As the saying goes, 'those not of our kind are sure to be of a different mind.'
As a long-lived race, the Elves should have learned from the Dwarves of the Mahakam Mountains and managed their own private reserve, far away from human kingdoms, rather than living mixed in with humans.
Whether it was differences in appearance, different living habits, or the natural distinction between long-lived and short-lived races, over time, humans would inevitably develop an aversion to the Elven race.
As a long-lived race, even if their fertility rate was not high, the Elves' intelligence was not weak, and they possessed many talents that human races could not.
If they utilized their long lifespans to focus on studying a particular skill, almost every Elf could become a high-level artisan, master, or even grandmaster in a certain field.
After all, they were a race that once developed black technologies like the White Ship, a space-faring vessel.
They should naturally follow an elite path, a technologically strong nation, using technological differences to compensate for their numerical disadvantage.
Just imagine, when human armies were still attacking the Elven kingdom with spears and short swords, riding warhorses.
The Elven troops on the other side suddenly pulled out Gatling machine guns and started firing, driving tanks, and flying planes to bomb them—that scene would be too amusing.
Guilliman was amused by his recent fantasy.
With a smile on his lips, he looked at the Elven Queen opposite him with a meaningful gaze and said:
"Actually, I've made a little money recently."
"I'm also quite satisfied with the magic tower you designed for me."
"If you're willing, I can give this job to you, at normal market prices."
"You can have your kinsmen work on my island, and other construction work can also be discussed."
"On my island, you won't have to worry about their safety, and no humans will reject them."
"In fact, I can lend you a loan of 100,000 Orens, with interest calculated at one-tenth."
"Each year, you only need to pay me 12,000 Orens in interest."
100,000 Orens?
After hearing Guilliman's proposal, even Francesca was somewhat shocked. Holding the red wine, her mouth slightly agape, she stared blankly at the Witcher.
This was no small sum; even emptying the coffers of a great noble family with a fief might not be enough to gather 100,000 Orens.
Was the man in front of her really a Witcher known for being shabby and poor?
Moreover, Guilliman's job offer was also very beneficial to the Elven race.
The Valley of Flowers currently lacked various resources but had an abundance of idle labor. They had no shortage of highly skilled artisans, architects, carpenters, etc., and could easily assemble a professional construction team.
If he could provide them with work, it would, to some extent, alleviate her financial pressure as the Elven Queen.
However, Francesca was no longer a naive young girl. She knew very well that to gain something, one had to pay a price.
Especially with the man in front of her.
He was no gentleman; the sorceress had witnessed firsthand how he had tricked the magical sword from the Lady of the Lake earlier.
Francesca bit her lower lip slightly, her gaze wandering. Perhaps it was because she had drunk too much red wine, but for some unknown reason, her cheeks felt a little warm.
"What do you want, Guilliman?"
"But if your demands aren't excessive, I'm not unwilling to consider them!"
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