The Queen of Scrolls never admits defeat

Moran watched the elves practicing writing on the grass.

They are all underage elves, but there is an age difference of tens or even hundreds of years, since elves only reach adulthood at the age of one hundred.

The youngest among them was already a teenager, with a build similar to that of a human youth. Even standing upright, Moran could barely reach the other's knees.

But the huge difference in size did not affect Moran's desire to learn something. She looked up at Mathilde and said, "I want to try."

Mathilde's smile deepened as she led Moran toward the gentle-looking male elven elder who was slowly surveying the children.

“Liandor,” Mathilde said gently, “little Moran also wants to try!”

Instantly, all the elves' eyes focused on Moran.

The elves still vividly remembered how she looked when she was born a few days ago, and they quickly recognized her.

"It's her! The child of the Tree of Life!"

"Lord Tree Spirit, it's only been a few days? She can already stand and walk on her own?"

"Look at her eyes, so clear! She was speaking Elvish just now, wasn't she? Even with her breathing uneven, she could speak fluent Elvish. No wonder she's the child of the Tree Spirit!"

"She's so young, can she even hold a pen?"

The underage elf had not yet learned to hide her emotions. Hearing these straightforward exclamations and feeling the focus of everyone's gaze, Moran could only try her best to keep her face tense and maintain a calm demeanor, barely managing to prevent her inner embarrassment from showing.

After all, the reason she's progressing so quickly is simply because she's not a real child.

Ryandor's gaze fell on Moran: "Welcome, little Moran!"

His voice was like aged mead, mellow and gentle, which dispelled some of Moran's discomfort from being watched. He pointed to an empty cushion covered with thick moss, "Come, sit here."

Moran did as instructed and sat down on the soft cushion.

The little elves beside her looked to be around ten or twenty years old, and were in the process of learning the vine form.

They stared at the little Moran with curiosity in their eyes.

A fairy-like girl with two delicate braids and eyes as blue as a summer sky was the first to come over.

With a touch of pride, she handed Moran several sheets of light-colored bark paper, which exuded a faint fragrance and had an exceptionally smooth texture. Her voice was clear and crisp as she said, "Molan, here! This is waterproof bark paper that my dad specially made for me last year. It won't wrinkle even if it gets wet in the rain! I specially scented it with lily of the valley essential oil, so it smells wonderful. Here, use it! Come to me for more when you're done!"

Moran accepted the thoughtful and fragrant gift, noticing the meticulous craftsmanship of the paper. Before she could even thank him, a boy with adorable freckles on his face and warm chestnut hair scratched his head somewhat shyly and then slipped a finely crafted grass-stem pen into Moran's hand.
"This...this is something I made myself. It doesn't look very nice, but it works really well! I'm giving it to you."

His eyes were filled with anticipation, hoping that his gift would be liked.

Immediately afterwards, another elven girl with neat short hair didn't say anything, but silently moved the cushion she was sitting on closer to Moran, and then pushed a small inkwell containing dark green liquid between the two of them.

She looked up at Moran and added softly, "Let's use a bottle of ink. It's made with water-washed flower juice. If you make a mistake... just wipe it off with water, and the ink will come off. It's very convenient." Faced with this overwhelming, pure, and warm help, Moran felt a slight warmth in her heart.

She asked them their names one by one, and then thanked them sincerely: "Polly, sister, Domi, Nick, brother, Celine, sister, thank you!"

The three little elves whose names were called all had happy smiles on their faces.

“Give it a try! Ask us if you don’t understand anything!” Polly said.

Lendor smiled and encouraged her, "Just practice freely according to the vine-like script model in your inherited memory. Perhaps you could start by writing your own name?"

On the grass, all the little elves were doing similar things.

They frowned slightly, trying to recall the beautiful vine-like script templates from their inherited memories, while struggling with the unruly grass-stem pen in their hands and the uncontrollable, crooked lines that appeared under their pens.

Moran first gently stroked the texture of the bark paper with her fingertips before grasping the slightly sturdy grass-stem pen for her.

The pen barrel felt unfamiliar and unique. She subtly adjusted the position of her fingers a few times and finally found a relatively stable and comfortable grip.

Moran already knew the memories of the natural spirits by heart and could write them down without having to recall them.

The first few strokes were slightly hesitant and unstable due to her unfamiliarity with the tools and slight differences in hand strength. However, after writing just a few words, her wrist became exceptionally steady, driving the pen tip to leave clear and smooth dark green marks on the bark paper.

A main vine extends gracefully, with a natural curve, branching out just the right amount of tendrils, and several leaf symbols representing specific meanings are precisely placed at the key nodes of the vine.

The overall structure of the name, the proportions between its parts, and even the beauty and charm that the vine-like style should possess are all clearly presented.

"Uh..." Dominic was secretly pleased with himself for finally overcoming his shaky hands and writing a line that could barely be identified as a tendril. He subconsciously glanced at the little guy's "work" next to him with a hint of smugness, expecting to receive a gasp of amazement.

However, when he saw the handwriting on the Moran bark paper, which was almost comparable to the template in his inherited memory, he froze as if he had been frozen in place.

Its mouth opened uncontrollably, forming a perfect, round "O" shape, and its eyes were wide open, as if it saw the forest spirits tap dancing among the branches.

His reaction was so obvious that Polly and Celine craned their necks to look at him.

The next moment, a chorus of suppressed, low gasps and gasps of amazement erupted from the group of little elves.

"Wow! Moran, your writing is so beautiful!"

"This...this is even more standard than Terri's vine-like style, isn't it? Terri has already started learning the flowing wind style!"

"My God, were you practicing writing with your fingers when you were in the Cocoon of Life? How could you write so well?!"

Hearing this, Terry, who was not far away, also came over curiously to take a look: "It really is perfect!"

...(End of chapter)