Chapter 112: The Elven Queen's Last Hope
Wielding power that wasn't yours always exacted a price.
Not even gods could be exempt. The God of Liches, Valarun, had become a deity only by accepting a gift from the Lord of Storms—and even he could not endure the resulting cost. In the end, he had fled.
How could mere mortals, without the tempering of long centuries, hope to command legendary strength?
Catherine had used her own legendary boon to forcibly elevate others. Half the elves had gained power through her hand—and with it, inevitably, came mana addiction.
The power, which had been fused with their bloodlines, could not be excised. It was used subconsciously in daily life; and with each use, the addiction deepened. Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered if the elves were short-lived. With enough caution, they might have easily died of old age before the addiction fully manifested.
But elves were a long-lived race.
By conservative estimates, even if they vigilantly prevented themselves from using that power, their mana addiction would still reach a critical peak around the age of three hundred.
At first, they would feel nothing more than increased appetite. Ordinary food would no longer produced a sense of satiety; they would need food or drink imbued with magic. Certain invigorating beverages, for example.
Then, as the addiction worsened, they wouldn't be able to do without such beverages at all. Without them, their minds would grow sluggish, their bodies beset by all manner of discomfort.