The Elf Saint is a NEET, so I Forced Her to Work in Another World

Mechanized Warfare (Part 1)

***The city of Berondin...***

A loud trumpet blast echoed from somewhere in the forest to Berondin's west. So loud was the sound that everyone within the city limits were awakened from their long sleep. The warriors of the Berondin army quickly went to their positions, weapons ready, though they never drew it out. This was because, that trumpet was the signal from the elder, the Lord Fenorian, and his party arriving.

"!!!"

Finally, after waiting for a few moments, the Berondin lord's group appeared. The Lady Elsa, taking a few of her elves with her, came out of the city limits to meet the former.

"Welcome back, milord," the army leader greeted. "Glad to see you and your party safe."

"Yes, and I'm glad that we're out of that hell," the Lord Fenorian replied. "Tenvin didn't make it."

The Lady Elsa fell silent when she heard the news. Tenvin was a master scout in their city, and his loss was a big blow to their forces.

"We don't know what happened," the Berondin lord explained. "We saw an explosion at the Saint's Tree, so I ordered Tenvin to check it out. He never returned."

"A prison break occurred just as we're observing the area," the Lord Ingwer entered the conversation. "According to the prisoners we saved, they were running from the 'undead' warriors of the Life Guards."

"Wait," the Lady Elsa quipped. "I'm confused; there are prisoners in the Saint's Tree? And the Life Guards have become undead?"

"I'm also as confused as you are, milady," the Lord Fenorian commented. "However, the captain of the Life Guards himself, Sir Eldarv, is one of those we brought here. He told us that whoever it is sitting on the throne of the Saint's Tree isn't human...nor mortal, and his corps was already turned into undead."

"If I may add," the Lord Ingwer interjected, "my spymaster, Cerdan, is the other elf we rescued. He confirmed the words of Sir Eldarv, having been captured by that impostor before. He also said that the cities being destroyed by the undead armies of the Saint's Tree are those who agreed to rebel against the usurper at the holy throne."

"By the saint..." the other elves from Berondin muttered upon hearing those.

"Well, in any case, with everything that's going on at the Saint's Tree, we really need to prepare for war. You know how it goes with us, right? We're the mud-dwellers; going against the will of the Saint of Cherwoods is our lifestyle. So, it's not a matter of 'if' they will attack us, but of 'when'," the Lord Fenorian concluded. "Lord Ingwer, can we also count on your people to fight alongside us in the coming conflict? As you can see, our people are brave but few. We can use some additional warriors to defend Berondin."

"You don't need to ask me that, mud-friend," the Dorian lord replied. "When we decided to come here, it's already a given that we'll fight for you and your people."

"Thank you."

"Uh...milord," it was the Lady Elsa. "About the additional warriors, I think there's no shortage of it now that there are new refugees in our city."

"What do you mean?"

"Milord, there's this person who came here a while ago, leading a group of refugees from other destroyed cities of the tree-dwellers," the Berondin lady paused for a bit to collect herself. "I know...it's kind of hard to believe, but...he claims to be a god. In fact, he calls himself the Black God, and he says his goal is to defeat the 'monster at the Saint's Tree'. Perhaps the council can be convened and talk to him once he returns?"

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**Kuro, at the Amaranthine beaches...**

Of course, just like what the Black God asked from me, I liked to end this conflict as soon as I could. After all, with Seirna, Meanor, and the warrior deity's expectations 'riding' on my back, the pressure for me to deliver was unprecedented. And yes, I hated pressure. It's the reason I didn't choose a 'call center' job when it was the trend in my country back in my world before. However, I just couldn't stomach the thought of sending young elves to fight unprepared on a battlefield. If the enemy was competent, it was a sure recipe for disaster.