The Elven Aunt stood motionless, her eyes crinkling with mirth.

She never resembled a fallen Elf. Clad in an opulent gown of emerald silk embroidered with golden blossoms, she looked every bit a noble from some elven court. Had Jetri not met the Elven Queen himself, he might have thought this was Her Majesty standing before him.

Even as lethal strikes closed in, she remained poised and elegant. Just as Vya’s blade was about to graze the tip of her nose, countless thick, shadowy tree trunks erupted from the earth. In the blink of an eye, they blocked every attack.

"Since you’ve already killed Chelsey," her voice drifted through the wooden barrier, "killing me is only a matter of time—I surrender. How about it?"

"Kill her!" Jetri’s icy command cut through her words.

The tree wall held for only a heartbeat. A roaring fire dragon wreathed in flames and an earth-shaking drake charged forth without restraint, surging past Vya.

Short blades stabbed from the shadows—no wielder in sight. Every point around Falana humming with subspace energy sprouted a dagger.

"You might wonder why Richard is so desperate to kill me," Falana’s form began fading where she stood. "Was it because he promised to sleep with me but broke his word? Or promised me a child… only to give me this instead?" She gestured vaguely at her own body.

She reappeared atop the castle, expression unchanged, still wearing that serene, elegant smile.

"Don’t you want to know why, when my spell was meant for Lilith, it was Richard who got left behind?"

"Don’t you want to know what deal I truly made with him?"

Jetri felt little turmoil. He felt no guilt. He’d used Falana; she’d used him. Different purposes, same game. Whether desire had clouded her judgment was none of his concern. This was enemy territory. He was here to kill a sovereign. Honor among enemies? A fool’s notion.

"Valiant Hero…" Falana’s voice floated down, hauntingly soft. "What are *you* afraid of?"

"Half Elf… why do *you* hesitate?"

"Little Princess of Delan… what troubles *you*?"

"Richard… your little squad is far weaker than before."

Jetri suddenly realized only his attacks made Falana dodge—even slightly. The Valiant Hero and the Half Elf’s strikes grew sluggish, off-rhythm.

"Victoria!" He turned to order purification magic—only to find Victoria standing frozen, hands glowing faintly at her sides. Her lake-blue eyes held no spark of awareness.

Simultaneously, Falana parried Vya and Lilith’s assaults with effortless grace.

"See?" Falana glided toward Jetri, unhurried. Every spell he cast was shredded by colossal trees bursting from the soil. "If I don’t wish to be captured… I can still cause a *little* trouble."

Vya and Lilith soon mirrored Victoria’s vacant stare.

The pressure mounted. Jetri’s magic fizzled. His teammates were down. Each step of Falana’s ornate, vine-woven heels pressed against his chest like a boot. His breath grew shallow. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

Suddenly, the world shattered like glass before his eyes. A familiar, sultry voice whispered in his ear:

"They’re not as professional as before. And you, Richard… you don’t trust them like you used to~" A slender, pale finger lifted his chin.

Blades flashed—short sword and longsword driving her back. The ghost of warmth lingered where she’d touched him. Jetri wiped his brow instinctively. No sweat. His face paled. He hadn’t noticed his teammates’ grim expressions.

"Shall we continue?" Falana smiled, serene. "I might die again. But you’ll need to leave at least one of you behind to finish me~"

Jetri snapped back to reality. The towering trees? Gone. The ground lay smooth and unbroken. Falana had never moved—still standing there, eyes crinkled in that same gentle smile. As if nothing had happened.

He couldn’t even recall when her magic took hold. Only that it struck when the Half Elf and Valiant Hero first faltered.

The trio’s eyes flicked to him in unison.

That synchronized glance shattered his resolve.

*They don’t even want to fight!*

No battle spirit. No point fighting at all.

"Fine," Jetri sneered. "I accept your surrender." Truth was, pushing further might cost them a life or two to kill her. But after that glance? Total party wipe.

"How merciful, Mr. Richard," Falana cooed, voice dripping with affection.

"As a surrendered prisoner," Jetri said flatly, "bind your own hands. Seal your magic."

"Oh? Still planning to kill me later—? Alright then."

To Jetri’s shock, the Elven Aunt obeyed word for word.

As he tensed to strike dishonorably, he caught her watching him—a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

*What?* Doubt prickled his mind.

He glanced at his teammates.

Their eyes darted away from him like startled birds.

—*Vya, why are YOU looking away!?* His eye twitched.

"Perhaps…" The Elven Aunt’s eyes crinkled again, bound hands clasped behind her back. She looked utterly at ease, more hostess than captive. "We could chat somewhere private?"

Jetri’s face darkened. He gave a stiff nod.

"As for the rest of you—make yourselves at home. My servants will attend to our honored guests."

Jetri exhaled sharply. With a flicker of uneasy warning in his eyes, he levitated Falana upward with magic, steering her to the top floor. He shoved her aside. "Untie yourself."

Scowling, he rummaged through a cabinet until his fingers closed around a small bottle filled with clear, green liquid. His expression softened slightly. He didn’t know its name—he’d asked Falana once, but she’d refused to tell him. All he knew was it tasted good. Sweet, with a faint hint of matcha. Better chilled.

A quick spell encased the bottle in smooth ice. He uncorked it, took a sip.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Falana lying motionless on the floor. "Cut the act. Get up."

"No act," she murmured, that long-forgotten, lovesick grin spreading across her mature, beautiful face. "I truly can’t use even a drop of magic now~ Do whatever you like… I can’t resist~"

If she’d stayed silent, it might’ve looked like a certain kind of scene.

Of course, only if she hadn’t spoken.

Did she speak?

Spoiler: she did.