
Perhaps they have beco extrely old, shrinking in the Star Realm tavern, ordering a cup of bitter-leaf wine, brewed from Star Realm’s specialty wormwood, tasting bitter yet keeping one awake.
In this clarity, the aging Elves recount the rise and fall of a glorious era to those around them.
Perhaps changing their life form, transforming themselves into Witch Demons; in the first millennium after the Empire’s fall, the Star Realm saw a sudden surge of Elven Witch Demons.
They reminisce the past scenery amidst the remains, continuing past research.
But no matter how the Elves reminisce or sigh, one fact remains unchanged — their era is past.
Just like fallen leaves cannot return to the branches, the passing of ti will never reverse.
Elves facing a destructive end is actually quite normal.
Extensively understandable, easily foreseeable.
Like watching a child entering a powder store carrying a torch, the end was long predestined.
If the Elves’ research failed, it would be re disrespect for the Divine, rely desecrating a single Deity, at most provoking that God’s wrath.
At this point, they could still turn back, continuing as masters of their era, strengthening their race.
But they made one mistake, which was they shouldn’t have succeeded no matter what.
Would the Gods tolerate them continuing their arrogance?
The Ancient Gods were just temporarily asleep.
Certainly not dead!
They are like hibernating bears, tolerating mosquito bites, but absolutely forbidding any attempt to flesh them, or even slit their throat.
"That battle of those years was truly insane indeed..." The Cold Winter Goddess’s voice was soft, seemingly afraid to awaken certain sleeping mories.
Recalling the scenes she saw back then, rembering the city-state plumting from the sky, she couldn’t help but shake her head.
Burning wreckage streaked across the sky like teor showers, illuminating the entire continent... it really was a splendid fireworks display.
She was only half-awake back then, not participating in the siege against the Elf Empire, but even if she had awakened, she probably wouldn’t bother joining the commotion.
What’s it got to do with ?
As long as the Elf Empire doesn’t co knocking, she couldn’t be bothered to intervene.
Indifferent.
Yet the actions of the Main God of her own Pantheon appeared to the Cold Winter Goddess as quite the genuine good guy.
Sotis she even wondered if the Master of Nature was too kind-hearted.
The Master of Nature, like a magnanimous elder-like Divine Spirit, even while half-asleep, upon realizing the Elves’ ambition, still protected those foolish believers.
Her essence repelled any daredevils who approached, preserving the last bloodline of the Elf Race.
The wrathful Gods didn’t spare her rely for face, but because... they genuinely couldn’t defeat her.
Though the Master of Nature might be an incurable genuine good guy, she was not one to be easily provoked.
Not only could she fight, but it really hurts.
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