"What's going on with that Maelon, and with you?" Loran fixed Herman with a piercing gaze.
The black-clad Demonkind named Maelon was abnormal. First, he hadn't uttered a single word from start to finish. Second was that strange sound of bones cracking. Though Demonkind were evil and bloodthirsty, they weren't beasts—they possessed intelligence comparable to humans. There was no reason for him to act like a mindless creature. As for this Herman—the "defective" one, as Princess Melissara called him—he emitted a faint aura of death. It wasn't pure death energy; impurities tainted it.
"He looks like a human-beast hybrid," Loran stated coldly. "Besides, it wasn't you who fought the princess. Were those earlier boasts just empty threats?"
Herman's breathing grew noticeably rapid and heavy under Loran's words, a stark contrast to his previous gentlemanly demeanor. He resembled a bull enraged and red-eyed from provocation. Human rationality was slowly draining from him.
"Shut up!" Herman let out a long roar, leaping high into the air. He raised his longsword and swung it down with immense force, aiming to split Loran in two!
"Barbaric," Loran murmured lightly. With a graceful tap of his boot like a dragonfly on water, he drifted backward. He evaded Herman's strike as effortlessly as a dandelion seed carried by a breeze.
"That's not how you wield a sword!"
Magic surged into Loran's blade. Its glow undulated like flowing silk, rang like clashing metal, and stood firm like a towering mountain. The death aura dissipated like fog under sunlight. Visibility increased steadily. Herman instinctively felt aversion and fear. His body trembled uncontrollably.
"You... how is this possible?" Herman exclaimed. For a moment, human rationality regained slight control. Before this mission, he had thoroughly assessed all the dragon-slaying heroes. Melissara and Loran posed the greatest threats. But after their battle with Adonis, both had suffered severe power reductions. Melissara couldn't summon her contract beast. Loran's magic was damaged. With his current strength and Maelon, defeating these two Elvenkind one-on-one should have been effortless. Yet now...
Loran showed no signs of damaged magic—in fact, he might even be stronger than before!
"Surprised? I am too," Loran murmured. The image of a certain human girl's bright smile flashed before his eyes. He should have felt conflicted, yet a smile tugged at his lips uncontrollably.
Once this was over, he'd take her straight back to the Elven Forest. She would surely love it—Loran had no doubt, knowing its beauty intimately. Like a child eager to show off a toy, he found himself impatient to see Mushiyu's reaction to the forest's wonders. Imagining that harmonious scene, his gaze softened unconsciously.
Herman's eyes narrowed: Perfect opportunity!
Seizing the moment while Loran was distracted, he lunged forward. He swung his longsword fiercely, arm muscles bulging, aiming at the slender figure before him.
Loran's eyelids lifted slightly, as if just snapping out of a daze. He watched the charging form bearing down with immense force, utterly unfazed. Calmly, he uttered four words:
"Lesson time."
—When a teacher instructs, students should listen attentively. Otherwise, they'll face punishment like standing in the corner or getting their hands slapped.
In the dark, dense forest, two figures ran hand in hand. The taller one pulled the shorter along. The leader was Grace—a young woman with mature curves. She moved with steady, efficient steps, guiding the one behind while using her sword to clear weeds and branches. The follower was Mushiyu—a delicate maiden with a slender frame. Her breathing was ragged, her steps unsteady. She kept glancing sideways and backward, as if searching for something. She occasionally stopped until Grace tugged her forward.
Chaotic noises echoed all around. They weaved through the forest-turned-battlefield without encountering obstacles. The shouts of combat and bloodstains were like stage props in a play. It felt as if they had accidentally wandered into a theater performing a war drama.
"Wait, can you slow down, Grace?" Mushiyu tugged at the hand holding hers, gasping as she pleaded.
"What's wrong, Mush?" Grace stopped, turning back with concern.
The girl bent her slender waist. With one hand tightly held, she braced the other against her knee. Her lips parted slightly, exhaling sweet, moist breaths. The forest air, tinged with a faint metallic scent, replaced them. Her eyes lowered. Her porcelain-white cheeks flushed pink from exertion. Beads of sweat glistened at her temples.
"I... I'm tired. My body... huff... has no strength..." Mushiyu panted between breaths.
For some reason, after running only a few dozen meters, this body was already exhausted. Her legs felt soft and weak like cotton candy. Her whole body felt this way. Mushiyu guessed it was due to lack of exercise after lying in bed for so long. Normally, one should start with stamina recovery training before intense activity, or risk muscle strain.
Grace likely realized this too. She stepped closer with concern. "I'll carry you!"
Mushiyu flustered, waving her hands. "That's embarrassing, I'm fine... ah!"
Before she could finish, Grace swept her slender form into her arms. Holding the warm, soft body made Grace's heart race slightly.
"No problem, this weight is nothing to me," Grace smiled casually. Mushiyu could only nod, a soft "Mm" escaping her lips like a mosquito's buzz.
The girl's docility only fueled Grace's racing heart. She took a deep breath of the faintly metallic air, calming her excitement. Just as Grace prepared to move on, her sleeve was gently tugged.
Smiling down at the hesitant Mushiyu, Grace asked softly, "What is it?"
"Um... Grace," Mushiyu steeled herself, looking up into the swordswoman's eyes. "Can you tell me what happened? Are Melissara and Loran... are they okay?"
