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🕑 Added 2025-08-19 07:13:14 +0000 UTCThe Witcher: The last King of the elves
Chapter 30 - A King Without a Crown
“My path will be stained with blood.” Cold water splashed across Thranduil’s face and flowed down the smooth curve of his cheek, carrying away the lingering anger and tension from his body.
The reflection in the water showed a man forged by battles, nourished by knowledge he had never asked for. Perhaps the being he once was before coming to this world had already vanished from his memories.
Now he was someone else—an elf, with long, straight, soft hair of a brilliant golden hue, with features sculpted and perfectly proportioned that contrasted against a delicate face. His deep blue eyes, like the sky, drew Thranduil’s gaze. From the depths of that reflection he realized that, since his awakening, he had never truly stopped to think about what he wanted from this world.
“Responsibilities devoured my world.” Staring at his blood-stained face, Thranduil sneered indifferently.
Before awakening in this world, he had been a sickly king, without a future and without a bloodline that could enhance his magical abilities. Most importantly, he was being hunted by his enemies.
Even though his royal guard could single-handedly defeat hundreds of human warriors, the witches in their ranks devised ever more vicious methods to kill elves. It was always about killing them, for the fear that elves together inspired in the human kingdoms was so great that they created a treaty stating that no elven force could ever be formed across the entire Continent.
Humans used every means to assassinate elves, to crush entire cities, and to enslave others in order to satisfy their most vile desires.
Thranduil did not hate all humans. No, of course not. He would kill their kings and queens, crush their greatest armies, but he would not kill every human.
To be a king without a crown, Thranduil would be wise and preserve only certain people. In the end, someone must pay in blood for what they had done to his people.
Looking at his elite soldiers—veterans of hundreds of battles, capable of facing ten enemies at once—Thranduil had no doubt that he would reclaim what had been stolen from them.
But the time was not yet right. He had to gather strength little by little, and when the moment came, his troops would seize their lands.
“Take everything by force.”
After recalling what he once was, Thranduil knew that little by little, that self of the past was dying.
The first thing that had become clear to him was that even if he traveled between worlds, his original world was unique. Moreover, returning was something he did not desire.
Knights, magical potions, gods, curses… This was a world with a technological level roughly equivalent to thirteenth-century Europe from the world he came from, yet with extraordinary powers he had not known until he arrived here.
Mortals could possess various special abilities through “magical potions,” but they also faced rampant erosion and the risk of losing control at any moment.
“My lord, the watchers have noticed humans beyond the Black Forest searching for something.” A report reached Thranduil as he cleansed his face with crystalline water.
Thranduil’s cold, natural gaze lifted; he looked into the distance and said: “If they can survive the night, capture any human you find. What they may know is of interest to us. Inform the border troops.”
“Understood.”
