The Queen of Scrolls never admits defeat

In terms of language inheritance alone, Moran has already mastered seven languages: Elven, Dragon, Gnoll, Dwarven, Goblin, Orc, and Woodfolk.

Its scope is so broad that it allows her to conduct basic communication in most parts of the Seran continent.

Only the core knowledge about extraordinary professions, as well as specific magical knowledge, remains firmly sealed.

Every time she tried to probe this part with her mental energy and forcefully read it, the inherited memories would gently but firmly "push" her out, making her itchy and restless, yet helpless.

Hearing the question that was on her mind, and seeing the undisguised thirst for knowledge in the little one's eyes, Mathilde smiled kindly and patiently explained:
"Don't rush, child. The acquisition of knowledge needs to follow the rhythm of nature." She gently stroked Moran's soft curly hair. "When your body is stronger enough to run and jump normally like other elves, and can speak fluently and recite poems clearly, the inherited memories should unlock some of the most basic career enlightenment and introductory knowledge of magic for you."

At that time, the Tree Spirit will personally guide you through your initial natural perception and meditation.

I think... that day is not far off.

Moran understood: the key to unlocking the ability lay in physical growth and the improvement of language skills.

This left her somewhat helpless. Her magic was incredibly powerful, and her spiritual energy was as vast as the sea, but this elven body was still that of an infant. Physical development takes time and cannot be achieved overnight.

Thinking of this, she nodded obediently to Mathilde, then lay back down in the cradle: "I want to absorb more energy from Mother Tree Spirit so I can grow up faster and learn magic!"

Mathilde stood by the cradle and gently tucked her in a blanket woven from the leaves of the Tree of Life.

Over the next few days, Moran spent most of his time resting with his eyes closed. He appeared to be asleep, but in reality, he was repeatedly reviewing and organizing the vast amount of knowledge that had been unlocked in his inherited memories, engraving that information deeper into his understanding.

Occasionally, she would try to move her hands and feet in the cradle, her lips opening and closing silently, trying to improve her control over her body.

The continuous, pure nourishment from the Tree of Life had astonishing effects. Moran's body was undergoing visible and steady growth almost every moment.

Just two days later, her physical coordination had reached a new level. She was able to easily climb up and down from the cradle and walk slowly around the house. Although her steps were still a little immature, she would never fall down easily.

His language skills have also made a breakthrough. Although he is still unable to form coherent long sentences, he can clearly utter a few short words to express his basic intentions.

Moran sat on the soft edge of the cradle, her small back against the solid roots of the Tree of Life, her little legs swinging comfortably in the air, her emerald green eyes intently watching Grandma Mathil wash berries with the spring water on the other side of the treehouse.

When Mathilde mashed the fruit into a sweet, bright green pulp, poured it into a small wooden bowl, and brought it over to feed her as she had done the previous two days, Moran reached out her little hand, gently patted her thigh, tilted her head back, and said, word by word, in short, still-childish but clearly pronounced sentences:

"Chieftain...Grandma, put it...here."

She pointed to her legs, then to the wooden bowl, her eyes resolute. "I...can...drink...by myself!" Mathil's outstretched hand froze in mid-air. Her heart was instantly filled with immense relief and emotion.

This child is not only far more intelligent than other children his age, but also in his character!
From birth, children crave control over their own bodies and behaviors, rather than passively accepting care.

“Okay!” Matilda gently and steadily placed the small wooden bowl on Moran’s lap, and softly instructed, “Be careful, don’t rush.”

Moran lowered her head, her little hands steadily grasping the spoon, scooping up the sweet fruit juice spoonful by spoonful and putting it into her mouth. Although her movements were slow, not a single drop was spilled.

Mathilde stood to the side, watching her with a smile.
After she finished drinking, Mathilde stepped forward and gently wiped the corners of her mouth with a soft leaf.

“Our little Moran is so amazing.” Mathilde didn’t hold back her praise, then turned around and brought over a set of little clothes and pants that she had specially woven from the softest and most resilient vines and dried soft moss fibers from the forest over the past few days.

The garments are exquisitely crafted, embroidered with simple leaf vein patterns using finer, colorful vine threads, exuding a natural, ethereal charm.

“Here, put this on.” Matilda helped her change into the new clothes that fit her perfectly, and said to her, “The weather is lovely today. The young elves are all practicing writing with their elders on the grass under the Tree of Life. Shall I take you to see them?”

Moran's heart stirred. She had already read through the contents of the inherited memories countless times, and she was really bored.

It just so happens that her "writing" ability also needs to be practiced. Although there are standard fonts in the inherited memory, the actual feeling of writing still needs to be experienced by hand.

Interest gleamed in her emerald eyes, but remembering her current shortness of breath and limited speech, she hesitated before glancing at the roots of the Tree of Life behind her. She was eager to absorb energy to grow and unlock the inherited memories related to extraordinary professions and magic.

Mathil smiled knowingly: "Don't worry! Your limbs are already quite strong. From now on, the Tree Spirit's nourishment for you will gradually decrease. Your body has received enough nourishment today, so you don't need to stay in the cradle anymore."

Upon hearing this, Moran quickly changed into her adorable wicker clothes and refused Mathilde's embrace: "I...want...to...walk...by myself!"

“Okay!” Matilda slowed her pace and led Moran out of the treehouse, watching her climb backward down the spiraling wooden steps toward the meadow not far away, shrouded by the canopy of the Tree of Life.

Sunlight filters through the gaps in the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the grass.

There were eight or nine underage elves of varying ages sitting cross-legged on a thick moss mat, each with a smooth piece of bark and a "pen" made of a special grass stem in front of them.

A kind-faced elven elder walked slowly among them, occasionally stopping to gently point out a student's pen-holding posture or correct the curvature of the vine-like characters they wrote.

Mathilde led Moran to sit down on a mat a little further away, and whispered to her, "So, how about it? Want to give it a try?" (End of Chapter)